Theodore Stickles - Prisoner Of Lust

For the first time in her life, savoring the sweet sensation of Mr. Costello kissing his gentle way from tits to tush, she began to wonder, to suspect that she had been too cautious in estimating human behavior. Maybe people really did do those things. Mr. Costello was breathing hard into the sparse blond ringlets of her pubic patch. Surely he was getting ready to do something.

Suddenly she was faced with a problem which had never come up in all these social science classes inflicted on her in her school years. She had been taught how to greet people, how to take leave of them, how to host a dinner or a soiree. Nothing and nobody had told her what was proper conduct for a lady about to be the recipient of the highest tribute to youth and beauty any man can bestow upon her. What was she supposed to do when nice old Mr. Costello did her the honor of kissing her in a place she had never been kissed before-had never even imagined that people kissed one another before?

She knew it was going to happen. There had been just enough acceleration in the burning intensity of his bussing to give her clear indication of what all that slow gentle build-up around her firm young tits, and down midriff and belly, had been leading up to. She knew damned well Mr. Costello was not planning on kissing her toes.

She could feel that part of her destined for the piece de resistance in his production number getting all tingly and even just a tiny bit damp as love's elixir trickled. She ought to fight and at least go through the motions of protesting but she was so filled with curiosity, with desire, that she knew it was too late. To Mr. Costello's piece de resistance she could offer no resistance.

He oozed up a little farther onto the bed and she suspected that if she just had the strength to move, to turn her head, she would be treated with a full frontal view of that organ which separates the men from the girls. But it felt so good just to lie here and wait to see what was going to happen next that she couldn't even muster the energy to look at Mr. Costello's cock. She felt his hands grasping her knees, slowly pushing them apart.

With her mind still bridging present and past, Paula felt herself being pushed and prodded until she was no longer on her back. Still unsure whether she was being moved by Mr. Costello or by the nameless red-headed felon who had entered her house, entered her body at Harry Riggs's invitation, she found herself lying on her side.

A red-haired head was still burrowing in her tits, snuffling and kissing every square inch of seductive skin not covered by that extra pair of hands that had to be Harry's. The nameless redhead's bald-headed cock still coursed slowly and steadily in and out of her seething cunt, managing with a supernal skill to keep her teetering constantly over the precipice, looking ever with a combination of desire and horror into the depths of a chasm of orgasm.

On her side Paula had greater freedom of action. A lot of good it was doing her. The redhead still had his hands locked round her ass, was pushing and pulling, moving her off and onto his hot raging cock like some fleshy glove. So much for her college education.

She ought to be struggling-at least protesting. Or should she? She reminded herself that either of these men was capable of killing her. If she couldn't make them believe she was enjoying this, was eager for it to happen again and again…

Her belly surrendered to this constant internal massage and gave another happy little flip flop. She felt the spurt of love's elixir and knew Redhair had felt it too. It was going to require no great histrionic effort, she knew, to pretend she was enjoying this. Oooooooohhhhh wow!

It was nothing very surprising or unusual but at just that moment Harry Riggs's hands twiddling her nipples while he nibbled on the nape of her neck was sufficient to transform what had started out to be a happy little flurry of come into a gut-busting, soul-wrenching, kicking, squealing, and moaning cataclysm of colossal come.

She was still writhing, gibbering with ecstatic joy when she realized that it was not just Harry's hands touching her throbbing tits. He was pressing his bare body against her from behind-as if she weren't already smothering in erotic sensation from the feel of Redhead pressing between her legs, pressing against her body, face buried in her tits in an effort to gain some symmetry with the bald-headed cock he held deep in her twat.

So what was Harry up to? He was feeling and fondling her full firm jugs from behind, rubbing his whole naked length against her back while Redhead monopolized her front and cunt. She could feel Harry's eight inches prodding hopefully at her from behind but that aperture was already occupied. Sooner or later Harry Biggs was going to grow impatient and then there would be some rearranging while he twisted and prodded her around into some pretzel formation that would keep a bald-headed cock coursing steadily up and down the slick smoothness of her vagina while Harry once more raped her esophagus. She hoped they wouldn't bend her too far or too painfully. And then Paula's eyes flew open as she suddenly understood what Harry was really up to.

Oh Jesus! As if she didn't have enough to do now!

But, ready or not, here came Harry. He had no intention of stuffing his eight enormous inches in her mouth and down her throat again. Now she knew why he had been so busy with the lovely twin handles on her chest; he had been positioning himself.

Now his hands slipped momentarily away from her tits and she felt him spreading the cheeks of her already straining ass. She felt the tip of his tool pressing against the suddenly twittery rosette of her anus. My god, was he going to try to put it in there?

For her to take those eight tremendous inches of insistent masculinity in the wrong hole would have been difficult enough under any circumstances. But now, with a bald-headed cock already ravishing her vagina, stuffing her so full of meat she felt positively pregnant every time that bludgeon bottomed out… it was impossible. There was no possible way he could do it. And yet Harry was trying.

She shuddered at the memory of his eight inches of rampant masculinity. It had been bad enough to take that tremendous round-headed bludgeon of a tool where nature had intended it. Down her throat had been an experience like walking a tightrope, balanced exquisitely midway between pleasure and pain, swaying now one way and now the other. But up her poor poophole?

Paula almost relaxed, almost secure in the knowledge that not even this magnificently endowed breaker and enterer could achieve the impossible. Then she reminded herself that nobody had ever told Harry that. He was still spreading the cheeks of her ass, still pressing the blunt knob at the end of his tool against the twittery sphincter muscle of her taut anus.

If only she weren't too busy! But while all this was happening Paula was still being vigorously fucked by the nameless redhead who grasped her ass with his hands overlapping Harry's and, lying on his side, with his weight uncomfortable on her lower thigh, was enthusiastically driving his bald-headed banger in and out of her, in and out with a gradually accelerating rhythm that was not conducive to sleep or tranquility. It was driving her right out of her skull with joy. If only Harry would go away for a minute so she could just relax and enjoy it and come a dozen more times before this stranger's hard-on, like all good things, came to an end.

But Harry would not go away. He did finally let go of her ass and for one tiny moment of hope she thought he had given up but he hadn't.

Instead, his blunt-tipped tool had finally forced its way a tiny fraction of an inch into her twittery asshole. It was not far but it was enough to spread slightly the tight ring of her contracting anus. With his tool centered, he let go of her buttocks and let his hands course slowly up her belly, round her waist, memorizing the feel of every square inch of soft femininity on his meandering way back up to her tits. As his hands settled once more over those lovely handles and his fingers again began their twiddling and rolling of her nipples, she felt his slight, jockey-sized body wriggling around into position and then-