If she did, maybe he would explode right away and that would be the end of it-. Already she had noted one important difference between this producer and the buggering Mr. Hammel. This one had cum once and was still going strong. After that first day when they had gotten acquainted Mr. Hammel had never been good for more than one orgasm. How many times was Mr. Hughes good for?
She guessed the best thing to do was play it safe, let him do whatever he wanted as long as it felt nice. Whenever he got bored she could always give his cock another lick and a promise and the hairy man would be sufficiently gratified to lick her into another terminal case of giggles.
Right now he was kissing her tits again, driving their tiny nipples into a state of rock hardness. It felt so good she wanted to thank him by wrapping her mouth around the hot throbbing tip of his cock, but…
She tried to control herself, tried to relax as she pillowed her head on one hairy thigh. Then he started kissing his way back down over her midriff to her belly button. She tensed and strained, trying not to give way to the giggles. He screwed his tongue into her navel from odd angles, wriggling and twisting until Ted knew she couldn't stand it another second. Then abruptly she knew she had reached her limit. Not really understanding the forces that drove her, abruptly she found Mr. Hughes' cock in her mouth.
Her head was bobbing rapidly back and forth, sliding her lips up and down his slickened slammer as her tongue and palate slid smoothly up and down over the head of his hammer. Mr. Hughes grabbed her by the ears-and helping her rhythm, sliding her up and down his flute like some berserk musician.
Meanwhile he had abandoned tits and belly. His face was buried deep in her crotch. He was licking, kissing. He put his lips over her clit and sucked, relaxed, sucked and blew with a rapidity that was fluttering her right out of her mind, out of her body. Ted felt herself melting, twisting, dissolving, flowing…
Chapter 13
And now she was thirty-nine, aboard her own yacht, doing for a couple of inexperienced boys what Mr. Hammel and Mr. Hughes had done for her when she was twelve. She wondered if she had experienced more intense orgasms when she was twelve or if they were better now that she was older, more experienced, and knew what to expect.
Little John was still pumping away between her legs. Albert's six solid inches were pumping valiantly away trying to reach her stomach from the opposite end. It felt good. But she was still-just barely-in control of the situation. She tried to relax her throat, to stop swallowing. It didn't make any difference. The boy had reached the point of no return. She felt the first tiny preliminary spurt that meant moments from now she would be flooded with gallons of cum.
She thought about spitting it out but she knew Albert wouldn't like it. Besides, if she let him cum this way it would all go cleanly down into her stomach and be digested away. If she retreated and left his naked cock exposed there would be another puddle of cum to sponge up from the mattress of their triangular play pen. Topside the fog horn hooted. Down below little John's rhythm had increased. Abruptly she realized both boys were going to cum together. "What the hell?" she murmured, and relaxed.
Great shimmering coruscations of fire ran up and down her spine, exploding like Roman candles in her brain as she felt her body surrender to multiple assaults on her sensuality. Two hard, young, hairless bodies were enough, she decided, to make any woman cum. Gone was her resolve not to cum again, washed overboard in a cascade of eroticism as cock in mouth, cock in cunt, mouths on lips and tits, hands everywhere all contributed to the avalanche of lascivious joy that overwhelmed her tiring body.
"I'm cumming!" she shrieked soundlessly, and knew it was going to kill her, knew she didn't care if it killed her, knew only that once more that wonderful fire in her belly was spreading uncontrollably, surging through her with a wall of flame that was going to burn her out and leave her a gibbering mindless wreck. But what a way to go!
She felt little John's cock ram slamming inside her, felt her cunt suddenly brimming with her own juices, felt the jetting cascade of his own cum mixed with hers. Hands were playing over her body, caressing her ass, her clit, her legs, touching every possible inch of skin. And Albert's cock was still in her mouth, sliding easily past her palate as it pushed down her throat striving for her stomach. Then she realized it was sliding so smoothly and easily down her throat because its passage was being lubricated by a blurting, hurting, squirting sea of cum.
"Aaaahhhh!" Albert howled in a full-voiced yodel.
"Oh, boooooooyyy!" little John harmonized.
"Oooohhhh," Ted moaned as she felt her insides melt, shift, deliquesce in the dance of love. She was reminded of earlier times with other partners but there was no time for memory. This was living, breathing, fucking flesh here and now. She struggled to stay awake, stay conscious, to savor the final drop of joy from twin fountains.
Then abruptly they were finished. All three of them lay panting and exhausted, each alone in his own private post coital tristesse. Ted supposed she ought to be thinking of something practical, like how to end this or do it again without getting caught. But all she could think of was how nice it had been. And only moments ago, she reflected ruefully, she had not wanted to cum again. Here she had done it and she wasn't dead. Only half dead and filled with a delicious languor as if she had spent hours in a steam bath and then been worked over by thousands of little people whose very lives depended on pleasing her. She closed her eyes and fried to ignore the fog bell clanging overhead.
Moments later she was awake. She was confused for an instant, then glanced at the ship's clock on the bulkhead and was reassured. The boys still drowsed where they had cum, little John between her legs and Albert's flaccid cock hanging limply a few inches from her face.
Quietly, she oozed from between them and went to the shower to repair the ravages of love. She knew that if she had not spent a lifetime hardening her muscles in ballet classes she would be a mass of bruises by now-not because the boys had mistreated her in any way, but merely because she had ram slammed harder and faster against more male flesh in the last hour than many women did in a lifetime. She wondered if the boys had had enough. Then, looking at Albert and little John, both still asleep, she saw their cocks rise in response to some dream of love. Smiling a quiet little smile, she began preparing an eggnog.
Moments later the boys had recovered and gone to the shower to remove the traces of cum from their hard-muscled bodies. She gave them each a glass of eggnog. "What's this for?" Albert asked, and insisted he didn't need any when she told him. Ted smiled again and stood before the two boys, posing her superb ballerina body in pristine nakedness until both boys' cocks were rigid again. It was amazing, she knew, how boys of this age could recover in next to no time.
"What would like to do this time?" she asked.
"Fuck!" both boys chorused.
Ted sighed. She might as well have expected it. Neither of these boys had ever gotten it into a woman before. They had fucked their Lists enough in the past. A blow-job was nice but they were not jaded enough, or experienced enough to savor such refinements. What she wondered, was she going to do? Then inspiration struck her. She remembered those halcyon days when she had been twelve, when producers had vied to fill her tiny body with the fruits of love.
Smiling a Mona Lisa smile, Ted said, "Well, John, you were last so I guess it's Albert's turn this time. We'll let him try and see how long he can keep it up." Nothing like a little competition to develop staying power, she thought with a secret wry smile. Put it that way, she knew the fourteen-year-old would rather die than cum sooner than little John. And the smaller boy alone would have been sufficient to comfort any ordinary woman during a long summer's afternoon. But what, she wondered, could she do with the younger boy? She had just blown Albert. Her mouth and throat were tired. She really didn't want to do it again. Then she remembered what she had been thinking about.