Chapter 5
Riding back to the Mayor's Mansion, Chuck tried to speak seriously to Pauline. He asked her if she wanted to go to a restaurant.
"I've already eaten," she laughed.
"Pauline, this isn't going to be easy for me to say," he began nervously.
"Nothing good is easy to say-take your time," Pauline encouraged him. Her heart was beating wildly. Was he going to apologize? Was he going to say that he knew it was his cheating that made her do the things she'd done-but that he was finished cheating, now. That he wanted their love back the way it used to be, fresh and pure...
Oh say it! Pauline begged. Say you love me again.
"I think we'll have to get a divorce," Chuck said.
"A divorce!" Pauline shrieked. "A divorce!" she repeated incredulously in her shrill, metallic voice. Then she burst out laughing, pointing her finger at her husband and laughing.
Chuck looked at her from behind the wheel. "What is so damn funny, Pauline?"
"I thought you said 'divorce'. "
"You know that's what I said," her husband exclaimed. "What else could a politician do, married to a raging nympho like you. There's no other solution but divorce."
Pauline started to think-no other solution? Yes there is. You give up your sideline in twat, I'll restrict my business to your balls. But she had too much pride to come right out and say that to her husband.
"You try and divorce me, you shit, you! In a city like this you'll be finished politically. No one is going to vote for a man who says he can hold a city together, when he can't even hold his own family together!"
"But there's no other solution," Chuck tried to be firm, although in his heart of hearts he knew that Pauline was right. Divorce would spell political death for him. He knew she was right. And she knew she was right.
And she knew that he knew-and so they were trapped together-at least until he got reelected. Then...
"Divorce me!" Pauline repeated the word and broke out into a new round of cackling laughter. Then she stopped laughing and snarled viciously. "You just try. You just try!"
She slammed the door behind her and ran up to her bedroom. Then she locked the door and flung herself down on the bed. She started to sob.
Oh Chuck, she cried. Why do you do these things to me? Why do you make me do these things to you? One word from you, and I'd stop everything.
She was afraid they could hear her crying, so Pauline turned on the radio. They were playing an old song that she and Chuck used to dance to in college. It just made her cry more.
Baby, baby, where did our love go? Chuck parked the car in the garage and trudged up the steps to the Mayor's Mansion.
He felt like an old man, and he wasn't even thirty five yet. Why was she doing this to him? What did Pauline want from him?
He'd been lucky that the press had swallowed that cock and bull about Pauline working along with the Vice Squad. But it was still a touchy situation. Any more false moves by his wife and they'd have to look for a new place to live. And the next occupant of the Mayor's Mansion would be-Dean Crawford.
Dean Crawford, that was a laugh! Pauline's old boyfriend. The guy he'd stolen her from. Wow, how he wished he could reverse that little swap!
Waldo greeted him in the kitchen. "Boy, Mr. Parker you look real beat."
"Beat," Chuck laughed. "I will be beaten in the election if I don't do something about Mrs. Parker." He sat down on the kitchen table, shaking his head sadly. "What am I going to do?"
Upstairs in her room, Pauline turned on the television. They were discussing the coming election contest between her husband and Dean Crawford. The woman conducting the program looked familiar. Oh yes, Pauline thought, it was Muriel Oates, that woman reporter. She was making quite a name for herself lately.
Pauline turned off the television, bored to death. Maybe she ought to get a job, like that woman, Muriel Oates. Women with jobs never seemed to get bored.
But then Pauline decided she'd rather get a blow job.
She dialed Dean Crawford's office. The telephone was answered by a man with the deep, resonant voice of her 69-mate. "Guess who?" Pauline began. "It's me and I'm hot for you, Baby. I want to feel that tiger's tongue eat my twat-I want to take your cock's come in my mouth. Did you guess yet, Dean?"
The man on the other line answered her. "This is Mr. Crawford's Secretary. I'll get him on the line."
A male secretary, Pauline thought. We'll talk about your Women's Lib!
Dean picked up the phone a few minutes later. "Who is this? Pauline?"
