Sheila seemed happy and contented enough, but how could she be, living along, spending all her time alone? Didn’t she ever feel the need? Didn’t she even get horny? The pangs of her own horny desire were flooding Caron and she wasn’t sure if she even cared. I can’t live Sheila’s life, she thought. I’m having a hell of a time living my own.
“Yes! Yes!!!!” she shrieked, feeling the first come spasms ripple through her cunt. The quickening of her heartbeat, the heaviness of breath, the muscular contractions deep in her snatch—there was nothing like it. She wondered now if she could ever live without that feeling. But she’d never experienced a sexual orgasm till she was twenty-three years old, a full year after her husband had walked out on her.
The bloody hell with her husband! In a couple more weeks she’d be done with him forever! It would be as if he’d never existed in the first place. She’d be a free woman, free to live her own life as she pleased, and that life would definitely include Paul Drake, oh, yes, God, definitelyyyyyyyyyy…
His cock plunged into her snapping twat and she writhed madly with each stroke he gave her. Caron’s clit was throbbing and raw, and her juices were already fluid inside her. He squished as he penetrated, squished in her cummy goo and she could feel the vibrations throughout her body, rocking her, bouncing her, sending her higher and higher. God bless the child, she thought, God bless the child that’s got her own.
The best comes were always like this. A fast yummy one, hitting like a summer thunderstorm, cracks of lightning, thunder rolling in her head, her pussy going absolutely mad, full of cock and turning cartwheels. And then the second one hit, right on the heels of the first, before Caron had had time to catch her breath.
It blasted up through her belly and she moaned onto the hot sand, grinding her chin onto the beach until she could taste it in her mouth. Her tits were afire on her chest, hotter even than the sunburned sand, and the little grains of it felt like a zillion tiny fingers pawing her stiff nipples, rasping them like sandpaper.
“Fuck me, darling, fuck me,” she wailed, and Paul seemed only too happy to do just that. His cock slammed into, her with all the speed and ferocity she craved. He was big and thick now, filled with the lust that roared inside his body and his cock hungered for the sweetness of Caron’s twat. He stuffed her as deeply as he could, and the head of his cock rammed countless times against the tip of her womb. She writhed each time he flailed her there, but she loved it, as she loved everything he did to her, and he fucked her all the harder, lifting his head and shoulders, bracing his knees against the sand. He grabbed the cheeks of her ass and started to feed it in and out with gathering force and power.
Her churning cunt ate it up and his head grew giddy. He couldn’t keep this up forever. His nuts ached—they felt as big as watermelons and he knew that he had a lot of jism to spill. Maybe one fuck wouldn’t clear his tubes of all the cum lust had brewed inside him. Her snatch tightened on him, sucking like a wet toothless mouth, gumming his cock in greedy hot swallows. He closed his eyes and thrust hard, then began to fill her with his hot spurting seed. She was having her third orgasm and it had been better than this for both of them, but who cared? This was great and he was giving her as good as she gave him. Paul tensed, stabbed deep, and he could feel the mouth of her uterus opening upto drink his cum.
His balls emptied, and her pussy convulsed around him one final lurching time. Softness crept upon him, but not real softness. He was still inside Caron’s sticky hole, and he was half-hard, pressed against her, loins to butt, as he panted in the aftermath of release. He stoked her hot sweaty ass, and he groaned a little. His balls still felt full, and his prick wouldn’t go down. What could you expect? He hadn’t fucked Caron since night before last. It would be nice when her sister went home and they had the place to themselves.
Beneath him, Caron’s cunt contracted again, a little tightening of muscles that wiggled all along his prick, and he knew she was still hot for more. He was stiffening again inside her and he had to fuck her at least once more.
“Let’s go up to the house,” he suggested hoarsely. “Before you get sand where it won’t do either of us any good.”
He leaned back and his rampant cock eased from her, glistening with the coated mixture of their juices. It was a stiff, thrust-out cock, and the sunlight gleamed upon it, made the creamy cum-gobs look like silver decorations. Caron turned over, sighing and purring. She worked her thighs together. Cum was beginning, to leak from her pussy. She licked her lips as she stared at Paul’s hard dong, and then she sat up, fisting him eagerly. “Let’s,” she said. “Oh, let’s!”
CHAPTER TWO
“Want a beer?” Caron asked as they entered the house through the glass doors that opened onto the patio. “I have some beer in the fridge.” She leaned against the door frame, her tits out thrust, thighs close together. The sticky cunt was oozing down her legs and it felt good. She dropped her bikini and robe onto the floor, closed her eyes dreamily, then reached down and began to stroke herself. There was sand on her fingers and it felt raspy, but not unpleasant against the tingling tender lips of her snatch. She could smell sex. It was a stronger aroma than the salty tang of the sea.
Paul dropped his own clothes onto the floor and moved toward her. The sticky-moist tip of his dick bumped her belly, halfway between bellybutton and pubic hedge. She looked up. His face was flushed and he was breathing very hard. She didn’t have to ask again. Beer was the last thing on his mind. She locked one of her hands with one of his. She kissed him, and they sidestepped the rest of the way into the house, their bare sandy toes sinking into the deep pile carpeting. “I want you again, Mrs. Archer,” he said, lips humming vibrantly against Caron’s.
“Don’t call me Mrs. Archer,” she said, leaning back and making a fist with her free hand. She raised it menacingly before his face.
“What shall I call you, then?”
Caron laughed slyly. “You can call me a cocksucker, if you want to,” she announced, and by then they were in the den and she was gilding gently to the floor, relaxing onto her knees.
His cock thrust out before her face, but not for long. Caron started to lick him from nuts to tip with long gliding stokes of a practiced, delighted tongue. She felt his prick shiver in her fingers. She kissed him with deep, satisfied smacks, then tell to licking again. Her tongue was agile and clever. Everyplace she licked him was the right place, for that particular moment, for that particular effect. She was quite satisfied with herself. Slowly, she drew her head back, then came down, lips slightly parted. The head of his prick eased between her lips, past her teeth, and she began to suck with soft, gentle pulls. The taste of his cum, and of hers was strong on Paul Drake’s dick, and she lapped it lovingly, relishing the taste. No wonder he loved to get his tongue into her cunt, she thought, no wonder if she had such a sweet tangy taste! And who could blame her for loving the moment when his cock exploded in her mouth and she was full, totally full, of his rich, tart sperm?
As she sucked, Caron tried to remember the first time she’d ever eaten a cock. In college. Yes. Not long before she lost her virginity. Christ! What a memory! It was all coming back, clear as crystal. Some boy she’d been dating, someone horny for her body, someone she had been hesitant about surrendering to. “You could suck it,” he’d suggested. “I mean, if you won’t do anything else, the least you could do is blow me.” Slurping on Paul’s cock, Caron giggled mentally. The boy had ejaculated in her mouth after promising he wouldn’t, and it had been the foulest, most disgusting thing that had ever happened to her. She’d resolved the same night to go ahead and give up her cherry, because fucking couldn’t be half, as sickening as that!