Kipp Ersnack - Holiday on Vice

While the heavenly little after-twinges balmed her achy nerves, she remembered some of the things he'd told her on various weekend dates here. That she hadn't reached her full potential as a lover… that someday she would know a deeper kind of erotic response… that her cunt would spasm around his cock or finger. She and Janni, when they talked it over later, simply didn't believe it. A climax was a climax, wasn't it? They'd been getting their goodies for years. After all, the clitoris was simply the feminine counterpart of the penis, and that was where.a man's sensations were, especially when he spurted.

They didn't even talk about Jed's quick five-minute fucks. All he cared about was unloading in Lauren's cunt as swiftly as possible, which he seemed to feel proved what a 'man' he was. Matt seemed to belong to a whole different species of male.

A few times he had admitted that he had learned much in the Orient, and stated that the average American male didn't know shit about pleasing a girl. That was the key to his charm. Giving instead of greedily taking.

Girls were built to be loved, fondled, stroked, flattered and thoroughly fucked. And how many really got it?

"Oh, Matt!"she breathed, still trembling inside, feeling cozy and wanted. "It was never like this!"

He kissed her and lifted up, drawing his dreamy big cock out of her drippy, puffy cunt. He sat back on his heels again, peeled his foreskin down over his glans. What a lovely huge wand of joy it was! "I told you, Lauren. One of these times."

"I might as well say it. I've told Janni everything-and she didn't believe it, either."

Janni sat up, a towel against her pussy. "Lauren, honey, you mean you went off inside, real deep?" "Ohhhh, and how!" "Jeeeese!" Janni exclaimed. "If I had it any better than the last one I'd faint!"

"Give yourself time," Lauren laughed. "You're younger than me, and he's been working on me for a whole year." "Just once a month, though," Matt grinned.

"Why the hell don't they teach this at college?" Janni asked. "I feel so stupid about sex."

"When you get his cock in you, you'll change your mind, honey," Lauren said.

"Well, when do I get it?" Janni asked, sinking back on the bed, the towel gone, her pussy tipped up.

He reached over and patted her cunt. "What about right now, Long Legs?"

"Oh, Lordy, yes!" she breathed, watching his fingers on her pussy. "I never really craved it until today!" "You get on top," he grinned.

Lauren scooted over and he sank down on his back. Janni quickly climbed over him, as she had earlier, her cheeks deeply flushed, her blue eyes glowing excitedly.

"You want me to leave, honey?" Lauren asked her sister.

"No! We know we enjoy everything better when we're both in on it. When we're together, we both come better!" Lauren shuddered, not so much with envy as with a growing fear that they had crossed the bridge of incest many years ago when they had started watching each other masturbate. Well, the only aftermath of sisterly incest would be emotional-they certainly couldn't get knocked up!

Maybe we should go the whole way! Lauren thought. Even Matt doesn 't quite believe we are as close as we are, in every way except making out…

Matt Dobson grinned, watching limber-assed young Janni straddle him, hungry for her first prick. He had really doubted Lauren's story that Janni had her cherry-but feeling was believing. The dainty membrane was there.

It was amusing the way Lauren had explained about herself and Janni-that they were not into incest, that they went only so far with their sisterly sex games. He didn't give a shit one way or another. They might just as well go ahead and enjoy physical contact. Stateside chicks were so damned juvenile.

He'd been born and raised in Hong Kong. His parents had been English. He had absorbed the Oriental outlook on fucking almost before he began jacking off. He spoke most of the southern Chinese dialects, and he knew French. His father had made millions in the export business, back when just one million was almost a fortune.

One of his father's good-looking maids had introduced him to sex at the age of eighteen. The maid's cunt was very snug around him. She had tempered his swift urge to go off by showing him how delicious it was to wait, to delay the male climax until she had her pleasure. But he had not inherited his father's business 25 acumen. He had dawdled and fucked his way through a huge inheritance, and while in college in the states, before all of his money was gone, he had found his career; fucking rich women for money and a life of leisure.

All his life women had looked at him and then looked again. He was a Tom Jones with a college education. Cunts leered at him and started getting the feminine equivalent of a hard-on. He picked only the choicest, naturally.

His current bankroll was Stella Fordham, an immensely wealthy widow who owned a big electronics firm in L.A. At forty-two she could still pass for thirty, and there was no problem in keeping her purring. She wanted prick only about twice a month, but mainly she wanted a handsome man she could show off to her rich-bitch friends and watch them squirm with envy.

Between cock fucks she humped her 'social secretary,' a beautiful leggy mulatto who could almost pass for white. Her bedroom in the Beverly Hills mansion was right next to Stella's.

Matt's bedroom was at the end of the hall, presumably so he would not hear Stella and Rona Hall having their goodies-because both of them made a lot of noise. He had listened in a few times. He had permission to fuck any of the hired help, including the girl who drove Stella's big Rolls-Royce limousine, but he didn't need that. Too much classy pussy available. He got all he needed on the side, since he had not one fucking thing to do except escort Stella around, smile at the right time, talk intelligently at cocktail parties, and honk Stella every two weeks or so. He played golf, of course. All the wealthy assholes did.

She called him her husband, she even had a fake marriage license to "prove" it, but she still wanted to be called 'Miss.' She had been in films years before; that was where her late husband had spotted her. Besides all of his clothing, a new car every year, he had a terrific allowance, his own bank account. A real shitass of a gigolo.

Oddly, Stella still maintained a lively interest in her main business, although a manager made most of the decisions. Her invested wealth could have supported her in the style she had grown accustomed to, but she felt she should be 'doing something.' She was no dummy.

Now and then he dropped by her office and took her to lunch, which pleased her mightily. He sent her flowers. He knew how to keep the skids greased. He always assured her that she was the best fucking in the world. She knew it was bullshit, but she adored hearing it anyway. Cunts!

Recently he had gone by the plant and office for an entirely different reason. A competitor in the electronics business had approached him, through an ex-model, with a nice'deal. In exchange for certain plans the competitor knew Stella owned, for copies of certain blueprints, he would receive bundles of nice tax-free money. He was entering the older phase of his life. Sooner or later he would not be able to get it up as often as was required to keep some old cunt happy. He had to think of his fading years, and that took funds.

Already he had established a savings account in a fake name, he was able to filch a lot out of his private account, and the large bonuses he would receive for industrial spying would fatten it considerably.

Tomorrow he was meeting his contact along a back road not far from this cottage, which was owned by a friend of his who used it for a fuck shack, and who let Matt use it the same way. The friend needed it only two or three times a month.