"You bet your balls it's Pauline. Who else sucks you off the way I do?" she asked, making a whooshing noise over the phone.
"Promises, promises," Dean laughed.
"You get it on over to the Mayor's Mansion and we'll see who's promising and who's pussyfooting."
"Pussyfooting!" Dean laughed over the phone. 'That sounds like a lot of fun. Could your pussy take my foot?" .
"It depends," Pauline answered, parrying his thrust. "Do you have athlete's foot?"
"Oh, you bad girl!" Dean laughed.
"I may be a bad girl," Pauline admitted, "but I'm real good at it!"
"When should I come over?" Dean asked.
"Hold on a second." Pauline went to the foot of the steps and called down, "Chuck! Chuck!" There was no answer. She walked back to the telephone. "You can come right now. The Mayor must have gone back to his office. And Dean," she added seriously, "once you get here we'll discuss step two. Step one went so well. You know I'll do anything to be sure that my husband is washed up in politics."
"Listen, when I get over to your place we're going to discuss step 69!"
"Promises, promises," Pauline laughed, hanging up the telephone.
Dean Crawford hung up the telephone after her. What a girl, he thought! What a woman! What a twat!
When he had been in college he'd been head over heels in love with Pauline Shmutz. Then, enter Chuck Parker, and he was robbed of his young love. But now the times had changed again. The shoe was on the other foot, the mouth was on the other cock. Pauline loved him now. Dean Crawford, the poor immigrant's son. And soon he'd be the mayor of Eastport. He'd have stolen everything Chuck Parker had!
Life was a gas, Dean thought, as he walked out of his private office.
His male secretary looked up. "Going out, Mr. Crawford?"
"Yes, Frank. I have an urgent appointment."
"I see." Frank went back to his work. But just as Dean Crawford was at the door, he added, somewhat mysteriously, "hope everything comes out all right!"
Dean turned around suspiciously. "What was that?"
"I just said, good luck, Sir."
"Thank you," Dean replied.
But as he was walking towards his car, the words stuck in his throat. What did Frank mean by his words? Why did he wish him good luck, or that, "everything should come out all right?" What he meant?
Bah, Dean thought. It's nothing. Everybody in politics was too suspicious. You can't let your nerves fuck over your brain. You've got to keep a clear head, Dean decided.
Dean headed out on Eastport Avenue towards the Mayor's Mansion. Along the way he had to pass through the squalid, sordid part of town. The South Side.
Dean shook his head in wonder. How could people live like this? Why, look at those girls over there, he thought. They looked around sixteen years old. What were they doing hanging around on the street? Why weren't they in school? Didn't Eastport have a truant officer, Dean wondered.
The light turned red and Dean pulled to a stop. He glanced at some papers he had lying near his seat. The first draft of a speech to a Women's Group. He took out his red pen to make some last minute corrections.
"You wanna go out?"
Dean looked up. "Huh? What was that?"
One of the young girls was standing with her face pressed up against the window of the car.
She had dark brown hair that she wore parted in the middle. Her skin was white and pale, like she needed more sun. Dean wondered naively if that's why she had been standing on the street corner, to soak up the sunshine. The cleavage in her skimpy halter top showed the outline of full, white marble breasts with deep purple veins running through them.
The light had turned green, and the cars in back of Dean's were starting to honk anxiously.
"Look," the girl suggested, "you better pull over to the side."
Oh crap, Dean thought to himself. She must be a meter maid, a policewoman. I must have jumped the light before, who could tell anything the way they disguise them today!
Dean pulled over to the side street and waited for the girl to catch up with him.
"Okay, honey," she said breathlessly, "you wanna go out?"
"Out where? Out of the car?" Dean was completely innocent. "Are you a meter maid?" he asked. "Did I jump the light?"
The girl yawned. "Yeah. You got it. I'm a meter maid. I want to make your meter. Or, maybe you could just think of me as a peter maid!"
Hmm, Dean thought, the Mayor has a whole new type of woman working for him. "See here," Dean began, "I stopped at that light, Miss-Miss--? "
"Trixie's the name, tricks are my game. Look, if you don't want to have a time, don't waste my time."
