Jason Hyte - Sex kitten

"Hey," she said seriously. "Come here a minute."

With dainty, finicky, fingertips, Karen picked Clark's limp wet dick from his legs and studied it. Rolling suddenly, she darted her head and stuffed the whole soggy sponge roll into her mouth. She sucked it clean, skinning it back while it was in the warmth of her mouth to get the neck, too, with the tip of her tongue. Though she now had a clumsy bulky war club facing her, Karen again held it with dainty fingertips while she licked into the crisp hair of Clark's pelvis. Her upturned fist now holding the big clumsy cock up and out of the way like a big wooden handle, Karen bunted Clark's legs apart and ran her warm sloppy-wet tongue one teasing, tantalizing, time over his supersensitive bag of balls. Acting as if nothing in the world should possibly be bothering him, she sat up on the bench, then, and calmly began toweling her spit from his body.

Clark hunched Karen back onto the bench, trying in the same move to close in on her lithe, suddenly eel-like body. Karen closed her legs, twisting away from him and holding him off with a hand against his hard stomach.

"Get outa here, you s-sex maniac," she giggled. "God's sakes, don't you ever get enough?? Besides, that meeting's gotta be over by now. How'd you like my husband to walk in and kill us b-… Oh well, maybe one more little quick quick quickie, hey? Live a little, fuck a lot-no, wait. I've got a better idea. Where's your van?"

"Home. I've been walking a lot lately. For exercise."

"Oh, shit. Oh well, no matter. Get dressed and wait in the parking lot near our bus-s-s-but not too near, you know? We'll just let Coachie walk it on home one time. Be good for his pot belly anyway. You-u and me-e, baby, we won't be going exactly straight home. We'll take that lon-ng way around like we used to; how's that knock your knockers?"

Some young broad walked by on his right in one of the super-revealing new tank suits and Clark wished he could have seen her tits. If they were any match for the individual quivering globes of her tight little ass they must have been sensational.

He jerked his mind away from that kind of thinking. There was no room in the new bikini-style trunks the men's teams had been issued for even a comfortable half-hard, much less a full blooming rail.

He smiled hello to Virginia Compton's mother in the first reserved spectator's box no more than an aisle width away, but Mrs. Congressman Compton didn't see his face. Her perfectly groomed eyes were coolly skimming,trunk bulges across the whole eight lanes of swimmers as if she came to all the meets less to watch her daughter compete than to estimate sizes of possibly available boy cocks. Her eyes came back down the line to linger most avidly on Superdick Boehm in lane two who had the biggest bulge of all, not even realizing, probably, which particular young boy she was sizing. But, what the hell, all the other ultrarefined ladies who followed the Superstar circuit were doing the same thing.

Virginia's kid sister simpered at him and Clark dropped her a friendly wink. He knew instantly what a big mistake that was. Kathy Compton was only thirteen but she was already making embarrassingly outspoken noises back home about how she intended to become Superstar Fletcher's woman.

Kathy slid her hips forward in the plush vinyl theater seat, spreading her legs in what she thought was a super-sexy come-on. Clark frowned at her to cut the shit but Kathy only grinned wider, her sneaky fingers edging her mini-skirt further up her healthy little legs. She flicked her eyes up to make sure her mother was still occupied, then deliberately flipped her skirt back and forth over her tummy like fanning a really hot hotbox. Clark's eyes involuntarily dropped to the white crotch of Kathy's panties and then quickly away.

In spite of the ocean of eyes on the line-up, he felt a stirring in his stupid prick as his stupid mind wouldn't immediately release the prominent little mound of willing cunt. Quickly he leaned forward as if to flex his muscles for the coming race. He let his upper body overbalance and tumbled awkwardly into the water. He stayed there, treading water to the accompaniment of loud laughter from the spectators and jeering hoots from the line-up, until he got a personal double toot from the referee's whistle.

As he came out of the water to resume his place, Roger Boehm grinned at him. "Gets so heavy it just tips you right over frontways sometimes, don't it," he teased from the corner of his mouth. "You ever fuck her?"

"Of course not, fr chris'sa-fuck who?"

"Miz Compton?"

"Oh. Who hasn't. Haven't you?"

"More like she got to me one time, hey. She fucked me about twenty times in a row in twenty different ways. Man, was my cock ever sore when we got done."

Clark laughed. "That's the name of the game with that one. Worth the sore cock, though, wasn't it?"

"Too m-much, man. She like to have scared the shit out of me all the time we were doing it. She'd have my cock in her cunt and then all the sudden her head would be down there and she'd have it in her mouth? She even had it between her tits once? Man-n, I didn't get to go off for like hours because she was always coming on with something different just when whatever she was doing was beginning to get good."

"You didn't like that??"

"Naah, I like to get it in without all the -"

The warning whistle sounded, sending them, like computer programmed robots, into tense starting crouches and then the starting gun sent them into the water.

"Man-n, Captain, what the hell you trying to do, kill us all?" Jerry Shipley groaned, crumbling to one of the benches on the pool apron. "These fucking politicians don't care if you don't set a new record every time they throw one of these exhibition meets to their adoring public. All they want us to do is show off our manly young bodies so all the broads'll get itchy cunts and vote for them hoping they can get to us. What happened, Coach's wife get her win button wrapped around your brain instead of your cock last night?"

"I didh't fuck anybody last night, you dumb shit. I was out with you."

"Oh yeah, right. Until almost ten o'clock."

"So I was bushed."

"That's what I mean, Captain, you should start sharing out some of those fringe benefits you're getting from the coaching staff with your crew. Give yourself a little free time."

"Oh, crew, I'm so happy to hear you're so concerned about me working too hard."

They exchanged grins and found the strength to get up and join the exodus to the gymnasium half of the hotel's subterranean athletic club.

Tannsy was third up on the gymnastics schedule. She stood for a moment, straight and sure on the narrow length of the slippery polished wood of the balance beam, so chin-high proud of being Tannsy Fletcher that Clark's throat tightened. Tannsy's shiny golden-auburn hair piled neatly on the top of her head gave her the imperial crown of a mature little queen but her cute little behind scooping out round and tempting in her skin-tight body stocking was totally young girl.

Tannsy melted down to the beam to do a back roll that came into a beautiful hand stand. She snapped gracefully to her feet only to cartwheel forward in the same continuous movement into a letter perfect walk-over. She swung one golden-tan leg back and then forward to do a complete turn on the ball of one tiny foot and spotted her brother watching her from among the crowd at the door.

Her intense little pixie face broke into a smile bright as a new dawn sun and the pert thrust of her proud little breasts seemed to swell towards him. Then Tannsy remembered she was on close-up camera. The smile vanished and she turned into athlete again, all intense concentration. In a sudden rush of almost uncontrollable desire, Clark had to have that sweet little chick. He could barely wait for her to finish her routine.