Suddenly, Scott was coming. With a deep animalistic moan, he vomited gallons of his hot semen into her sucking throat. Monica thought she might drown as the warm, acrid syrup coated the inside of her mouth and her tightly gripping gullet. A tail of whiteness flowed from the cornet of her mouth. She could not hold the fullness of his load. She squeezed the root of his cock between her lips and swallowed, taking as much of his hot whiteness into her belly as she could.
Drained, Scott fell back onto the couch. Grinning at him, still on her knees, Monica wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "Wow," she whispered, "When you come, you sure come, don't you?"
He chuckled weakly. "God, I feel like I'm shot for life. My balls are so empty they ache."
"I'm a pretty good cocksucker, huh?" Monica asked proudly.
"You sure as shit are, Baby. The best."
She moved forward and snuggled her face against his knees. "Want to fuck me now?" she whispered.
"Hey, Honey, have a heart, okay? I feel like I never could fuck again."
Monica smiled up at him. "Oh, come on, Scotty Boy, you and I both know better than that." Slowly, she ran her fingertips up along the smoothness of his inner thigh, barely touching the skin.
Scott shook his head. "I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "You really fucked me out just using your mouth."
Monica giggled. "There's somebody here who's making a fibber out of you." She pointed to his groin.
Scott looked down at himself. His spent cock was already beginning to stir with renewed life. They had only begun.
CHAPTER FIVE
A few more people began calling in. Of course, the response was not as great as what Scott was hoping for, but it was building, nevertheless. Some of the callers' opinions hardly seemed worth expressing, and subsequent callers had a way of pointing this out with embarrassing bluntness. That was fine as far as Scott was concerned. Every call had the potential for controversy, for getting people to talk to one another about what they had heard on late night radio. Every call could help build his audience. The response was not overwhelming, but it was enough to get Hal Ransberg off his back, at least for the moment.
"KSZX Night Line," Scott called out into the microphone. "That last gentleman wants us out of the United Nations. What do you have to say to that. Call me at 447-4730 and tell me about it. Now here's a new one from the Village People."
The record came to an end, and Scott delivered a one minute commercial. Then he introduced the next song, made his usual pitch about how his listeners should call in, and played the new record by Wings. Now he had time to get himself another cup of coffee. As soon as he was up, he realized that he had better take the opportunity to pay a quick visit to the lavatory. Hurrying down the hall, he cursed the fact that radio stations always seemed to put the men's room as far as possible from the control booth. It was a good thing the record he had picked was a long one.
He gave another commercial and answered a telephone call, this one from an elderly man declared solemnly that fluoridation of the water supply was a plot designed to sap the sex drive of red blooded American male. His own sexual urges, he claimed, had diminished remarkably. Scott wanted to reply that his own had not. If anything, they had increased of late, especially since he had met Monica James. He said nothing, of course. Leave that to the next caller.
When he finally got the caller to hang up, he cued the next record, announced it, and leaned back to enjoy his coffee, his handily available half hard penis still peeping fetchingly from the gap in the front of his slacks. Playfully, he brought his hot coffee cup down next to his stirring phallus. The heat felt good against his sensitive flesh, almost burning, but not quite. He could feel the sexy warmth way down in his big, low hanging balls. Spreading his legs a bit wider, he reached into his pants and pulled his scrotum out into the air. God! he thought as he looked down at himself, what a beautiful package that was.
Slowly and teasingly, he moved his cup up and down the long length of his prick shaft, feeling his male organ begin to swell and expand with the sensation. It felt so good. He could almost imagine he had a hot mouth on him, a mouth like Monica's or Celia's or some of the sex hungry women who called in.
Before very long, his penis had expanded to its full hardness and was standing straight up from his body like a stiff candle. He ran his fist over its length, shaking it and jerking at it, moving the thin skin of its surface back and forth over the sexually aroused stiffness beneath.
Scott's hand moved faster and faster as thrilling sensations of raw sensuality ran through his fevered body. Setting his mug of coffee down on the console, he brought his other hand down to cup his gigantic, sperm filled testicles. He rolled them about on his moist, smooth palm, pulling them down to the bottom of their big sac and squeezing at them gently, teasing himself just the way Monica had done when she was sucking him off.
A dear, fragrant drop of pre-seminal fluid had already formed in his deep, dark piss slit. He caught it on his finger and smeared it over the hotness of his throbbing cockhead, making it shine lewdly. He jerked himself faster then before, making his shaft hurt with his squeezing urgency. He was gasping for breath now, and he imagined he could feel the cum beginning to churn in his gonads.
Putting his feet on the floor, he spread his long legs wide. Taking his coffee cup in one hand, he held it to his crotch and plunged his achingly hard cock into the black liquid. The heat of it shot harsh bolts of pain and excitement through every inch of his tingling groin.
Scott forced himself to hold the mug in position for as long as he could stand it. Then he slowly pulled his prick out of the hot liquid. The rapidly cooling coffee on the surface of his skin was a lubricant for his demanding fist, and he began jerking himself again.
Throwing his legs wide apart, he knew it would not be long until his climax. Fire was licking at his crotch, making the semen boil up inside his sac. He paused for a second, trying to hold off, not wanting to come yet, seeking those few extra moments of exquisite pleasure.
Once again, he plunged the length of his meaty stalk into his hot coffee. By this time the liquid was cool enough to give him only a pleasantly warm sensation. He held his cock in the cup for a long time, looking down greedily at the place where his pulsating root disappeared into the blackness of the coffee.
Scott pulled his cock out of the coffee and beat at it again. Drops of blackness spattered on the front of his pants. It was a good thing he had worn dark slacks. He was almost ready to come. In four or five strokes of his fist, he would be spurting white, starchy cum all over the place. He aimed the head of his throbbing prick so that his semen would shoot into his coffee mug. Just as the first jet cleared his pulsating slit, the telephone rang.
"Yes," he said breathily, watching as streamers of steaming sperm shot into the coffee.
"Is this Night Line?" It was the husky female voice he sometimes mistook for Monica's.
"Yeah, yeah," Scott answered, trying to sound normal. "KSZX at your service. What can I do for you?" He tried to imagine what the woman looked like, imagined his hot semen plummeting into her cunt, her mouth, her squirming body.
"My, my, you sound hot and bothered tonight," she purred. "Is it me that's making you feel horny like that?"
"What if it is?" Scott asked breathlessly, squeezing the last dribbles of white cum from the tip of his penis. They fell with a plop into the blackness of his coffee.
"Nothing, I guess," the woman answered candidly. "I'd like to think I had that effect on you. Why don't you meet me for breakfast, you know, at Sixteenth and Meridian."