Chris Simon - A real hot number

Still holding herself up with her arms, Ellen began to push herself up and down, allowing her mouth to follow the path against my cock. I felt the tingling scrape of her teeth scratching up against the sides of my cock, then, as she neared the tip, nuzzling under the crown of the head. All the while she moved, I felt the soft, liquid melted wetness of her mouth all over my cock. I was immersed in her heat and wet.

She moved her lips and mouth as she had moved her hand before: slowly, deliberately, bringing pressure and then loosening it, hard then soft, sucking and pulling, moving with a dispassionate precision. The only difference was that her mouth was better than her hands; better than any mouth I had ever felt. Better, even, than any cunt I had ever felt.

She lifted one hand from the mattress and pushed my bent knees down until they were flat against the bed. As my body moved down, she lowered herself against me, keeping my cock in her mouth, never lessening the level of pleasure her mouth was bringing. My legs were both flat, and she was lying on the bed, against the mattress, leaving her body next to mine. She curled her legs up onto the mattress, opening her thighs as she rested on the bed.

Ellen moved her hand from the side of the bed, sliding it across the thickness of my leg, and plunged her hand between her parted thighs. Her hand cupped her mound with an easy familiarity, and her index and middle fingers came together and pressed her clitoris. Her fingers began to move slowly, in a short, shallow circle, and she began to masturbate herself.

Her head moved up and down on me, and my cock went in and out of her mouth. I felt her lips and her tongue and her teeth. My cock was like a well-lubricated sword slipping in and out of a wet scabbard. Her tongue moved and licked as continued against the shaft of my cock, her unhurried pumping.

I watched her own hand against her cunt. She knew what she was doing, and I could see her reacting to her own pleasure. She hunched her own hand against her cunt, and squeezed it tightly. Once I watched her bury the two fingers into her cunt. The fingers came out glistening, and she returned them to the bud of her clit, reapplying pleasure and pressure to herself.

"I'm going to cum soon," I told her. "I can feel it building… I'm close…"

She made no acknowledgment of my reaction. Her mouth continued to move against me, sucking and pulling my cock into her wet depths.

I could feel a tenseness in my balls, and a tightening in my cock. I felt as though I had to piss. I held the feeling back, allowing it to build. Pleasure began to make my cock swell, and I hunched my stomach up and pushed it against her face.

She moved. Her hand came away from her cunt and grabbed for her large, square pocketbook. Her fingers fumbled with the flap of the pocketbook, and her hand disappeared inside. A second later, it reappeared, and she was holding something in her hand. It was a picture frame.

She placed the frame against my stomach, near the base of my cock. It was cold and I shivered. Ellen Marshall's eyes were open now, and she was on her knees, bending over me. She hunched back on her legs, and continued to move up and down on my cock. All the while, her eyes were wide open, and she was staring at the picture within the frame. A flicker of something ugly flashed in her eyes.

I looked down at the picture.

"My God!" I said aloud. It was her wedding picture!

I began to cum. My cock began to pump its scum into her mouth: short, hot bursts of sperm splashed against her tongue and teeth. I could feel the flow moving up the shaft, then exploded in her mouth.

Her mouth began to move, and her cheeks hollowed. A patch of color touched her cheeks, and her eyes remained open and staring at the picture. Her throat moved rhythmically, and her lips tightened around the shaft of my cock. A milky trickle of sperm oozed from between her lips and dribbled down my cock.

She's swallowing it! I thought. She's swallowing my cum!

She began to suck upward on my cock, using it as though it were a straw and she were drinking my sperm. I felt her tongue nuzzle into the open hole of my cock, licking and digging down into the canal, seeking the final traces of my sperm to quench her thirsting hatred. My cock was finally dry, but she continued to suck on it, like a vulture picking clean a bone.

A long while later, she let my cock drop. Her mouth was open and I could see traces of the milky white fluid still in her mouth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cleaning away the dribble that had run down her chin.

For the first time I noticed that there were tears in her eyes.

Ellen Marshall didn't speak another word. She dressed quickly and departed. I lay in my bed, my mind swirling. I had never even walked her to the door.

My cock was almost in pain from her sucking. I was completely drained, both physically as well as emotionally. I was satisfied, yet there was a new hunger growing inside of me. An ache of guilt and loneliness.

A moment later I was at the telephone.

"Hello, operator," I said. "I'd like to make a long distance call to Smithtown, Long Island… I'd like to call my wife… yes, operator… that's Mrs. Dawson… yes… Mrs. Patricia Dawson."

When the telephone rang the following morning, I thought it was Patti calling back. Our conversation from the previous night had been a difficult, painful one. A lot of apologizing had gone on between us, as well as a lot of arguing and accusing. We had set a tentative reconciliation date finally at the end of the conversation.

That's why I was nervous when the phone rang so early in the day. The only one who would call would be Patti.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hello, Al?" a voice asked back. It was a woman's voice, but not Patti's voice.

"Who's this?" I asked. The voice sounded familiar.

"Me," she said. "Iris."

I couldn't place the name, although I knew the voice.

"Iris who?"

"What's the matter, Al?" her voice asked. "Did you forget me already?"

I couldn't place her. She had a deep voice, somewhat husky. She seemed to be panting or out of breath.

"The dildo!" she said. "Remember: I fucked myself with the rubber cock and you jerked off…"

I remembered now. The strange, obscene telephone lady. So Iris was her name. She had never told me before now. That was odd, for certainly I knew everything else about her.

"Hello," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't recognize your voice."

"I recognized yours," she said. "How's your cock?"

Her bluntness was still disconcerting. "All right," I answered. "How's yours?"

"Which one?" she said. "My rubber one or the one that I'm using now?"

I asked her what she meant.

"I decided to try the real thing," she explained. "The dildo was all right. But a cock with a man attached is still unbeatable."

"Explain that slowly," I said. I was standing near the telephone table with the receiver in my hand. As she talked, I slowly made my way to the bed, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Only moments before the telephone had rung, I'd gotten up for work. I was still in my underwear.

"I'm being fucked," she said. "Right now."

"You mean… now!" I said. "While we're talking someone is fucking you?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true," she said. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"No," I said. "It's not necessary…"

"Hello? Hello?" someone said. A man said. "Who am I talking to?"

"Who is this?" I asked.

"My name is Steve," the man said.

I hesitated a moment. "What are you doing to… Iris?"

"It's not my idea."

"You're not her husband, are you?"

"No."

"You sure?" he sounded doubtful.

"No," I said. "I'm not."