Veronica King: Brenda_s last fling

Steve feared his free-loving life would be too much for the pretty niece who came to visit. Wrong! She was too much for him-his pals as well!

Brenda gazed in awe at the apartment, unable to believe that it was actually hers. She had seen it before, of course, when she came up with the rental agent, but then she had been looking for basics such as good plumbing and a decent refrigerator. Now reality sank in. It was swinging, psychedelic and somehow wicked.

Her head turned slowly to the corner where a double bed mattress sat on the floor. It was covered with a leopard-skin spread and plump, soft pillows. She wondered what the girl who had lived here was like. How could she entertain people, men, with that sexy, inviting bed staring at them?

She jumped as the doorbell pierced the silence. She stared at the paneled door, unable to move. It couldn't be for her… she knew no one in New York… she had just arrived in town… she…

"Ginny? Are you home?"

It was a male voice, deep and authoritative, followed by another demanding blast on the bell. Forgetting everything she had heard about opening doors to strangers in big cities, Brenda hurried into the foyer. Besides, it was no stranger; he had called for "Ginny", the girl who had lived here before.

She opened the door and saw a rugged, handsome face half-lost in the shadows of the hallway. He was smiling expectantly but his smile froze in surprise as he saw her.

"Oh… Where's Ginny?"

Brenda stammered in confusion as he stepped closer. "She's… not here. I sublet the apartment yesterday."

"You mean she's moved?" he demanded. "Just gone?"

"I-I guess so. I have the place for a year's lease."

"Well, what the hell…" His perplexity vanished as he laughed shortly, then looked at her with a bold, appraising glance.

"Well, you've even pettier than she is. Can I come in since we're neighbors now?"

She stepped back, her heart pounding. As he walked through the door the impact of his maleness struck her like a blow, and she began to tremble. He wore a velveteen shirt with lacings up the front, exposing diamond-shaped patches of black, curling hair. Automatically, her eyes lowered to his trim masculine hips. He was as lithe as a tiger except… Except in front, she thought, her heart pounding and rising to her throat. Unable to help herself she stole a hungry glance at the clearly defined shape of his groin. His cock was caught proudly in the tight material of his jeans, leaving nothing to the imagination. Brenda could not believe what she saw. It was long and thick… very thick, and it seemed ready to burst the cloth.

"Well… and what's your name?" he asked huskily.

His eyes danced with amusement as she suddenly looked up and met his glance. He had caught her looking at him, there was no doubt about it. Confusion flooded her and she felt herself blushing.

"Brenda Taylor," she murmured.

"I'm Harl Garrison. Glad I decided to come up. I can help you warm the hearth, now that I'm here." His voice was silky and suggestive, making her blood course through her veins. Harl… it sounds so familiar, as if I'd heard it before somewhere. But she had never heard such a name. It was unusual, pretty in a way and yet dashing and male at the same time.

"Won't you sit down?" she asked, hating herself for the primness she heard in her tones. She felt anything but prim now. As he sank comfortably onto the sofa, slouching down and grinning at her, the lump in his pants rose up in challenge. She couldn't take her eyes away from it! It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she wanted to see more of it. She didn't know much about cocks but she had seen enough to know that this one was unlike any other. She imagined it big and dark, swollen into a smooth, hammering muscle of loving that would ram up inside of her and pound her into madness. As she continued to think about it her body fluids rushed out of her shamelessly, wetting her thighs as she felt the lips of her cunt enlarge and open for this big, beautiful stud across from her. A stranger! How could she? Yet he was no stranger. He knew this apartment, was obviously a former guest, and looked as comfortable now as though they were old friends.

He's been here before… so have I. But I haven't!

"So where are you from, Brenda?" he asked, reaching over to the teakwood cigarette box on the cocktail table. Casually he took out a cigarette and lit it with a table lighter. He had some trouble getting the wick to light.

"This damn thing. She ought to throw it out. It's never worked, even when it was new."

His familiarity with something so inconsequential drove away Brenda's shame at the fierce passion she felt for him. I know him well enough to go to bed with him, she told herself. He's familiar with everything here, and I'm – here!

"Excuse me," he grinned. "Where are you from?"

"Portland, Oregon. My company transferred me here. I put in for it," she added quickly. "I've always wanted to live in New York."

"And you looked in the paper for a sublet and found this one, huh?" As she nodded he shook his own head in perplexity. "Damn! That kooky kid! I wonder where she's off to now? I shouldn't be surprised – she's like that."

He shrugged lazily. "But as I said, you're quite an improvement. I feel as if I know you already, in fact. Same apartment, same lousy cigarette lighte…" He laughed, a free, lusty sound. "Brenda, huh? Brenda."

He seemed to be underscoring her name in his mind, because she was here in Ginny's apartment, amid Ginny's things. Brenda felt a tightness in her chest. He must feel as if she were Ginny in a way. A delicious horror crept over her. I am Ginny! I am Ginny!

His eyes flickered over her. "Honey blond, cornflower eyes. That's poetic for blue. I write poetry sometimes."

He stood up and strode over to her, smiling confidently. As though in a trance, she rose and let him mold his body to hers, pulling her up on tiptoe until they were matched thigh-to-thigh. She groaned under the force of the electrifying shock that coursed through her as her soft, wet cunt found the hard lump and pressed into it. She spread her legs and rolled her body against his, shaking as she felt the slow throb begin in her engorged cunt.

Harl backed her into the bed, his hands reaching up under her skirt and expertly unrolling her panties. As they fell down on the mattress she gave a harsh cry of joy and pulled them off. She lay with her skirt up, waiting for him as he unzipped his tight pants. She was going to get it, get that huge prick up inside of her. Black fear rose like bile in her throat – what had come over her? What was it about this apartment that had turned her into a wanton?

Her thoughts vanished in a wave of frenzied heat as he took out the most beautiful cock she had ever seen. It was as thick as her wrist and long – God, how long was it? The swollen tip fanned out, like a rubber helmet with a thick ridge that promised unbearable pleasure in every thrust. Now, as Harl moved toward her, her mouth watered with a desire to do something she had thought she hated. She wanted to suck on it, clutch it in her fist while she savored its juicy hardness, clamp her lips around that big, rubbery head and suck!

But first…

She spread her legs wide, her garters stretching askew.

"You've got a pretty cunt, you know that?" he murmured, sinking down on his knees. His fingers reached between her legs and spread the hot, weeping lips. "She's blonde… takes after you. Right now she looks like she got caught in a cum factory. You're wet for me, aren't you?"

He spread his muscular body over hers as she tensed, awaiting the slick contact of cock on ready cunt. But instead of thrusting forward and ramming it into her he teased her knowingly, his face taut with the agony of this sexy, playful delay.