Bobby Redding: Mommy_s sick friends

Irene spread her legs as far apart as she could, her right leg extending over the side of the couch so that the ball of her foot dug into the thick pile of carpeting. One of the man's knees settled, into the space of couch cushion between her separated thighs and the other knee rubbed against the edge of the couch. His palms dug into the cushion at either side of he shoulders. He was in a beginning push-up position. He flexed his body and rammed the solid staff against her pussy lips, expecting immediate entry but disappointed just as immediately.

Daintily, as though she did not like to touch him, it occurred to Jack, Irene grabbed his cock and led it to her cunt. The entrance was slippery with fluid and he slipped in easily.

She wrapped her legs around him, crossing them at her ankles and resting the heels on the backs of his calves. He attacked; in response, she drove her body upward to meet him. She tried to hold him tightly inside of her; the friction achieved indicated her success.

She began to kick her heels into the couch. He beat his cock through her with quickening strokes. She felt the slight twitching of his cock as lubricant emerged from the slit on the head. Her own buttocks rocked with each new assault. Instinctively she grabbed for the scrotal bag, twisting it.

That seemed to drive him home. He struck again and again, his chest folding in to meet hers as his penis sliced her. Her hand went to her clitoris, and she felt his stomach move in and press against the back of her hand as she flicked the narrow ridge.

All at once she felt the wild surging of his cock as he thrust into her hard. One spurt and then another of the hot white fluid shot from the slit at the bulbous head of his cock.

She felt as though all the breath had been squeezed from her lungs; it was as though she were suspended. The final battering came in quick, frantic movements. Just as she thought she had lost it, the orgasm came upon her heavily. She writhed as she came and his own strokes slowed. His body moved in slow motion; suddenly it was over. She gasped for breath, and her mouth and throat were unbearably dry.

He stayed inside her, still stiff, for a few moments, then moved back and out of her slowly, gingerly, and turned over on his back, right leg dangling from the edge of the couch.

He took her hand in his own and again led it to his deflating prick. He pressed her fist tightly around it, and the reduction was halted. When he released, she once more lifted her hand and placed it on her belly, just below the navel. Semen dripped from her cunt in pearl white strands.

He turned to her, his hand seeking her cunt. Three fingers obtained immediate entrance. He began a steady and rhythmic plugging with the straightened fingers, and she responded to each stroke with a counterthrust of her own. At fist the manipulations were mechanical and obligatory, but as the moments went on she became absorbed in the progress of the act. His left hand played with her breasts, kneading and remolding the flesh while the red-brown tits grew stiff under the pressure. His thumb soothed the outer folds of her cunt, and she was slick again with her own juices as well as from his expenditure in her.

Suddenly she began to jerk spasmodically. He mounted her quickly and gracefully and rammed his cock against the outer crease of raw pink skin. Her body surged forward and he thrust into her. She began to cum just before he started to, so that she was limp in his arms as he climaxed, squirting the heavy water up toward her stomach, now heaving with frantic breaths.

He cradled her in his arms. Cum seeped from between her legs onto the couch. He had pulled out of her immediately this time. His cock was now weak and small, suspended from his crotch like an unfilled balloon. He held her too tightly; he was obviously, she thought, trying to convey an impression of warmth the gallant thing to do in most cases, but it irritated her.

Still, she reasoned, who was using whom? This Jack was just a man she picked up at her most fertile time, the father of her child. Was the child conceived tonight? She hoped so. She didn't want to do this again, to go through this again. To be with a man – that was too degrading.

She had closed her eyes. She heard sounds of stirring, then felt the cushions of the couch move with his weight. She opened her eyes to see him kneeling by the couch; his head leaning forward, perpendicular to her body. His head blocked her crotch from view, and in a moment she felt the cool lapping of his tongue over her mound. He was sucking on the thin filament, his tongue tip teasing the clitoral range. His thumbs dug into the hollows of her inner thighs and pushed the soft meat inward toward the bone, the fingernails scratching at the skin ever so slightly.

He tasted the semen he had sprayed inside her, her cunt wet and thick with the fluid. His lips pressed into her clit, pressured by his front teeth. He dug hard at her, and friction was increased by the thick pubic net. At first she lay there passive, but after a while she turned her hips from side to side, as if nervous.

She brought one knee up closer toward her stomach and then bent the leg. That leg kicked out, and now she bent her other leg. She rubbed the soles of both feet into the couch, as if she were bicycling.

Now she began to participate in earnest. She pressed both hands over his sandy-haired head and pulled him toward her. His head bobbed up and down, wildly. Her own body pulsed in violent reaction. Her right leg curled around his neck, and both legs were unsteady, threatening to shoot out into the air. Her nails dug into his neck and sent him almost biting into her cunt. With that she let herself go and came in a half-dozen slow and draining bumps and rinds.

He had assumed she would stay the night, but she asked him afterwards to take her home. He seemed surprised, and she apologized. Poor bastard, she said to herself, doesn't know he's the one who's been had.

He walked her upstairs to her apartment, but she did not invite him in. He kissed her good-night, and she felt his rod enlarge as he pressed against her. She did not want to do it again. Twice was enough. He asked her for her phone number. She hedged and hawed. "Well, if you don't want to…" he began, expecting her to jump in to fill the void.

"I just don't think it would work out," she said, extending her hand. He did not seem overly disappointed, but in the next week he came by twice. One time she was there, the other time he left a note. Finally she managed to discourage him, however, and she was left alone.

Six weeks later she found out for sure that she was pregnant.

Claude tensed his body. He listened as the mattress springs squeaked out the progress of lust in the next room, then heard her moan in time to her own writhings. Oh, Elaine… Elaine… it's so good, yeah, so good. The voice trailed off. Claude shut his eyes. "Oh, yeah, fuck me," she moaned. "Fuck me, fuck me good!"

The twelve-year-old's hand traveled from where it rested on the mattress to his crotch. HIS boyish penis poked out stiff and straight from the folds of the flannel pajamas. He nestled the small bird in his fist, his wrist brushing the few pubic hairs that had begun to sprout on the skin surrounding the rod. His thumb pushed at the rounder side of the organ, while his index finger grasped the skin on the shaft's flattened side. His finger bent, and the knuckle rustled against the purplish ridge. He felt the blood surge inside. His testes, ached with mounting fire as they pumped blood through his cock.

His pinky nudged into the soft folds of the scrotal bag. The almonds inside bobbed as his fingertip sought out the buried stalk and jabbed it, causing his penis to twitch from its base.

The rhythm of his mother's bed springs was slow but steady, like a grinding march. She was coming closer to the the nightly completion that would end the coupling. The noises would then fade and then be replaced only by the snoring of Irene Parkins' dyke lover.