Jon Reskind - Sir Launcelot volume 1

My God, her mind reeled, her thighs were splitting apart from the continual expanding of the small, moist hole in her crotch. He was much too big! Beyond human belief! It was going to split her wide open!

Max Bovino could barely contain the excitement her whimpering screams were bringing him at the slow, relentless penetration of her cunt, and again and again he flexed his hips to sink and inch at a time into her, until at last, he couldn't stand it any longer. He had to fuck the little bitch now!

He rammed forward unmercifully, dropping his heavy weight onto her, smashing her full, firm breasts beneath his powerful chest as he thrust his hips at the same time, and his long, thick cock plunged into her moist, frightened cunt with the brutal force of a battering-ram, spiraling the soft, tender walls of her warm vaginal flesh in rippling torrents before it. There was no holding it back, and with a loud grunt he felt his sperm-bloated balls smack loudly into the upturned crevice between the cheeks of her tightly clenched ass.

"Oooohhhhh! My God! My dear loving God! You've ripped me! You've split me wide open! Oooh God stop!" Susan wailed, screwing her buttocks down into the cushion in a futile attempt to escape the excruciating impalement of her cunt. Her legs, splayed wide apart, flailed in the air helplessly on either side of his great muscular body, kicking and jerking as he pinned her securely to the davenport beneath. "Oh… oh… oh," she continued to groan, lying beneath him and completely stuffed with his huge prick, the tremendous throbbing shaft sunk to the very depths of her belly and beyond. Mother of God, she'd had no idea it could bring her such pain, and abruptly, she realized that all sensual excitement had left in the throes of her torment. She sensed every wrinkle and ridge of the massive rod inside her… enclosed in the moist, snug sheath of her own cunt! Her dead husband's cunt… that had never been entered before by any other man…! Good Lord! What had she done?

Jamey… Jamey… Oh God, Jamey… please forgive me… thundered through her tortured mind.

The girl was Leslie Sayer, a living, platinum-angel, with all of the proper physical attributes in the right places, enough ordinarily to cause him to blow his gourd, Jamey Halo was thinking as he went on talking to her young husband, Mike, his new caretaker… except that today, he wasn't himself. His abortive attempt at making love to Susan the night before had not only left him frustrated, but it had stripped the veneer of his pride right to the quick, and he would've been happier had the Sayers waited another day or two before moving in.

As it was, he'd been drinking since morning, and it was now moving toward late afternoon; the fact that he wasn't stoned out of his mind surprised him; he'd consumed damned near a fifth of vodka, besides getting little sleep the night before after the disaster with Susan. Somehow, he had to rectify that, if only she'd give him an other chance. Damnit, he was certain she wanted him, and God knows, he was crazy about her… if only he could get his mind straight.

Jamey kept thinking these things as he showed the Sayers through the bungalow they would occupy. He tried to concentrate on their conversation but it was almost impossible. Certain things registered, however. Mike was a student at Parksburg City College, athletic, good-looking, in his early twenties, while his luscious young bride of two-months stayed home and played housewife… There was something interesting there when he got around to think about it… home all day… convenient as hell and just about his own age… he'd get to that in due time, but he didn't want to clog his mind with her at the moment. Later… and he left them smiling after him.

Back at the plush main-house, he made himself another tall one and slumped into a chair. If only he didn't have that Godamned heavy gambling debt to Bovino hanging over his head, he could concentrate all efforts on Susan… and maybe get a piece of her daughter Nadine as a bonus. Hell, there was no question in his mind but what she had a case on him… and that little minx was nothing short of breathtaking. But it was Susan he wanted for keeps; he was clear in his head, about that; she flipped him… Nadine would just be a sweet taste of dessert now and then, was all. Christ, what a perfect set-up it'd make.

Godamn that Bovino! He'd bet his ass those dice were shaved, his wheels rigged… how else could he have lost so much, so quick? Eighty-five grand… Christ! He'd been stupid… drunk and out of his mind, which didn't mean a damn to Max Bovino. All he wanted was his cash, and Jamey knew from rumor that he had nasty methods of getting it… or else, Silk Weaver, that perverted bastard and a couple of his muscle-boys paid you a visit.

God knows, he couldn't take a chance like that… having his face roughed up, or losing a few teeth. His whole career depended on his looks.

If only he wasn't in so damn deep to Hazen Parker, his agent, he could've raised the cash there. But Hazen had cut him cold; he owed him twenty-five Gs as it was, and Parker had been emphatic about no further advances, at least, until they started shooting next season's Gallant Rangers series, and that was better than a month away.

Damn! What the hell was he going to do? How and why did he get himself into these friggin' situations? All of his life, it'd been just the same, one crisis after another… ever since the farm in Iowa when he was only twelve… when he'd first learned that the hairy slit between his nineteen-year old step-mother's legs was worth the biting cut of his father's horse-whip… and later as he wandered aimlessly around the country playing vagabond, it'd been a series of close shaves, until Hazen Parker had discovered him strumming a guitar in a broken-down coffee-house and gave him his break.

Hell, when he thought about it, he could hardly believe the money he'd made the past few years… him, Jamey Henning, a high school freshman dropout… more Godamned loot than his old man had ever dreamed existed in the whole bitchin' world… and there he sat, broke, with a vicious ex-Mafioso breathing down the back of his neck. Hell… he had to do something… just had to!

He drained his glass, fixed himself another and went to the telephone. Nadine answered, her tone warming as she recognized his voice.

"She's not here, Jamey. She went into work early… will I do?" the voluptuous young blonde teased.

Jamey didn't feel like following that one up… not yet anyway. He said: "How late does she work?"

"Until eleven. Why don't you come down and wait for her?" Nadine invited, laughing lightly. "I'll keep you company."

"We'll watch TV, eh?" he said grinning into the mouthpiece.

"If you like…"

"I would like… only I have an appointment," he lied.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Business, of course."

"I'll bet," said Nadine, acridly. Then: "Oh, by the way, we're having final rehearsal for the contest, tomorrow night at the high school auditorium; how about coming by and watching to see how I do?"

"Well… okay, I might just call you on that, sugar," he replied. "What time?"

"Eight o'clock. You won't forget now?"

"I'll be there," Jamey assured her. "Meantime, tell your mother I called, will you?"

"All right… and you take good care of your business tonight."

Jamey laughed. Then: "Listed, honey, maybe you better have your mom call me when she gets home. I want to talk to her."

"It'll be late," Nadine answered, quickly.

"That's okay, I'll be waiting."

"All right… I'll tell her," Jamey heard her say, but with obvious reluctance.

He continued to smile into the telephone. "Bye bye, angel," he half-whispered.

"G'bye lover," she said back, in the sultriest voice she could possibly have mustered.