Roberta Taylor - Nasty Sharon

Sharon found that she was smiling. How strange! Always, this moment had been one of throbbing excitement, or sometimes fear that had made her teeth chatter. But she felt calm, and, seeing his grin and the twinkle in his dyes, she smiled broadly. She drew her legs back, her feet flat on the quilted spread. She raised her arms and cupped her hands on his shoulders as he came over her.

She glanced down and saw the arrowhead capping his long curve of cock near her crotch. She widened the spread of her thighs. Her mound rose, a fleshy, thickly bushed prominence. She drew her legs back, raising her feet high. She could see the split in her pussy and the dark curved cock shifting downward, the flared head vanishing below her belly hair.

The first touch was gentle but firm, a plush-soft bulk sliding down her gash and nuzzling the portals of her hole.

She fingered the line of Tom's jaw and drew him down to her. Her ankles met above his back. They linked. His body lowered as she heeled his spine.

The big head wedged into her, completely choking the rim of her cunt.

He grinned. "Am I ringing any bells?"

She shook her head. "No, thank God. You're just a nice guy squeezing your cockhead into me, soft and easy and good, like you know I'll love it and you want me to sort of wallow in every sensation."

"Wallow away, honey."

"First, slide it in."

He sank down. The lusty shaft squeezed into her. She wriggled, raised an inch, then let it slowly penetrate, filling her slit, reshaping her snatch to an oval tube that sucked tight on the rigid meat, yet gave with it, opened and stretched, taking more and more length, much more.

At last his pubic hair pressed her open, jellied split and held firm.

She curled her arms about his shoulders and clung. She mouthed his cheek.

She felt content. Her cunt was full and a man's weight was flattening her titties, and her arms and legs were about him, holding fast. She felt lazy, voluptuous, and supremely happy.

Tom whispered, "I never slid it into a girl that way before, with her legs raised and wide apart, her cunt open. It was delicious, honey. And your twat feels like melted butter."

She kissed his ear, then fell slack, smiling in a way she thought must look foolish but which was merely a reflection of the loose gaping of her cunt.

She asked, "Are you really going to buy an airplane and a sleeping bag?"

"You seem to dig the idea. Is that why you're letting me fuck you?"

"You're not fucking me. All I feel is a hard prick loafing in my cunt. No, I'm not here to get an airplane ride. I'm here because I trust you, I think. Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'd be scared of flying. Fly me a little, will you?"

He jogged inside her, short thrusts deep in her cunt. Sharon tightened the grip of her legs and pulled her insides on the stabbing prick. She drew a long, hard suck off it.

"Wow!" Tom said; "That's a grabby hole you've got there."

She giggled. "Quit complaining and fuck it."

He drew back, then delivered a long, sliding thrust that exploded in her belly and made Sharon's feet jerk up at the ceiling. Her toes fanned out, stretching stiffly away from each other.

He delivered another thrust. She moaned, "Ohhh, Tom! You'll hole me to the throat!"

He slid his hands under her ass, lifted her, bowed his back and hammered in, splitting her with that sweet, big cockhead, driving the length of curved iron up into her.

She thought she could see it raise her belly button. But that was not possible. Her cunt began to knot on it. A hundred knots drew tight, burning, swelling, crushing the tool that kept wedging her passage open. She closed wrenchingly each time he drew back. He had to split her anew on each thrust.

She heard her cunt suck at the hot meat.

A ball of fire filled the room. Bracing her heels on his back she arched up, whacking herself at him, meeting each long slam.

"Tom, I'm coming. Ohhh, Tom, honey, shoot it into me, please shoot!"

He panted, "I can hold off. I'll let you squeeze out a bunch of orgasms."

"No, I want this one! I want you to shoot me full of cream! Spew it into me, shoot my cunt full. Please! Fuck me harder!"

"You asked for it," he said, and reared up, bucking, slamming against her so loudly she seemed to hear echoes from the walls.

Her orgasm had peaked and she went screeching downhill, but found another mountain rising, lifting her on the hardening and lengthening of his cock. A tree trunk was ramming into her and she arched up, whacked her hairy twat at his loins. She clung desperately to the brute force jacking up and down in the enclosure of her arms and legs, sliding that monster weapon into her gaping cunt, making it splash when he struck home.

She could smell her cunt now, and that told her how hot it was.

Tom backed until his cockhead escaped her, then entered with a mighty rush. She knew this was it even before he spoke.

"I'm coming!" he cried. "Shooting, baby!" Then, louder, "I'm going to shoot a ball into you!"

His spew blasted her cuntal pocket, which sucked on it, consumed it, soaked it up and waited for the next dollop.

His cum broke her knot. Dissolved it. Vaporized it. Her cunt came apart and went spilling downhill from the peak, a jelly oozing, then becoming the ooze, a rivulet dribbling down her burning ass. And still he churned on.

Her orgasm was ebbing away. She sagged, voluptuously aware of every contour of the stiff cock sliding in and out of her.

At last Tom was still.

Sharon slid out from under and curled down his body to mouth his softening prick. She sucked the last flecks of white cream from it, and licked up the coating of cunt juice. The taste of cunt made her think of Lita. But Lita was distant, far beyond her horizons.

Sharon drowsed on the way back to town, smiling at her recollections of their half-day at the fishing shack.

After their first fuck the sun had come out, letting them swim naked in the pond. They caught some frogs in a bait net, then let them go. Indoors again, they ate sandwiches and drank up the beer and screwed their heads off.

But now she had to face her three-o'clock date with Lita.

The sun had vanished again. Gloomy clouds hung low over the grazing lands.

Abruptly, Tom asked, "Would you like to live with me?"

This startled her.

He said, "My apartment is a little place on Liberty Street. I can't afford better while I'm saving to buy the plane. But two people would pay the same rent as one."

At the fishing shack everything had seemed clear. She was crazy about Tom. But now they were nearing town and through her mind swirled her other world – Buddy and Nancy and Harve, Lita and Bud Connoly – the world of her intrigues, and the little white car. Somehow it all blotted Tom out.

They parted at the Harris salesroom.

She hailed a taxi and rode toward the Connoly house, wondering why she had not let Tom drive her there. Ashamed?

It was more complicated than that.

The white house looked immense, splendid, enchanted in the gray light seeping through the clouds pressing down on it.

Lita met her at the door, golden Lita in a dressing gown. When the taxi had rolled away Lita hugged her and enveloped her mouth in a sucking, soft-lipped kiss.

She ushered Sharon into the little green room where they had first made love. In this murky light, the outlines of the furniture were blurred. Sharon dropped heavily on the couch. She kicked off her sandals and drew her feet up under her.

She said, "Lita, you mentioned something special. Unusual."

Lita waved her hand in a graceful, negligent manner. "I hope that thinking about it hasn't upset you. Here, I'll get you a drink to settle you down. Special? Yes, I think so. And you'll love it."