Jason Cannon: Marcy in heat

"I'm there, oh Jesus God, I'm there, I'm there! I'm coming, Bruce! I'm coming like a fucking dam bursting!"

Her body convulsed beneath his mouth and her insanely quivering thighs fell apart as her head flailed passionately from side to side. She bucked and writhed like a dying wild animal.

Never before in her life had she felt like this! Wave after wave of exquisitely beautiful sensation continued to break over her, and there was a churning whirl of colors before her glazed eyes. And then it grew gray and dim and black and silent… and she collapsed in totally satisfied exhaustion.

"Damn, you're good," he said, crawling up beside her and licking the juice from her explosive come from his fingers and lips.

"I'll be the nun to your priest any time," she gurgled.

"We leave tomorrow," he said.

"I know," she replied. "I'll be sorry to see you go… and even sorrier to see this go." She reached down and fisted his semihard cock.

Bruce left the following morning, and Marcy drifted back into boredom. But one thing was accomplished. She had discovered that all the puritan ethic her parents had taught her couldn't compete with the need in her body for sex. And it didn't bother her. She figured if anything as good as sex was sinful, then she would just have to be sinful.

She still respected her mother's wishes enough not to let any of the several men in the town who tried to seduce her succeed in their attempts. It was a small town and she was sure anything she did would get back to her mother.

So she remained a frustrated bundle of sexual desire right up until the time she left for college. And the only thing that stopped her from just going off on her own and getting a job instead of going to school was the very thin doubt that perhaps her parents might be right in their views.

That thought was snapped and two things made her decide to sever all ties and leave school, during her first visit back home.

Her mother asked her to take some magazines over to Mrs. Morris, the Reverend's wife, who was ill and probably in bed. Her mother also told Marcy to do anything she could to help, since the Reverend was out of town for a few days and his wife was all alone.

Marcy didn't feel like doing housework for Kate Morris, since her first month at school had left her even more bored because of the lack of sex. She hadn't found time to get anything going, what with the hassle of registration, classes and indoctrination, and she had hoped to find some sex among other college students who were home on brief vacation. That, she thought, would be safe, since they too would be returning to school.

Marcy knocked on the Morris' front door. When there was no answer, she opened it and entered the front hall. She called, but still there was no answer.

Then she remembered what her mother had said, that Kate Morris was probably in bed.

As Marcy walked up the stairs she could hear faint voices coming from the direction of where she assumed Kate's bedroom to be. As she progressed down the hall toward the partially opened door, the voices stopped.

At the door she could hear giggling and groaning. The giggle was feminine, but the groan definitely came from a man. Her first thought was to leave when she saw the rumpled cover and the edge of the bed. But when she heard the twisting and turning of bodies on the bed and rapid breathing, her curiosity was peaked.

Reverend Morris must have came back from his trip, Marcy thought, and the first thing upon his return was to run for his wife's bedroom. Ministers weren't much different from real people.

The movement on the bed became heavier and the breathing got much louder. Suddenly Marcy identified the sexual rhythm of the sounds; by this time she knew it only too well.

Marcy couldn't resist moving directly into the crack in the door so she could watch. Because the shades were drawn and there was no light on, the room was very dim. Marcy could barely see the two figures lying on the bed. As they moved and her eyes became more accustomed to the dimness, she could see that they were nude.

Marcy could tell that the woman was Kate Morris by the long, straight auburn hair that draped over her shoulders and fell down her back in billowy waves. She still couldn't see the man's face.

She watched as they rubbed their bodies together. They kept moving every which way. First he would lie on top of her, and then she would roll over on top of him. Marcy could hear their mouths sucking and their tongues licking each other.

Then the man lay back, burying his head between the pillows so Marcy still couldn't recognize him. The thought that it could possibly be anyone but Reverend Morris never entered her mind.

Then Kate's fiery red head was moving downward. She was kissing him on his stomach. At the same time her hands moved up the insides of his legs until they found his balls. She rubbed the heavy sac gently, lifting it as if she were testing the load he carried.

Marcy knew what was going to happen. The man's erect cock was bobbing directly in front of Kate's mouth, and her eager kisses were moving toward it. He took a deep gasp of air when she buried her lips in his pubic hair that started tugging and chewing. Her mouth was just above the base of his sperm-seeping prick. Her face moved round the cock and her tongue darted out to explore his scrotum while her hand fisted the staff of his tool.

Then the man spoke, clearly, distinctly, his voice like a heavy clap of thunder in. Marcy's ears. "Oh, yes… Kate, darling, feels good… feels good having your tongue lick around my cock like that."

It was her father's voice.

Then he raised his head above the pillow and there was no doubt.

It was her father's face, its features contorted in lust as Kate prepared to suck his hard cock.

Marcy wanted to scream. She wanted to bound down the stairs and away from the house. But she couldn't. She was fascinated, frozen and rooted to the spot where she stood, by the scene unfolding before her.

Her head was also spinning at the enlightened vistas that her father's adultery was opening up for her.

She remembered his conversations. His devoted parroting of everything Marcy's mother said.

"It's not that sex is dirty, Marcy. I just think it should be saved for marriage."

"Yes, Father."

"A slut is a slut."

"Yes, Mother."

"Young girls today have strange values about sex."

"Yes, Father."

"Don't you get those ideas."

"No, Mother."

Suddenly, Marcy felt a strong sense of indignation about the guilt she had felt, about not having the sex she had wanted because she was afraid her family would hear stories about her. Suddenly the whole atmosphere of her family, the town, and the church became stifling. It wasn't home for her any more.

She saw all the hypocrisy around her. Her whole body shook when she thought of being trapped in the static confines of her little home town under the watchful eye of her mother, and never going beyond that experience.

The watchful eye of her mother?

She looked back into the bedroom. Her mother's watchful eye hadn't watched her father close enough.

Kate's tongue had slowly slid upward along the shaft of his cock to the swollen head. Although Marcy was deeply hurt by what she saw, she was also aroused. She remembered her own hands fondling testicles and her mouth sucking a creamy cock.

As Kate Morris started sucking on his cockhead, he growled sensuously, and the sound of the other woman's cock-stuffed mouth, sucking wildly on the rigid dick, made Marcy squirm with desire. She couldn't help but reach down and run her hand under her dress until she felt her own creaming pussy. Trying to get at least a small part of the experience, she pushed aside the thin crotch band of her panties and shoved three fingers up her heated cuntal passage.