"I want it!" gasped Abby, lifting her head.
"No," said Cheryl. "You take the mouth. I want the prick.”
"No way, I-”
Both heads went to Harold's lap. Two hands struggled for possession of his slippery, red and throbbing cock. He squeaked in extreme pleasure. He'd lost Abby's breast and he dove for something to replace it. His hand slid between Abby's legs and he inadvertently solved the problem with that action. As his hand dug into Abby's cunt through her beige pants he struck her clit and froze on it, riding his fingers.
"Great God, I see the light!" cried Abby.
She had to give up the struggle for his prick. She had to hump her loins on that commanding hand and lock her thighs.
"Yee,yeee, ruf, ruf," she went. It was her sex bark of orgasm. For Abby kinky sex was the world's greatest turn-on and this episode in Harold's car, alternately sucking his prick with her good friend when they hardly knew the guy, blew the top of her sex thermometer. She'd risen like a jet on takeoff, thrilling and glowing until her belly felt like a white-hot container of high test explosive. She felt singing good all over and halloed out her orgasmic, bitch cries of completion.
"Is she-sick-did I hurt her?" asked Harold, still drilling his hand on her cunt as he felt it pulsate and throb.
"You fucked her off-pretty good for a virgin. Now you have to lose your manhood, youngster.”
Cheryl plunged her mouth back on Harold's cock to suck him lusciously and make him lift right off the car seat.
"Great heh-heh-Heavens," he said in a soft, strangled voice. His belly locked and his butt tensed. He plucked futilely at Cheryl's head.
"It's-I'm going to cum," he warned her. "Better re-ohhhhh-your head.”
It had not occurred to him that he was supposed to spend in her mouth, thought Cheryl with delight. She ignored his friendly warnings and sucked harder. The boy actually died temporarily of joy.
"I-wooo, I-woooo," he cried, lifting his head and releasing hot darts of wet spunk in Cheryl's mouth.
"You woo good," quipped Abby, just coming out of her full orgasm. "Ask me tomorrow and I'll tell you the same, you crumb. You gave all your goodies to her.”
Harold barely heard what she said. He strained and grunted, feeling deliciously helpless as his cock expressed itself with flowing, full ejaculations right into the mouth of the beautiful blonde. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the girl's soft throat move. She actually drank down the delicious spill from his guts and it was the most glorious feeling he'd ever had. How he'd struggled to lose his virginity and, by a miracle, he was stripped by it by not one but two gorgeous girls without any effort on his part. For the first time since coming to Brighton his heart swelled with happiness as his spend tapered and his cock felt creamed with glowing after-feeling. The girls' saliva stung a little and he treasured that exotic feel on his prick.
"I certainly want to thank you for all this. I truly do," he said, sinking back in splendor.
Cheryl was done. She didn't want to risk an orgasm at this point only to meet her usual hang-up.
"Don't thank us," said she. "Just go get Salt for us.”
"The wooden figurine the Sigs stole from the Delta," said Abby, finally detaching his fingers from her crotch.
“That Spider got from Tom Talbot and passed on to you," added Cheryl.
"You mean the Doris Miller?" he asked. "Why, that's only a cheap nothing." He felt a little disappointed now that he saw their motive for this glorious meeting, but those who begged seldom chose.
Cheryl remembered the name scratched on the wood. "Give us the Doris Miller," she said. "Now, tonight, at once.”
"But I gave that to my patron, Mrs. Foster, at lunch today," he said.
He went on to explain that Professor Foster's wife was the Art Consciousness of Brighton. Her project this year was to create a display of all the artists who had ever attended Brighton as students, teachers or visiting experts. She especially wanted the Doris Millers.
"Pretty worthless stuff, actually," he told them. "But there's a lot of it, to fill out the collection. And who knows. Art tastes change. Someday the Millers might be worth something,”
He babbled on, apologetic that he couldn't help them. They mustn't blame Spider for passing it along to him. Spider worked in the Chem Lab for Lisbeth's husband and he could hardly refuse to turn it over, when Harold recognized it in Spider's room.
Cheryl closed her eyes and struck her forehead with the back of her fist. Stuck again! And Spider, the rat, had strung her out.
Abby said: "So much for hooching male milk and asking questions later.”
Harold squirmed in embarrassment. "If I could give back the-the-”
"The yorp?" suggested Abby.
"-I'd do it," he breathed. "I'm so sorry… "
It was time to quit-or get fanatic. Cheryl was no quitter. "So we head for the Foster's, right now.”
“Now?" groaned Abby.
"It's only nine, nine-thirty. Dig out your car keys, Harold,”
"I'm to cum?" asked Harold.
"You've gushed once; you might as well gush again," said Cheryl through gritted teeth.
They dropped off Abby who insisted that she had to make an important money call to Chicago. The timing was essential…
Mr. John Wallace was a male version of his daughter. Tall, blonde, and well-built. Older, of course. Abby wore black, sexy pantyhose and her last miniskirt. You seldom saw minis any more, but she knew the older generation of men retained a lingering likeness for same. Tonight she thought it would be wise to butter up Cheryl's father in this late night visit to his motel suite.
He blinked a little and that was good. Then he frowned and that was bad. On the whole it was bad, because he opened a cheap bottle of wine with a grave expression and she knew how to read those signals.
He waved her to a chair and she sat, giving him a lot of leg and. thigh. The living room of his suite, atop the premium local motel, was as big as the Delts’ dining room, and John Wallace looked as if he belonged here, sort of rich and important appearing. She swallowed.
He poured himself a glass of wine first, and that was bad.
"Well, Abby. Since August," he said.
"Long time no see," she responded nervously.
He poured her wine and moved over to sit down in a chair opposite her.
"I've decided to go after the Gypsy hard, Abby. I have to.”
"The company?" Her hand was cold when it touched his as she took her glass.
He nodded. "They knew I'd given it to a woman I had a leech for. It's a pattern in the jewelry trade. But with my reputation, they didn't suspect it was the daughter of an old friend and a best customer." His eyes looked tortured.
"So you didn't use the story that my tough boyfriend, Alien stole it.”
"Hell, no! They'd spot that in a second. I only told that story to Cheryl.”
"That's good, Mr. Wallace. I hated to blame Alien for something he didn't do.”
"They played my game with a hook. They suspended me. They gave me a deadline. It works when a woman's involved. She usually cares enough for the man to return it. They can always fall back on the criminal prosecution.”
She giggled. "You sure were drunk that night.”
"Dead drunk and a damned fool!”
"Wheeling up to my folks' house, finding them gone, finding only the young daughter half-dressed and zonked in grief over losing her boyfriend. You had 'fuck' written all over your face, Mr. Wallace, But I didn't care that night.”
She couldn't help being hostile. He'd used her body, hadn't he? More than once that night.
"Abby, I still can't believe I gave it to you.”
"You gave it to me. You practically shoved it down my throat. And how we romped before you passed out, Mr. Wallace. No young guy ever shoved his advocate into my body so deep or so often.”
She felt angry but a little tickled, too. The lust of a man to fuck his best friend's sexy, young daughter was kinky enough to be a turn on.