NNGGHH, NNGGHH, NNGGHH! There it was again, that same old grunt that we hear from professional tennis players on television as they serve aces past a weak opponent, or when actors have a make-believe fight, that same old grunt that Ted uses on each stroke as he slams his cock into my defenseless – but willing - cunt. But unlike that hapless tennis player, or third rate actor, I'm able to return that serve, thrusting my hips upward to meet him halfway, to feel him slam the crown of his blood filled fuck tool against my cervix.
My Ted, though I have serious doubts that any woman will ever truly be able to say 'my' about him, is hung like a stallion, has the endurance of a long distance runner and can deliver a load of his creamy, tasty cum inside whatever opening he's using as if it were coming from a fire hose or an oil tanker hose. He's six feet tall and weighs a hundred eighty pounds, all of it hard muscle. His hair is black but tinged with just a hint of gray, as befits a man in his early forties. He has the face of Adonis, which means that (I'm sure) other women throw themselves at his feet, as did I, as still do I.
The couch on which we lay entangled was covered in light brown fabric with a slight pattern, perfectly complementing the darker brown carpeting under my naked right foot. My left leg was thrown over the back of the couch, exposing my loins to receive those wonderful thrusts. I knew that soon my vaginal walls would be marinating in the sweet sauce of this man's orgasmic gift.
I also knew that in 'soon' plus five minutes, I'd be on my knees in front of that couch, trying to clean up whatever cum had drooled from my cunt and whatever stains had been left by my naked ass rubbing on the couch during his pounding. That five minute interregnum would have been spent kissing his damp cock and licking it clean, a process that Ted seems to like even more than the ejaculation itself.
My own orgasm had come early, compliments of his eloquent tongue, and then repeated itself quickly when the actual fucking began, thus allowing me to look around as his cock continued its delightful work.
NNGGHH, NNGGHH, NNGGHH!
His desk, over which I had bent often in order to take him doggy style, was made of expensive cherry wood, appropriate to his business success. Behind it stood an equally expensive leather high-backed chair, on which he sat whenever we only had time for a quickie blow job – or on which I sat when he was in a good enough mood to settle for going down on me. Opposite the desk were two visitor chairs, garbed in the identical fabric as that of the couch.
Not a single piece of paper lay on the desk. It was ready to accept whatever documents might be placed in front of him for his perusal and approval. The blank area was framed with trophies of all sorts, given to him by various charities and public groups, with a center-piece of a framed photograph of Ted and his wife, together with their two children, appropriately one of each gender. Both were youngsters, the boy about fourteen and the girl just reaching the age of menstruation.
Flanking the desk on each side, against the wall, were flags of the United States and of the Great State of 'Joe-Ja' as he pronounced it. Behind his chair were plaques attesting to his wonderful works, given to him by those same types of organizations. Under those, right at head level, was another picture of Ted and his wife, in formal garb, sans children. On each side of that the pieces de resistance, signed photos of Ted and two former Presidents, one from each party. Sprinkled around the room were photos of his various construction projects, taken from either airplanes or outer space.
For Ted, one of the most successful and richest building contractors in the State was trying to get started in the elusive chase for a political appointment or elective office. After that, he had his eye on bigger and better things. And I and my pussy planned to be there with him. I pledge that to myself whether or not he gets rid of that frigid bitch – my words, not his.
NNGGHH, NNGGHH, NNGGHH! He was getting closer to filling me with his sauce of love and lust. And as I came closer to my own next orgasm, la petite mort, the little death, my mind flashed back over the years that had led up to that wet and exciting sexual moment.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEN
As soon as I was able to comprehend the concept of households having both a mother and a father, and asked why I didn't have a father, my Mom proudly explained to me that my Dad had been killed in action, serving his country. His picture was proudly displayed on our coffee table, so gallant in his full dress uniform. My heart broke every time I saw a tear forming in her eyes, which was whenever the local newspaper carried the story of another local soldier killed in action. And it was the government benefits paid to us, as his widow and child, which enabled her to support me without having any job. Mom had always refused to give me the details of Dad's death, except to say that he had been killed saving a buddy's life. And of course that made me proud too, and made me cry also.
And then one day, on my fourteenth birthday, I learned the truth. Actually, it was spread over two days, but that's neither here nor there.
We lived on the 12th floor of an up-scale high rise apartment building. My friend Lisa, a triplet with her brothers Lenny and Larry, lived on the 6th. I guess she and I could be called bosom buddies. It was a Friday. We'd had a little party with the girls from our building, plus Lisa's brothers. We had done the same thing for her fourteenth birthday just a month earlier. Skinny little Lisa had pigged out on the birthday cake. That night, I had gone down to her apartment to spend the night, something we often did, alternating apartments. Alas, something that Lisa had eaten (likely the cake) hit her the wrong way. She was throwing up and running a fever. The buiding had only one concierge on day, so Lisa's mother rode up the elevator with me, still in my pj's, watched as I went into our apartment and then went back down to Lisa.
I tiptoed into the apartment and toward my room, hoping not to wake my Mom. As I neared her room, I saw her lights were on, her door ajar and I heard voices. I assumed that she had fallen asleep watching television. Ha! You already know better than that. There was Mom, naked – jeez, she had such a beautiful body. She was kneeling in front of an equally naked man and she was sucking on his penis.
Though I had never seen that sight before, it didn't surprise me. Mom had occasionally brought men home and spent the night with them. After all, she had been a single mother for my entire life and television had given me some very detailed clues about men and women and the things they do in bed together.
Mom had by then long since given me The Talk, that clinical explanation of birds and bees and penis and vagina. When I spoke to my friends about it in school, I learned that there was more to it than Mom had told me. Specifically, she had said nothing about fucking for fun, not just to make babies. So I asked her about it. She had told me then that I was really too young for Part Two, but since I was old enough to ask, I deserved an honest explanation. As she spoke, in street language detail, my eyes felt like they were bulging out. Wow!
So I knew what they were doing, and I knew enough not to barge in on them. But I had no intention of closing my eyes to this grown-up stuff, and therefore I stood in the shadows and watched her cheeks move inward with each suck. I knew, or was pretty sure, that she would keep doing that until his penis shot his stuff into her mouth. At the same time, my hand went down between my legs. I had already learned, on my own, of the pleasurable feeling I would get in my clit, though I had not yet had the explosion of joy that Mom called an orgasm.
But while Mom was still sucking, the man pulled back, exposing his penis. I'd never seen one before and it looked huge, hard, and shiny from her saliva. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.
"On the bed, baby," he said. She hopped up as directed and lay on her back, her legs slightly spread. I glanced and saw her labia, damply shining.
"No, roll over," he said.
"You know damn well why. I'm gonna give your ass the fucking of your life."
"No way," she said.
"Yes way, bitch," he responded. "I paid for it and I'm gonna get it."
"Fuck you," she yelled. "You paid for suck and fuck only. My asshole will cost you another three hundred."
They glared at each other, it seemed like an hour, but I guess it was maybe thirty seconds. Then he shrugged, walked across the room to his pants and took out three hundred dollar bills. He held them out to her.
"Cunt!" he snarled. She took the money, reached into her night table, dropped the bills and came out with a tube of something. She handed it to him and rolled over.
I couldn't watch any more. I went to my room, closed the door and fell onto my bed, sobbing. My Mom wasn't fucking this man for pleasure, she was taking money to let him fuck her. She was nothing but a whore, a prostitute, the kind you see on television and even sometimes hear about in church. And in the ass, no less! That's where ... that's where ... Oh jeez, the very thought of it made me want to throw up. That was too much for me to watch.
.... There is more of this story ...