"I'm perfectly willing to go with you and clear this up. You know, I have a reputation to maintain. I'm Dean Crawford, and I'm running for mayor."
"Glad to meet you," Trixie said sarcastically, "I'm Cleopatra, and I'm running for help." Honestly, Trixie thought to herself, this guy is too much! Did he really think she was a traffic policewoman? He must have just blown in from the boondocks. Well, she'd take him for a hot ride!
"Get in the car, Miss Trixie. Where is the precinct \house?" Dean opened the door for her. "The what house?"
"Precinct house," Dean repeated. "You know, where you work out of?"
"Oh, sure, Sport. I work out of the Hotel Stayne, on twelfth and Eastport Avenue. I'll show you how to go." She sat down next to Dean.
"Lead the way, Madame," Dean said, very coldly.
"Hey," Trixie sounded annoyed, "don't caD me 'madame'. The name is Trixie!"
They drove silently for a few blocks. Then Trixie pointed. "That's the place."
Dean parked the car. He called Pauline and told her he'd be a few minutes late, and then joined Trixie in the lobby of the run down hotel.
The desk clerk looked up at them. "Take room two three," he said to Trixie. 'Thanks, Chum."
Trixie led the way up the staircase.
"Was that the Sergeant?" Dean asked innocently.
"Nah," Trixie replied, in her dull, wooden voice. "That was the general-General Motors!" she laughed.
The room she led Dean into didn't look like any jail he'd ever seen.
With one hand Trixie turned on the glaring overhead bulb and with the other she slipped off her one piece mini-suit.
Now Dean understood what was going on! How could he have been so naive, he chided himself.
"See here!" he protested loudly. "What the hell is this! You're no cop. You're a..."
Trixie silenced him with a long passionate french-kiss. She unbuttoned his jacket and stroked his chest.
In spite of himself, Dean felt the hot blood surge up from his loins. He'd never made it with a hooker before. What was it like?
Trixie kissed him and finished unbuttoning his shirt. She loosened his belt and inserted her hand into his trousers, seeking his rapidly expanding penis.
Part of Dean wanted to leave. Part of him said that this kind of sex wasn't his bag. It sickened him. It was without love, just cash and carry climax.
But the other part of him-the part below his belt-was in the hands of a true professional. Powerless. But powerful.
"Trixie-" Dean groaned.
"A big hot one," Trixie said, admiringly. "Well I got a hot one, too. A hot twat! It ain't big, though. It's a tight one. A hot, tight twat. Repeat those words for me-"
"You're beautiful," Dean said, holding her black hair in his hands. When he let go of her hair, it cascaded down and covered his swollen cock. Her black hair covered his black hair. They were made for each other. Her pussy was the same dark black-black and warm like the summer night.
"Talk to me, honey. Tell me how you like it-you got a big hot cock and I got a tight hot twat-what are we gonna do with 'em? Talk to me, honey," Trixie insisted.
Dean gulped. "I want to stick my big hot cock up your tight hot twat-"
"Oooh, that sounds like a good idea," Trixie laughed, running her hands over Dean's balls. "Say, ain't you said you're the Mayor or someone important?"
"Who cares about that," Dean groaned, reaching for her. He almost tripped over his trousers, rolled down over his knees. "Let me take these off," he said.
"Before you take them off-" Trixie took his throbbing tool in her hands and guided it over to the black hot night of her pussy. Not into the hole-just around the neighborhood. She held it tight in her hands, guiding it into her warm hole. Dean could feel how nice and snug it would be in her snatch.
"Oh, yeah-put it in-stick it in-"
Then Trixie just laughed and held it away from her pussy. Dean felt like reaching out and overpowering her-forcing it into that teaser's twat.
Then she guided Dean's dick up along her body-up above her firm stomach, towards the rising mountains of her jutting tits. She held his cock in one hand and, with the other, moved her beautiful boobs together. Dean's dick was caught between Trixie's tits' cleavage, warm and secure.
"Fuck my tits, Baby-fuck my tits-"
But then she withdrew his cock, laughing the way she had before.
