She should have welcomed the reprieve, she knew. She should have exercised a little common sense, and agreed with him. But her compulsion, her prick-hunger, was so strong that she could not. Instead, she relaxed her vagina as much as she could, took a deep breath, and thrust her cunt against his prick with all her strength.
There was an instant of excruciating pain, then a strange numbness, then a slow return of sensation to her cunt and the realization that Carl's gigantic cock was inside her all the way to her womb. She glanced down between her legs, and a little cry of joy escaped her. She had at least half of it inside her! The taut lips of her cunt were stretched tight around it, no longer pink but bright red, glistening with the juice that welled up to bathe the thick, rigid shaft that distended them to their limit.
God, but it felt good! It felt better than any prick had ever felt before or would ever feel again. It felt so good she thought she was going to cum even be fare Carl began to fuck her.
"Rape me!" she cried. "Hurt me, Carl!"
He began to fuck her, using short, slow strokes at first, then longer, faster ones.
She drew her knees back almost to her breasts and crossed her ankles behind his back. "Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" she said.
His prick was plunging into her with hard strokes now, and he increased the speed.
"Harder!" she said, rolling her hips beneath him. "Harder, Carl!"
He grunted something, and sent the hard knob slamming against her womb again and again, as if he intended to crush it.
"Harder!"
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Harder, baby, fuck me hard!!"
She felt herself starting to cum, and began to throw her cunt up to meet his prick, thrust for thrust. She came, and came again, and kept cuming, tears scalding her eyes, biting her lower lip so hard she could taste the salty seep of blood, so nearly out of her mind that she was aware of nothing but the ceaseless tides of orgasm that flooded through her being again and again and again.
She felt Carl's body begin to shudder in the tight vise of her thighs. "I'm going to shoot!" he gasped.
"No!" she cried. "Oh, no, Carl! Not yet!"
"Here it comes!"
"Not yet! Please, Carl! Oh, please! Not yet!"
But he could not help himself. Shuddering violently, he arched his back so high he lifted Sharon's hips six inches off the rug, his cock driving into her to the hilt, and an instant later she felt the first hot surge of cum splash into her cunt.
Then, as the second load exploded inside her, he collapsed on top of her, trembling with the force of his orgasm, crushing her with his heavy body, pumping so much cum into her hot pussy that she thought it would surely burst.
She could scarcely breathe under so much weight, but she forced herself to stay beneath him until she was sure he had finished cuming. Then, rolling a little to one side, she managed at last to slide out from beneath him.
The moment his big cock had slipped out of her, she had immediately put her hand on her cunt, holding the lips tightly together with her fingers. There was at least a half-pint of cum in her vagina, she knew, and if any of it escaped and spurted out on the rug, she and Carl would be in serious trouble. It would be almost impossible to remove cum from the deep pile of the rug – as she well knew from experience – and even if she were able to remove it completely, the pile would show that something had been cleaned up. And Joyce Thornton would not have to guess more than once before she hit on what it had been. As for the damp spot where her cunt juice had dripped off her hips – that was clear and thin and would dry without a trace. Not a visible trace, anyhow; the perfume would persist for a long time. But it would be faint, and unless Joyce had an abnormally acute sense of smell, there would be nothing to worry about.
She walked out into the hall, holding the lips of her pussy together, looking for the bathroom.
When she came back, Carl was lying on his back, snoring, his prick soft and shrunken, draped across his thigh.
She looked at the prick regretfully. She was exactly as prick-hungry as she had been before he started to cum, but she knew that fucking Carl again was out of the question. He was clearly and absolutely finished.
She reached between her legs, fingering herself absently for a moment, looking at him. Then she knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. "Wake up," she said.
His eyes opened for a moment. Then he squeezed them shut again and shook his head from side to side. "No," he said, his voice exhausted. "I can't, Sharon. Another fuck like that would kill me."
"I just wanted to wake you," she said. "I didn't want Joyce to come home and find you like this."
"My God, that's right," he said, sitting up. "I really conked off, didn't I?"
"You sure did."
"I never had such a fuck. I never had such a suck, either."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I know I did."
"I wish I could have fucked you longer. But it was just too damn good. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," she said, turning toward the door. "I'm leaving now. You'd better get up before you fall asleep again."
"Good idea," he said. He lurched to his feet and stood there, holding to the head of the bed for support, swaying unsteadily. "I'm weak as a kitten."
"You'd better finish that work you were going to do for her," Sharon said. "Good-bye, Carl."
"You're a terrific fuck, Sharon."
"Thank you."
"And, oh my God – can you suck!"
"Thank you again," she said as she stepped through the doorway. "Bye-bye."
In the living room, she quickly put on her bra and dress, made sure her garters were still as high on her thighs as she could get them, and left the house.
She was still so horny that even the whisper of nylon against nylon as she walked to the corner excited her, and by the time a cab came by she could feel the juice seeping between the lips of her cunt again.
"Where to, Miss?" the driver said as he held the door for her. He was about thirty, she judged, with a pleasantly homely face and what looked like a big, powerful body.
"Would you like to fuck me?" she said, smiling.
He stared at her open-mouthed. "W-what?"
She got into the back seat, raised her skirt, and began to run a finger in and out of her cunt. "Oh, of course, if you haven't got the time…" she said.
He wet his lips, looking at her incredulously. "How much?"
She laughed. "All I want is your prick," she said.
"You mean a beautiful girl like you… You mean you just plain want to get laid?"
"Why, yes. Don't you?"
"Hey, stop that. Somebody'll see you!"
"Then close the door."
He slammed the door shut. "Where'll we go?" he said as he started the engine.
"The nearest place you know of," she said, sliding another finger into her cunt. "But wherever it is, let's go there fast."
"There's two places. Out by the lake, and my rooming house."
"Which is closer?"
"The lake."
"The lake it is, then." She slumped down in the seat, spread her legs wide, and began to fingerfuck herself as hard as she could.
But then, only a block further on, a very strange thing happened. Even with her fingers churning in the juice of her pussy, the realization came to her that she was normal again. The overpowering prick-hunger that had seized her an hour-ago had completely disappeared. The mad compulsion that had made her demand that Carl Martin fuck her had left as suddenly as it had come. The uncontrollable desire to have a prick in her mouth and cunt was as if it had never existed.
It had always happened this way, she recalled as she removed her fingers and brushed down her skirt. The urge would suddenly be upon her – full-blown and irresistible – and just as suddenly leave. This time, it had lasted a little longer than usual, that was all. But now it was over, and it might not come again for two months or more.