J Long: Three horny teachers

The odor was powerful, somewhat oily. It was a taste that Frieda couldn't help but taste. Because Gracie was forcing more of her white-haired pussy against her lips as Solomon kept eating her pussy out, and everything felt so nasty and tasted so filthy.

Frieda tried to scream: "Mmmgggfff! Mmmgcgffff!"

And Gracie was going ape-shit on top of Frieda, loving the feel of Frieda mouth on her pussy. She edged forward, then came back. Her sixty-year-old cunt was on fire!

Solomon groaned. Young pussy! God, pussy that tasted like… like his mother's walnut meringue pie! Oh, God! It was a beautiful taste.

Frieda squirmed like a leapin' lizard. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her flesh felt hot and stuffy. Her mouth felt hot and stuffy. Her cunt felt hot and stuffed… stuffed with an old man's vile tongue.

Then her cunt didn't feel hot and stuffed. Cool air was on her pussy. Then the heat was back again, the heat that radiated from the lust-flushed face of a seventy-year-old man whose mouth was groveling in a pussy that tasted like freshly baked walnut meringue pie.

"Mmmggggffff! Mmmmggggffff!"

Frieda wanted to die. Something was happening to her body! Something strange and unnatural.

But it felt good. It felt tingly just above her peehole. It felt itchy-twitchy right at the top of her cunt where there was a pimple-sized bump that was driving her crazy now as Solomon's raspy tongue kept whipping that pimple-sized bump.

"Mmmmggggffff! Mmmmggggffff!"

Solomon had tasted a cunt while it was in the midst of a climax. Gracie's cunt always climaxed in the midst of his cunt eating and she usually went so crazy that he felt as if her cunt were drowning with water-like juices.

But this cunt was so different!

This was young stuff!

Walnut cream pie! Uuuuuum-hummmmm!

Good!

Gracie was moving as fast as her age: like sixty. She was pumping away like mad, moving her cuntlips back and forth, back and forth over Frieda's mouth.

"Mmmmggggffff! Mmmmggggffff!"

Oh, Dear Lord, stop this infernal pleasure! The heat was desirously suffocating! The pleasure in her cunt was like a plague, like a pox, like a social disease.

"Mmmmggggffff! Mmmmggggffff!"

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"Mmmmmggggffff! Mmmmggggfffff!"

Dear Lord! Save her from that horrible ecstasy that was eating at her pimple-bump. And that wonderful sponge-like pleasure that was invading then absorbing her ass.

Invading her asshole? A sponge?!

Oh, God! No! His tongue – his tongue was in her hole! Licking away the Preparation H. Frieda wanted to die. The Lord had not created assholes for men to eat. And oh, she was sooooo sore! No! Not there, Solomon higher! Return to the pimple-bump! Oh, please!

Solomon savored Frieda's asshole. Tasted the flavor of her ass! He had never tasted an asshole like this one before. Gracie's asshole wasn't like this. Was he so old that he couldn't remember what a young asshole tasted like?

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

Gracie was beyond the planet of ape-shit now. It felt so good to have a young pilgrim such as this one sucking her cunt. Ooooohhh, that's it Frieda-honey! Right on the old cunt! Right on the old pimple-bump!

They were nearing a climax, coming to the end, sensing the finality of their midnight snack.

"Mmmmggggffff! Mmmmggggifff!"

"Aaaahiieeee! Frieda-hon! I'm cooommmiiinnnggg!"

Frieda hunched and squirmed and thrashed. Solomon's tongue was driving her asshole up a wall. She wanted to be in the same state of ecstasy as the old fart on top of her face. She didn't want his tongue corn-holing her asshole. She wanted his tongue in her pussy!

But Solomon corn-holed her asshole with his tongue. God! He couldn't remember tonguing a creamier asshole. There was so much cream on this young asshole. God! Was he so old that he couldn't remember how creamy Gracie's asshole had been when he was courtin' her in Topeka and they were at the Blue Bird Soda Shop and he had his finger in her asshole instead of her cunt because he didn't know any better?

Then Gracie fell forward. Of her own will.

And her tongue speared the pilgrim child's cunt on the first thrust. And, since Gracie had a cunt between her legs, she knew where the pilgrim child's pussy would be.

The pilgrim child had her first orgasm. Her first orgasm in her whale entire life. Which made her an exception because she was now eighteen, the legal age for having orgasms and voting and smoking and buying condoms and even marrying of her own free will.

Ali, what a wonderful age!

Gracie licked and licked and liked what she licked. Creating one climax after another for Frieda-hon.

And Solomon had licked Frieda asshole whistle-clean of the Preparation H, and he was wondering when her asshole would climax again so he could taste that delicious creamy deluge of her rectal passion.

Then Frieda had one last stupendous seizure, one last ecstatic epileptic fit, the grand maw of all orgasms.

"Aaaiiiieeeee! I'm cooommmiiinnnggg, toooooo!"

Frieda looked at the first page of The Coach Eats Out.

Oh, God! Those words in that powerfully written, foreword! How awkwardly phrased; yet, so true, oh so true!

Outwardly normal.

Frieda shut the book, didn't want to be reminded of that horrible Tucumcari night when it had rained for forth minutes and she had climaxed during thirty of them while she was in the back seat of a degraded Packard with two outwardly normal elderly people.

Her asshole tingled. Her cunt-lips quivered. Her pimple-bump throbbed. Just a mild orgasm from the thoughts of what that perverted, outwardly normal, retired couple had done to her before they dropped her off in Flagstaff because they were headed north to Sun City.

Frieda shivered… like her pimple-bump. She stopped her clit from throbbing. She finger-fucked her pussy, drawing her legs up and spreading them widely. Lewdly.

Oh, God! She hadn't fingered her cunt since her college days. When she was dating a boy named Arnold Higgins, the boy who had picked her up hitchhiking outside of Prescott, Arizona.

She had broken her mile of thumb on that ride. But what the hell? At least he had only been one man. What could one man do if she sat way over on her side and kept a good eye on where his hands were?

The car was air-conditioned because it was a Lincoln Continental. And it had all kinds of whirring, power-packed gadgets. Like electrically controlled tilt wheel, power radio antenna, humming reclining seats, and driver-controlled door locks.

Frieda had never been in a Lincoln Continental before. But she sure learned fast about all those buttons that were on Arnold's side of the car.

Like he made the seat recline so far back that it was mom like a tuck and roll bed. And he made the wheel tilt up and away from his body so he could get his cock out without honking the horn or getting it jammed between his belly and the steering wheel.

Frieda had kept a keen eye on what he was doing – then she frantically tried to get the hell out of his luxurious car.

"Please… I'm a virgin."

"So?"

"I am! Believe me! I've never done anything like this."

"You ever seen a cock like this?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, shit. You got any brothers? Or a daddy?"

"W-Well, yeah, but…"

"Then you must have seen their pricks before. That is, if you're normal."

"Well, I-I have, but…"

"Did you ever touch their pricks?"

"W-Well, I-I guess you could say…"

"Then touch my cock. What's the difference?"

"D-Do I have to?"

"Ya wanta ride in air-conditioned luxury to L.A.?"

"Well, sure, but…"

"And you don't wanta be picked up by no rape-horny marines, or same hot-cocked truckers – shit, you don't know what the hell you're gettin' into when you go hitchhiking round the country with no suitcase and just a Bible."