Dean was getting pissed. "What the hell are you doing, you cock teaser?"
Trixie laughed. "There's a little problem, Sport. Before you take off those trousers-your wallet, you see, I'm putting my mother through medical school. I need some do-re-mi or you don't do me!"
"Anything! Anything!" Dean gulped out, reaching in for his wallet. He handed her some bills, holding the last one in his hand. "You know what I'd like to do with this money?" he asked her.
Dean took the bill and plunged it into her tangy twat, rubbing it around, soaking up the atmosphere. Then he kissed the bill and handed it to the greedy hooker.
Trixie counted the money. "A hundred big
Marsha the Mouth shrugged her shoulders. Then, with one lunging gulp she took the whole cone in her mouth. She crunched down once and then swallowed it.
"Marsha the Mouth," Trixie shook her head in wonder. Then she went over to Marsha to help her off with her huge terry cloth bathrobe. As she went to hang it up, candy bars fell out of the pockets.
"Don't lose any of those!" Marsha warned. "Put them back in the pockets, you whore!"
Marsha went to sit at the edge of the bed. She slowly removed her bra and girdle, all the time munching on a candy bar! Trixie lay down on the other side of the bed, taking Dean's cock in her hands. She applied pressure to the head, as if to increase the size. Jesus, Dean thought-it can't get any bigger. He felt like he could fuck two cunts at the same time, it was so large. And there were two-Trixie and Marsha. But what was their plan?
As Trixie held Dean's surging sex in her hand, Marsha the Mouth bent down and started to blow him. Trixie jerked it up and down, into that cavernous hot mouth, squeezing his rod as Marsha sucked the head.
"Take the chocolate out of your mouth, Marsha!" Trixie sounded pissed off. "For all that money, at least give him a blow job, not a chocolate sundae on his dork!"
"You shut up, sister, or I'll shove that chocolate up your twat. Don't you tell me how to run my business." Marsha screamed indignantly.
"Why you fat whore, you ought to kiss my ass out of gratitude. If I hadn't banged on the wall, you'd still be inside masturbating!"
Marsha stopped sucking Dean's cock. She stood up, livid with anger. "I never masturbate. Who says I do is a fucking liar!"
"Come off it, Marsha," Trixie laughed. "Why do you wear that band on your finger? It's because you're going steady with yourself! Ha ha ha!"
"You cunt," Marsha charged over to Trixie and slapped her across the face.
"Why you fat ass!" Trixie shrieked, pulling Marsha's hair. "I'll scratch your eyes out."
"Girls, girls!" Dean moaned. "Calm down."
"That's right, Marsha," Trixie agreed. "Calm down."
"I am calmed down. You're the one who's getting excited," Marsha said.
"Can't you girls go at this some other time?" Dean moaned. Then he pointed to his cock. "And can't you go at this right now!"
Trixie smiled. "That's right. My little boy is hungry for me. You can go now, Marsha."
"I ain't going nowhere till I get my cut!"
Trixie turned red with fury. "What cut, you cunt! What the hell did you do that you want money?"
"I ate him for a time." Marsha said.
"For a time," Trixie repeated the words in wonder. "You fat whore, you just licked that dick for a second. But forget about it," Trixie took out a dollar, "take this for your troubles."
"I don't go down for a dollar, whore!" Marsha the mouth screamed. "You give me half!"
"I'll piss up your cunt before you get another cent from me, you fart," Trixie reached for her shoe. "You get out of this room or I'll shove this shoe up your stretched out snatch!"
"Oooh, you sewer! My snatch is like a virgin's! That remark will cost you!" Marsha reached over and in her fury she bit deep into Trixie's right tit.
Trixie screamed with pain. She took the shoe in her hand and struck Marsha soundly across the face.
"Cunt!" Marsha screamed, digging her fingernails into Trixie's face.
Dean lay there on the bed, watching with distress the way the evening had progressed. Mournfully, and horny as hell, he got off the bed to retrieve his clothing and his money.
"Where do you think you're going?" Trixie bellowed.
"I thought I was in a cathouse," Dean explained, "not a cat fight! I'm leaving."
