cock was a missing, complementary part of herself… and she wished it could go on and on forever… just like this… being fucked and fucking back in wild abandon. God… Oh, God! If she could have only one wish it would be that… and she would be happy for the rest of her life… wanting or needing nothing else!
She gasped. Incoherent words came tumbling out of her mouth, as she panted for breath, her body reaching out to grasp the orgasm that was coming to her, bringing a release from the agony of waiting… from the overwhelming ecstasy of nerves too long supercharged with sex sensations.
'Screw me… Stan! Fuck me! Fuck me… forever… just like this! Oh, God… ram it in deeper. Ooooooh! That's it! I–I'm just… about… ready… to… cum! Oh, God! I am! I'm cuuuuummmmmmiiiiiiinnnnggg! Aaaaaaaaaauuuuuggggghhh!'
Vivian writhed convulsively, under him, panting out her orgasm, as she soared to meet it and waves of body- relaxing, soul-satisfying release were hers to savor. She heard the wailing rasp of his breath, and she knew he would cum… soon.
His massive cock was a punishing, goring horn as it rampaged in and out of her with relentless fury. It made her whole body tingle, as she took him deep, up into her belly.
Feeling the scorching burn of his ejaculation, as it was liberated from his sperm-laden balls, Stan suddenly stiffened above her, his back arching in one final, slamming thrust into the viscid moisture of her pulsing cuntal flesh. Then, he was spewing his semen far up into her vaginal sheath, his cock pumping wildly, while ecstatic sensations of relaxing euphoria swept over him, leaving him weak… and completely satisfied. He grunted his pleasure, as his prick continued to spasm, involuntarily, for a few moments; then he collapsed, dropping his weight full upon her, still cradled between her soft, beautiful, widespread thighs. He felt drained… figuratively as well as literally, after that final, frantic effort to satisfy her… and himself.
It was a dream. It was a heavenly vision of sexual fulfillment… and it was heaven, itself, to own such exquisite happiness… to know that it resided in your body… and that you could share it with another person… and Vivian reflected upon how lucky she was… how unbelievably glorious it was to enjoy sex to the fullest… with a real man… like Stan! How wonderful it was. We're almost… like Adam… and Eve… or are Stan and I the King and Queen of sex…? Out here… by ourselves… away from everybody… stark naked… in the wilds I'm the Queen of Cunt… and Stan's the King of Cock! She knew it was a fantasy… but a fantasy woven from the sexual satiety she felt.
Finally, after several moments, their breathing under control, now, their bodies relaxed, Vivian began, rhythmically, to squeeze the rapidly detumescent length of his cock, using the interior muscles of her still gently clasping vagina. It was an exquisitely sensual feeling for him… and for her. She did it several times.
Stan moaned, 'God! That feels good! Do it some more!'
She did.
Again, hot blood rushed into the almost flaccid tube of his prick, and it became alertly erect and ready.
'Do you want me to fuck you… again… Vivian…?' he asked, knowing that it was what he wanted, too.
'Oh, God… Yes, Stan, darling…! And… don't stop! Don't let it ever stop!' she moaned, as his mouth welded to hers.
… And, together, in the rapidly waning light of the late afternoon, they began, again to explore each other's bodies… to learn… to know… to give and to take, their pleasure coming to them in waves to their tinglingly sensual bodies… and they forgot… Each was married to someone else!
CHAPTER SIX
Thundering into the campsite on his motorcycle, Mickey Blackum killed the engine and rocked the vehicle onto its stand. He sat still in the saddle and stared around the circle of quiet faces. The three men sat, hunkered down on their heels, holding paper plates full of savory stew, from which they had been eating. Peeper Martin looked back at him, a half-insolent smile curling his lips. It was a knowing smile… and he would bide his time until the knowledge would work for him. Bill Wunder, the Wunder Boy smiled, broadly, his smooth, shiny face showing pinkly in the failing light. His hair was long, so blonde it was almost white, and he looked out through pale, blue eyes. He was boyish… almost feminine in appearance. It was a deceptive look. He was hard… tough… and virile.
Pluckily, Buck Sloan spoke up, 'We didn't know when you'd show Mickey… so we started eating… already!'
Terry was seated at the concrete camp table. She was already moving toward the stew pot on the fire to serve up a plate of stew for Mickey. They all knew that he was in a cold fury. Almost anything said or done, now, was liable to end in violence.
Getting off of his motorcycle, Mickey stalked toward the fire, only grunting an acknowledgement of Buck's explanation. Silently, he accepted the plate of food from Terry and sat down, opposite her, his back to the others. He began to wolf down the stew.
After a few bites he said, 'Peeper… how come you split off from the bunch… and came back to the village?'
Martin hadn't expected it. He was chewing a piece of meat, and his answer was low in coming. He shifted, uneasily, trying to swallow.
'God damn it… Peeper, I asked you a question?' Blackum grated, steel in his voice.
The other man gulped and sputtered, 'I just wanted to see what was keeping you… Thought maybe you got busted or something!'
'That's a lie! I saw you there! You were spying on me!' Mickey roared, whirling, quickly, and hurling the full plate of stew at Peeper Martin. It hit him square in the chest, spattering messily over his leather jacket.
'Christ!' Martin yelled, as he lost his balance and fell backward. He clawed at his boot top for the razor-sharp can-opener he carried there.
Mickey reached him before he could rise, a well-aimed kick of his steel-shod boot sending the weapon spinning out of Peeper's hand. His own switchblade was out, the long blade snicking out, dangerously. He menaced the fallen man, who was now holding his wrist and moaning in pain.
'Now… start laying it on me… you bastardly son-of-a-bitch!' he snarled.
'I–I wanted to find out… why you… w-wanted to stay in the village?'
'… And did you…?'
'Y-Yes… but I–I didn't mean… any… any harm…!'
'You spill your guts to anybody?' Mickey spat out.
'No! No! I swear…!'
'Make sure you don't…! Because if you do… I'll hang you to a tree by your balls! Understand?'
'Yes…!'
'… And do you know who leads this group…?'
'You…'
'Don't forget it… Peeper! Just don't forget it… even for a minute!' he threatened, then relaxed, as he went on, 'I ought to carve you up a little… but I'm not going to… yet! Your punishment's going to be clean-up… washing pots… doing laundry… and all that crap… understand?'
'That's Mama's work… God damn it!'
'… And, that's what you do!'
Martin was cowed. 'Okay… Okay… you win!'
The black-bearded leader stepped back and folded his switchblade knife. There was an audible relaxation of tension among the others, who had watched, fearfully, not knowing how far Mickey would go… how violent he might become.
Terry had no idea of what had caused the trouble between the two men. She knew better than to ask. If Mickey wanted her to know… he would tell her; otherwise, there was nothing for her to do except keep her mouth shut. She moved toward the fire to ladle up another plate of stew for Mickey.
As the now undisputed leader regained his seat, leaving Peeper Martin groveling on the ground, in the mess of the stew Mickey had flung at him, he barked out, 'Terry… let Peeper do that!'
Seething in his humiliation, Martin did the demeaning, servile task, spooning up a paper plate full of the food
