Bobby Redding: Mommy_s sick friends

He slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door in with his palm. She stepped beyond the threshold while he switched on the lamp beside the grape velveteen couch.

"Sit down," he said as he gestured. "Would you like something to drink?"

She shook her head, and the slight motion threatened her with a headache. He went to the stereo and withdrew several records from their jackets, placing them one on top of the other on the spindle. She realized that it was a studio, and that somehow this couch converted to a bed. But this would be adequate. The music began, soft jazz, uncomplicated.

A dining area adjoined the living room-bedroom, and the kitchen was next to that. He disappeared into it and she heard the refrigerator opening. When he returned there was a glass in his hand, Scotch and soda again.

"You're sure you don't want anything?" he asked her again, the smile firmly imbedded. His teeth were perfect, and she wondered if they were capped.

She asked him and he shook his head, "Doesn't matter anyway," she went on, stretching her arms over the back of the sectional, Jack put the drink on the coffee table next to the couch. He sat down beside her and faced her.

"You're very beautiful, Irene."

For some reason the compliment irritated her. "No, no I'm not."

He smiled. "All right," he said, "you're not. But I'd like to kiss you anyway." The last syllable had barely left his mouth when he brought his lips to hers. The tongue shot out through his pink-brown lips, slipped in through her compliant, widening mouth. His tongue slid lightly against her own; he pressed harder against it, and she felt herself lose her breath. He was strong. His lips were turning, straining against hers as their tongues collided wetly. The pressure of his teeth hurt her, made her wince in pain, but it was all she could do to answer the violent thrusts of his large tongue inside her. Fearing she would gag, she inhaled deeply through her nose.

She moved nervously against the cushions of the couch as he rubbed his chest against her. She felt the movement of air inside his lungs, as he began to breathe heavily. Her nipple went rigid, and she was surprised at this revelation of her own excitement.

He drew his chest back and inserted his hand in the space, pressing the palm against her yielding breast. He plied the hidden nipple between thumb and forefinger, as though he were sifting it. The tit grew pebble-hard under his insistent touch; he felt the rapid stiffening. His mouth plunged into her own, and their tongues exchanged moist stroke and counter stroke. His seemed to wrap around and envelop her own. Her hand gripped the flesh of his bicep as though a vise. With his left hand he pulled her toward him; with the right he ran the zipper of the dress down her back. He brought his hand around, under the dress, and rubbed the knuckles against her bare left aureole. Catlike, Irene arched her chest underneath his searching hand. She shut her eyes tight, and any thoughts she might have had were obscured by the swelling dizziness that flowed through her brain. It was irrelevant now whether this was man or woman; the touch was warm, and her body could not help but respond. She clamped her legs tightly together; she could not decide whether the feeling of wetness in her crotch came from the warm rush of blood in her stomach or the actual moistening of her pussy walls.

His left hand cupped behind her neck and supported her as he pressed her to the couch. His mouth again invaded hers, and his lips were wet with saliva.

As she reclined, the skirt of her dress crept up; now it just barely covered the crotch of her white lace bikini panties. His fingers were tensed and stiff as he pressed the flat of the forefinger against the clitoral ridge. He rolled the pin of the fingers against the dampening furrows. He felt the thin oil even through the fabric of the undergarment. His index finger bent at the joints and made its way under the crotch of the panties. It gained an immediate berth inside the cunt itself. He jammed the length of the finger inside her; the folds inside seemed to tighten around it. He wiggled the end of the finger and tested the elasticity of the chamber. He pulled back, then drove it forward again until her cunt covered the spike to its base.

He withdrew it and then extricated it from underneath the bikini. Both hands reached for her side; the fingers jutted under the elastic waistband. She lifted her hips as he moved down her body, pulling the panties to her knees. When his head was even with the intersection of her legs, he moved down to the vertex of the angle.

His tongue was icily cool against the heat of her matted bush. When he lashed his tongue against her clitoris, an involuntary shiver coursed through the girl's pelvis, and more of her pubic hair filled the entrance to his mouth. One of the pale brown hairs caught between two of his teeth, and he tore it from her flesh as he moved his head.

"A muff-diver, are you?" she asked contemptuously, though enjoying the skillful and intricate movements of his tongue. To him she tasted salty, of hormonal secretions and sweat. His tongue pushed in between the sides and wagged back and forth. The soft meat of her cunt was wet now. His forefinger pressed against her clit, teasing the skin around it. His left hand grabbed her right buttock, straining to keep her still while the tension raced through her veins.

"Eat it, eat it," she told him, her soft voice turning to a grating rasp, "eat me, eat me!" He accelerated the manipulations of his tongue and lips and released the flesh of her ass as she squirmed beneath his mouth.

He raised his head and looked down at her cunt. Blood filled his throbbing penis, which surged out from beneath his zipper. He was kneeling on the couch with his feet just off the edge. He pulled the panties below her knees, and then Irene kicked them off.

He placed his body above her own and took her hand and led it to his cock. She held it tentatively for a moment after he had released his own hand, but then drew her hand away from it and settled it limply on the small of his back.

Awkwardly he pulled his zipper down. His cock had already worked its way out through the flaps of the cotton briefs he wore. Now it was thick and hard against her belly and crotch, flattened between their bodies. She felt his muscle and also the slight flab of his belly.

He stuck his index finger in her cunt. He pushed it in, drew it back, then re-inserted, finally adding the forefinger. He lay on his side, so that she now had no weight above her. The movements of her groin, in time to the rhythm, of the fingers' pulsing manipulations, were steady and even, quickening only when he did. But he heard in the deepening breaths she took, saw in the way she dug the edges of her upper teeth into her lower lip that she was hot and was growing more so with each inward thrust. She turned her head from side to side, as though she were being whipped while bound. Each time his fingers filled the vacuum between her legs, the whole complex of her facial muscles tightened or flexed. He leaned over her and grabbed the flesh of her neck between his teeth. The tongue was soothing as it licked the sweating skin, but the teeth were merciless, biting as his lips sucked. He drew back and saw the whiteness where his mouth had been.

His thumb kneaded the clitoral button while his fingers rammed through her hole. Her mouth opened wide to accommodate the rush of air her throat demanded. Her breasts shifted lazily with the impatient movement of her whole body. She felt the involuntary spasms of dilation and contraction of her cunt, the first warnings of approaching orgasm. The walls retreated from the axis of his two fingers; then they closed in again and smothered the injected fingers.

He released the metal clasp at the top of his trouser zipper, then stood up and hastily untied his shoes. He kicked them off rather noisily and lifted one leg and then the other to remove the legs of the pants. He quickly pulled down the jockey shorts. The enraged cock shot forth at an angle from his belly.