He bawled hoarsely as the hot thick lumps of semen came banging up the tube. He threw himself at Karen's rocking body with the frenzy of a madman. Both feet slipped on the wet cement floor and he upended, clumsily flopping forward atop Karen. Too weak to raise himself for more of the beautiful frantic pounding, he let himself lay on the soft cushions of her breasts, gulping and gasping for breath.
Tenderly, Karen caressed the back of his head and his tense-stiff neck even as her cunt below kept coming on with the involuntary grippings that caressed the finally softening length of his still jerking dick. As her own breathing grew easier, she began caressing the hand tenderly down his back and feeling around on the smooth cheek of his sweating ass. On a spurious kick, she slipped feathery fingertips under his trunks and between his legs to tickle a surprise to his still throbbing balls.
Clark surged against her crotch and then raised his head from her comfortable shoulder hollow to frown down on her, stern and mean.
"I wouldn't call that the longest one we ever had, would you, baby?" Karen panted, grinning up to his sweat plastered face.
"Maybe not, but I'll bet we'd call it the best one I-I ever had."
"No-o sh-shit?? Hey, we'd better be a little practical this one time and not extend it too long, don't you think? Grab me a towel from your locker, would you?"
Slouching back on the bench and wiggling her breath-jerking ass a lot more than seemed necessary to pull the crotch of her tank suit further from her middle, Mrs. Somers wiped at her gash with her deep-down dirty grin, all the time watching Clark watching her. She peered at his middle all of a sudden as if she had spotted something wrong there.
"Hey," she said seriously. "Come here a minute."
With dainty, finicky, fingertips, Karen picked Clark's limp wet dick from his legs and studied it. Rolling suddenly, she darted her head and stuffed the whole soggy sponge roll into her mouth. She sucked it clean, skinning it back while it was in the warmth of her mouth to get the neck, too, with the tip of her tongue. Though she now had a clumsy bulky war club facing her, Karen again held it with dainty fingertips while she licked into the crisp hair of Clark's pelvis. Her upturned fist now holding the big clumsy cock up and out of the way like a big wooden handle, Karen bunted Clark's legs apart and ran her warm sloppy-wet tongue one teasing, tantalizing, time over his supersensitive bag of balls. Acting as if nothing in the world should possibly be bothering him, she sat up on the bench, then, and calmly began toweling her spit from his body.
Clark hunched Karen back onto the bench, trying in the same move to close in on her lithe, suddenly eel-like body. Karen closed her legs, twisting away from him and holding him off with a hand against his hard stomach.
"Get outa here, you s-sex maniac," she giggled. "God's sakes, don't you ever get enough?? Besides, that meeting's gotta be over by now. How'd you like my husband to walk in and kill us b-… Oh well, maybe one more little quick quick quickie, hey? Live a little, fuck a lot-no, wait. I've got a better idea. Where's your van?"
"Home. I've been walking a lot lately. For exercise."
"Oh, shit. Oh well, no matter. Get dressed and wait in the parking lot near our bus-s-s-but not too near, you know? We'll just let Coachie walk it on home one time. Be good for his pot belly anyway. You-u and me-e, baby, we won't be going exactly straight home. We'll take that lon-ng way around like we used to; how's that knock your knockers?"
CHAPTER VII
Some young broad walked by on his right in one of the super-revealing new tank suits and Clark wished he could have seen her tits. If they were any match for the individual quivering globes of her tight little ass they must have been sensational.
He jerked his mind away from that kind of thinking. There was no room in the new bikini-style trunks the men's teams had been issued for even a comfortable half-hard, much less a full blooming rail.
He smiled hello to Virginia Compton's mother in the first reserved spectator's box no more than an aisle width away, but Mrs. Congressman Compton didn't see his face. Her perfectly groomed eyes were coolly skimming,trunk bulges across the whole eight lanes of swimmers as if she came to all the meets less to watch her daughter compete than to estimate sizes of possibly available boy cocks. Her eyes came back down the line to linger most avidly on Superdick Boehm in lane two who had the biggest bulge of all, not even realizing, probably, which particular young boy she was sizing. But, what the hell, all the other ultrarefined ladies who followed the Superstar circuit were doing the same thing.
Virginia's kid sister simpered at him and Clark dropped her a friendly wink. He knew instantly what a big mistake that was. Kathy Compton was only thirteen but she was already making embarrassingly outspoken noises back home about how she intended to become Superstar Fletcher's woman.
Kathy slid her hips forward in the plush vinyl theater seat, spreading her legs in what she thought was a super-sexy come-on. Clark frowned at her to cut the shit but Kathy only grinned wider, her sneaky fingers edging her mini-skirt further up her healthy little legs. She flicked her eyes up to make sure her mother was still occupied, then deliberately flipped her skirt back and forth over her tummy like fanning a really hot hotbox. Clark's eyes involuntarily dropped to the white crotch of Kathy's panties and then quickly away.
In spite of the ocean of eyes on the line-up, he felt a stirring in his stupid prick as his stupid mind wouldn't immediately release the prominent little mound of willing cunt. Quickly he leaned forward as if to flex his muscles for the coming race. He let his upper body overbalance and tumbled awkwardly into the water. He stayed there, treading water to the accompaniment of loud laughter from the spectators and jeering hoots from the line-up, until he got a personal double toot from the referee's whistle.
As he came out of the water to resume his place, Roger Boehm grinned at him. "Gets so heavy it just tips you right over frontways sometimes, don't it," he teased from the corner of his mouth. "You ever fuck her?"
"Of course not, fr chris'sa-fuck who?"
"Miz Compton?"
"Oh. Who hasn't. Haven't you?"
"More like she got to me one time, hey. She fucked me about twenty times in a row in twenty different ways. Man, was my cock ever sore when we got done."
Clark laughed. "That's the name of the game with that one. Worth the sore cock, though, wasn't it?"
"Too m-much, man. She like to have scared the shit out of me all the time we were doing it. She'd have my cock in her cunt and then all the sudden her head would be down there and she'd have it in her mouth? She even had it between her tits once? Man-n, I didn't get to go off for like hours because she was always coming on with something different just when whatever she was doing was beginning to get good."
"You didn't like that??"
"Naah, I like to get it in without all the -"
The warning whistle sounded, sending them, like computer programmed robots, into tense starting crouches and then the starting gun sent them into the water.
"Man-n, Captain, what the hell you trying to do, kill us all?" Jerry Shipley groaned, crumbling to one of the benches on the pool apron. "These fucking politicians don't care if you don't set a new record every time they throw one of these exhibition meets to their adoring public. All they want us to do is show off our manly young bodies so all the broads'll get itchy cunts and vote for them hoping they can get to us. What happened, Coach's wife get her win button wrapped around your brain instead of your cock last night?"