Unknown - The ape girl

"Oh, God," he said, as the girl began to sink a little onto the floor.

He wasn't about to let her go anywhere. He released his fingers from around his cock shaft and braced them around the girl's shoulders.

He gripped them so hard his fingernails dug into her flesh. And he pumped his hips hard into her mouth, fucking it with his hard, pink peckerwood.

Ramming his cock down her throat, he let out low, guttural sounds from far back in his throat. Sounds that let him know who was in charge here. Sounds that made him powerful, all-powerful.

"Arrrgghh!" he shouted, thrusting his hips back and forth. He pulled his wet dick log out of the girl's open, drooling mouth. He stared down at the hard, wet thick fuck pole, its head throbbing in perfect counterpoint to the beat of his hips. Then, a moment later, he rammed it right back down that tight wet little velvety hole.

"Oh, God," Blair shouted in the second interim, "You're killing me."

That was strange, Potter thought. For her to say that. He thought she was killing him. Making him die of ecstasy. He was only reacting defensively, driving his torture hammer down inside her and popping it back out again, only to drive it in deeper.

He whirled his hips around and reamed out her mouth as he let out his low, quiet mutterings. They fell off his lips in quiet oaths of pain and pleasure.

He couldn't believe this was happening.

Blair felt her cunt lips heave around and around, quiver, twitch and throb. There was nowhere she could toss her head. Nowhere she could cry out the passionate feelings soaring up and around her.

The man was cramming his dick stick down into her at a merciless pace. How much longer could he take it? How much longer could she?

She gave over to the savage beating the man was giving her mouth.

Nothing had ever tasted this good to her before. She reached up and gripped a handful of his thick, dense hair mat covering. She gripped it hard and twisted it with her fingernails.

"Shit!!!!" the hairy man cried as he released a bucket of his juice down his prick tube and out his cock slit.

"Holy shit!" he repeated, even louder than before.

He felt the sensations curdle inside him. The spewing out of his spunk load sent him reeling back a moment onto his heels.

And then he felt a sharp, digging pain. The girl was burying her fingernails into his flesh, tearing at his bodily hair. The hair he had loathed all his life.

For some reason, unfathomable to him, she liked it. She wanted her hands in it. She wanted to bury her head around his own, thickly-burdened, neglected cock pole.

Why? Why? Why?

He thought about that as he shot a long, heavy load of goo out of his prick top. Shot it out and down the eager, gulping throat hole the girl was offering up to him.

Blair Fortner wound her head around and around, eagerly sucking up the sweet, hot, tangy come juice that sprang from the well of the man's sweet, hard prick.

She slurped and licked and swirled her tongue around to catch it all. Every drop of it. Every succulent little blob.

Moments later, she felt herself spin out in a wild, hair-raising round of climaxes. Her cunt spun and twitched and pulled her into its own insistent orgasm. She gave over to the delirious, drowning sensation of the overwhelming power of its rush.

"Wow, wow, wow!" she said, as she held onto the man's hairy backside and flopped down against his thickly-covered knees.

It wasn't until a few minutes later, after Potter had reassembled his clothes and left the cabin in a blitz of fear, driving passion and uncertainty, did Blair notice that she clenched her fist up during the throes of her coming. And it was not until she opened her fist that she noticed what she had been holding there. A handful of hair. Dark, wispy, downy strands of it. Hundreds of them.

The noise of a startled, angry bird made Blair sit up and blink herself into a rude awakening.

"Shut up," she screamed at the noise as it flew past her window. "You haven't got any manners at all."

She pulled her mosquito netting back and stared out into the dim light of early morning.

The jungle was beautiful all right. But she sure hated those damned noisy birds for ruining her sleep.

They had a way of doing that. Disturbing her sleep, even her conversations with her father. She wondered if they had something personal against her.

"You'd be kicked out of the finer social circles in Boston, you know," she said out her window.

A heated, chirpy reply came floating down to her from the tree tops. She looked up to see the beautiful emerald green jungle less than one hundred yards away from her.

Her father and the native workers had found a great clearing to build their lodging in. There was ample room to put a lean-to, with the help of some aluminum poles, and a lot of lumber and canvas. There were three black men along this trip.

More than Dr. Fortner usually took. But he would have need of them. They planned to try a bold experiment, and he would need the extra two hands. Work had already begun on it, and Blair grew more excited by the day.

An intricate network of webbed netting and aluminum was being constructed not far away from where they camped. Just a few yards into the trees. It was big enough to house a gorilla, but it was also a trap. A trap to store a living, breathing, active gorilla in and also to observe him from the outside.

The idea was to lure a gorilla inside. To set fruits or nuts or even something more enticing inside and sit and wait for a gorilla to step in, then watch as the weight of his body automatically tripped a lever that would pull the remaining mesh webbing down on him and seal him off from exiting again.

There would of course, be provisions made for him to stay there. Food and water could be put inside, and he would be able to see out, but it was a well-documented fact according to Dr. Fortner, that gorillas loathed closed-in spaces.

"Morning, dear," Dr. Fortner called to his daughter as she stepped out of the tent.

Blair smiled at her father who was sitting under a tree at a huge, round wood table having coffee and making notes. Two of the black men were tying the trap up.

"How's that thing coming along?" she said, grabbing the bulk of her blonde hair, and tossing it back over her shoulders.

"Nearly ready," he said, sipping his demitasse cup.

How the man could act so civilized out here, Blair couldn't understand. The middle of the tropical jungles of Africa and this man was sitting sipping his coffee for all the world like he was sitting at home in his kitchen, staring out at the bird bath.

It was all she could do to keep her clothes on. Even now, she looked down at herself all of a sudden and noticed she had on only the sheerest of nighties.

It was something she had been warned about doing in the jungle. Too many insects and crawling bugs to sleep nude, but she was damned if she was gonna sleep in an insulated suit, either.

"I think before sundown," her father said, standing up and heading toward the trap.

"Great," Blair said back, fishing around the pile on her trunk for something to put on.

She found her favorite soft, chamois safari shirt and tore her nightie off above her head.

As her arms reached skyward, she got a sniff of herself.

"Wow," she said, under her breath, "time for a beauty bath."

The men were going to put up a shower of some sort in the camping ground, but first things had to come first. Like building that trap. In the meantime, there was the river finger. And the pool of mountain run-off less than half a mile from camp.

Which would it be today? Nice to have two bathrooms to decide between, Blair thought, as she grabbed her clothes and hurried into them. She stepped gingerly into her safari boots and laced them up loosely.