Ray Strong: The naughty niece

The solid, heavy white shaft of six-inch muscle, lined with winding blue veins and topped with a rich, purple, helmet-shaped knob flaring out to a wild, oversensitive corona was the fattest, most stunning, cock the two girls had ever seen. They had heard there were larger pricks, and perhaps there were fatter ones, but neither of them had ever seen one. In fact, neither of them had ever seen very many cocks at all, save for infants whose diapers they'd changed while babysitting, and somehow or other neither of the girls could become aroused at the sight of such tiny peckers.

The girls should not have been looking at the heated, swollen, blood-engorged tool at which the both of them now stared, their mouths agape. But there were these two tiny holes in the bedroom wall separating their room from the master bedroom. And though pictures usually hung over the two holes on the girls' side, the pictures were now resting on a dresser while each of the girls had an eye glued to one of the holes, staring into the next bedroom, both more than desirous of becoming part of a tableau similar to the one they were watching.

The woman on the bed was not too many years older than either of them. In fact, if she was out of her teens, it couldn't have been by more than a year or two at most. Her white naked body was lithe, long and firm, with no fat or loose flesh on it. Her long blonde hair came almost down to her waist, though judging from the darker bush at her crotch, it was obvious the blonde part came from a bottle. Her face was nice, though nothing spectacular. She had large eyes, a slightly hooked nose, and a full, ripe, sensuous mouth she continually pursed. Her full, up tilted, globular tits were each more than a handful, with large brown areolas and raisin-pointed nipples. Her belly was as flat as her hips were round, and she had a nice, solid, bouncy ass. Between her two firm, slender thighs was a fat pair of cuntlips, enhanced by the thick, dark bush encircling them. The outer parts of the labes were a stark white, but as the lips parted a little, one could easily see the rich pink color inside.

The girl they were watching, like the two of them, seemed enchanted by the man's thick dong. To her, it was a tasty, lovable, meaty prong and at that moment it belonged to her and her alone. She, like the man, was unaware of the two feminine peepers.

She seemed unable to contain herself at that moment as she lay on her side, with her face staring at the marvelous fucking tool. Her mouth opened wide as she leaned forward and very slowly began engulfing the entire piece of hard, solid meat. Christ! What a juicy, delicious cock! She stuffed more and more of the rod into her mouth until it was filled. Even then her mouth might have taken the slightest fraction of an inch more, had he more to offer. The entire meaty roll of cock was jammed in, pressing her tongue down as its spongy head rubbed her throat, and the roof of her mouth felt all a tingle with the silken softness of the throbbing shaft.

Now her tongue began racing up and down along the underside of the heavy shank, thrilling to the satiny, velvety, yet always masculine sensation of the meat. It actually pleased her to know she was completely stuffed, jammed, clogged, stopped up. She imagined her whole body to be a huge mouth entirely crammed with prick.

All cocks tasted good, but this one tasted better to the peroxide blonde. Why? Simple. It happened to be the cock she was tasting at that particular moment, and the fact that it was presently corking her mouth made it taste better than all its predecessors. She was in ecstasy over the sensations it produced. She felt as much delight in the pressure of her ovaling lips surrounding and squeezing the rigid rod as he did feeling the pressure.

Unlike most other women, the man's heavy body didn't bother her at all. He could have weighed twice as much, but with such a perfect, fat, spear-straight cock she just didn't give a damn. This cock, this prick, this dong was her toy, her sucker, her pleasure. She tingled to the touch of her lips sliding down the rich, meaty shaft to the base, where his hairy crotch could tickle her nostrils. And then she thrilled to the sensation of the backward slide of the hard rod as her head rose until she could surround the pliant, grainy head with her lips while her tongue scrubbed the underside where knob and shaft joined, making him pant and writhe. She loved to lock her lips just under the burning corona, making him wriggle almost out of control. On his superb skin flute she could play a masterful solo, feeling his pre-cum drip out quickly or slowly, depending on how her lips applied themselves to his marvelous masterpiece of horn-like meat.

And then there was the constant corking and uncorking of her mouth as her head bobbed up and down. Had his prong been longer, she might have tried stuffing it into her throat. And had she strangled on it, she wouldn't have cared a bit. One had to die anyway, sooner or later, and if she could die with the fullness of cock clogging her windpipe, she would have no complaints.

The man was no less sensitive to it all. Being without his wife for the summer, he had been amazed when the blonde nymph had offered to return to his summer cottage with him. He was in his forties now, almost at the male menopause, thinking himself no longer attractive to women because of the paunch he had developed. Just why the girl had volunteered to go with him when he'd propositioned her was something he would never completely understand. He was aware it was a one-night thing, or in this case a one-day thing since it was early afternoon. But he was intelligent enough not to question his good fortune.

Her name was Lorelei, and he was positive it was a name he would always remember long after she was gone, for he was completely unaware of the coming events that would eventually totally eclipse her from his mind. But at that moment he was convinced he was in some kind of Valhalla, because she sucked his cock with a verve his wife had long forgotten. She sucked dick so superbly he was afraid he would prematurely ejaculate into her throat before being able to build his internal senses to the peak of pleasure.

But Lorelei, for all her youth, was wise to the ways of men. Sex was an important part of her youthful life, and she had learned not to gauge men by how they looked or how well they were physically constructed. She had met some of the world's strongest men in her travels around the country, and most of them were so interested in the upkeep of their bodies, they didn't care at all for their partners when it came to fucking. It was a simple "Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am," with them, getting their own rocks off, finding their own relief and therefore not only denying the woman with them ultimate pleasure, but also denying themselves the true feeling of pleasure.

Married men were always better sex partners than single men. True, many married men were shmucks, unfeeling and uncaring, never once giving their wives a decent orgasm. But many married men cared as much about their wives as their wives did about them. Each was always striving to please the other, and, as a result, both were constantly satisfied. By talking to various married men, Lorelei was always able to determine which of them was the one concerned with his partner's ultimate satisfaction. As a result, she was always able to choose a good partner for herself.

Here, now, at this summer resort, where many married men had liberated wives who wanted separate vacations, Lorelei was able to find numerous men she could enjoy fucking and sucking. And she was always able to attest to the fact that the more mature, usually out-of-shape forty- or fifty-year-old man was one helluva better lay than the young smart-asses in their teens and early twenties who thought they were Gods because of their physiques, or the thirty-year-old who was still bringing his wife with him but ogling the younger girls, making promises with his eyes his body would never keep.