"Shit it hurts. It hurts so much, and I love it! I can't wait any longer. I'm going to cum!"
"Not until I'm ready," Melissa moaned, tightening her grip on his bulging balls. "Not until you tell me how good it is. Am I fucking you good, lover?"
"God, yes!" His response came quickly and mindlessly, his body much too last in perfect bliss to make comparisons. "Shit, it's never felt this good, ever. Shit! Fuck! Shit!"
She toyed momentarily with the idea of making him play his own pleading game, but dismissed it immediately as she felt the rising pressure of her own orgasm. Her body, finally yielding to the continual thrusts of his raging cock, began pumping frantically.
"I'm almost then!" she cried as she shoved her hungry cunt over the full length of his slippery prong. "Fuck me hard! Cram me, pound me with your prick, and don't stop!"
Her legs reached out and wrapped his body in a crushing embrace. Her hand released its grip on his sperm-laden balls.
Her cunt muscles contracted rhythmically, pulling, sucking, trying desperately to milk the jizz from his fleshy rod.
Their orgasms were instantaneous, and mutual. More like one than two. One person spilling its flood in one giant surge.
His sperm rose up like a boiling geyser as his body shook and jolted spastically. Stream after stream of his hot fuck-cream gushed into her sucking pussy. Their bodies heaved erratically as Melissa's own climax rolled outward from her throbbing clit, and blew through her body like some giant explosion.
Every nerve in their bodies screamed out its release. Each body worked to drain every ounce of satisfaction from its partner.
The movement slowed as gentle aftershocks rippled through each lover, bringing shivers to first one, and then the other.
Gradually her cunt lost its masterful grip as his withering cock withdrew from its spongy sheath. His cock fell out, opening the way for his cum to trickle down the crack of Melissa's ass, forming a warm pool on the bed beneath her.
She smiled a very happy smile. Her head turned to survey the room, taking in the fading glow of the sunset with every one of her five senses. After a short pause he spoke.
"Welcome to Chicago."
"Thank you," she said as she studied the look of hope on his face. "If you can believe an old Nebraska farm girl, it's the nicest welcome I've ever had anywhere."
"Ready?"
"Really."
His face, hardly able to disguise the pride this idea gave him, beamed in a broad smile. His head came down to place an artless, almost boyish kiss on her willing lips.
Slowly he rose, and with all the remaining strength he could command, rolled onto the bed next to her.
She watched him as his body came to rest, eyes closed, savoring the glory she had given him. She eyed him a few seconds longer, and then lowered her head to his soft cock.
She began slowly running her tongue over the wet prick, lapping up the mingled juices of their afternoon fuck.
As she did, she couldn't help feeling a little pride in having satisfied him so completely. She had handled everything, from the seduction to the climax, and still made him think he was the world's greatest lover.
But she didn't mind. In fact, it was a regular part of any sex she had.
Melissa believed that almost any woman could satisfy a man physically, and in that respect she was still one of the best. Her true talent as a lover was that she also satisfied a man mentally, playing the victim to his conquering hero, the innocent girl to his seducer, begging, bullying – whatever each individual psyche demanded, she was able to sense and provide it.
Her experience taught her that this would bring out the best in any man, and if he was at his best, it could be nothing but better for her. This talent of hers had also proven to be invaluable in her career.
As a journalist, she employed this technique in almost every assignment. She had quickly discovered that, the more intimate the relationship, the more intimate the information a man would divulge. The more his individual quirks were accepted and reinforced, the more he would be willing to share.
It was this simple discovery, and its development into nothing less than a fine art, that enabled her to rise to the top of the Omaha journalistic scene.
It was this same talent that had brought her to Chicago.
"Oh, my God! I've got to meet Pallbrook. What time is it?"
The clerk's body stirred as he glanced at his watch. "Seven-thirty. Why?"
"Damn, it's late! I'll have to rush, but I can make it," she said, leaping from the bed.
"Hey, where you going? I was kind of hoping we could go another round."
She gathered his clothes and dropped them on the bed next to him. "Sorry, lover. I've got a nine-o'clock job interview, and it's important that I look my best."
With her help, he managed to get dressed in the time it took her to draw a bath and arrange for a cab. He barely had the chance to throw a "good luck" over his shoulder before she had him hustled out the door.
She returned to the bathroom and settled easily into the tub of hot water. She needed to plan her attack.
Walter Pallbrook was the head of Chicago-based Personalities magazine, a nation-wide publication that promised its readers the inside story. Melissa knew what this job could mean to her career, and she meant to get it. She also knew her uncanny ability to elicit just the kind of off-beat material he required made her perfect for the job. All that was needed was to convince Pallbrook…
She had already provided one advantage by arriving as late as she had. He was forced to meet her outside his office. They had agreed to meet in the Hancock Building's mile-high restaurant.
This would be perfect. It offered her the best view of the city, and him the best view of her. The rest she would handle.
Her body tried relaxing in the steaming tub. Her mind pictured the various pleasures she had planned for Pallbrook. Suddenly she realized that her clerk had not quite given her everything she needed. Somewhere, deep down, there was still an itch that needed scratching.
Her hand worked its way down, combing through the fluff of her beaver, to rest on the slippery bulb of her clitoris. She rubbed as her mind commenced a replay of her just completed fuck, filling in the little subtleties its reality had lacked.
She ran her fingers up and down the full length of her gash, pulling back with her hand just enough to keep a constant, raking pressure on her quivering little bud. Her motions acted out the drama taking place in her mind's eye.
She had found the itch; now she needed a scratcher.
She could feel her juices beginning to flow as the three fingers of her left hand slid effortlessly into her hungry hole. She began an in and out motion, her cunt-walls contracting to suck every bit of erotic delight from her talented fingers.
Her right hand churned in a circular motion to further catch and batter her throbbing clit. Her hips swayed in rhythm to her pounding hand, causing small waves to slap against the tub's porcelain sides.
She continued finger-fucking for several minutes, waiting for the thrill to overtake her restless body. It didn't happen. For some reason she still itched.
Momentarily she cursed herself for having gotten rid of the clerk so quickly. Her own touch was not enough. She wanted more. She needed to be filled.
She needed "Pretty Pete".
Quickly she rose from the tub and entered the main room. She ignored the sudden blast of cold air as she opened her suitcase and reached for the oblong plastic case. She smiled as she sat back on the bed, opened the box and planted a firm, loving kiss an its contents.
"Pretty Pete, friend of the working girl," she chuckled as she pulled it from its plastic sheath.
Pretty Pete was a twelve-inch plastic cock. A perfect replica, from its molded head right down to the two rubber balls that could actually shoot a stream of hot liquid through the shaft. Melissa had used it often to fulfill some otherwise unsuccessful evenings.