have too many more chances, because that Goddamn photo was going down the john as soon as she was free. Her own personal touch for the celebration.
His hand slid down her stomach as they kissed, and he got his fingers into her pussy. Caron opened her legs with a gasp, ready for another fuck, but he seemed interested only in using his fingers. Well, he did a damned good job with them. They slipped neatly into her slot and, three strokes later he had her juices flowing like a flyer. He tickled her clit, rubbed it round and round, pushed it like a button, then slid down a little lower and traced the puffy outline of her cuntal lips. They were fleshy with lust and dripping with passion. His fingers entered her again and she squirmed, moaning, “Yes, darling, yesssss.”
His lips moved off her mouth, centered on her chin, and she giggled, she stopped giggling as he continued down her body. He licked her nipples till she was twitching like a bitch in heat, and he sucked her slender stiff tits, his teeth gnawing gently onto the tanned flesh at the ends of her breasts. He sucked hard, and Caron groaned, her fingers pawing though his hair. “Drink me,” she whispered. “If I had milk, I’d give you milk, darling. I’d fill your mouth with it. I’d feed you like a baby. Oh, God! Wiggle your fingers again!”
He was only too happy to do just that, and her thighs snapped shut. His fist was large and hard between her thighs, and it exerted a heavy, consistent pressure against her pussy. She bucked furiously, loving every ounce of pressure he was giving her, and die juices kept oozing from her hole. His finger stabbed deeply up her twat, scooping out the juice.
Paul suckled her tits and hippies for a few more exciting moments, then kissed and licked his way down her belly. He rimmed her navel with his tongue. She was sensitive there. “Jesus!” she giggled, jolting as if she were being electrocuted.
His leech-like mouth slid the rest of the way down. He was into her bush, the thin hedge she kept trimmed at the edges so that unchic patches of pussy hair wouldn’t show around the sides of mini bikini pants, and his fingers popped out of her, making room for his tongue. And God, what a tongue! It went deep, snapped like a whip on her clitoris, went deep again, so fast she couldn’t keep up with him. Caron jerked and bucked and twitched, and her hand reached toward Paul, fingers eager to wrap themselves around his prick again.
“Come here, damn it!” she sighed, and he was agreeable. He couldn’t help being agreeable. She was jerking on his cock as if she really meant to jerk it off. As he came closer, she had a momentary flash of Lou’s portrait, the asinine face unchanged. Watch this, asshole! she told him mentally, and then she was leaning to meet Paul, her tongue stuck out in anticipation of touching the end of his dong.
He moved into her mouth and they started to sixty-nine on the floor. The carpeting was comfortable under them, like a fur bedspread, and she felt no muscle strains or aches as she began to suck Paul hungrily.
She swallowed hard and something more than half of Paul’s seven inch cock rammed into her mouth.
Paul raised his head. “You taste salty,” he said. “Like a mermaid.” He was licking his lips thoughtfully, and while he spoke, one of his fingers kept working in and out of Caron’s hole.
She unclamped his penis for a moment. “How many mermaids have you been going down on lately?” she asked. “Do you have a secret life I don’t know about?” Caron giggled then. “Hey, how can you go down on a mermaid in the first place? They have tails, like fish, instead of cunts.”
“Some do,” Paul nodded, “but most people don’t know that there are other mermaids who have fish bodies down to the waist and all the necessary working parts underneath. But it’s so much bother. If you want to fuck and kiss at the same time, you have to have two. I think it’s a little easier with a girl, so I believe I’ll keep you.”
“Thanks.” Caron chirped, humping up to kiss his face with her sopping pussy. “Fuck that,” she said. “French style. With your face.”
“Happily.” He bent in and started eating her again, this time even more ferociously than before. His teeth gnawed at her puffy, sopping snatch, and he sucked the juices from her. She groaned. He took eating literally, it seemed, and she couldn’t be happier. She leaned toward him, took his cock in her mouth, and began to suck again.
Caron raised her head again. “We’d better hurry,” she moaned. “Sheila may come back any time now.”
“Well,” Paul opined, “I guess we could always ask her to join us.”
“You’re awful!” Caron’s eyes widened. “How could you say such a thing? About my own sister!”
