Poncho Ilia - With this ring, I thee lust

He was kneeling, holding my ass tight between his knees. And then he put his hands down and caught me right above the thigh joints in that soft place with both hands and lifted my ass up and that made it drive in even deeper. He began to really throw it to me. I began to buck and suck with my cunt muscles to make it good for him and, goddamn, I began to get hot and when he came in me, I came out of sympathy, without even having my clit stimulated, a real, banging good, throbbing chewing pussy come with his cock emptying itself deep into me, so deep that my whole womb was washing in cunt and come.

He rolled me over and quickly drove it into me, after he'd quit pumping, and we just lay there, his cock going lax in me, both of us drowsy and being loving and dose.

He woke me in the middle of the night eating me, I had a beauty like that and then we just fucked gently and without too much fire for about a half hour before we both got wild and had a climax together and then he did me in again in the morning, after we'd had coffee and cakes in bed. The morning one was just a quickie. We were both hot and he just crawled on and we pounded and jerked and moaned and he came first and I came just as his best shot of come jetted into me.

"Ruby," he said, "would you like to see me again, even when I'm not a beauty contest judge?"

"If you weren't already married," I said, "I'd carry you ofL Anytime you want to see me, Rod. Anytime."

As I went through the next few years, marriage was offered to me, but Rod Hensley, a couhtry western singer, was the only man I would have married, and that was because he was such a tender lover, because he was nice dear through and because we sent each other. We continued to send each other for years.

So, you see, Rod Hensley isn't really his name, and you'd surely recognize it if I told you, because he did make it big. But once I screwed him in his dressing room backstage just before he went on for a big concert. We fucked quickly, both of us hot, me leaning back on his dressing table, my long, formal skirt hiked to expose my cunt, he without removing his trousers. When he'd come and I'd come he pulled out and grinned at me. "I ain't gonna wash," he said. "I'm goin' out there with our love juices still on it and maybe the people will smell it and think that Rod Hensley is a sexy sonofa-bitch."

"And I'll keep yours in me," I said. "All through the program I'll be sitting there with your come in me." That's the kind of friends Rod and I were. We could 113 get a kick out of a five minute quickie standing up or we could give each other the delicious trembles for a whole week. We had a week together once, after he'd left his first wife, in the mountains of Colorado, and it was wild, great, beautiful. We thought ab@ut getting married then, but I was in the middle of my first big movie and he was on a contract to do a nationwide tour and we decided we wouldn't spoil a beautiful love affair with marriage.

But that morning we lay there soaking in each other, my tits hot on his chest, his weight on me, his cock going soft until it finally fell out of me and his come ran down the inside of my thigh. "Ruby," he said, "I guess you've bribed me."

"I meant it to be that way," I said "but now that I know you I don't give a shit about this pissy little contest. You vote the way you want to. I'll make it without being Miss Mountain Flower."

"Ah'm glad yew said that, gal," he said, giving me the western accent shit. "Because all along I was going to vote for the best girl." Which, of course, was me.

Yep, as I went through the next few years I'd watch Rod's career and now and then our paths would cross and there'd be a hot time in the old town, whatever town or city it was. Ever get fucked in a New York taxi? It's wild, especially if you do it on the day before Christmas Eve, with the streets a true madhouse, cars blowing and honking and having fender benders all around and people screaming and banging on the sides of the cab at pedestrian crossings and big trucks passing in the other lane and the drivers doing double takes as they look down and see two people naked from the waist down screwing like minks in the back seat. And the driver saying, through his mugger guard, "You fuckers get me busted you pay the fine," and Rod yelling, "Drive fast, Mac."

"Drive where?" he yelled back. A nice Jamacian boy, with that beautiful sing-song accent.

"Anywhere," Rod yelled. "Just drive and give us a few thrills."

"If I were in that back seat I'd be getting enough thrills," the driver said, almost rear-ending a car as he watched me do my thing with one leg hanging off the edge of the seat and the other thrown up along the top of the back of the seat and me full, stuffed with cock and champagne.

"It's Christmas," Rod giggled, drunk out of his skull. "Let's let him smell my finger for a thrill."

"Since it's Christmas, let's let him come into the back seat," I said.

"Ruby Gore," he said, using my old name, "you're rotten clean through. You're a pervert."

I closed my cunt muscles, bent my body and almost broke his hard cock. "And you love it."

"Arrrrrrrrg," he yelled, coming and jerking and pumping as I laughed and let the goodness flow and had my come. I was dressed in a gold lame dress with a simple upswept hairdo and a set of earrings which had set someone, and I'll get to that later, back a few grand. They dangled and banged against my cheeks just like Rod's balls dangled and banged against my ass.

Whenever I met a man who would make me a good husband, he already was. Rod was married again, to a tobacco heiress. She was down in the islands screwing rich buddies and Rod was doing his thing in Madison Square Garden, packing them in. I was in New York for a week of guest shots on the biggest talk show and wowing them. The network vice-presidents were going crazy because no matter what I said it came out sexy. Well, you know me. "Let's give him a Christmas present," I said.

"Hey, buddy," Rod called, through the little speak-window, "the lady wants tb give you a Christmas present."

"You're Kitsy McRae, aren't you?" he asked, looting at me in the rear view mirror.

"He didn't recognize you until you took your clothes off," Rod yelped, sending himself into a convulsion of laughter. "You want sloppy seconds, Mac?" "You're kidding," the driver said. "Pull over and let me have the wheel," Rod said.

"Oh, shit." I could tell the driver was torn between lust and sanity. Putting a mad man like Rod, drunk out of his mind, behind the wheel was crazy. But it had become a challenge to me. I purred and arched a little and he almost ran into the sidewalk in his haste to park. Cars blew and honked and pulled around with a roar of engines and Rod was waving them on and playing bull fighter with them, waving his red jacket at them. He got in the front seat and this nice Jamacian boy, about twenty, I'd guess, got in the back seat and went suddenly shy. I was reclining. My dress was up around my waist. My working end was exposed, my cunt wet with Rod's come.

Rod jerked the taxi away from the-curb and gave a wild cowboy yell as he forced drivers to slam on brakes and yell. I said, "Merry Christmas." The driver looked at me and gulped and reached out and put his hand on my leg. "Miss McRae…" he gulped.

"You'd better hurry, before that sonofabitch wrecks your cab," I said, reaching out and starting to do his pants, finding a weapon of good size and admirable hardness inside there.

Rod swerved and threw the driver atop me. I latched onto him, one arm around him, the other down between us, fingers clasping his hard cock, guiding it to the general area of my cunt where, because things were so slick and because a woman is bulk that way, It just naturally found its way to the glory hole and drove in, "Do you dance the samba?" I asked the driver.