She felt Michael shudder with pleasure at this exquisite torment. Carefully, Shirley repeated the caress; now keeping the tip of her finger softly on the tiny piss-hole and working it teasingly over and over the tender spot.
She showed no sign of stopping and Michael was being driven almost insane by this sweetly agonising petting. He could also feel, furthermore, Shirley's other hand reaching across and taking the lower half of his cock loosely between the fingers.
They lazily encircled his raging tool, forming an “O” around the thick stem and frigging slowly up and down his length.
Almost unwittingly, Michael slipped his finger between the wet folds of Shirley's cunt-lips and let it sink to its hilt. The hot, clinging meatiness of her cunt stuck urgently around the digit; she felt so tight, so very tight! Michael thought. Experimentally, he twisted the finger slightly. The plump inner flesh yielded immediately to his gentle thrust — letting him move it about in whichever direction he chose.
His thumb, which had been resting on the very hard bone above Shirley's quim, now edged a half inch downwards. It slipped into the open lips, found the girl's distended clitoris, and began to fondle the gristly protuberance.
At once, Shirley's cunt grew wetter and he realised that he had started a preliminary flow of love-juice. The fluid bathed his fingers in sticky warmth, helplessly seeping from the girl's well-provoked quim.
Michael held the finger steady, waiting until Shirley had spent herself. When he judged that she was over her first orgasm, he allowed her breast to escape the tight hold of his teeth. The fiercely-sucked globe now had a circular weal running around it, making a second aureole where Michael's teeth had done their work. Shirley's breast bobbed sexily as he released it, swaying for a moment or two on the girl's chest — the nipple incredibly large and swollen.
Shirley opened her eyes, fingers still playing tormentingly with his prick.
“Fuck me!” she urged him hoarsely. “Oh, darling, fuck me now! Please!”
He pulled his finger slowly out of her cunt. But before moving it completely away, Michael let it stray deliciously up over the girl's clitoris, giving the sensitive organ a final caress.
Then he rolled his body on top of hers, maneouvering his hands beneath Shirley's bottom and gripping the cheeks tightly. She steered his cock to the lips of her quim; cursed as she had difficulty guiding it into her hole — then gave a heartfelt sigh of relief and pleasure as Michael's prick sank deliriously to its hilt, cramming its horny way up the tight, liquid passageway.
She brought her hands free and he felt her fingers on his back, moving urgently up and down, nails digging frantically into the base of his spine. As his cock began its fierce, thrusting drive in and out of Shirley's cunt, Michael opened the cheeks of the girl's bottom and inserted his forefinger rudely into her rear hole.
She flinched and her haunches stiffened momentarily. But as Michael's finger wormed past the first tightness, the girl relaxed and bravely kept her buttocks supple and loose.
The sleek shanks lifted as Shirley arched her body to make him penetrate her more deeply. Michael could feel the silky rustling of her stockings as she wound her legs around him — and he thrust himself forward and into her willing hole with renewed lust.
Shirley fastened her teeth on his ear-lobe and alternately chewed it and darted her tongue sexily into the tiny, sensitive crevice. Michael's prick seemed to be spurring the girl on to previously unattempted love ploys: she squirmed like a bitch in heat, lunging her crotch upwards with as much force as she could muster.
Her fingers again found his arsehole, played briefly around the nut, then impertinently thrust the sharp- taloned forefinger once more into his orifice — frigging him as if she were wiggling her finger into her own quim…
Together, the man and the girl fondled their respective arses and fucked with demanding, powerful strokes on the bed. Once — and once only — their eyes met and exchanged a brief look of mutual understanding. Then they glanced away again, moving into their private worlds of sexual reverie.
Much too quickly, Michael felt his orgasm welling up. He tried desperately to hold the imminent spunk back, but Shirley was goading him into a state of terrible, overpowering voluptuousness and her loins meshed so frantically against his that to delay the outpouring for more than a few moments proved impossible.
His eyes glazed helplessly, his entire body thirsted for the release that only a violent climax could bring him.
With a roar of mingled rage and passion, Michael gave himself up to the cosmic forces which flooded his being. He thundered his spunk with every atom of his strength into Shirley's cunt: sending his seed in a mighty, single gushing up the deep, tight passage of the girl's vulva.
She came at almost the same instant — locking her body to his and making them one creature, a two backed beast of creaming, spunking lust… straining herself in every muscle, every nerve, to throb out her orgasm in rhythm with her partner…
Michael had been driving the car automatically, his mind reliving in painful detail his final night with Shirley. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, bring them back to the present.
But the too-recent memory of the recriminations and abuse which had followed their last sexing haunted him persistently. There was no way in which he could understand what had triggered it off. Probably Shirley herself didn't know. Perhaps it was simply a slow culmination of small, trivial details. Anyway, the actual cause wasn't important.
What mattered, ultimately, was the fact that she had rejected him. Had seen through his inadequately assumed role of attentive lover and ordered him out of her life. Would the pattern be repeated? That was the question which worried Michel intensely.
Could it be that he was totally incapable of giving and receiving love? That he used people — seeing in them nothing more than extensions of his own desires?
He slowed the car again and turned left down the secondary road which led to Farnham. After leaving Shirley's, he had spent the night in a hotel and then gone straight to the office. Jean would probably be waiting for him with that sad, pleading expression on her face; but he knew that she would never voice the fears which it concealed.
That wasn't done, old boy! Hardly the right thing to do, to bring delicate matters like that out into the open, is it? Simply not cricket!
Just what he was trying to do to her, Michael refused to contemplate. Possibly drive her away, though he knew she would never take the initiative and leave him. Not for the first time, he felt himself to be caught inextricably in a web of uncertainty; a maze of confusing and conflicting desires seemed to envelop him, leaving him empty and unable to take decisions.
Through the mood he managed to cling to the one idealistic wish which seemed to possess some substance: the fierce longing to break right away from the existence in which he was trapped and do all the things he had yearned for as a young man. Burst out of his enervating shell and live — for the first time in his life.
Michael was now entering his home town of Farnham. The rows of neat, semi-detached houses seemed to stretch to infinity; extending as far as the eye could see, only broken by a scattering of small shops and the occasional church.
He turned down Princes Road and parked the car outside his house. The spring evening was warm and pleasant. Elm trees planted at regular intervals on the sidewalk were beginning to burst into leaf, the grass from newly-mown gardens smelled sweet and fresh.
Michael paused for a moment after locking his car and stood on the pavement looking down the hill. From this vantage point he could see not only the town but the surrounding countryside. It looked rich and verdant in the slowly setting sun, a mixture of browns and greens which faded to the horizon in an even, regular pattern.
Everything was so peaceful, so well-planned, he thought. And it was easy to allow yourself to become a part of the landscape; to abandon the impossible dreams which haunted you and grow as unchanging and neatly ordered as your environment.
That was what happened to nearly everyone, he realised. The temptation to settle down in a comfortable rut was very strong. It absolved you from doing anything but ensuring that your routine was not interrupted. All you had to do was be competent at your work, polite to your neighbours, disguise your real feelings, attend the local functions — and lose your true identity in a regular, uninterrupted ritual of trivial, mind-consuming activities.
Michael straightened his shoulders and pushed the gate open. He walked up the path slowly, hearing his
