Mr. Bell had taught her the joys of ass-hole fucking when mixed with the acid sweetness of pain. Of course it had taken a while to appreciate the bittersweet mixture, but once she had been flung to the heavenly doors of salacious joy, nothing had ever been able to take its place.
She lay on the hard table and felt this young boy's rigid prong sawing in and out of her moist, hot ass-cave. She felt the rubbing, burning hurt be gin to fire up her anal throat. She felt his impatient clawing hard hands dig and claw at her swollen, aroused breasts and could feel the mind-blowing pain-joy building to excruciating climax. "Oh harder!" She gripped the table and writhed her ravenous ass for more. "Harder! Harder! Damn you. Fuck it in me! HARDDDEERRRR!"
Hank was enjoying himself more than he had ever thought possible. Mrs. Bell's tiny ass-hole was a tight sphincter of craving comfort. Each time he bottomed out in her searing, moist, super-soft hole, her flaming, quivering, ass mounds would press into his, groin and belly like giant globes of radiating lasciviousness. It was good. Oh, so damn good!
He lay across her shimmering, satin back and worked his fingers into and around her resilient, warm, tit-mounds of ardent passion. He was doing her good, he could tell by her moans and the rapidity of her breathing. He could tell by the hidden, agitated glutinous, erogenous plethora that shimmered and glistened within her volatile body. He could tell by the violent, craving ass thrusts as he plunged his prick to the glowing depths and gnawed and kissed her squirming, perspiring back as he withdrew his pleasure-giving prick. Oh he was doing her good. And, Lordie, Lordie, the splendid, orgasm harvest was again building and swelling in his own nuts. Oh shit! She pumped and drove frantically for the rapturous explosion.
Mrs. Bell sensed Hank was cumming. "The paddle," she called. "Hit me with the fucking paddle."
Hank was two or three long, hard strokes away from a cumming frenzy. He heard Betty begging for the board. He snatched it up and, with the same motion, slammed it across her ass-cheek.
"Whack!" The sudden, awful, burning, erotic pain-splendour ricocheted throughout her body and engulfed her as if she were caught in a paralysing, electric lustful current. She opened her mouth to free the terrible ecstasy-hurt as the paddle branded her other ass mound. "Whack!" Oh heavens of God! She could feel her body, her soul, her brain turning to surrendering exquisite mush as his hard, raging cock sawed in and out of her captivating, craving, burning ass-hole and the monstrous wooden board roared excruciatingly salacious, luxurious, terrible blows on her inflamed gluteal fat. "Harder!" her voice tore out of her, "faster! OH GOD, I'M CUMMING!"
So was Hank. He flailed with the paddle and drove his thunderous, volatile, swelling prick in and out of her twitching, jerking, beet-red blistered ass. Her ass-hole didn't have the deep inner grabbing, milking, squeezing muscles that lay in a woman's cunt, so his orgasm was maddeningly slow in erupting. Still, although slow, it was a delayed, glistening, glorious, insane hesitation that was driving him out of his carnal, craving, impatient mind.
Hank wanted to cum. He wanted to feel the mind-blowing ecstasy of jerking release. He wanted to feel his spirit soar and disappear in the clouds of ecstatic fuck-plethora. He wanted to be tossed and jarred, shaken and battered in the eye of a cum-rapture maelstrom. And he was so close. So ungodly, maddeningly, frantically close. He roared and pumped his fervent horn in and out of her ass furnace while flailing with the God damn paddle.
Mrs. Bell was in agony. Her year-long wait for sexual satisfaction lay just beyond his burning, flailing ass conflagration. He was hitting her ass too hard. He wasn't hitting her hard enough. His cock wasn't deep enough. His cock was too deep. He was fucking too slow. He was fucking too fast. He was… was…"OH GAWDD!" She could feel his wonderful raging hammer swell and throb with the pre-cum effort. Just the realization that he was going to bathe her starving anal cavern with glorious jism blew her to the peak of exquisite ecstasy. "Cum!" she begged. "Cum, damn you! Cuuummmm!" Then the boiling, jerking, molten jism spurted and splashed deep in her ass with insane rapturous intensity. "AAHHHHIIIIEEEEE!" She screamed and bucked backward to drink his dong dry.
Hank was in a ravenous, frenzied, fuck conflagration of cuming bliss. His cock was belching out great torrents of jism splendour but he couldn't stop his pelvis from pumping and grinding in her yielding, lustrous hole. Each bolt of cum ecstasy jumbled his mind and swirled his brain. It felt so God awful good he wished his whole body would dissolve and pour out the head of his prick. He had stopped beating her ass. He had stopped everything in his tumultuous, unparalleled, rapturous orgasm. When his volcanic balls finally emptied he fell across her back and panted for sanity and life.
Betty allowed him to lie on her until his breath became normal and his thunderous piston of a moment ago began to soften. Then she turned her head and smiled at him. "okay, tiger, take it out. You got a twenty a week raise, but if you want to try for thirty a week, go wash up, and I'll blow you."
Hank grinned. "Where's the washbasin?"
Chapter 9
"What is the matter with you, dear?" Grace's voice held concern. "It's Monday, they'll both be at work. What's the trouble. What's wrong?"
Trudy felt foolish. Of course they would be at work. "It's nothing, Mother, really! I just wanted to ask something." "No." Grace's voice was cautious. "It's more than that, isn't it? It's what I warned you about, isn't it? Hank isn't satisfying you. Am I right?"
"Oh Mother!" Trudy wailed. She was torn. She didn't want to admit her mother was right. She just couldn't be a nympho. It was just a passing thing. If she could just get satisfied once more. Just once more, then all would be fine. She was all right after Mr. Lamb. It was Maude who had begun it all over again. So now she knew. Lesbians just gave her an itch for men. Once she got…
"That's what I thought," her mother's voice held commiseration. "Well, they're at work. I can talk to Chuck or Tom and see if one will stay home tomorrow, but…? "
"It's not that!" Trudy snapped, "I told you. I just wanted to… Oh, never mind."
Her mother sighed at the other end. "Yes, dear. Should I tell them you called?"
"No!" Trudy said. "No, it wasn't important," and she hung up and cried. Oh damn, but she needed relief. She was a nympho, she was one!
The door bell snapped her out of her self-pity. Trudy hurriedly puffed up her hair, wiped her eyes and ran downstairs to answer. It was two young charity workers.
"Hello, Ma'm." The taller one started on his canned spiel. "We're from the Lend a Hand organization and are collecting clothes or caannnn," his voice trailed off as his eyes roamed up and down Trudy.
"Gooolllyyyy!" The smaller one's eyes almost popped from his head as he too was eyeing Trudy.
Trudy didn't understand their actions until she checked herself. She was still in the see-through shortie nightie that she had worn to bed last night. She was going to jump behind the door, but their obvious embarrassment tickled her. She pretended she didn't see their reactions, "Yes?" she said, "you're collecting…? "
The taller one's eyes jerked back to her. "Yes, Ma'm, we're collecting clothes and food for the survivors of the floods in Mexico. I, ah, we were wondering if you had something to give?"
Oh! did their actions tickle Trudy. Their innocent, shining eyes were almost dancing from taking in her body. At least she could turn someone on this morning. She was going to tell them no, and close the door, but for some crazy reason she said, "Of course. Let me look. Come on in," and she opened the door for the boys. "I might have some things upstairs." She led the way.