back through his lips she felt spaces where some of his teeth were missing.
The Pope began to pant with a mixture of excitement and shortness of breath through his efforts. His heart was pounding unhealthily. But his penis was as stiff as a ramrod.
In a very short time his hands, which had savagely ravished her body, lingered over her most intimate parts with a dalliance which betrayed his utter sensuality, became insufficient instruments for his lustful satisfaction.
With each fistful of flesh he clenched-but-tucks, breasts, belly, her vaginal lips, his hands showed a wild catholicity-his hips strained up under the sheets and his penis pulsated like barrels of heated gunpowder.
With a shock, sudden and overwhelming as if cold water had been poured on his loins, the Pope felt Lucrezia's cool hands slip under the sheets and enclose the burning heat of his prick in their soothing balm. He shuddered from head to toes.
Her fingers soothed and caressed with what he would have remarked as practiced excellence had he not been so immersed in his own feelings and satisfaction. Then, gently, they began to rub up and down the stiff, brittle-seeming stem of flesh.
The Pope's lips moved the way they did when he prayed.
“For God's sake get into bed!” he managed to utter at last.
Lucrezia quickly slipped under the sheets, with his clawing hands helping her in.
His body was cold against hers-the body of an old bloodless man-an astonishing contrast overall with the heat of his penis, the one part of him truly alive.
She pressed the warm overflow of her flesh against the chilly skinniness, warming him, exciting him so that his hands jumped over her body, unable to keep still on her.
Innocent's lips shivered an accompaniment to his quivering body. He had seldom come across such a completely rounded, filled-out delight of womanliness and his hands could hardly take sufficient fill.
He squirmed as her hand moved off his penis, running down it, skimming over its base and teasing his testicles and the growing nucleus of heat between his old thighs.
Lucrezia, too, was squirming with delight as his fingers brushed her vagina and pierced into its moist outskirts. She rolled over on top of him, infusing his body with her soft warmth. She pressed down on him and rubbed her hips voluptuously against his prick which she felt rolling like a length of doughy bread between them, a length of hot, newly-baked bread.
His skinny old arms encircled her, pulling her at him, his hips pressed up against her, indenting her slight, sensual superfluity of flesh.
Gently, for several minutes they pressed together, with his hands holding her buttocks, his lips sucking her open mouth. And then she wriggled up a little on him until his prick waved wildly between her slightly opened thighs, cleaving up so that she could feel its upper side against her labia and against her buttocks.
She broke from his ardent kissing and levered herself toward an upright position, sitting across his loins, one thigh on either side of his body. She caught his rod in her hand, gave it a last squeeze, knelt up and placed it against the open mouth of her vagina.
The Pope raised his head from its horizontal position and let his eyes augment the pleasure of his bodily senses.
He watched her hold his penis toward her poised aperture, lower herself gently and then flop down on it with a gasp of pent-up breath. Immediately he felt an abandonment of his soul; it rushed down through his body to the head of his penis which was caught in the powerful contractions of her channel. It made the rest of his body, his mind, seem so much putty, so much lifeless clay. It was only down there at that one slim tube of living flesh that there was any reason for existence. The rest of him could have died if only that would go on living forever and ever amen, living and feeling, being squeezed in her slim channel which descended and rose on it, tightly, firmly, wetly, deliciously, forever and ever so that his lips began to mutter feverish, delirious obscenities.
Lucrezia plunged down on that stiff pike, feeling it tear up inside her as if a pikesman had made a fierce homeward thrust. Her breasts jumped with her plunges, her thighs sank lower and lower, her knees slithered farther away from his body on either side until the whole of her crotch was pressed against and around the base of his organ and the staff itself was totally contained inside her juicy tunnel.
From time to time she opened her closed eyes or brushed the hair from her face. Then she would see the Pope lying back, only his hips tensed, moving up at her in slight undulations as she descended. She would see his lips moving and his white strained face. And through her own stimulation which wetly inflamed her trounced passage she had the double satisfaction of knowing that things were going according to plan.
The Pope, too, opened his eyes ever so often and fixed her with his gaze. Then-and it took very little acting on her part-she would screw up her beautiful face in passion, to excite him, mutter obscenities herself and let her hair swing forward over her face in abandonment.
His body began to writhe and twist as his penis sank deeper and deeper into her moist, hot body. It was frail and bony and covered now with a thin film of perspiration.
He could feel the pounding of his heart. It seemed to fill his ears and his whole body. He was panting wildly, but having difficulty in breathing. But these discomforts seemed to add rather than detract from the pure exquisite quality of his sensation. The physical torture of his body whipped up his senses to a fine point of receptivity.
Through half-closed eyes he watched her full breasts leap and sway in their smooth, glossy skin; he felt her thighs warmly press into his loins as she came down, impaling herself on the rod which had impaled so many times before her and which, in spite of the Pope's weakness was still in a state of perfect workability — the only part of him which functioned as always.
He was getting more and more excited. A thrumming in his loins joined with a thrumming in his chest and ears.
Lucrezia pressed harder and harder on him, giving him no respite, drawing herself right up above him, so that only the knob of his organ remained nestled in the warm pink portals of her sex and then crashing down again so that she felt that spear of flesh soar up inside her with a movement which made her stomach turn over. At the end of the downward stroke she ground her crotch and buttocks against him, squirming on him for a few seconds until gasps burst from his lips.
Occasionally his hands twitched out to her and managed to grasp and feebly squeeze her thighs or even reach to her breasts.
So furious was her youthful onslaught that she began to feel the excitement of culmination and forced herself to slow down the pace so as not to lose any ferocity of attack until Innocent was ready to come himself.
The Pope was no longer chill. His whole frame was flushed with a pink heat which was a frame between his legs. His prick felt bloated, aching and growing up to an ecstatic bursting point. His thighs and back ached with the upward pressure he'd continuously exerted at Lucrezia's bobbing crotch.. The drumming in his ears was almost unbearable. He was trying desperately to force the explosion at his prick before there was an explosion in his head or in his chest.
His breathing had become a pitiful consumptive whine but Lucrezia showed no mercy at his tortured, pathetic state.
Innocent opened his eyes. In his aching head he suddenly felt a power of great emotion. She was beautiful, so beautiful and innocent and trying to do right. He would keep her after this day; he would keep her and look after her and any future intercourse she had would be with him and then she'd be able to enjoy it because she could tell herself always that it was purifying her, giving her a holy outlet for desires which would, of course, continue to beset her.
In that moment Innocent felt that he loved the child with the woman's body. He wanted to reach out and hold her to him, but he no longer had the strength and he had already closed his eyes and become acutely conscious once again of his prick which seemed to be swelling in her so that it seemed it might never come out again.
He writhed his loins against her. The desire to come was intolerable and yet he couldn't quite seem to manage it. It would happen, but his head felt as if it was splitting and his chest was constricted and he hoped it would hurry.
Feebly he tensed his thighs, felt a twinge of cramp and relaxed them again. He pressed his abdomen against her descending nether parts. He opened his eyes again and fixed her with a gaze which did not take her in clearly.
Lucrezia sensed from his writhing, his agonized expression, his gasps and groans that the end was
