All the while he was slowly spreading his legs, forcing her arms out as they gripped his ankles, and straining apart her knees where they rested precariously and a bit painfully on the edge of the dressing-table.
"You want it, Daisy Mae?" he asked, and in the mirror she looked at the spectacle of herself and nodded. "You got it, fucker!" he hissed and, taking her strongly by the ankles, lifted her up and settled her down so that his big black prick was notched into her crying cunt. He brought her feet behind her and crossed her ankles on his belly, this position forcing her knees wide. He opened his own knees flatly, bending them and bringing his ankles a little closer together so that his gray soles almost faced each other a couple of feet apart. One fist thumped her in the small of the back so that she caved in, and then he was easing her down onto his prick until she was firmly ensconced, leaving his hands free then to tickle the wrinkled wet bottom cleft of her engorged cunt, and electrically spark the mercilessly exposed protruding ring of her rearward hole.
"Pump, blonde bitch, let me see you fuck yourself on this black man's totem pole," she heard him say, dimly through the rushing blood that suffused her ears. In the mirror she could clearly see the length of his purple-black lance as it fed itself into the gold-clustered glistening pink lips that centered the creamy-white softness of her stretched and yawing thighs. Her large, ivory breasts swung gently with each heavy breath she took and bounced at every gasp; her belly bounced along with them as inch by inch the black prick climbed toward its trembling interior target. Her reddened nipples pointed out from her and ached for want of handling or contact, but neither came and so she began to flex her mammary muscles so as to draw them in and out of her bounding breasts' sheaths. About her pink-flushed face her yellow-golden hair tumbled in beautiful disarray, full and soft and shining in the many fights of the mirror's border, while her wide blue eyes roamed lasciviously now to eagerly record every last sensational sight of her submissive, servicing self as the young blonde cunt impaled itself upon the long dark dull-edged sword. She licked her rose-bud lips, took a deep breath that set her boobs to jostling, silently counted three, then thrust herself back and down. She let out a shrill, quickly muted scream as the reflection in the mirror confirmed what her ravaged vitals already knew, that she'd somehow managed to get all of his long black cock inside her. She jerked up at the sharp pain at her womb's entrance but cruel hands on her hips held her down. Her cunt went wild and began to clench and clutch and strangle at his dick with its tiny hands, as though to kill this ruthless ravisher, but all that did for her was to rouse her to almost instant climax. But before she could let herself go, she felt Wes' hot jet spurt high up into her, unable to escape into her vagina because of the plug he himself provided. She screamed again, harshly this time, as a hard and fiery wire seemed to be coring its way up through her stomach. Tears blinded her eyes but she felt him move and then his huge black hands were squeezing the bases of her breasts where they swung out from her body, gripping them into a tight circle of pain, pulling down at them like udders.
"Wes! Wes! Wes! What-are-you-doing-to-me-Wes? Wes-you're-hurting-me-WES!!!" she shrieked, writhing her body, unable to escape his now jabbing black cock and his grasping vise of hands, feeling his sharp chin bore into her spine as he bore down strongly with his head. And then, miraculously, he sank back and let her go and, as she lifted herself but a quick, agonizing half-inch off him, a plug was pulled in her and she came and came and came and came in one long soul-shattering body-shuddering mind-blowing cascade, her needy body responding to her sudden relief by over-reacting, sending her into massive, splendorous paroxysms of pure and unadulterated plunges of pleasure. All time-sense was lost to her. She rammed herself up and down his still – still!!!! – rampant black rod, rolls of gasping gratification rippling along her body, screwing herself back and down on his prick, pulling herself up, bent awkwardly but uncaringly back so that she could place her splayed fingers hard down on her pubic mound and feel each glorious new penetration as it swelled her flesh, and lift and pump his black balls like a pair of enchanted douche-bulbs. And he let her have her way with this inspired instrument! Happy as a child with a new toy, she wriggled and squeezed and winced and gasped and cried and laughed and clenched and groped. It was wonderful! Why… she had only to flick her flaunting clitoris and she was off to a new paradise of selfish sensual pleasure… How long could it last? How long could he last? How long could IT last?
Maryon didn't know, not then or ever. Once or twice she halfheartedly tried to time herself by the clock, but always the inevitable little death sent her to the doors of drowsy, desire-drugged sleep.
Now, she was dimly aware that he lifted her off, his beautiful black cock still marvelously erect! – and laid her out on table-top, stool and chair as he had been, with her bundled clothes beneath her head.
Now, she was delightedly aware that, as he seated himself sideways on the stool alongside her languorously exhausted thighs, he made no objection to her firm hold on his princely prick as she drifted in and out of dreams.
Now, she was dormantly aware that he was telling her a story, something about why he called her Daisy Mae, how he called all his girls by their cast-names, how there was 'Baby Doll' and 'Nellie Forbush' and 'Doris W.' and of course, 'Eliza', his fair lady, and how he was so glad he could share himself with them all, and how they were eager and content to share him, and how she would be just as willing and happy to hustle her ass for him, once she was properly gentled…
Now, she was drowsily aware that once more his hands were on her naked, sprawling white and golden body, readying her for fresh and unfancied fuckings. Anything, as long as she could satisfy her cravings with his licorice stick. She pulled it toward her and began happily to suck and lick. Yes, Wes, I'll screw for fun and profit… profit for you, and fun for me only with you, you loveringly all-day licker, you!
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
When she'd gotten a little more used to the weird ways of Wesley McAlister, Maryon found herself amused by his cool attitude. He was the con man supreme, a super-pimp who was still ghetto-hustling, but with a scholastic cover and an acceptable, accepted image among writes that let him operate his stable of (with herself) five fillies with virtual impunity. Who would suspect him of running a string of high school call girls? From Glenville, no less?