Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book II

Suddenly he howled as from the depth of his boiling testicles swirled the mad rush of his hot, sticky sperm up his rigid cock, and before he could warn her of his climax, his cock-head was spewing thin streams of creamy hot semen into her mouth. Kim's cheeks expanded and contracted as she greedily swallowed the warm flood of his surging release, and she held her head to his pulsing shaft as he emptied his molten seed down her throat until the flow ended and Carmel collapsed with a groan, to lay still and spent on her bed. She nibbled gently on him for a few moments and then crawled up his body to cradle his head in her heaving breasts, and she bent and kissed him warmly on his quivering lips.

"There," she whispered. "Your cum tasted so good going down my throat."

"Mmmm," was all that Roger could muster, looking up into her eyes with an appreciative gleam.

"I just love to suck cock," the lascivious girl said with a shudder of delight. "I can't describe the thrill I get running my tongue over a great big prick and tasting the cum when it shoots into my mouth. It's like the finest candy in the world to me!"

In the hidden closet, Harry Saunders couldn't control a groan of anguish, for the prurient sight of the prostitute hired by Sam Zeigler – and who had, in turn, hired Saunders – performing the lewd, perverted act of fellatio made his own penis nearly ejaculate the load of cum he'd built while snapping pictures of the couple through the two-way mirror. He had been totally absorbed by the passionate and fevered Kim Copeland burying the straining cock up in her throat until she was nuzzling pubic hair, the lust-producing scene making the photographer nearly throw his camera aside and rush out to join the carnal orgy. He quivered, sweat streaming down his face, and wiped his damp, clammy palms on the thighs of his stained pants. Well, now it was over, and both the lovely girl and the stranger who had been set up by Sam Zeigler's express and insidious order were resting after their-orgasms. In just a little while he, Harry Saunders, could throw off his clothes and burrow his fat, angry cock in Kim Copeland's pussy and mouth, and if she was game, her ass-hole too. Another wheezing groan bubbled from his lips as he clenched his thighs closed around his fully erect prick…

Roger Carmel heard that last groan. He furrowed his brow, wondering what the strange, out-of-place, muffled cry had been. He sat up on his elbows and turned to the sensual young woman he thought was merely the secretary to Skopos' personnel manager. "Kim, what was that?"

The Copeland girl knew full well what it was – Harry steaming in his juices behind the mirror – but she wasn't about to say so; the last thing she wanted was a scene here and now. Let Zeigler have that fun when he showed the pictures to the vice-president; she was only the girl who got Carmel in trouble, not sprung what the trouble was on him. She said hesitantly, "I didn't hear anything, Roger honey. You must be mistaken." She licked her still wet lips, savoring the few droplets of Carmel's semen which had stuck to her mouth. "Just relax for a minute, and… and then perhaps you'd better go."

"Go?"

"I mean, if you want." She grinned weakly at him, feeling a tendril of apprehension. She knew that Saunders, as good a photographer as he was – as good a fuck as he was – was one man who couldn't be stalled indefinitely. Most of the times she actually got a little evil enjoyment out of making him suffer as he watched her being fucked by her male "customers" – it helped to arouse her own insatiable desires when finally he came to her, rutting and grunting like some jungle animal. But Roger Carmel had proved one fine cock to satisfy; it was almost as if he hadn't had a piece of cunt in all the time he was married, which his prowess in making her excited and screaming for more belied, and to Kim he was one of the finest men she had ever had make love to her, no question about that. As a result the time had flown by, way past the usual deadline where she had the guy dressed and out the door.

She was a little sorry to have to see Carmel leave, to tell the truth, for her pussy was almost seeping new and lustful lubrications of desire again, and not for Harry's prick either but for the muscled, handsome one rooted in the loins of the virile male lying next to her.

Still, she had a job to do, and a girl in her profession could only mix so much pleasure with business. She had to get him out of her apartment before Saunders was unable to control himself and do something stupid like groan again. It wouldn't take much to set Roger Carmel on the scent of what was happening; he wasn't dumb in spite of his lack of extra-marital affairs. Kim rose languidly and walked to the closet beside the bureau, trying to keep her eyes off the bureau's mirror, which was actually the two-way glass behind which Saunders sat with his camera. She opened the closet door and took out a thin nylon robe, and was about to slip it on when Carmel said from the bed: "Don't, Kim. Don't cover that beautiful body of yours. I want to see it, all of it." His eyes were feverish with pure lust for her. "I'm not about to leave, not unless you want me to. I can't explain it, Kim, but you make me so damned hot just standing in the nude like that, your cunt hair glistening and your breasts hard and throbbing, that I'm going to get hard again."

Kim stifled a moan of her own, lewd reawakening, only to hear a soft, course whisper from behind the wall – Saunders again, the damned fool! – but as fearfully aware as she was, the excited young prostitute was still shivering from the thrills Roger's merciless penis had given her. She gazed with enrapturement at his supine form, saw that incredibly his cock was slowly filling out with blood, growing harder… harder… and a hot seething knot of tingling need lashed at her vaginal area… yet she couldn't risk Roger staying here any longer… She groaned and taking a shuddering breath, said, "Maybe another time. T-tomorrow, perhaps."

"Now," he grinned wickedly at Kim, catching the luster in her eyes and knowing that it would be now if he wanted it, which he did. He stared with rapacious eyes on her beautiful, provocative loveliness as she smiled with a combination of shyness and passion, and unknowing to him with indecision as her lusting mind swirled indecisively between prudence and desire but her body ruled supreme, and with breasts jiggling proudly and thighs matted pubic down flashing enticingly, she began to teasingly parade before him, unable to control her own spasms of lurid ecstasy… and he was tantalizingly brought under her sheer wanton depravity.

He had the sudden urge to kiss her pink-tinged, moist cunt and smell the tang of her perfumed secretions as her cuntal valley opened to his lips and mouth – and he said so unashamedly.

"Come here, Kim, and I'll suck your pussy like you sucked my cock!"

His lewd words brought forth the moan of licentious excitement that Kim had been able to choke down before, and on rubber, trembling legs she started for the bed, running her hot, fevered hands up and down her rich, white and tanned body, cupping her breasts…

Roger Carmel was completely captivated by this abandoned vamp of a girl, and the guilty self-loathing which he had tried to conjure up earlier in an attempt to assuage his feelings of lust and satisfaction were now entirely blotted out by the absolute free and unhesitating debauchery of which he was a willing partner.

He had tried to tell himself that he should feel shame and remorse for what he was doing, tried to tell himself that the only reason he had allowed himself to become an adulterer was because of anger and hurt and jealousy over his wife's similarly despicable behavior – but he knew that it wasn't true. He didn't know for sure that Lonnie was unfaithful to him, and what difference did it make anyway? He would have still thirsted for this girl who was slowly and teasingly coming across the bedroom to him… He just plain wanted to suck, fuck Kim Copeland and God knew how many other willing, depraved girls if he could… Fuck – the word described what he wanted to do perfectly, as in contrast to making love, which was what he and Lonnie did in the privacy of their marital bed.