Kitty Spencer: Three-way weekend

"Oooooooh, yessss, ooooooooooh, yesssss," Hannah chanted over and over to herself as the boy ceaselessly slammed his throbbing, expanding prick deep into her white rounded belly with long hard lunges. The youth could feel the cum boiling inside his heated balls as they beat wildly against her upturned ass. He grunted savagely and quickened his stroke, grinding hard and deep until his massively pulsating cock bored far up into the hidden, untouched recesses of her womb. Her breasts heaved and quivered up against the pressure of his chest, the hardened nipples digging into his skin.

Nothing mattered to her now but the delicious waves of stormy feeling in her cunt as his thick impaling shaft drove in and out of her vagina, ramming in all the way until the blood-engorged head began bouncing repeatedly off her cervix.

Suddenly, the rich widow shivered under him! "Oh, God…! Yes, yesssss, I'm cummmmmming. Oh, God, I'm cummmmmmmmming, nowwwwwww!" With a deep-throated groan, her ripely mature body stiffened and began vibrating uncontrollably, wet white cum oozing from the throbbing passage and drowning the Italian boy's long impaling member with its sticky warmth.

Benito paused for a moment, then went berserk as she grunted out her climax against his matted pelvis, her body jerking spasmodically up against him. His harshly kneading hands pulled the wide-spread cheeks of her white globular buttocks hard up against his grinding pelvis, and he rammed his exploding cock all the way to the hilt into the velvet depths of her softly twitching cunt.

Hannah thought her insides were about to split as she felt the head of the deep-sunk penis flex and flare into a hugeness that threatened to tear her belly. Then, suddenly, he erupted, his thick hot liquid shooting deep up into her widely stretched womb, mixing deliciously with the juices of her own sensuality. Her mind whirled in a seemingly endless orgasm as the burning, powerful squirts surged deep inside her, filling her to overflowing with its hot sticky whiteness. The hot drenched walls of her cunt clasped and unclasped, working and sucking around his still driving prick, spilling down into the soft, excitedly clenching crevice of her buttocks and flooding over his own testicles and the base of his cock as he continued to fuck relentlessly into her.

Reaching frantically under her squirming buttocks with both hands, she began to desperately milk at Benito's dancing balls pressed into the split of her behind. Her legs jerked out quivering insanely into the air around his shoulders. The giant prick still continued to throb and flex, jerking its completion in hot white spurts, filling her womb and soaking the soft matted pubic hair it was buried in.

"Oh, God, don't stop, don't ever stop," she pleaded dazedly. The starving pores of her cunt sucked at the lurching cock until it finally gave one last spasmodic jerk and lay limp, far up inside her quivering belly.

Panting, Benito collapsed wearily across her body, feeling her insides still gushing forth around his rapidly deflating prick. At last, she too gave a final jerk and trembled to stillness, her legs splayed obscenely on either side of his heaving body. Her firm, sculptured body felt drained of everything, her belly filled to the bursting point with their hot, sticky-white juices.

Benito lay still for a moment, trying to recover his strength, then slowly pulled himself off Hannah's still form, his cock sliding slowly out of her battered cunt with a lewd wet sound. He could see the wet, matted furrow of her sex glistening in the fading afternoon light. The insides of her thighs were heavily smeared with the juices of love that had run in tiny rivulets out of her vagina to form a pearl-colored pool between her still wide-spread thighs. Smiling, Hannah looked up at Benito's satiated face.

"Now we can go into the bedroom," she sighed, devilishly.

For the first time in months, Elaine Craig felt relaxed. She sat, becalmed, in the sunshine-bathed plaza; it was almost as if disaster had never touched her. On the table in front of her stood a cool gin-and-tonic. Between sips, the attractive young blonde scribbled brief messages on the postcards she had bought.

"Now I know why San Francisco is called 'Baia de Magnificencia Tremenda'," she wrote to her parents. "This is the most peaceful spot on earth. I love it."

That would please her mother and father, she thought. They were so desperately anxious for her to be happy again – and their anxiety both irritated and oppressed their only daughter.

"I've lost my heart – to San Francisco!" Elaine scrawled largely across the back of another card. That card she addressed to Edward L. Towers, Jr. And let's hope that this time, she told herself, dear Edward L., Junior takes the hint. Unless of course, he was really determined to make a lifetime career out of being the man she was least likely to marry. Stifling a giggle, the girl reached for another card.

She addressed the last of her cards, idly speculating on how long it would be before she saw any of those people again. She suspected that it might be quite a while but the thought did not bother her.

She had arrived in San Francisco the week before and had done little except bask in the sunshine and the easy-paced atmosphere. She was booked in at a small hotel that overlooked Union Square and had drooping fuchsias growing out of its window boxes. Sometimes Elaine wondered when she would have to wake up again.

A fluttering of wings made her look up. Two tourists, a man and a girl, were feeding a flock of pigeons. She turned her head. To her right sat a group of teenage girls, laughing, whispering and eating ice cream. She looked around to her left; a middle-aged couple were sipping experimentally at cups of espresso. Elaine couldn't help noticing that both of them were very good looking.

The realization suddenly came that she was the only person sitting alone; that didn't bother her a bit! A pretty girl on her own attracts attention, and Elaine Craig both expected and enjoyed it.

She leaned back in her chair, letting the warmth of the spring sun suffuse her body closing her eyes against the glare. Behind the thickly lashed lids, Elaine's eyes were clear blue, set deep in a distinctively boned face. Her heavy blonde hair, streaked by nature and the swimming pool, swung down straight almost to her shoulders. Although she was not conventionally pretty, she possessed an off-beat, sensual kind of beauty that captivated men and mystified other women.

Voices, right beside her, jerked Elaine out of her reverie. She opened her eyes and looked around but for a moment she could see nothing in the dazzling light. Then she realized that the voices were not addressing her, but belonged to a group of sight-seers settling down noisily at the next table. If the group had been aware of Elaine, they would have noticed that her smile, as she turned away, was one of relief.

Leaning forward in her chair, the young blonde reached for the tall glass on the table in front of her. Her gaze wandered to the far end of the patio.

It was then that she saw him, coming through the colonnades.

Elaine froze! Her outstretched hand turned into a furiously clenched fist. It's Warren! was her sole, panic-filled thought. The shock of his sudden appearance held the startled girl rigid in her chair. Immobilized, she sat and watched the approaching figure of her ex-husband, dully aware of the pounding in her head and throat.

It was soon over! "Warren" came to within a few feet of where Elaine sat – and kept right on walking. And he had not been Warren, after all. The man was just another camera-slung tourist crossing the patio at a leisurely pace.

But the stranger was tall and loose-limbed, as Warren had been. He had crew-cut hair and he looked to be about the same age – twenty-eight – that Warren would be. He even had the same jawline and the stand-out ears. But he wasn't Warren. He wasn't her husband – her ex-husband, Elaine reminded herself. She must remember that. The man she had once been married to was thousands of miles from San Francisco.