That "Ooooooooohhhhhhhh!" was her undoing. As her mouth opened wide in a final cri de coeur for lost illusions she felt eight unerring inches slide past her lips, past her teeth, past tongue and uvula, and then she was swallowing, struggling instinctively to force this hot throbbing lump of meat the rest of its lascivious way down her throat.
But Harry's tongue running in lazy circles around her clit, his firm embrace around the twin roundnesses of her ass, everything combined to distract her. She felt her ass rocking as she attempted to meet a thrust that was not even there, that was up here where a bony, black-ringletted pelvic ridge banged against her nose, retreated, banged again.
Harry's iron self-control seemed to have evaporated too. He was thrusting madly, with no thought of pacing, ramming his cock frantically up and down her throat and she wanted to retreat but he had such a firm grip on her and her ass was whipping so enthusiastically against his tongue that she couldn't control herself. She was choking but it felt so goooood. She wanted to free herself of this octopus embrace but unbelieving, she felt her arms around Harry's ass, pulling him to her just as he was pulling her firm round ass to him and they were locked together, unable and unwilling to break free from the all-entangling tentacles of lust that held them enthralled, writhing, twisting, poking, probing, struggling frantically to extract the final flicker of eroticism from this complicated encounter.
She was choking and strangling from the friction of all that hot throbbing meat slamming in and out of her mouth, up and down her throat, but his tongue running round and round her clit felt so good she couldn't complain. Her body was reacting whether she willed it or not, wham-bamming, bobbing her head up and down his cock, her ass up and down his supple tongue.
Then she felt a tiny hint of moisture and the raw throbbing cock was suddenly sliding easily up and down her throat and then ooooooohhhhhhh wow! He drove it deep down her throat until her lips were mashed against his scrotum and against the bony hardness of his pelvic ridge. She could feel his rock-hard cock grow to critical mass and then it was emptying in ceaseless explosion, pumping, squirting, shooting great gouts of jizz deep down her throat, so deep she couldn't even taste that succulent fluid as it issued from the frantic firehose so deep down her throat that he was sending his seed directly to her stomach.
She didn't know or care what was happening. Paula was too busy struggling to cope with the sudden dissolution as her belly melted, shifted, flowed into strange new and erotic shapes until it seemed as if her very soul was running around his tirelessly probing tongue.
Even as she felt herself surrender to this total assault of eroticism Paula knew she had come before but never like this. Other times things had been new and everything was a first time experience with no standard of comparison. Now she had standards. She also had nearly twelve years of lonely self-sufficiency with which to compare this moment of madness.
God damn him! Twelve years invested in liberation, in emancipation, and in two brief hours he had destroyed her investment, had put her back on square one of a Stone Age game where women waited, sat passively and waited for the one important event in their drab and wrenched lives: waited for some man to come along, raise his eyebrows, raise his cock, and fuck them.
If only it didn't feel so all-pervadingly, mindblowingly goooooood! She was coming down now. They were both still thrusting feebly but the height of their twin peaks of erotic culmination had passed, leaving them still gasping and fluttering with a residual lascivity.
"Oooooooohhhh!" Harry Puggs, paroled breaker and enterer moaned.
"Aaaaaaaaahhh" Paula, broken and entered, sighed. For a moment she was content, able to put aside all thought of past or future. Then as she relaxed that tremendous eight-inch-long plug came out of her mouth with a "thuck" like the cork from a bottle of sparkling wine. She was sleepy and lazy, totally relaxed, but already a worm of worry was borrowing into her sensual satiety, robbing her of the tranquility and rest she had earned from this magnificent exercise in eroticism.
Treating her with a fragile respect for the first time, Harry got her head off his stringy thigh and went into the bathroom to rinse off. Left alone, she began to sink into a rosy glow of satiation, unwilling to think about the future. Then she half-sensed that Harry had left the bathroom. She supposed he would be dressing and exiting once more from her life, ready to return only when he once more had a hard-on. Christ! What was she going to do?
She heard him moving things and then the phone rang. He nipped the ring in the bud, jangled the receiver until he got a dial tone, and then he was talking in muffled tones just below her threshold of audibility.
Paula felt a little thrill of fear. What was this rapist doing with her phone? Christ only knew what he was up to now and if he were consummating some illicit deal… she had been wondering for several years now if at least one of her phones was not bugged. Hizzonner's administration was as freaked out on bugging as Nixon's. Jesus! What kind of a mess was this miserable stiff-pricked little bastard getting her into now?
She heard the phone come down on the hook again and immediately it rang. Harry picked it up, listened a moment, and then Paula was suddenly wide awake, roused from her lethargy by the shrill sound of a police whistle. Harry had seen the weapon she used against inquisitive reporters and he was doing his shrill, full-lunged best to shatter some nosy news hound's eardrum. For the first time in hours she almost liked the little man.
He put the phone down without hanging up and, still naked, padded back to where she still lay flaccid and spent atop her bed. "Better clean up a little," he suggested, and began helping her to her feet.
She was so fucked-out and satiated that she could hardly stand. She wanted just to be there a while and revel in full and complete relaxation for the first time in twelve years-just lay about fucked-out, emptied, not knowing or caring how went the cause of women's lib.
But the slight-bodied breaker and enterer chivvied her off the bed, onto her feet, and then he was in the shower with her, rinsing come smears from her face and neck, washing jizz from tangled strands of her long blond hair. As if he had spent every day of his life inside the joint doing this sort of thing, he cupped a hand in her crotch and pumped expertly, forcing water up her cunt until she was washed empty of the chrisms of love that her body had offered to his quietly questing tongue.
She was still half-asleep in a rosy glow of eroticism when he gave her a skin-tautening, cunt-tightening blast of unadulterated cold water. She was still struggling to muster strength enough to swear at him when he turned the water off and began drying her, devoting tender loving care to every inch of skin on that flawless, lushly proportioned body.
He spread her legs and patted her pussy dry, scrubbed the towel in her blond ringletted pubic patch until the last hint of dampness was gone. He wiped the cheeks of her ass and wiped her crack. He twisted a corner of towel to probe deep into her navel, lifted each tit in turn to pat dry the tiny strip of skin where those firm hemispheres were just beginning a voluptuous surrender to gravity.
He wrapped towels about her, rubbed her long blond hair in more towels, ran a hot comb through her hair while she stood bemused in the middle of the bathroom wondering if this was the way show horses felt when grooms swarmed over them currying, combing, brushing, doing their all to entice another dollar from some sucker who would be buying.
What on earth was he up to? A tiny tendril of suspicion entered her mind. Damn it! He was preparing her for public exhibition. Did this miserable little bastard of a breaker and enterer think he was going to take her out in public, show her off on his paroled arm, do his ultimate best to scuttle her career?