The two whores stopped fighting. Trixie smoothed her hair back into place.
"Suit yourself," she said to Dean, "but you ain't taking that money back!"
"Yes I am," Dean said. "Satisfaction guaranteed or your money returned. That's a law of the Better Business Bureau of Eastport."
"Hah!" Trixie screeched. "Better Business! You better believe it! What do you think we are, licensed by the government? Grow up, Sonny Boy," she laughed, snatching the money back out of Dean's hand.
"You give me the money back, you whore!" Dean shouted.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Trixie laughed. Then she turned to Marsha. "Sorry about the misunderstanding, Mouth."
Marsha patted the younger girl on the shoulder. "That's okay, Sister. We all make mistakes."
'Take some more money, Marsha," Trixie offered her some bills.
"Oh, I shouldn't," Marsha laughed, greedily accepting the thirty dollars.
Dean was steaming with anger. So now the two whores had made up and they were ganging up on him! Politics makes strange bedfellows, Dean thought to himself. But whatever the case, he wanted that money back, and he wanted it now.
"You give me that, you fat whore!" He grabbed the thirty dollars out of Marsha's immense hands. "No one rips off Dean Crawford," he said, boastfully.
Marsha the Mouth smiled. "Say, maybe there's been a misunderstanding. He feels we're ripping him off."
"He does?" Trixie echoed.
"Yeah. And Marsha the Mouth may be a working girl, but she's no liar. So you come here, honey," she motioned to Dean with a crooked finger, "and we'll try and work this thing out.
Dean approached her where she sat on the bed. Marsha winked at him, and then took his limp cock in her hand. She massaged for a few moments to restore the lost hardness. Dean closed his eyes in pleasant anticipation of being blown again by the expert Marsha.
Crunchchch!! !
"Oww!" Dean reared up in pain.
Trixie doubled over with laughter. "Right on, Marsha!" she kissed her friend. "That was the quickest blow job I ever saw in my whole life.
"Blow job!" Dean screeched in pain. "She bit me! That fat whore bit my cock! I'm bleeding, I swear."
"Bleeding?" Marsha said. "Here, let's take a look at that." She took Dean's swollen sex in her hand and inspected it. There were teeth marks, and a trace of blood. "Hey, Trixie," she said, turning to her friend, "what do you know? This guy comes in red!"
"Oooh," Trixie laughed, "he comes in red. I'd love a blue one. Can you come in blue?"
"Yeah," Marsha laughed, "he can come in blue. If you blow hard enough, get it?" She slapped Trixie on the back. The two hookers doubled over with laughter.
Dean stiffened up. Now he'd taken all the shit he was going to from these brazen broads! No two bit whore was going to make a fool out of him and laugh at him in front of his face. Goddam it! He'd had enough!
"Get over here, you!" With a powerful motion of his arm, Dean swept Trixie over to him.
"Hey, cut it out!" the young prostitute cried.
"Eat that dick, you cock teaser!" Dean ordered, ramming his stiffened ramrod into her mouth before she could utter another word of protest. "Suck it-suck my swollen cock!"
Trixie was resisting him. "Suck, I tell you. Suck that prick! Don't just pick at it, you pig!
Suck it! Suck my hard prick in your mouth! Tongue it-take my load-"
Dean brought his legs together over Trixie's head. They were like a vise, blocking off any thought for escape. The young hooker could do nothing else but comply with his commands.
"You better leave her alone!" Marsha warned him from behind. "You let Trixie go. She done you already."
"Yeah," Dean mocked, "she done me all right. She done me wrong. But where are you going, Marsha the Mouth?"
"Me? I'm just going next door," Marsha stammered, eager to escape.
"Suck it!" Dean reminded Trixie.
Her big eyes reflected terror of the now enraged Dean Crawford. She shook her head yes, all her resistance dissolving in fear. She redoubled her effort, redoubling Dean's pleasure.
"Finally," Dean smiled, laying back on the bed. "Oh, but you Marsha, come here."
"Why?" Marsha asked suspiciously.
"I want to give you some more money for being such a good sport."
