Heather Brown - Mom_s boy hunger

What gorgeous cunts! Is there anything as beautiful as the open pussy of a teenage girl?

I begged them to drown me with their piss, and they did. All of a sudden I was awash in the golden substance which I craved more than any other. It was like being the recipient of liquid sunshine.

During my damp writhing, I glanced over to see how Diane was doing. Spectacularly, the lucky girl!

Parker and the three girls were gnawing at her helplessly nude body like a quartet of hungry rats. There were two at her tits, one at her cunt, and the huge gym teacher herself at her ass. The four-way pain must have provided an incredible orgasm.

Then, when the pissing and chewing had run its course, Diane and I found our straps unloosened. Suddenly free, we began groping for more, seeking to gather up our multiple lovers in our arms in a greedy exercise of raw lust.

Before we knew it, we found ourselves in a hodge-podge in the middle of the room. Nine females-sucking, feeling, tonguing, probing. Orgasms crackled in the air like lightning.

The pussy juice was splashing nearly as copiously as the piss had. Everyone's naked body was sticky with it.

And the climaxes. Ahhhhhh!

They were all shared. Whenever one of us came, the other ones immediately corresponded. We were shaking the room to the very foundation of the building-not to mention our souls.

If Diane and I had been gym students, we would have taken home A-pluses on our report cards. This was the honor society of lesbian sex.

My life was a dream. Whenever I turned around there was somebody of either sex to suck or fuck. I was getting more cock and pussy than a legion of whores and satyrs. My secret life had turned into a non-stop carnival of pliantly willing flesh.

But then, gradually, reality cut through the ambrosiac haze and I realized that there was trouble in paradise. Something wrong, after all, with doing as I pleased Don. It was my son, Don.

At first it was just a little misbehavior, which I incorrectly told myself I could safely ignore. But then the tell-tale signs accelerated. I finally started to take proper notice when he began wetting the bed every night.

The clincher was when I got a notice from the school to come speak with my son's guidance counselor, a Mr. Farraday, about Don. I knew that the news wasn't going to be good.

"He's fighting," Mr. Farraday told me with sad eyes which said that this was more than a job to him-he really cared. "I'm sorry to say that for the last few weeks your son hasn't been able to get along with anyone."

"Have you talked with him?" I anxiously asked. "Has Don told you anything?"

"Nothing," Mr. Farraday shook his head. "He just clams up when confronted with his behavior. What about at home? Are there any clues?"

"Well-" I began hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"He-he has been wetting the bed quite regularly," I reluctantly revealed, certain that it would put me in a bad light as a mother.

A whole new expression crossed Mr. Farraday's face. Where before he had seemed perplexed, now he looked as though he had found the answer to the question which had been puzzling him. "I see," he said after digesting my revelation. "What?" I gulped expectantly.

"Conflict," he replied with a confidence in his conclusion that emphasized the strength in his handsome face.

"You'll have to explain."

"Something is happening in his life so that the poor guy doesn't know which way to jump. Marital discord can frequently be the cause of this sort of thing. Tell me, Mrs. Lawrence, how are you and your husband getting along?"

"N-not too w-well," I stammering confessed.

"I see," Farraday said as though he'd taken my answer for granted. "What seems to be the problem, if you don't mind me asking? Just remember, my questions are on behalf of your son.,'

All of a sudden I was terribly embarrassed. I guess it was because I sensed that Farraday knew the answer in advance. In any case, I found my tongue tied.

There was a pause. Then Farraday proved my estimation of his clairvoyance to be correct.

"You're having problems in the bedroom, aren't you, Mrs. Lawrence?"

Burning with abrupt shame, I nodded.

"Could you specify, Mrs. Lawrence?"

I stammered inconclusively, feeling that the words would never come. But then, all at once, they came in a torrent. I was chattering my innermost secrets.

"My husband is like a brute," I revealed. "He cares about nothing but his own pleasure. Our sex-life is a nightmare."

"And this has created tension in your everyday life?" "Enormously."

"What is it that you want?"

"Gentleness. Caring. After all, I'm a woman. I want a man who will make me feel like one. Somebody who will stroke me. Bring me to the heights. Make love to me instead of using me."

"I see what you mean," Farraday responded gently, reaching out to touch me. His fingertips tickled the down on my cheek. Although his touch was tentative, the feeling was electric.

"Don't stop!" I blurted when he started to take his hand away. "It feels so good."

He returned his hand to my body, but this time its target was lower. He touched my breast, quickly sliding his fingers inside my blouse and finding bare flesh.

My tits began to throb from his provocative touch. Down below I could feel my thighs being moistened from the instantaneous gushing of my pussy.

Oh, I was turned-on.

"Inside my bra," I gasped. "Play with my nipples."

He was abruptly kneading them. They were as erect as miniature spikes, responding with supreme excitement to Farraday's caresses,

I arose from my chair as if I were being pulled forward by invisible wires. Before I knew it I was perched on the desk, writhing my body under Farraday's expert touch.

"Do you want to fuck me?" I spilled forth my desire. "You've made me so hot I can't stand it. My cunt is on fire."

He smiled, accentuating his handsomeness. If the size of his dick corresponded with his rugged good looks, his member would have to be at least a foot long.

It was. Perhaps even larger.

When he got to his feet, unzipped his pants, and revealed his equipment, I was astonished at its immensity in spite of my grandiose expectations.

"Let me suck it first," I sighed as though I were the heroine in the wettest of all possible dreams.

Farraday stood up against the desk and thrust his beautiful cock in my face. It was so hard, so gorgeous-I went down on it without the least hesitation.

What a prick! Having it in my mouth was a revelation. It was the finest specimen I'd sucked since my secret life had begun.

While I was blowing him, I reached into his pants and extracted his balls. They were hairy and throbbing-the balls of a real man. Already I was fantasizing about the quality and quantity of the sperm which they harbored.

I gobbled him to the hilt. There was so much cock crammed in my face that I felt as though my skull were going to split.

My spit flowed freely, greasing Farraday's pole for the eventual switch to my cunt. When he finally got around to fucking me, I wanted the descent to be swift and sure. This hard-on was too sensational to play around with. I'd forgotten all about my stated preference for gentleness.

At last things were wet enough for me to proceed to the next stage of our lovemaking. Withdrawing Farraday's marvelous tool from my mouth, I fell back on the desk-top and spread my legs in his face. The fetid crotch of my ruined panties was reeking at him, making his nostrils flare and his tongue pass hungrily over his lips.

His hand reached between my thighs, the fingers slipping under the elastic. Making a fist, Farraday snatched the saturated fabric from my loins. Now the clinging cloth was replaced by bristling hair and pouting pink lips.