"I'm still twittering inside, George," she whispered. "But I want to be fucked… oh God, how I want this shoved into me!"
He got up and crawled into the vee of her thighs; his prick slid easily into the slippery furrow and lodged in the central petals of her pulsing hole. She gasped, her sensitivity still highly aroused at the slightest touch. But he eased into her slowly, and she hummed her joy as his cock began to fill her sheath.
Oily claspings massaged his prick as it entered her; she was still convulsing periodically, her walls working at the meat that was thrust into her tunnel as if digesting it with the copious ooze that filled her passage.
George groaned at the potency of the sensation. He began to fuck into her fiercely, relishing the wet sponginess of her warm body as it received him.
"Fuck me fast, George!" she cried. "I can't last long! Fill me with jism, lover! Oh, George!"
Her ass worked furiously to drive her up to him; her cunt was gulping hungrily as she started to come. But she seemed to be hung up in her passion Her body was shaking and her breathing was ragged and loud.
George felt her desperation, but he was keeping his control until the last possible moment, so he could fire for greatest effect. He rested, concentrating on withholding his come, letting the wild, sucking grabs of her clutching cunt milk his stone-hard cock.
She began to sob, frantic with the need to complete the trip she had started; it was a beautifully ecstatic pain, staying at such a peak level of body awareness for so long. The more she cried, the harder it seemed to get over the last rise.
She fucked up at him like a madwoman, her whole being involved in the frenzied attempt to reach an orgasm. The lining of her cunt seemed to be scalding hot, and yet she wanted the heated fluids of George's body to drench her, fill her to the brim.
"George!" she sobbed. "Come in me! Spurt me full… oh God! Piss in me… anything!" She sobbed even harder as her ass trembled upward in weakening thrusts.
The milking sucks of her frantic cunt were terrible in their potency. George had taken all he could stand, and he was glad to release his control. The way her gulping cunt swallowed and disgorged his cock, he was ready to turn inside out.
"Here it comes, Gracie!" he cried. He drove downward, forcing her ass onto the bed and burying his knob in her tunnel where the nibbling mouth of her womb already sought to drink his yield.
He gushed hotly into her, and she shrieked as the fluid splashed in her depths. It was all she needed to carry her over the top. A giant shudder tore through her and her cunt crushed his cock like a velvet vise. He groaned as the claspings drained him, then he lay there and let her spasms work out the last tiny drop of his come.
When they separated, Grace began sobbing softly. She was crying for joy, so powerfully satisfying was her delayed release. She lay still as the flutterings subsided within her, relishing the deliciousness of complete relaxation.
"Okay, baby?" he asked when he thought her breathing had returned to normal.
"Lovely!" she said. "It was a rugged come, but it was worth the long, uphill struggle!"
"That delicious cunt of yours really makes a cock feel wanted!" he told her. "I can't remember a more exciting time."
"I hope your memory doesn't improve on the subject," she said. "I'd like to think that you'll be eager to come back; the welcome you felt inside me was for real."
He lay back beside her and closed his eyes, imagining how it would feel when he grew hard again, and Grace became eager for more cock. He wished she would suck him off; he'd like to have her mouth around his cock, pulling, sucking, working on his prick until he burst into her throat.
He learned how closely their minds were attuned when Grace got up on one elbow and looked down at him.
"Get a good rest," she advised him. "I want you to fill up to the brim for me; then I'm going to drink you dry!"
Chapter 7
The first matings were so exciting, and the four couples so completely compatible, that the sex fever claimed them in earnest. They reassembled, two by two, for a midnight snack and gabfest. It was a unanimous decision to cancel the rest of their weekend engagements. The following days and nights were reserved for unlimited fun.
During breakfast, the three visiting couples used the phone to readjust their social schedules. George made a trip to his clinic to take care of emergency details, while Dean helped Cole with his morning chores, then he drove Cole over to the Palmer farm to handle the tasks of the morning there.
By 8:45, everyone was back on the McDonald farm. The women had done some prepackaging of meals and stored them in the refrigerator, so they had only fun and games to think about when all four couples congregated in the living room to eye each other with lustful speculation.
Dean, among the more enterprising, singled out Dot Lambert for his goal. He was not sure whether his choice was due to Dot's blondeness – a novel contrast to the dark brunette beauty of his wife – or simply a mutual magnetism that created currents between them. One thing Dean knew for certain was that he had the hots for Dot, and he hoped he could grab her off for the next round. To put in his claim, he stayed near her and engaged her in conversation about the clinic, bringing her coffee when her cup was empty and letting her know with his eyes that he wanted her.
Dot recognized the intent of his heated attentions; it made her feel somewhat the way she had felt around Cole McDonald. When a man hungers for a woman powerfully enough, she usually gets the impact of his vibrations before long. Dorothy Lambert decided that she wanted to see how Dean's hungers compared with Cole's.
Other pairings began to take place subtly as the minutes passed, until there were four separate conversations taking place in the room.
"What are we waiting for?" Dean whispered to Dot abruptly.
"Pick a room," she replied, her blue eyes challenging his gaze.
They simply walked out of the living room, hand in hand, and went upstairs. The women had changed all the sheets and turned down the beds, and Dean ushered Dot into the fist doorway they reached. He pulled the door shut, then followed her into the room. She walked invitingly under her frock. Dean thought she moved like a Siamese cat in heat.
"Any clothing at all is a desecration to a body that can move like that!" he told her, his eyes burning with unbridled lust. She smiled contentedly and unfastened the frock, letting it fall off as she walked to the bed. She kicked it off her feet and stood at the edge of the bed, flaunting her proud tits by holding her shoulders high with her arms well behind her.
"There must be artists turning over in their graves because they missed the chance to paint you," he said. He managed to get his clothes off without looking away from the warm glow of her exciting body. Then he walked over to place his hands on her shoulders.
He leaned over and kissed her, tasting the nectar of her mouth as it opened to him. They tongue-fenced hotly for a while, until Dean felt the touch of her nipple on his chest. He dropped his lips to the spongy morsel, nibbled at it carefully, then gave it a few wet sucks.
Dot hummed and pushed her tit against his face, wanting him to nurse on it greedily. He nuzzled into the mound, pressuring the inner ducts and stimulating her mammary nerves. He sucked and milked it with his lips, receiving the thin juice of her love-milk.
She squealed with delight and turned to give him her other tit. He nursed on it fiercely, drawing a little of its treasure out of the springy nipple, then abandoning it as he squatted down to inspect the golden fleece of her crotch.
He pushed his nose into the tight junction of her thighs and pubis, then inhaled. He could detect only a faint scent, but it was enough to heighten his excitement.