“You’re the one who worries about her social life,” Paul replied. “It seemed the natural solution. Anyway, she’s very attractive. And it’s not anywhere near dark yet.”
“Mmmm,” Caron purred, her hands busy on his thick root. “I think you’re just using me to get next to my sister. I ought to horsewhip you.”
“You don’t have a horse.”
“I have somebody who’s hung like one,” she snickered, pulling hard on his cock. Tie groaned, eyes rolling, and he lunged at her face. As he entered her receptive mouth she found herself thinking about what he’d said. About Sheila, that is. It sent little chills up her spine, but they weren’t nasty chills. She tried to picture Sheila, so prim and reserved and quiet, walking into the room while this was in progress. She tried to picture Sheila being invited to join in. Oh, my God, she thought, almost ready to laugh. Still, it would be nice if they were finished and dressed when Sheila got back from the cove, and if it was six o’clock now, the hour of Sheila’s return had to be drawing near. How long could anyone paint, after all? Caron worked her head from side to side. She didn’t really want to get caught by her sister.
Not that she had anything to hide, of course. Sheila knew how it was between Caron and Paul, that they were in love. Still, having Sheila know about it was one thing. Having her watch was something else. Caron’s only group experience had been that awful time on the beach, and she could never remember much of it. Thank God. No, one on one was perfectly line for Caron Archer and she had no intention of changing in that respect. So, in the interest of modesty…
“Make me come,” she moaned between mad slurps at Paul’s dick. “Suck me like you mean it.”
“Who says I don’t?” he growled into her twat, and he began to lick her in a style that made his previous cunnilingus look like pre-game warm-up.
His tongue was everywhere, and she was starting to go crazy. Her body jerked and jiggled and her leg went up, locking around his neck. She’d drown him in her musky twat.
She was too preoccupied with her own response to do a perfect job on his prick, but she could still do pretty well. Her tongue slithered up and down his hard male flesh and the strong, male taste of him was delicious. She licked and tongued and kissed and slurped, fluttering her tongue endlessly against the underside of his penile glans. Quivers shot through his root and she knew what those meant. Ah, she knew!
His lips seized her clit and he brought her into a sudden, wrenching orgasm that tested the resilience of every nerve in her body. She could only moan and wail and jerk on his prick, keeping her moaning lips pressed against his flesh. Her fingers worked him, due as much to the convulsion of her entire body as to any conscious desire to help him join his pleasure to hers. Cum began to spray from the end of his rod in glistening, high arcs that spattered down, onto Caron’s upturned, ecstatic face. She felt his sticky, creamy jizz running down her cheeks, streams of it pouring down on either side of her nose, into her open, fluttering mouth. Her tongue shot but and, as the pleasures of orgasm swept through Caron, she sought to drink as much as possible of the sweet viscous semen that was drenching her face.
His cock was still squirting. God, he must have been full of the stuff! Another spurt hit her on the eyelid. She tightened her fist on him, leaned close, stuffed him into her mouth.
He was almost finished by then, but she had the delicious pleasure of tasting the last gob that squirted from the end of his prick, felt it roll across her tongue, slide greasily down her throat, warm all the way to her belly. Releasing him, Caron lay back. She raised her hands, scooped up the cum which had only just begun to clot on her face, and she brought her wet sticky hands to her mouth where she licked them dry, licked until she could taste only her own flesh, and then she sighed. “And you wonder why I’m crazy about you!” she said with a lilt.
They rolled together, kissing, caressing, her tits hard and firm against his chest, his wet sticky peter limp as a noodle but so delightful to feel, bumping on her sleek smooth thigh. She reached down to stroke his well-used dick, and it felt small and delicate in her hand, like a precious little treasure. Hard to believe that only a few moments ago he had been erect and arrogant, feeding his tool into her mouth or her pussy with equal enthusiasm.
“How’d you like it?” she asked the portrait of Lou, and she scooped up a stray bubble of cum from the end of Paul’s dong. Laughing, Caron smeared the sticky gob down the front of the glossy photograph. “That’s what a man tastes like, in case you’re interested. Asshole!” And she pushed the picture over. “I am really looking forward to getting rid of that,” she told Paul. “I think I’ll piss before I flush it down. Would that be appropriate?”
