feelings, she was totally unaware of the bliss charging through Al Bombannente.
“Christamighty!” he bellowed. “Heeeeeeere it commmmmes… aaaannnnnggggghhhhh… hhhhaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh… aaannnnnggggghhhhhaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhaaaaauuuuuwwwww aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhaaaaaggghhh!” He was there, all right. Thick jets of heavy white sauce began spurting from the hole in the tip of his throbbing cock, shooting relentlessly, continually into the beautiful woman’s wide-open, definitely receptive throat.
At the first blast of the hot semen, Rona was momentarily shocked from her own state of torpor, but a moment later she realized the heavily gushing sperm shooting down her throat merely enhanced the feelings for her, and she swallowed hungrily, needily, gulping, drinking, anxious for more as the rich effluvium of the semen filled her nostrils. Wave after wave of sperm fed her gullet, and she drank unendingly, feeling herself slowly becoming aroused all over again. By the time she was finished and his penis had half-shrunk, she was on fire with need, all over again.
Her head began bobbling on his limp cock, sucking hungrily, and the power of her jaws eventually raised a new erection. But this time Al threw the woman on her back and pushed his penis into her tight cunt, not sparing her virginity, thrilling to her screams as her hymen snapped, while at the same time she began a string of unbroken climaxes that lasted ten minutes—until he came once more.
CHAPTER SIX
Like Ella Montefusco and so many women who had traveled “the same road before her”, Rona Everson became a model parolee. Once a week she visited Al Bombannente in the privacy of his small office and always begged for the privilege of blowing him. After locking the door to his office, Al always complied. Here, in the office, when he came, he had to be silent about it. Luckily Rona always came too, and her gullet was so filled with his cock, her muffled gasps were never heard beyond the room.
Rona Everson not only abandoned her previous habit of helping dope addicts by either giving the dope away or selling it to them at cost, but threw herself into her new role of rehabilitator. She went to work for one of the small clinics that helped those addicted to dope who wanted to break the habit. She used her vagina and her mouth to truly telling effect, and men who had been incapable of potency because of the drug habit, became aroused because of the different sexy ways Rona did things. Not only that, but she made sex so thrillingly enjoyable for them, she was actually able to get more than ninety percent of the men she worked with to stay away from heroin. Considering the normal rate of addicts truly rehabilitated throughout the country was less than five percent, Rona was achieving remarkable success.
When she confided what she was doing, to Al, he told her, “I’m not supposed to hear any of this, so I’m going to forget you’ve told it to me. Just be careful, honey. Unfortunately, the law frowns on such behavior, no matter how good it is, and no matter how much good it does. Just be discreet and pick your addicts with great care.”
“Mmmmmmm!” Rona nodded, her mouth crammed full of his cock.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Al Bombannente wasn’t the only parole officer who rated sex high on his list of cures for parolee ills. Judy Borgen, one of the female officers who worked in the same office as Al, also believed in it. Though she wasn’t the kind who was able to swing bi-sexually, she often worked out an arrangement whereby some of her male parolees and some of her female parolees took out their frustrations on one another. The only thing she insisted on was being there to make sure the male didn’t harm the female in any way, or vice-versa.
Judy was a short girl, well-built, endowed with a pretty face, a charming disposition, and an innate knowledge of people. She had short, curly brown hair, bright, glistening eyes which she hid behind dark glasses so no one was able to see the veiled lust in them, a small nose, a full pair of lips, and a long, slender neck.
At the present time she was trying to rehabilitate one Albert Karnstein, a short, weasel-faced man with a long nose, curly black hair which he kept long enough to cover his stuck-out ears, and a small Hitler mustache which he thought would make his nose look smaller. Bert, as he was known non-affectionately by everyone who came into contact with him, was a three-time loser, and this was his last chance. If he went back in the next time, it would be for good. The only trouble was, Judy was unable to get this across to the five-foot-five-inch megalomaniac.
Although Judy had not used her sex treatment on Bert yet, she decided, as a last resort, if this didn’t bring the man around, nothing would. It went without saying that the thought of such a slimy, pimple-faced weasel putting his hands on her was something she would never tolerate. However, she did have one girl who had just come under her control, and the girl, who was plain, though not unattractive, needed reassurance.
Ann Mason had only one boy friend in her entire life, and he had proven his affection for her by leaving her with some stolen money when the police came looking for him. The police knew the money was in her possession, she was booked as an accessory.
Ann had served two years, and when she came out, her hair had started turning white. She was still slightly overweight, though she had lost a considerable amount of weight inside. Her breasts were soft and lumpy, yet they somehow managed to hold up, and by some miracle her waistline had pinched in, even if her belly was slightly rounded.
Bert Karnstein had never had a woman. Granted, he had always thought of himself as something super- special, megalomania running rampant in his entire family, but hard as he had tried to get a woman, he had been unsuccessful in his short span of thirty years. Considering that he had spent ten of those years in different prisons, it was not too surprising. He had committed three robberies, had been caught each time, and had gone to prison each time. The first time he had served a year of a three year sentence. The second time he had served three years of a seven year sentence, and the third time he had served six years of a fifteen year sentence. However the parole board never seemed to learn, and Bert was back on the streets again, out on parole, this time assigned to Judy Borgen. Judy Borgen was almost certain rehabilitation with this man was futile, but she was going to give it one last try.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bert didn’t know what to expect when he followed Judy Borgen into the run-down apartment building. His mind was on the trim, luscious form of the twenty-eight-year-old parole officer, and he would have given anything if she had let him bang her. Hell! Maybe that was why she had brought him here. He was always the supreme egomaniac, certain that one day he would meet a female who would see in him all the things he saw in himself.
When Judy pushed open the door to apartment 3C, what Bert saw was something beyond what he had expected. This was the apartment in which Ann Mason now lived.
The apartment, though small, was considerably larger than the one-room dump where he was presently flopping. It had a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom with a single gigantic king-sized bed in the middle of the room, looking like an enormous playground. The room itself was painted a garish purple, and there were red, blue, and purple light bulbs in unshaded lamps all over the room.
What really made Bert’s eyes pop was the white-haired woman, obviously not much older than himself, in the middle of the bed. She was bare-assed naked, and she was rhythmically pumping a thick, gleaming white cylinder in and out of the still brown-haired V between her slackly splayed thighs. She was pumping it in and out in time to a tune she was humming.
The steam radiator in the corner was hissing, making the room feel like an oven. Bert took off his black leather jacket, revealing his cheap blue shirt and black pants underneath. Judy also removed her coat, and she was clad in a gray-green dress with long sleeves and a matching jacket. The psychedelic colors in the room made Ann
