He leaned back and his rampant cock eased from her, glistening with the coated mixture of their juices. It was a stiff, thrust-out cock, and the sunlight gleamed upon it, made the creamy cum-gobs look like silver decorations. Caron turned over, sighing and purring. She worked her thighs together. Cum was beginning, to leak from her pussy. She licked her lips as she stared at Paul’s hard dong, and then she sat up, fisting him eagerly. “Let’s,” she said. “Oh, let’s!”
CHAPTER TWO
“Want a beer?” Caron asked as they entered the house through the glass doors that opened onto the patio. “I have some beer in the fridge.” She leaned against the door frame, her tits out thrust, thighs close together. The sticky cunt was oozing down her legs and it felt good. She dropped her bikini and robe onto the floor, closed her eyes dreamily, then reached down and began to stroke herself. There was sand on her fingers and it felt raspy, but not unpleasant against the tingling tender lips of her snatch. She could smell sex. It was a stronger aroma than the salty tang of the sea.
Paul dropped his own clothes onto the floor and moved toward her. The sticky-moist tip of his dick bumped her belly, halfway between bellybutton and pubic hedge. She looked up. His face was flushed and he was breathing very hard. She didn’t have to ask again. Beer was the last thing on his mind. She locked one of her hands with one of his. She kissed him, and they sidestepped the rest of the way into the house, their bare sandy toes sinking into the deep pile carpeting. “I want you again, Mrs. Archer,” he said, lips humming vibrantly against Caron’s.
“Don’t call me Mrs. Archer,” she said, leaning back and making a fist with her free hand. She raised it menacingly before his face.
“What shall I call you, then?”
Caron laughed slyly. “You can call me a cocksucker, if you want to,” she announced, and by then they were in the den and she was gilding gently to the floor, relaxing onto her knees.
His cock thrust out before her face, but not for long. Caron started to lick him from nuts to tip with long gliding stokes of a practiced, delighted tongue. She felt his prick shiver in her fingers. She kissed him with deep, satisfied smacks, then tell to licking again. Her tongue was agile and clever. Everyplace she licked him was the right place, for that particular moment, for that particular effect. She was quite satisfied with herself. Slowly, she drew her head back, then came down, lips slightly parted. The head of his prick eased between her lips, past her teeth, and she began to suck with soft, gentle pulls. The taste of his cum, and of hers was strong on Paul Drake’s dick, and she lapped it lovingly, relishing the taste. No wonder he loved to get his tongue into her cunt, she thought, no wonder if she had such a sweet tangy taste! And who could blame her for loving the moment when his cock exploded in her mouth and she was full, totally full, of his rich, tart sperm?
As she sucked, Caron tried to remember the first time she’d ever eaten a cock. In college. Yes. Not long before she lost her virginity. Christ! What a memory! It was all coming back, clear as crystal. Some boy she’d been dating, someone horny for her body, someone she had been hesitant about surrendering to. “You could suck it,” he’d suggested. “I mean, if you won’t do anything else, the least you could do is blow me.” Slurping on Paul’s cock, Caron giggled mentally. The boy had ejaculated in her mouth after promising he wouldn’t, and it had been the foulest, most disgusting thing that had ever happened to her. She’d resolved the same night to go ahead and give up her cherry, because fucking couldn’t be half, as sickening as that!
She’d never really enjoyed it, not till the last year or two. Lou had only talked her into it a few times, and she’d never allowed him to go all the way in her mouth. Same with most of the other men she’d been with. Barring, of course, the ones during her year of bar hopping. She couldn’t remember what had happened some of those nights. She’d probably eaten her share of jism and lost the memory in some boozy haze. It was something she’d never have done sober. And then there was a guy named Ken, her last real fling before Paul, and one night they’d both been mellow on wine and grass, and somehow it just happened. One moment she was sitting there toking a reefer and feeling groovy, and the next moment she was lying across the couch with her head in Ken’s lap and his prick in her mouth. Toking a different kind of joint, she thought at the time. He came in her mouth and it didn’t taste bad at all. Before they broke up, she’d turned into some kind of cocksucker. One who really loved her work. And right now it was paying off, with Paul’s hard penis in her mouth, slipping deeper with each breath she took, gliding across the velvety carpet of her tongue, making for the upper part of her throat. No problem. She could take him that deeply. Seven inches of rod in her mouth looked like an amazing feat, but it wasn’t so difficult.
