Chapter 92: She's Loyal!

"You really must meet my poor sister," sighed the woman lying beneath me, thoroughly impaled on my striving manhood but, having climaxed a half dozen times, losing interest in our endeavors.

"Poor sister," I managed, holding her hips and rotating my own, hoping to reach my own peak once more, knowing I would fail but still enjoying the attempt. She was bung hole tight, canal deep and very slick.

"Oh yes," she said impassively, gritting her teeth and arching her back, "they think her a terrible tease, poor thing."

I withdrew and flopped beside her, long and soggy and satisfied enough for our afternoon encounter. What I wanted was a full night and a very long morning with the young lady, whose quim was slim and active, deep and exciting but lacking endurance and experience.

"What's her problem?" I asked, not in the least interested, my fingers playing in her tangled hair.

"She gets little or no pleasure from the act so she pretends and often gets caught at it. In addition, she is a terrible tease."

"Think you said that. Hard to believe, much as you seem to enjoy it."

"Oh, I do, indeed I do," she sighed. "But now I must dress for the general's party. So, if you will excuse me." She rolled out of bed and found her shift.

"How old is she, your sister?" I sat up and watched her dress, my thick rod in my hand, finding it stimulating to see her lace her stays over her lush body, popping out her sizable dugs with their large, brown tits.

"Twenty-five," she said. "Twenty-five and widowed. Isn't that sad?"

I nodded and got my feet on the floor, my prod having risen manfully. I kissed the lady firmly despite her protests, put her hands down on the foot of her bed, one of my favorite positions for a woman, tossed up her fancy shift and took her from behind before she could complain again. In it went, right to the hilt as I banged my belly against her globular bottom and remembered a farm girl back in Fredericktown, a long time ago.

She squealed and moaned for a bit but soon was heaving back at me as hard as I was thrusting into her. She shuddered and spasmed, her body sagged, her knees shook and she gasped out, "We must stop, please, please. Be a good boy."

I withdrew, content, but still randy. She dropped to her knees, took my ram into her warm mouth and sucked deeply for a minute or so. Getting no results, she released me, kissed my pike's huge head and dismissed me with a wave.

That Saturday, bathed and shaved and bearing a note from the foxy lady with whom I had spent a very tiring morning the day before, I appeared at her sister's nearby brick home, ready for action. A black servant admitted me, and I waited in the parlor, examining the garish art and leather-bound library. When the young woman finally appeared, seemingly in some haste, she was dressed all in black as befit a widow and with her chin lifted and her eyes sparkling, looked as if she had just arisen from a bed of lusty lovemaking.

I stood, bowed, and handed her the envelope her sister had given me. While she read, I studied her. She was a slim, fine looking woman with a lovely countenance, outstanding posture and a stirring body. I had pictured some sort of drudge and was very pleased to find I was being asked to horse a true beauty.

"My sister is a funny one," she said, tearing the note in half and tossing the pieces into the fireplace. "Have you known her long?"

I smiled thinking that 'long' was exactly how I had known her. "No," I said, "only for a week or so."

"And she believes you can help me solve my, ah, my physical problem?"

"So she said. I'm certainly willing to try." I ventured a smile and a small bow.

"Did you see the gentleman who just left?" she asked, producing a small fan and using it.

I shook my head.

"He did his best, sir, several times, and he is a gentleman of some experience who fancies himself a prime lothario."

"I may have better equipment," I suggested with another smile.

"Ho," she said. "I doubt that. But I felt almost nothing while he, I must say, enjoyed himself at great length and in several positions."

"Great length may not be the problem."

She smiled. "Are you hungry?"

I licked my lips and stepped closer, cupping her lush breast and bringing my mouth it its pink nipple as I popped it from its lacy nest. Two licks and nibble, and it swelled and hardened very nicely.

"Please," she said, holding my head to her chest. "I need some time to rest, to recover. He was most insistent. I'll ring for some food. We were hard at it for more quite a while." She tucked her upright breast from sight.

An hour so so later, well fed and impatient to discover the depths of the lady's predicament, we adjourned to her huge bedchamber, undressed and rolled into her canopied bed. Her body was as spectacular as I had assumed: long-legged, wide-hipped, full-breasted and all the rest including a deep nest of wiry hair between her long legs and a most impressive mound.

"Such luxury," I said, as I recaptured her upright breast with my mouth.

"Yes," she moaned as she wiggled beneath me, "but what good is it? The men all enjoy themselves, at least they say they do and they seem to. I feel almost nothing."

"Perhaps we should try the hayloft," I suggested.

She laughed, but then as I spread her legs and entered her, her eyes widened, and she gasped and arched her back. "Wait!" she cried.

I paused, hardly into her moist and warm cunny more than four or five inches, feeling her gradually spread. I held it there, pulsing and jumping, while I stayed up on my elbows and enjoyed the feel of her bare body against mine, her quivering lips on the skin of my aching prong. Her hand slid down between us and grasped my thick shaft. It trembled at her light touch.

"Lor," she said, "you are surely well suited for the task. That is a fine and noble weapon."

I backed it out a bit and rocked my hips from side to side. "I'm not a boy," I told her, eager to get started.

She took her hand away, lifted her legs somewhat higher and linked her feet in the middle of my back. She clamped her soft mouth into a thin line and nodded.

I sank it into her, pushing hard, and she squealed. "No, no, please, I can't," she cried, and I slowly withdrew with the intent of spearing her a hundred or so times, of mashing her deeply into her mattress. She pushed on my chest and shook her head negatively so I grabbed her buttocks and rolled us over. Then she lay atop me, my prong barely into her, its head dripping, her breath coming in rapid gasps. I helped her sit up, and as I did I felt my mast sink up her channel, all the way up. She made a very odd noise in the throat. She was glove tight, throbbing.

"There," I said, helping her get comfortable in the saddle, grinding our bellies together, "how does that feel?" I flicked a finger tip at her bulbous clit, teasing it out.

"Like I've a fencepost within me," she said, her hands on my stomach, lush breasts hanging toward my face. My phallus jumped and lurched but I tried to remain at ease, enjoying the feel of it. She began to move, very gently to and fro, rocking on my loins, her tongue in the corner of her mouth and her eyes closed, concentrating. She moved forward far enough to kiss me and then rocked back. "I've never tried this." I held her hips gently, steadying her, stroking her.

In a few minutes her movements became longer and stronger and then, seemingly out of the blue, she spasmed and shook, arched her back, spread her arms wide, sighed and fell on her back between my legs, nearly tearing my pike from my groin. I quickly rose, got my knees between hers and went back to work, in and out, in and out, holding her hips and thrusting hard, her thighs upon mine. I could hear our bodies slapping together and her labored breathing as blood roared in my ears.