Marsha smiled. "I am a good sport, ain't I." She approached the bed where Dean was getting sucked off by the aroused Trixie.
As soon as Marsha was within arm's reach, Dean lunged up and pulled her down on top of him. "Whore! Cunt lips! You thought you could laugh at me, didn't you! Laugh now, you happy hooker!"
Dean dug his tongue into Marsha's twat, all the time holding the big woman in his powerful grasp.
Then he pulled it out again just as Marsha had started to moan with a mixture of pleasure and terror.
"Hey you!" He shouted to Trixie. "Are you sleeping on the job? The blow job?"
Trixie's eyes grew large with fright. She made a gesture with her arm, a frantic gesture indicating that she needed to come up for some air. Dean released enough pressure from his legs to let her ease her mouth off his pulsing prick.
"Jesus," Trixie sputtered, gasping for breath, "this mother-fucker really wants his money's worth!"
"It's all your fault," Marsha screamed, straining in Dean's powerful grip. "You made him so excited with your stupid jokes. You're the one who got us in this trouble, you stupid whore. If this guy wasn't holding me now, I'd crack your face in!"
"You lay one hand on me and I'll slit your tit off!" Trixie screamed. Then she turned to Dean. "Tell that fat whore not to speak to me like that!"
"I don't want either of you whores to speak!" Dean said with finality. "I'm tired of listening to the both of you!" Then Dean thought of something that made him laugh. "Why don't you two gals kiss and make up?"
Marsha didn't understand. "What's he talking about?" she said to Trixie.
"Beats me," Trixie echoed.
"I want to see you two hookers make up," Dean explained. "I want to see you patch up your quarrel. And the best place to patch is-the snatch!"
With a flex of his powerful arms, he forced Marsha to the floor. He still held Trixie in the vise-like grip of his muscular legs. "Now eat and make up!" Dean commanded.
"What the hell do you want me to do?" Mammoth Marsha demanded.
"Eat your partner's pussy!" Dean laughed. "You heard me," he said, gripping her neck with his strong, veiny hands, "kiss and make up.
Marsha bellowed in fear as Dean pushed her head towards Trixie's trembling twat.
Marsha scooped into Trixie, as Dean's arm held fast to her neck. They were like puppets, Dean thought. And he was pulling the strings. That would teach them to laugh at Dean Crawford!
Trixie moaned with pleasure, as Marsha's mouth lapped up her quivering cunt. This time she went down on Dean without his forcing her to.
"That's it girl," Dean encouraged her, "eat me like she's eating you. One good blow deserves another."
Trixie took his whole cock into her deep throat. Now Dean saw what these hookers offered that the average girl didn't-they were like athletes in training. They had flexibility. They could turn any trick in the book.
There was only one other girl he'd known who could compete with these professionals-Pauline Parker. And tonight he'd have her, too. Jesus, Dean thought in pleasure, you can never get enough!
Trixie couldn't seem to get enough, either. She had sucked the whole length of his sleek cock into her gaping mouth. Now, the way she was sucking, you'd think she didn't know that that was all there was.
More, she seemed to be saying-give me more!
Dean slipped his fingers into her mouth along with his cock. Come right in. Trixie seemed to say. The water's fine! He felt along her palate-it was hard and moist, like her twat must be. Must be? Why not find out? After all, he'd paid for these broads. And they were going to pay for laughing at him!
Dean took his hand out of Trixie's mouth. He ran it down her body, towards her pussy. Marsha was so intently absorbed in eating Trixie's pussy, that she didn't notice Dean slip his finger into the party.
But Trixie did!
Her whole body jerked in a tingle of pleasure as she felt this new presence inside her pussy. Dean responded to her by poking around, bringing his finger deeper inside. He felt Marsha's tongue digging into the same duct. He could feel Marsha's lips-so close to Trixie's twat lips. And his finger was poking around, directing the traffic.
Oh God, Dean thought, who ever said two is company, three's a crowd. Not this crowd!
Then he became aware of Trixie's increased concentration on his cock. She was sucking him off like a woman possessed. And he was just the man to possess her. He decided to rearrange the action.
