Harriet Daimler - Darling

" No, no," she screamed. " No time! Just ram it in me."

He ripped at her cashmere sweater, pulling it up around her neck and pushing her methodical head away from his prick at the same time. He tugged at the pink brassiere beneath the sweater, but his nervous fingers couldn' t find the hooks. Instead, he pulled it up so that it cut her under the arms. At last, his mouth found her taut nipples. She felt a shiver of hot lust as his tongue wandered over them.

" They' re stiff like your prick. I have two pricks." Then she pulled his head away from her because the need to have him inside of her was becoming unbearable.

" Fuck me, Paul," she pleaded looking at his gentle, dark eyes. They brought him humanly close to her and she felt her body grow chill. " Close your eyes. Don' t look at me, just fuck."

" Gloria," he implored. " Gloria."

She knew his humanizing of it had killed it for her. Her nipples grew soft. She lowered her hand to touch his prick. It was still stiff, and he was breathing hard. But it was not the thick, cruel prick of last night' s lover. This one felt hard and thin, hopelessly thin to her touch. Disgusted, she turned on her side. And at that moment, from behind her, Paul' s prick found its way between her legs and into the hot cavity of her desire. She thought it was too late, but his firm cock, moving in and out of her with a crazy, excited rhythm, was suddenly filling her with fire. Maybe? She pressed hard against him.

She grew dizzy with the intensity of her need.

" Harder, Paul harder. Give it to me! Give me a prick of hate, not of love! Give me a prick of hate!"

Her throaty, insane demand freed Paul' s orgasm. It rushed trembling all the way from his shoulders, throbbing down his breast and stomach and groin and emptied groaning into her cunt.

" Not yet," she spat in fury. " I need more! Fuck me! Fuck me!" She continued to thrust her hips against him, fighting to regain the sensation.

But Paul had grown soft inside her. She pulled away from him, her cunt wet with his sperm and the soothing liquids that had started to flow in her. She picked up his lax cock and balanced it in her palm. " I could crush it, you weak bastard. I hate you." She burst into tears of frustration, her fingers pinching her hungry clitoris.

" You' re crazy," Paul hissed. But he lowered his head to her cunt, and pushed her hand away. " Let me," he said gently.

He covered her emptiness with his mouth. She leaned her head against the pillow and thought, as long as he doesn' t take his mouth away, I can live. His tongue was inside her, gently licking her enraged clit. She felt a trembling, exhausted calm. She touched his dark head. " Thank you, darling," she said weakly. " Thank you." But even while sobbing her thanks… even as his tongue and teeth in her cunt calmed her insatiable need… she knew it would not bring the blasting, blinding release she had known under the stairs. It took a cock of contempt to do that. She felt as though a slave was salving her hot, tired insides.

She arched her body sensuously against him. But it would take a master to cut the chords of her nerves. At the urgings of his mouth, she felt the liquids flow gently down her body. The slow, tenuous pulsations of the orgasm began. Cheated and relaxed. Fulfilled, and yet hungrier from the entranced, controlled throbbing of her cunt, she lay back among the pillows and tasted her tears.

Paul put his head on the pillow next to hers. His face had a look of mortification mixed with pain. After months of gentle cultivation, he was shocked to discover this aggressive madwoman. Was she always repressing this abandoned sexuality? Or had his patient courting driven her to frenzied carnality? Maybe there was another man. His face contorted with jealousy.

They lay next to each other, not touching, in heavy silence. He thought she was sleeping, but when he looked over at her, he found her lying flat on her back, her eyes opened wide to the ceiling. She had an expression of entranced agony.

" Gloria," he said. " Gloria, what is it?"

Her face showed she had not heard him. He leaned over and took her shoulders, feeling her shudder.

" Gloria, are you sick?"

She turned on him, repeating his question mockingly. " Am I sick?"

" I can' t tell," he said hopelessly, " if you love or hate me."

" Neither," she sighed. " You don' t even exist for me, really." She turned heavy, feverish eyes on him.

" I do know I would never want to make love again like we just did. I guess I' m rather old- fashioned, but I like to lead the woman. I don' t like to feel drawn up into her emotion."

" I guess you are old- fashioned," she agreed with distant disinterest.

" I think," he countered, " that you' ll find most men are like me."

She laughed hollowly. " Then maybe I will take your suggestion of yesterday. Maybe I will try women."

His face grew grim with the insult. A woman had never rejected him with such scrupulous and utter detachment.

" What you want is some kind of animal fury. Not love."

" No, I just want you to kill the bug in me."

He got up on his elbows and looked down at her breasts. The sweater and brassiere still pulled below her armpits. Her breasts were forced into taunt points by the pressure above, the nipples erect and pebble- hard. He felt the blood rushing to his penis, pressing it authoritatively through the slit in his drawers. He was horrified that his body desired this crude woman. He pressed his penis up against his leg, zipping his pants with nervous speed. Gloria watched with a smile on her face.

" Don' t worry, Paul," she giggled contemptuously. " You won' t get in me again. You don' t even get near my bug. You don' t even flutter its wings."

" What are you talking about?" he said, embarrassed that she had seen his fear. " You talk like there' s a mosquito eating at your…"

" Cunt? Pussy? Snatch?" she laughed again.

" Gloria!"

" That' s all it is," she screamed. " Stop reading your fancy psychology books. Stop turning women into goddamn monuments or the Virgin Mary. There' s only one Virgin Mary, and she had a mighty rough time. I don' t want God in my cunt. I just want a man. Are there any? Do you know any?" The white eyes floated before her and laughed into her blood- clotted face.

" I think," said Paul, " that you should see an analyst."

" Great, " she answered. " Do you know of one with white eyes?"

" What are you talking about?"

" I want an analyst with white eyes. I want him to fuck me back to sanity."

He leaned to look closely at her and his chest brushed the protruding breasts. Again his penis urgently pressed against his pants. Then his tongue was searching her closed, cool lips.

" Let me, " he cried. " What difference can it make to you?"

Gloria pulled her head back and said, " Try, just try to be a man for me."

" Yes, yes," he said, not hearing the accusation in her voice. " Let me try."

He pulled the sweater over her head. His fumbling fingers caught the snap on her brassiere and pulled the restraining cloth away from her mounds. He ran his hands eagerly over her soft, warm tits, pinching the nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He didn' t dare look at her face. With a grunt, he pressed his mouth against the stiff pink knobs at the tip of her tits. He sucked at the pinpoint hole in her nipples, trying to drain milk from the breasts that had never suckled.

" You darling; you darling," he murmured against her softness, each sound and breath giving the warm breasts new sensations.

Then he levered himself up and stuck his cock eagerly between the valley of her tits. The channel was dry and he crushed the mounds of flesh tight against his shaft, feeling the pulsation, the separate heartbeat. His penis expanded, fatter and stiffer, pressed against her woman' s body. And still she didn' t move.