Andrea worked her finger faster and harder, pummeling her clit up and down, right and left, circling and jabbing, feeling Sean's eyes probing her, his excitement filling her up. Her breasts and buttocks jounced to the rhythm of her shallow, desperate breathing and the inside of her cunt undulated in waves, trying to draw something into it.
Suddenly she was as close to getting off as he was.
She slowed and stopped.
It was time to let themselves down a notch so they could get together and build up again. There was no use Sean wasting a good shot on the carpet. She had any number of better places for him to put it.
She collapsed onto the couch and rolled over to pant at him. "God I'm horny. If you want to eat or finger or fuck any part of me, I'm all yours."
Sean licked his lips and got up. His pants hobbled him around the ankles. He lurched forward and almost fell as he reached to shove the coffee table out from between them. Andrea laughed and Sean laughed and he moved toward her and stepped out of his pants. She darted a hand out to wrap her fingers around his rod. Educated fingers. Like feathers caressing him. His cock jerked spasmodically as he got rid of the rest of his clothes.
Motherfucker, did that feel good! The first time she laid a hand on him she damned near made him come. The only reason she didn't was because she knew exactly what she was doing. He knelt by the side of the couch and looked into her flitting green eyes. "How'd you like to sit on my face?"
She grinned as though she'd scored a big hit on a slot machine. "And rub my cunt all over it?"
"All over it."
Sean stretched out on his back on the thick-rug in front of the couch. Andrea stood over him and planted her feet on either side of his head. Then, as if she were about to piss or shit in the woods, she squatted. Her knees pointed out and her crotch loomed down toward his face. He felt like a camera lens buried in the ground: the camera was clicking off a few last delicious shots before the lights went out.
The furry slitted mound of her pussy gaped open between the white shafts of her thighs. Her ass cheeks split apart and the bull's-eye of her asshole winked in the crevice between two glowing half-moons.
Then the visuals were gone. Sean closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of the gently rough bulges of her cuntlips parting across his cheeks. He felt each tiny hair rubbing against him, merging with the hairs on his beard and moustache, until suddenly the hairs were gone and the squish of slippery private flesh met his lips.
That maddeningly erotic smell filled his nostrils.
Faces fitted so well with cunts. Tongues slipped into them so satisfyingly. Sean probed out with his hand and hit the ridge of Andrea's pelvic bone. His tongue bounced over her clit twice and drove deep into her.
Her body tightened and quivered and she began humping. Her asscheeks swung and bounced against his chin and chest. He stayed still, his tongue extended as far as it would go, jiggling and vibrating as he let her do it the way she wanted.
She sat down hard on him and impaled herself to the hilt. She lingered a bit while his tongue circled inside her and they both felt her swampy inner folds of flesh swirling ecstatically around it. Then she rocked up to draw his tongue out and flattened it against her clit. Like an aroused nipple the bloated pearl forced its way against him to lap up every tiny lick and tickle.
Andrea's rhythm quickened and now Sean rotated his tongue in tiny ovals. Deep in, back out, up to the clit, deep in again. He reached one hand down to stroke his cock and brought the other up to bury a finger in her asshole. She squirmed and shuddered.
She rammed down ferociously. She squashed her clit against his upper lip. Sean strained up into her as the noise of wet, struggling flesh filled his ears.
She grabbed her tits in her hands and mashed the nipples with her thumbs.
She ground herself down onto him hard and froze.
Sean held his breath as her thighs gripped the sides of his head and her pussy smothered him. Cunt-juice ran down his cheeks and into his beard. The shock-waves of her orgasm shot through his body. The currents of her satisfaction short-circuited at her clit and raced through him.
Sean's air was gone and his chest was heaving. He reached up to pull her cuntlips away from her clit so he could suck in air through his nostrils without moving her. She remained, dazed and transfixed, clinging to his head, until she was done.
She sighed and broke into a sudden, exuberant laugh. She rolled off him. "Jesus, I almost smothered you," she giggled, brushing away a few hairs that stuck to her forehead in a light haze of perspiration. She was completely relaxed. One good orgasm settled a lot. "Thanks. That was really fine."
She reached out and stroked Sean's stomach recovering for a second with her eyes closed, playing with the light triangle of hair that wandered up from his crotch. "I bet you've got a hell of a load of come ready to shoot."
He nodded.
"Where would you like to put it?"
"Anywhere you want it."
"Since sucking was first on your inventory, why don't we try my mouth for starters?" She sat up. Her tits jounced. She licked her lips and wiggled her tongue at him.
"You'd better get your mouth over it quick or I'll come just looking at you."
Andrea folded her hands on her lap and didn't move. "Oh, is that so? Just shoot off into the air like a roman candle?" Her teasing tone was shrouded in the sensuality of her rich, low voice. As long as teasing was also promising it just made things all the better. "Just like-what is it that crazy guru's supposed to have perfected-the No Touch Shot?"
"The what? That crazy who?"
"The crazy guru-what's his name? Don't tell me you haven't heard of him. Don't you read the papers?"
"Not the National Inquirer… " Sean was giving her a cockeyed look. She sure could be weird when she wanted to.
"No, no, this was in the Daily News. I think the Voice has done some stuff on him and even the Times… he's been on Johnny Carson… what the hell's his name? It sounded to me like it'd been concocted out of the name of some near-eastern god… Baal, that's it… and the French word for "born"… n-e-e. Pronounced "neigh," like a horse. Only there was more to it."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I'm telling you… a guru… one of these Transcendental Fornication guys or something. Name sounds like Bail-of-Hay. They say he's perfected the No Touch Shot. He just crosses his arms and sits in the old lotus position and meditates himself up a hell of a hard-on. After a couple of seconds-Whooosh! "Look, Ma, no hands! No nothing. All in the mind." Andrea tapped her forehead. "I think he demonstrated it once on What's My Line."
"Aw, bullshit." Sean was laughing even though he kept his eyes on Andrea's body. "For a while you had me going… "
"No, it's true-I mean, they say it's true-the guy does it."
Sean shook his head in mock despair. "Sounds like what we used to call Thinking Off. Only we could never do it."
"Huh?"
"Thinking Off. When I was a sophomore at Cornell one of my frat brothers came up with the idea. He was the manager of the squash team and never had any dates. So he was all the time whacking off. Got so his pud was sore. Then some eastern religion course he was taking brought this idea into his head. He never could perfect it. Some of us tried it out-thought the least we could do was try to help him with his technique-but we couldn't do it either. Then a guy who was a junior-horn-rimmed glasses type-told us it was metaphysically impossible. He was a philosophy major so we believed him."
"So you can't do it."
"Nope."
"So there was really no danger you were going to shoot from just looking at me?"
"Son of a bitch-you knew where you were going all the time."