She’d never really enjoyed it, not till the last year or two. Lou had only talked her into it a few times, and she’d never allowed him to go all the way in her mouth. Same with most of the other men she’d been with. Barring, of course, the ones during her year of bar hopping. She couldn’t remember what had happened some of those nights. She’d probably eaten her share of jism and lost the memory in some boozy haze. It was something she’d never have done sober. And then there was a guy named Ken, her last real fling before Paul, and one night they’d both been mellow on wine and grass, and somehow it just happened. One moment she was sitting there toking a reefer and feeling groovy, and the next moment she was lying across the couch with her head in Ken’s lap and his prick in her mouth. Toking a different kind of joint, she thought at the time. He came in her mouth and it didn’t taste bad at all. Before they broke up, she’d turned into some kind of cocksucker. One who really loved her work. And right now it was paying off, with Paul’s hard penis in her mouth, slipping deeper with each breath she took, gliding across the velvety carpet of her tongue, making for the upper part of her throat. No problem. She could take him that deeply. Seven inches of rod in her mouth looked like an amazing feat, but it wasn’t so difficult.
She and Ken had gone up into Delaware and caught a drive-in showing of DEEP THROAT, giggling in the darkness and playing with one another. It was the first and only porno film Caron had ever seen. Linda Lovelace had been inspiring, and with a little help from Ken, Caron had begun to catch on. Surprisingly enough, or not so surprisingly, Alfred, her gay store manager, was also a lot of help. He was a faggot, cocksucking was his game. He shared a few of his pointers with his boss. She’d even gone down on him a couple of times, both of them giggling like schoolchildren playing doctor. All in the interest of education, of course.
She took a little more of Paul into her mouth and she sucked, wolfishly, giving him a joy ride with tongue and lips and cheeks, bathing him in her frothy, fluid saliva, welcoming him home with every talent and ingenuity she had to offer.
She sucked a little harder, a, little, more passionately, as he slipped into her, and his hands came up onto her head, steering her. She didn’t need guidance. There was something especially sweet and precious about his cock. God knew she loved to eat him! And if he spurted thick hot cum into her mouth—so much the better! In fact, she’d have sucked him to orgasm right now, drunk gladly every spurting gush of his jizz, if her pussy hadn’t been aching for a special kind of attention too, itching and aching and driving her almost crazy with desire. Not even the fuck on the beach had satisfied her. She’d known as dearly as Paul that it was only round one.
But she wanted to suck, too. Why couldn’t a man have two cocks? One to put in his darling’s pussy, the other for her to suckle contentedly. That way she could enjoy the best of all possible worlds, enjoy it fully and completely every time she made love. Neither of her, holes would feel the gnawing pang of neglect and emptiness.
Caron sidled a little closer, moving till her pussy lay atop of Paul’s foot. She stroked his leg, pawed and petted him until his toes began to wiggle and, when they did, one of them began to brush back and forth over the itchy lips of her cleft. She made a deep satisfied purr around his pecker, rearranged herself a little more, then moaned throatily as his big toe worked its way into her twat. Caron flexed her thighs to increase the cuntal pressure around his toe, and she sucked faster and harder.
He moved his foot, pushed deep with his toe, and she almost bit him. Giggling, she released his cock. “There’s a better way to do this,” Paul pointed out, and he did the toe number again. Caron lay back, sighing, her hands folded beneath her heaving tits. The nipples were red and stiff, long enough to hang flags from, and her fingers stole up to touch and tease them with wicked knowing caresses. Paul sank to his knees beside her on the thick carpeting, and his hands came down on her tits, kneading and massaging. “That feels good,” she purred, “don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”
“I’ll have to stop,” he replied, “because I have something a lot better in mind. If it’s okay with you, Mrs. Archer.”
“Wait a mm,” she said, hopping up. She ran across the room, opened a cabinet drawer, came back with a framed 8 by 10 color photo in her hand. “I think he deserves a chance to watch,” she said, setting the picture upright on the floor.
“My God,” Paul said. “How can I keep, a hard-on with your husband staring at us?”
“Look at the man,” she said. “Can you honest to God imagine me married to him? Thinking he was a real catch?”
Paul laughed. There was something owlishly solemn about Lou’s face in the photo. The crooked tooth showed, for he was trying to smile, and the thinness of his hair, the pastiness of his complexion, were obvious. “That is what I’m replacing,” Paul said, and he shook his head.
“C’mere,” Caron husked, “and show off a little for him. I only wish he was sitting there instead of his fucking picture.” She slinked her arm around Paul’s neck and kissed him as fervently as she’d sucked his dick. His tongue shot into her mouth and she sucked it, too, and then he repaid the favor. They settled onto the carpet, not two feet from the glossy photo of the late Lou Archer, and Caron wondered why she had not bothered to do this a long time ago. There was a delightful, heady sense of independence in making love in front of Lou’s picture. And she wouldn’t have too many more chances, because that Goddamn photo was going down the john as soon as she was free. Her own personal touch for the celebration.
His hand slid down her stomach as they kissed, and he got his fingers into her pussy. Caron opened her legs with a gasp, ready for another fuck, but he seemed interested only in using his fingers. Well, he did a damned good job with them. They slipped neatly into her slot and, three strokes later he had her juices flowing like a flyer. He tickled her clit, rubbed it round and round, pushed it like a button, then slid down a little lower and traced the puffy outline of her cuntal lips. They were fleshy with lust and dripping with passion. His fingers entered her again and she squirmed, moaning, “Yes, darling, yesssss.”
His lips moved off her mouth, centered on her chin, and she giggled, she stopped giggling as he continued down her body. He licked her nipples till she was twitching like a bitch in heat, and he sucked her slender stiff tits, his teeth gnawing gently onto the tanned flesh at the ends of her breasts. He sucked hard, and Caron groaned, her fingers pawing though his hair. “Drink me,” she whispered. “If I had milk, I’d give you milk, darling. I’d fill your mouth with it. I’d feed you like a baby. Oh, God! Wiggle your fingers again!”
He was only too happy to do just that, and her thighs snapped shut. His fist was large and hard between her thighs, and it exerted a heavy, consistent pressure against her pussy. She bucked furiously, loving every ounce of pressure he was giving her, and die juices kept oozing from her hole. His finger stabbed deeply up her twat, scooping out the juice.
Paul suckled her tits and hippies for a few more exciting moments, then kissed and licked his way down her belly. He rimmed her navel with his tongue. She was sensitive there. “Jesus!” she giggled, jolting as if she were being electrocuted.
His leech-like mouth slid the rest of the way down. He was into her bush, the thin hedge she kept trimmed at the edges so that unchic patches of pussy hair wouldn’t show around the sides of mini bikini pants, and his fingers popped out of her, making room for his tongue. And God, what a tongue! It went deep, snapped like a whip on her clitoris, went deep again, so fast she couldn’t keep up with him. Caron jerked and bucked and twitched, and her hand reached toward Paul, fingers eager to wrap themselves around his prick again.