Dean eased his cock out of Trixie's mouth, and he jerked his finger out of her twat. With his hand he pulled Marsha's suction sucker out of Trixie's hole.
"Hey!" Trixie hollered in rage. "Give me that back!"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, you happy hooker," Dean comforted her. "I'm going to give it all back to you. Only, the music's changed, and we're changing partners. You'll see!"
"What's he mean?" Marsha asked, dumfounded.
"Beats me," Trixie echoed. "I wish we cold go back to what we were just doing. It felt so good."
'Try this on for size!" Dean laughed, pressing himself upon her and angling his throbbing tool into her tremulous twat. Trixie spread her legs, and clutched him close into her.
"Oh, yeah-" she moaned, with pleasure. "Give it to me! Fuck my cunt with that big steaming cock-fuck my cunt-" She wrapped her legs around his back.
"Am I invited in?" Marsha asked, in a bitching tone of voice. "I hate to crash a party! Just say the word and I'll go."
"Don't go," Dean commanded. "Come!"
"I don't dig it," Marsha said, confused.
"Suck me off as I fuck her-" Dean explained. "You've got a big mouth-figure out how to use it!"
Marsha scratched her head. How could she suck his cock if it was inside Trixie's pussy? She maneuvered her mouth down to Dean's scrotum. Maybe he'd want a sac suck, she thought, lowering her mouth over the hobbling balls.
"That's it, Marsha. Shove those balls into your mouth. Eat those balls-suck that sac!"
"OOooh," Trixie moaned in pleasure, "Marsha the Mouth is blowing his balls! I want to see! I want to see!"
Marsha climbed on Dean's back, to angle herself in a better position. As she sucked his balls from behind, the incredibly versatile six foot whore managed to get in a few licks on Trixie's pussy hairs.
The three of them jerked together in the rhythm of sex. Two may be company, Dean thought, but three is a gas!
Marsha had finished her last chocolate bar and, with her chubby finger, dripping with the gooey sweetness, she was finger-fucking her own love hole.
Dean thought he'd burst in two-in Trixie and in Marsha! He was fucking one, lunging up and down into the sweet warmth of that snug snatch. And at the same time, Marsha's whooshing mouth was sucking his ball sac, that warm tongue running onto Trixie's twat hair so that Dean could feel tongue and twat at the same time.
Tongue and twat, he thought-fuck and suck-lips and labia-His fevered brain kept repeating the forbidden words.
"Fuck me, fast boy-fuck me faster-"
Trixie moaned. She reached out to pull Dean closer to her, and, at the same time, pull Marsha closer on top of Dean. They melted into each other, one surging mountain of sex.
Dean felt like he was coming. He felt like he would come out of every part of his body-shoot from his glans penis into Trixie's trembling tract-shoot from his balls into Marsha's mouth!
"Fuck-" Trixie commanded Dean. "Suck!" she ordered Marsha. "Suck-fuck-"
Dean could feel Marsha's own plump hand inside her hole. Her full womanly fleshed body felt so good on top of him, almost as good as Trixie's hot twat felt around his raging ramrod!
"Suck-fuck!" Trixie repeated the sacred words, like the referee at a prize fight! "Suck-fuck-" she ordered them, as the marathon raced faster and faster toward the inevitable climax!
"Suck-fuck!" Her arms beat out at Dean and at Marsha on top of him. "Faster-suck! fuck! Suh-fuh, suh, fuh, suhfuh!"
Trixie shrieked the words together as Dean thrust his load of lust into her quivering climax. At the same time he felt a spasm on top of him, as mammoth Marsha's legs heaved with the earthquake of her ecstasy, taking one last, lingering suck on his sac just as he shot into Trixie's moist twat.
The three of them lay there together for some time, soaked and spent from their spasm. Then Dean felt Marsha coming to life again on top of him.
"Hey," she began, in a husky, sexy, voice. "Is anyone hungry?"
"Jesus, Marsha, you're really a pig," Trixie said. "After all, didn't you just get finished eating!"
The three dissolved in laughter.