Roger Hornsby - The sex procurer

Oh, it was a phony beg; that is, she meant it, but didn't mean it at all. She didn't want to be eaten, but yet she did want to be eaten. She was confused in that way every woman always is confused; and in the end, sex won out.

I plied my tongue to her slit. Her juices already were flowing. I parted her cunt lips, wielding my tongue like a spear, and went against the lining of her twat. And I licked her walls left and right, and lifted her legs over my shoulders as I dug deeply with my tongue to her hot orifice. She locked her ankles around my neck and stretched her hands to caress my hair, and she threw her head back against the top of the sofa and let out a low and pleased moan. Soon she was humping my mouth with her hot vault.

I licked her well, savagely maneuvering my tongue in and out and all around her fantastically hot hole. And I enjoyed it. That's the crazy thing. I enjoyed what I was doing; I enjoyed it for its juices. I pleasured myself to suck her hairs and taste the bittersweet acrid stuff that was her cunt juices. I loved every minute of what I did.

And soon she climbed the scales, letting out moans and groans enroute, tearing at my hair, giving me violent bumps and grinds, rocking her crotch massively against my taking mouth. And it wasn't long before she was beyond all containment, when the only thing that mattered to her was that she get her come off. She slashed and thrashed, rocked and rolled, shoved and pushed; and finally she let out a sudden scream and pierced me with all the intensity in the world, banging her snatch extraordinarily powerfully against my mouth in a mad orgasm that wouldn't stop until it ran through a series of dwindling jabs, rocking me always less harshly until she reached that point where, spent in her frenzy, she simply whimpered and threw me a weak bump, a depressed grind; and then quit her marathon; quit and surrendered, sighed, sucked air, and loosed her maniacal leg-hold on my neck.

What a beautiful eating session it had been.

And yet I hated her. Somehow suddenly I knew I hated her. And I even said to her, twisting a poisoned knife with my words, "I'll bet you've been eaten by a lot of guys."

She told me what I knew was true, that which she long had told me: that there were no other guys except the boy who had made her baby. And I answered her now, making it a cruel joke, smiling as I twisted that terrible blade again, "But he didn't marry you; so maybe there were others."

"He didn't want to marry me," she said. "You know that. I've told you already. Besides it wouldn't have worked. It…"

I broke in to say, "He didn't trust you, that's why. He figured if you fucked him, you'd fuck anybody." And I looked at her with a mean and small smile.

She gazed to me. Something flashed across her eyes, telling me she sensed a change in our relationship. She was frightened. And yet she was submissive. And she said, "Maybe you're right." She didn't put up a fight. She just said, "Maybe you're right." And then she looked away.

"Of course I'm right," I said angrily. "I'm always right. A cunt is a cunt. I've never seen a cunt yet that was any different. Every cunt is the same." When she didn't answer me, or even look at me, when she just continued to gaze sadly away, I repeated those words. "Every cunt is the same," I said more forcefully. "No cunt is different. Every cunt is the same."

Then I stood and stepped from my swim-trunks and commanded that she should get onto the carpet. She didn't look to me nor move. "Bitch," I snapped, "get on the carpet like I told you. Don't give me the sad-eyed gazing act. Don't play the sad little girl who finds out her love was misplaced. Get on the carpet like a cunt should. I want to fuck you."

When she still didn't respond in any way, I grabbed her. She suddenly screamed, bawling, begging me to let her go. I laughed at her. "Shut up," I ordered. "Shut your filthy damned mouth." And I slapped her face. She bobbled from the blow, looked at me dumbly like a broken little kid realizing the world is strange; and I laughed in her face.

Then I dropped her to the carpet; just that; I dropped her to the carpet. She fell in a bundle, and I kicked her legs apart. She didn't fight back. She put up no fight at all. It pissed me. The least she could have done was to fight me. But she didn't. And I lowered myself between her legs and determined to give her the most savage fuck she ever would have.

I wielded my dick like a weapon. I wished it was a knife that could cut her twat apart. I hated her guts and wanted to destroy her. I lashed her hole furiously with my yang and penetrated her as deeply as I could go. She was a small thing, I noticed immediately, having a narrow and short vagina, and I banged her ferociously with a purpose. She cried terrifiedly from my thrusts, and I laughed maniacally at what I did. It was a beautiful thing, believe me.

I dicked her with precision, rocking her cunt with all my might, plunging my yang powerfully into her, banging my crotch against hers. And all the while I sucked on her nipples or played with her titties or ran a couple of fingers up her asshole. It was great. She cried from the agony I gave her and I loved to hear her cries.

Then she began fucking me, the same as every other broad. No matter how much pain you give them, sooner or later they'll start reacting to the heady rhythm with which you apply that pain. Sooner or later they'll respond to your savagery. And Janice responded. Oh, how she did respond. She went into another wild drive for a solid come, forcing herself wantonly against me despite her anguished cries at her fate.

And I fucked her madly; madly and meanly. I gave her everything there was to give. I climbed the scales of love with her. We went up those scales, seeking their top, looking for that uppermost point from which together we could topple earthward in maniacal surrender. And when we neared that point, were almost to it, had barely a stroke left before we would go over the top, I halted instantly with all my will and thus made her beg me to continue the ride.

And I laughed at her when she begged me. "Bitch," I shouted, slapping her face left and right, rocking her head to and fro with my laps. "Lousy bitch. Sure, I'll give it to you. Is that what you want? You want me to give it to you? Sure. Here's how I'll give it to you." I laughed and began jacking myself off on top of her.

And then I shot my come in her face. I whacked myself to a come, and then shot the load in her face. And, as I had done on another occasion with another broad, I used my dick as a brush, and smeared her face with that cream. I smeared it all over her face and daubed some to her eyes as she bawled at what I did.

But she didn't fight me. No, she didn't fight me. And I cursed her for not fighting me. "Bitch," I shouted again. "Bitch, you wouldn't do a damned thing to protect yourself, would you? Why, whore? Because you love me? Ha. Is that why? Do you hide behind the excuse behind which every woman hides? That you'll accept anything because you love the guy? Stupid bitch." And I climbed off her, kicked her, and then jacked off another time and let my come fall to her bawling mouth. "Bombs away," I called, and dropped my come smack on her mouth.

Oh, she was the same as the rest. She was the same in every way. I knew she was, even when she refused the donkey or dog act. Even when she wouldn't go with me on club dates where we could fuck in public, I knew she was the same as the rest. And I hated her for being the same even while I hated her for not doing what the others had done. "Bitch," I would shout so often. "Filthy bitch. You pretend to be unlike the others, but you're exactly the same. You're exactly the same as them no matter what you pretend."

After awhile she asked me not to visit her anymore. She said it upset the baby. It was true the baby often began crying when I arrived at the house, something he didn't do in that first month of my courtship with his mother. And she used that as an excuse. "Besides," she said one afternoon when I arrived at her apartment, only to be left standing on the threshold, "I think it will be better for both of us."