She and Ken had gone up into Delaware and caught a drive-in showing of DEEP THROAT, giggling in the darkness and playing with one another. It was the first and only porno film Caron had ever seen. Linda Lovelace had been inspiring, and with a little help from Ken, Caron had begun to catch on. Surprisingly enough, or not so surprisingly, Alfred, her gay store manager, was also a lot of help. He was a faggot, cocksucking was his game. He shared a few of his pointers with his boss. She’d even gone down on him a couple of times, both of them giggling like schoolchildren playing doctor. All in the interest of education, of course.
She took a little more of Paul into her mouth and she sucked, wolfishly, giving him a joy ride with tongue and lips and cheeks, bathing him in her frothy, fluid saliva, welcoming him home with every talent and ingenuity she had to offer.
She sucked a little harder, a, little, more passionately, as he slipped into her, and his hands came up onto her head, steering her. She didn’t need guidance. There was something especially sweet and precious about his cock. God knew she loved to eat him! And if he spurted thick hot cum into her mouth—so much the better! In fact, she’d have sucked him to orgasm right now, drunk gladly every spurting gush of his jizz, if her pussy hadn’t been aching for a special kind of attention too, itching and aching and driving her almost crazy with desire. Not even the fuck on the beach had satisfied her. She’d known as dearly as Paul that it was only round one.
But she wanted to suck, too. Why couldn’t a man have two cocks? One to put in his darling’s pussy, the other for her to suckle contentedly. That way she could enjoy the best of all possible worlds, enjoy it fully and completely every time she made love. Neither of her, holes would feel the gnawing pang of neglect and emptiness.
Caron sidled a little closer, moving till her pussy lay atop of Paul’s foot. She stroked his leg, pawed and petted him until his toes began to wiggle and, when they did, one of them began to brush back and forth over the itchy lips of her cleft. She made a deep satisfied purr around his pecker, rearranged herself a little more, then moaned throatily as his big toe worked its way into her twat. Caron flexed her thighs to increase the cuntal pressure around his toe, and she sucked faster and harder.
He moved his foot, pushed deep with his toe, and she almost bit him. Giggling, she released his cock. “There’s a better way to do this,” Paul pointed out, and he did the toe number again. Caron lay back, sighing, her hands folded beneath her heaving tits. The nipples were red and stiff, long enough to hang flags from, and her fingers stole up to touch and tease them with wicked knowing caresses. Paul sank to his knees beside her on the thick carpeting, and his hands came down on her tits, kneading and massaging. “That feels good,” she purred, “don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”
“I’ll have to stop,” he replied, “because I have something a lot better in mind. If it’s okay with you, Mrs. Archer.”
“Wait a mm,” she said, hopping up. She ran across the room, opened a cabinet drawer, came back with a framed 8 by 10 color photo in her hand. “I think he deserves a chance to watch,” she said, setting the picture upright on the floor.
“My God,” Paul said. “How can I keep, a hard-on with your husband staring at us?”
“Look at the man,” she said. “Can you honest to God imagine me married to him? Thinking he was a real catch?”
Paul laughed. There was something owlishly solemn about Lou’s face in the photo. The crooked tooth showed, for he was trying to smile, and the thinness of his hair, the pastiness of his complexion, were obvious. “That is what I’m replacing,” Paul said, and he shook his head.
“C’mere,” Caron husked, “and show off a little for him. I only wish he was sitting there instead of his fucking picture.” She slinked her arm around Paul’s neck and kissed him as fervently as she’d sucked his dick. His tongue shot into her mouth and she sucked it, too, and then he repaid the favor. They settled onto the carpet, not two feet from the glossy photo of the late Lou Archer, and Caron wondered why she had not bothered to do this a long time ago. There was a delightful, heady sense of independence in making love in front of Lou’s picture. And she wouldn’t
