"Oh, yes," she mumbled. "Yes, I'll eat you. I'll eat you 'til I drink your cum, every drop of it. I'll suck your big balls dry, Babe. Wait and see."
She reached out and grappled her slim arms around his hips, pulling him to her face. Then she buried her head in his fragrant crotch, digging her face in between his low hanging balls and the hard muscles of his inner thigh. She pulled the air from between his legs, sensing the spicy odor of asshole. At the same time, her hands pulled him even closer to her, melting him into her, smothering her face with his muscular body. She flicked out her small, pink tongue, wiping it over the hairy flesh of his scrotum. Scott moaned, and his ball sac moved as if it had a life all its own. He knew the cum was churning inside it, preparing for its lightning-like journey up and out and deep into her throat or her vagina or wherever she chose to have it.
She licked him again, harder and more insistently this time, soft, low moans coming from her throat, and Scott spread his legs, inviting her on to further exploration. The heady flavor of his ball sweat was driving her mad. Opening her mouth wide, she pulled one of his huge gonads into it. At the same time, she whipped her tongue tip over the hot flesh, starting tremors of total excitement coursing through his body.
Scott's long, hard prick throbbed against her smooth neck, and she decided suddenly that it was time for her to take it. Letting his big, well sucked gonad drop from her mouth, she paused to feast her greedy eyes on his cock. It pointed upward, reaching nearly to his navel.
She took it in one hand, and pulled it down toward her mouth. It's dark pink, pulsating head was only an inch from her lips, and Scott could feel the hotness of her breath on it.
"Hurry," he whispered. "Suck it. Take it all the way."
Closing her eyes, she bent forward, her mouth open wide. The head of his penis slipped between her lush, full lips, and, always, the satiny smoothness of his flesh amazed her. It was by far the smoothest thing she had ever felt. She ran her tongue over it, savoring its texture, and growing in her awareness of its ultimately satisfying flavor.
She circled her tongue tip over the flange of his corona and heard him moan as she touched thousands of excited nerve endings. She began to milk him without mercy, frantically, insistently, literally begging him to shoot his hot cum into her mouth and down her greedy throat.
She took more and more of his long, heavy stalk to her, pushing it down into her gullet and driving him insane with passion. He was fighting to keep from coming, trying to hold off, to retain control.
Celia began worming her long middle finger into the crack of his buttocks, finding his tiny, puckered anus with the tip of it. Pressing against it with her long nail, she demanded entrance. With a grunt, Scott widened his stance, quivering salaciously at this newest perversion. Slowly, she parted his muscles and slipped her finger upward and into his hot, moist rectal opening. Her fingernail scraped into his soft interior, cutting him and bringing jolts of welcome pain. He felt alive, ready to experience it all and to love every lewd second of her ministrations.
The finger wiggled about inside his tube, and he felt as though a hot poker was being shoved into him. His anal muscles clutched tightly around the invader, trying involuntarily to keep it out, but it was no use.
"Oh, yeah, Baby," he cried, throwing his head back and tossing it from side to side. "Finger fuck me up the ass. Yeeeeeeeah! Oh, God, hurts! Hurts so goooooood!"
Suddenly, the tip of her nail touched his swollen prostate, and new, intense jolts of passion ripped through his sweating body.
Jabbing at the small gland repeatedly, she made him soar to new heights. Every nerve in his manly prick screamed out, and he was coming. Without warning in one long release he vomited out gallons of fresh, hot cum into her throat, as she kept poking at his prostate again and again, draining him of every drop and leaving him sobbing in relief.
Celia let his big, half deflated organ slip from her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "There," she whispered, easing her finger out of his well stretched rectum. "Now you eat me. Okay?"
By the time the evening was over, they had made the decision to move in together. They had hardly gotten settled when Scott received the unexpected telephone call from Indianapolis.
CHAPTER TWO
Scott Forsmo shook his head, pulling out of his reverie. Looking down at himself he discovered he had climaxed just thinking about those times with Celia. Why the hell had he not been able to convince her to move to Indianapolis with him?
The telephone was ringing. Probably another wrong number, he thought, as he reached out for the receiver. There was cum on his fingers, but he did not care. It would give the morning man something to ponder when he used the phone.
"KSZK Night Line. You're on the air."
"Hi, there," said a breathy female voice. "I've been listening to you. I like your voice."
"Thanks a lot," Scott answered enthusiastically. His heart was pounding. He had a live one. Quickly, he glanced at the tape recorder. It had clicked on properly. In less than a minute, everyone would see he was a success, that his idea would work, after all. He wondered if Ransberg and the other station officials were listening this late at night. It did not matter. He would have the tape as proof, and a hundred more like it. Once the ice was broken, everyone would be calling in.
The woman went on. "I was wondering about something," she whispered.
"What is it? On Night Line we're prepared to discuss anything, anything at all."
"Does it have to be broadcast?"
"Does what have to be broadcast?" Scott asked, his heart sinking. He already knew the answer to his question.
"What I say to you, of course, Silly Boy."
"Yes, Ma'am. It'll start hitting the air waves in just a few seconds from now. You'll be a star."
"Oh," the woman said, and she hung up.
Scott was furious, so angry he could hardly think straight. Before he could reach over to stop it, the conversation began to play out over the air, just as it had taken place.
"KSZX Night Line. You're on the air," he heard himself say. His voice sounded hollow, fake, a well trained radio announcer's rounded tones. If he let himself think about it, it almost made him sick. Therefore, he did not do so very often.
He listened to the woman's voice. It was low, seductive, full of promise. "Does it have to be broadcast?" it said, and Scott's heart sank all over again. Let everybody who knew the woman hear her. Let them all know what a slut she was. Her voice was full of promise, of voluptuous longing. Despite himself, he felt his libido rise just hearing her purring tones. That ought to wake up nighttime Indiana. Maybe the call had not been a waste after all, that is if Hoosiers responded to voices like that.
As the recording ended, Scott was struck with sudden inspiration. Why not play this out? He had precious little else to work with. He flipped on the switch of his microphone.
"Come on, now, Honey!" he said. "Let's play fair, shall we? It gets awfully lonesome here all alone. The last thing a hot blooded young guy like me needs is some beautiful chick hanging up on him. Call back and let's us have a little visit. The number is 447-4730. While I'm hanging onto the receiver waiting for your call, I'll play something to get us in the mood." He flipped on a slow ballad by Joan Collins and waited.
The lines lit up, two of them at once. He grabbed the receiver. "Hi, there. This is Night Line."