Roland Harding - Teen Queen

Andrew, listening to her raving as she thrashed about beneath him, grinned as he thought what an absolute virago she could become, this woman who was all svelte and elegance only a few hours ago.

With compassion and understanding, he let her rant on as she thrashed her body about in the snaking movements of someone deep in the throes of desire. He, in his turn, bent at her twat, and bearing mightily upon her twisting hips, stilled her movements sufficiently to insert his tongue into her cunt. That valley, controlled a moment ago, was now agape, its lips seeming to flap open and shut in the agony of her desire to be fucked. The moment he slid his tongue on to the length of her clitoris, Louise went berserk. Her stream of profanity cut itself off in one long moan of desire and she threw herself about upon the bed in one great pulsating moan of outraged femininity. She pulled at Andrew's hair and beat at his head. She brought her thighs up and together, applying a wrestler's scissors hold upon his neck, squeezing his face into her cunt so that his tongue might accomplish what she so fiercely desired.

As he felt her body racked by great shudders, Andrew knew beyond a doubt that she was ready for rape – and he struck. He surged through the thighs locking at his neck, and pinned her down beneath him by the sheer weight he exerted upon her. His prick at the gaping, choking lips of her twat, he slid it brutally and viciously into its lubricated bed, plunging the whole nine inches deep, true and hard into her so that he felt the breath leave her body in her surprise at his violation.

And he gave no mercy. Angrily, he fucked her as solidly as he had ever fucked any woman. And he felt her recoil in gratitude as, in her turn, she began an equal and opposite paroxysm of fucking at him.

In one swift moment, it was all over. This was a fierceness such as Andrew had never before known; it seemed he had hardly entered the woman when, with one great "Ah-h-h-h!" she sighed and spent, clutching at him, seeking with her nails to slash and gouge at his back and arms. But disregarding the onslaught of her climax, he kept slamming into her, spilling his load and drenching her insides with jet after jet of gushing sperm, ramming at her and probing away deeply inside, seeking more and more space to deposit his great discharge.

And so they copulated, boring into each other, spending of their sex in one another in gradually diminishing paroxysms of ecstasy until they lay sweating and strained in a dumb insensibility which was not sleep but yet was more than sleep.

How long they lay spent in utter exhaustion neither of them knew. After long moments, however, Andrew became conscious of his weight pressing upon the supine body of the girl beneath him. He eased off her and felt the involuntary twitching of cunt muscles, like grasping little baby fingers, as she sought to contain him inside her. His tool was wan and limp within her. It lay uselessly encased in the depths of her wet cunt. And then Louise stirred, smiling up at him. She limply relinquished his engine from her twat, and he grinned ruefully down at her as he rolled off her stomach.

"My God! What a ferocious affair that was!" he grinned. "Love it, honey?"

"Oh, Andrew, it was magnificent! More, please?"

"With this?"

He flicked at the wet head of his penis as it lay, limp and grotesque along one thigh.

"Oh, but I love it, even as it is now. It'll rise again. Just wait."

"I know. But tell me honestly, darling, could you fuck again? Right away, I mean. Now? This moment?"

"Of course I could," laughed Louise. "That's something you men'll never understand. I can see that you couldn't face it again, not right now. That's evident, from what's happened to your tool. But I could. Women can, you know. Trouble is, we always have to wait for you men to get a hard-on, once more, and that takes time. We're built differently."

"Just how are you built, Louise? Seriously, you know, I've never studied a cunt. Mind if I look, now?"

"Go right ahead."

She rolled over on her back, and spread her thighs. Andrew raised himself on one elbow to study the ravine of pleasure in which he had poured out his manhood.

"Explain it to me?" he invited.

Louise's fingers parted the major lips of her entry. "These," she demonstrated, "are the labia majora – the big, fleshy outside lips. They lie over the two minor lips, the ones that fold over the actual vagina. And the clitoris lies along here, from about here to here."

Andrew gazed in fascination at the lesson in sexual anatomy he was being given. He could see the clitoris as she strained it tightly under its folds of membrane. Like the stub of a pencil it gleamed, blue and hard, against the thin fold of skin that contained it.

"That," she went on, "is the thing that gives me most pleasure. When I feel your cock sliding to and fro against the head of the clitoris, I could climb up a wall! Ever look at a clitoris properly? Look, I can slide its little head out, just like you can slide the head of your prick out of its foreskin."

With practiced fingers, Louise demonstrated. Andrew gazed raptly as a little head, resembling the helmeted tip of a man's prick, slid in and out of its fleshy bed.

"But surely, that's not the only area that gives you pleasure?" he asked.

"Oh no. There's the whole of the mouth of the thing, the introitus I think they call it. It's all sensitive, an all solid, electrifiable area when I get randy, and I'm getting that way right now. But the feelings, the actual sex sensations, are all different. For example, the rubbing against the clitoris that's an unbearable pain! Pain, and yet pleasure, you see. But quite unendurable. Then, on the other hand, there's the feeling I get among the labia, and even in the hairy area close to the labia on the outside. That's like a needle spray when you touch it. The nerves hammer at you when there's a sex bout going on. But this hammering I can bear it's all pure pleasure. And then, of course, and Louise spread the lips further apart and the hole of the vagina, still laden with its recent drenching of creamy sperm, gaped redly until, deep down, its redness faded into the darkness of invisibility, there's the actual twat, the vagina itself. Somewhere I've heard that there's no actual sex feeling in the vagina. But I don't believe that. With some women, maybe. But not with me. Christ, I swear I can feel every skin contact with your prick, all the way, every millimeter all along it. And that now, is a third kind of sensation. I think I can best describe it as a warm sensation, getting warmer all the time until I get to a pitch of unbearable hotness. That's when a girl comes, when you can bear the hotness no longer. You just boil over at least that's what happens to me."

"And then, I suppose, it's a combination of all three sensations. You get the pain-pleasure of the clitoris, the needle spray of the labia, and the hotness of the actual vagina?"

"That's it," said Louise. "That's just it. All three assail you at once, and boom! You come can no longer endure any of it."

Andrew could feel his own passion returning as the fascinating anatomy lesson went on. He stole a look down at his tool. Half hard, it was already swelling to its mighty length as he enjoyed, by intimate finger contact, sight and smell, the parts of her cunt which Louise was demonstrating. Most adorable of all, he thought, was the oily wetness of the beautiful little thing.

"Where does that come from, that lubrication?"

"Christ knows," she said. "Where does your come from? I know it comes out along the pipe. But where does it come from? Can you tell me?" Louise wriggled round, and saw with pleasure the half-rigid state of Andrew's tool.

"So, it's getting back to normal again," she exclaimed delightedly. She grasped it. This, to her, was the most exciting state of all fornication. When a man was not yet quite at full erection, when he had but a "half-a-hard-on". That way, the penile length was still a flexible truncheon. You could bend it this way or that, sideways or any way. And yet it was warm, throbbing and vibrant, a thing holding infinite promise of the wrath to come, of the danger it could wreak when it was fully aroused. It was a prick, when it was only half hard, of excitement, of precious possibility or even of danger.