The girl looked as if she were totally stoned on sex. She sighed and moaned as she was fucked, and when she wrapped her hands and mouth around the boy's cock, it was Katy bar the door! After a dozen shifts of position, she took him into her mouth, eager fist flying on his dong, and she made his cum fly into her waiting orifice. A long sticky-looking trail of white cum dripped from her lips as she mouthed him, and her lips and cheeks were obviously moist with squirted semen as the film ended. Pam squeezed her pussy on Mr. Ford's cock, almost wishing he'd saved this film for last. The girl's enthusiasm had burst off the, movie screen and infected Pam. She lifted high on Mr. Ford's cock, then plummeted down, sucking him all the way up her sex-greased channel, and she felt him shudder inside her, as if he meant to blow his nuts, now. Oh, no! she thought. Oh, God, no! He'd never forgive her if she got him off too soon!
Why was she so excited? From watching a plump blonde girl screw and suck on a movie screen? The girl wasn't even what Pam would consider pretty. She was too big-breasted for her short frame, too thick in the thighs; her face too plain. But so enthusiastic!
The second movie began with only a second's intermission. It wasn't as good quality film, and it appeared to be threaded onto the reef in reverse. The setting was obviously California, but the billboard in the rear could only be read with a mirror, and the driver who picked up the hitchhiking heroine was on the wrong side of the road.
Pam settled down upon Mr. Ford, caressing him with her vaginal muscles. "Better," he whispered into her ear. "Don't fuck so fast. There's more to come." His hands were on her tits, pulling at the big stiff nipples, and she wanted so much to move, to bounce and rock and ride like a rodeo cowgirl on his bucking bronco of a prick, but her own pleasure was no more than an incidental. She had duties and obligations to her customer, and his pleasure came first.
The girl in this film struck Pam as much prettier than the other, despite a frizzy Afro-style wig she was wearing. Her body was long and lean, the breasts well-carved, the pussy very lightly-furred, as if it had been shaved recently and the hair only just started to grow back. She wasn't beautiful either, but she was attractive in a very 1977 fashion, and when the film cut from her entering the hero's van on a busy L.A. street to the pair of them naked and in bed, her body was equally nice to look at.
The man kissed her, one hand cupping her left lit, the other stroking, in long shot and close-up, the lightly-haired cleft of her pussy, fingers dwelling on the pouty-looking twat lips, occasionally slipping between them and plunging into the girl's slick, purplish vagina. She writhed in pleased response, her tummy moving softly, and Pam could almost feel those fingers on her own cunt right now – but no, it was Mr. Ford's dick, and it was much nicer than fingers could ever hope to be.
But for all her promise, the girl proved to be less than adequate when it came time for her to suck her man's tool. Pam's eyebrows curled disapprovingly as the girl started sucking. She wasn't very good, and she didn't look at all comfortable with a pecker in her mouth. Of course, she tried, but it was clear that her talents did not lie in the direction of oral sex. When her man's passion grew, she resorted to the adolescent subterfuge of simply jerking him off, into her mouth. He touched her frizzy wig and she pulled back quickly, stroking him with her fist as sperm began to fly in thick lashing from the end of his cock. And as she watched, her mouth curled into a quizzical smirk.
"Do that for me," Mr. Ford panted, "but do it better. I know you can do it better, Patti darling, just do it, okay?"
Of course she could do it bettor, and of course she would do it better! Pam jumped off her client's heavy, swollen hard-on and she knelt between his widespread legs, her mouth moving up and down the barrel of his hot cock. She sucked at his balls, feeling them roll and twitch in her mouth, but she was careful not to suck too hard, lest he shoot prematurely. Slowly her lips began to ascend his rod, until the bulbous knob of his glans brushed against her mouth and she could taste the promise or his cream on it. Pam opened, her lips and pulled him inside.
She tried to watch the movie as she sucked, but she had a duty to her client that transcended her own interest in erotic cinema. Still, as she ate, she was aware of what was happening on the movie screen. The girl being eaten by her guy (and he ate her very nicely, much more skillfully than she'd gobbled him). Then the girl being fucked by her guy (and she fucked very nicely, her face expressing a sweet kind of rapture as the hard cock moved in and out her almost bare labia). A second orgasm, this time on her flat stomach, the man stroking his cock until all his watery cum had spurted upon her. Both of them coating their fingers in the stuff, tasting it. The man lying back, spent, his prick melted to a deceptively small stub. The girl beside him, not fully satisfied, or so it appeared. The girl picking up a realistic-looking rubber dildo, kissing its knobby tip, looking at the camera quizzically. Was she going to fuck herself with it? God! Was she, perhaps, going to fuck him?
Pam had one client, a traveling salesman named Mr. Dolan, who loved to have a vibrating dildo jammed up his ass while she gave frantic, furious head to his swollen cock. Pam sucked, and Pam watched, but she never found out what the girl intended doing with that rubber sex substitute, because the film ended and another one began.
She moved slightly, still mouthing Mr. Ford's prick, and she focused her eyes on the screen. This one she'd have to watch carefully, so she'd know when to make him come. Not too fast, not too slow. He wanted to squirt in tandem with the hard-cocked stud in the movie and she wanted to make him squirt just as he wished to.
However, as the last film got underway, Pam began to wonder if there even was a hard-cocked stud in it whose orgasm could be synchronized with Mr. Ford's. That would make it a good bit more difficult, she realized, and she turned both eyes toward the screen as she ate him, hoping to absorb the situation and figure out what (and when) she must do to him. Whoever said it was easy being a hooker? A man was fragile and easily hurt and bruised, whether he was a husband or a hundred-dollar trick.
The film began with two rather young girls on a picnic outing in the country. A red-checked tablecloth spread under a tree, food and wine, toasts drunk back and forth. They were pretty girls, too, Pam noticed – the kind of girl who always made you ask yourself, "How did anyone like that ever get into a movie like this?" One was blonde, with the palest, most delicate face and features Pam had ever seen, the other a sandy-haired girl, more robust, more tanned, lovely in her athletic, long-legged fashion.
They drank to one another's health from champagne glasses, and then the sandy-headed girl yawned, threw back her arms, and commented in a subtitle that it was such a hot day – why didn't they take off their clothes and enjoy it?
Her friend giggled at the idea, but in a matter of seconds both young women were stripped to the waist. The blonde girl was pale-skinned there, too, and her tits were cupcakes of sweetness on her breast, capped in rosy-tinted nipples whose tips were already stiff. The other girl was a little fuller of breast, but even put together, the actresses couldn't muster a pair the size of Pam's. On the other hand, they didn't have to test their boobs for firmness and springiness every day, wondering when the lovely full mounds would turn into drooping sags. There were benefits of being small-fitted.