Eileen Over - Eager To Bed Bunny

The Countess's eyes were swimming in her head and she let out a short laugh that was like a dog's bark. She touched his penis, sending a tingle racing through him.

"Drunk but still capable. Good."

On her side, with her breasts sagging, she rubbed her thighs together, showing him a pubic bush that was quite hairy, blondish and damp. One leg went up as she rolled over on her back and her bottom, flexible and muscled, revolved.

Hugh swung himself right on top of the woman, going directly into her. She shouted that it was great and sighed as he rose up, pulling half of himself out and sobbing as he returned in a deep thrust.

It went on and on without his climaxing due to his somewhat advanced state of intoxication. But the volume of the woman's passion was limitless. He marveled at her sensual talent even as his lunges, upward, forward and inward, quickened.

She came, clinging to him with all her strength as the come bubbled up in her passageway. Her rump bucked frantically as she exploded. He held fast to the spreading flesh of the clenching bottom; she was shooting up.

Again the laugh came, so like the bark of a hound. Then, hissing like a cat, she held him, crying out that he was a superb screw. He struggled with her, locked with her as one, splashing about in the seas of lust and sensation.

At last it was over and she demanded a soft, rather gentle kiss. Hugh, still embedded in the woman, felt her fingertips brushing lightly along the surface of his back.

He tried to inch up but her hot flesh had closed around his member. He exercised another movement and her eyes lost their color momentarily as raw lust stung her.

"Oh, oh, oh!"

Passion pulsed in the woman's veins and she bent her long back, tightening her' rear end and gripping the hard thing with her vaginal muscles.

At first, when he just held her by the buttocks and moved her body up and down, keeping her firmly impaled to his steel-like penis, she allowed him his way, only arching her back occasionally. Then another orgasm built up and the Countess fell upon the bed, writhing and wrapping her strong legs about his waist.

"Yes, yes, YES!"

He was drunk, he was insane and he plunged in and out of her recklessly. It took no time, perhaps three seconds, before the Countess, completely switched on, started to flow. It was torture, this constant ramming with his penis and, whining, she dug her heels into the bed and lifted the man up high.

She came and cried for him to kiss her full, twisting mouth. Even as she climaxed, burning his joint terribly, her hips were always active, meeting every one of his downward strokes.

Then Hugh stopped, raised himself up and fell down, shattering the woman's vaginal walls as he exploded. Her little rubbery clit went into a wild dance as his seed, roaring in, slammed against the dead end of her opening and was blasted back.

"Nooooo!"

The thick, creamy hot fluid made her body a pyre. She let out one hell of a yell, for the hard, erect thing was ploughing even deeper as it shot and shot.

Hugh rolled over in the huge bed and nearby the Countess, her body gleaming like melted gold, groaned and borrowed deeper into the bedclothes. "Give me a cigarette, please."

At hand was a night table upon which stood a lacquered cigarette box and a silver lighter. He reached over, selected one of the cigarettes, lit it and, after one rather unwelcome puff, handed it to the woman.

"Thanks." She sat up in bed, flinging her hair back, looking now every bit her age. Circles ringed her eyes and with all her make-up wiped off during the hot-blooded sexual struggle, the wrinkles caused by a lifetime of sin and pleasure were obvious.

Hugh was surprised his head was not hammering from a hangover. Across the room wind flowed in, fluttering the gauze curtains, and parts of the hills were shadowed with darkness, but the highest portion was yellowed by the new sun.

"Hell, it's morning!"

"But the party has not ended."

He left the bed, cursing. Once again he had made a wrong move. Hell, why was he so determined to louse up his life like this, always selecting the wrong trails. It reminded him of a railroad junction wherein a yard-man throws a switch, tracks are shifted and the course of the train is altered.

Sleeping with this woman! When would he realize the outcome of this act? In a few hours, a few days? Claudia would certainly stamp finish on their relationship.

He saw a cloud of cigarette smoke float toward the ceiling and turned to look down upon the smiling Countess. Like Maurier, she was rich and spoiled but most of all corrupt, easily at home in this house of evil belonging to a weird doctor.

Abruptly the woman threw back the covers, exposing her tanned, shapely body covered along the thighs and legs with a golden down.. "How are you this morning?"

"Amazed at myself."

"I am the one to be amazed, darling boy. Oh, my dear, I am here to tell you that your ability, your bedmanship so to speak, whether practiced or natural, is downright amazing. In fact it is nothing short of sensational."

He reached for his clothing. "I am going."

"To Claudia, the maid? She is beautifully built but I think Leda, the girl who danced on the table last night, is superior. But of course she is a common slut. Tell me, is Claudia as good in bed as I am?"

He was dressing. "I do not wish to talk about Claudia."

Her answer, a whisper, was unheard due to the noise from the party room. Women were screaming, men shouting and chairs could be heard tossed against the walls.

Hugh bounded from the room and saw that some of the guests had gone berserk. Glass was crashing, linen being ripped and people fighting savagely. Punches were tossed, chins got slammed, more viscous blows were returned and the recipients of these went to the floor.

Doctor Leasor, of all people, naked as the day he left his mother's womb, was jumping up and down shaking his fists. "Stop it, stop it, you are wrecking my villa."

On the floor next to an overturned couch was the baby-faced dancer, Leda, out cold and still nude. Two of the male guests, an Italian and an Englishman, slugging it out, brought the fight close to where she lay, but Leda slept on.

"Take that, Carlo, you rascal," grunted the Britisher.

The Italian, even if his name was not Carlo, was certainly a rascal. He took what the Englishman offered and went down and out, right next to the sleeping beauty.

The melйe, taking on the serious aspects of a brawl, ranged from room to room, along the hallway, into the kitchen, out of the bathroom; porcelain was being broken, chairs destroyed, bottles smashed, pictures torn from the walls, expensive tapestries trampled underfoot and priceless rugs ruined forever.

Hugh saw his employer, Maurier, sprint through the front door. He turned again in time to see the Countess, a bed sheet wrapped about her naked body, hop and skip through the battle, leap ballerina-like over fallen bodies and follow the same path taken by Maurier.

The wail of police sirens was distinct and those few guests not beaten to their knees started a mad rush to flee the premises. Not all could get through at once and some smashed the windows to make their escape. But the police cars were numerous and a flock of carabinieri blocked the mob, catching most out there in the garden, letting just a few slip through. Screaming, the refugees re-entered the villa en masse, clawing and fighting their way back into sanctuary.

Hugh caught on at once and while the police blew their whistles he sped down the hall to the servants' quarters and climbed through a window. He wore just his trousers, having left behind everything else, and now, as he raced away from the villa, sharp rocks tore into the soles of his feet.

Exhausted, looking like a man who had just broken out of jail, Hugh staggered into the house rented by Maurier. The first sight that met his eyes was that of the once-proud Mercedes Benz now reduced to crumpled metal. It must have crashed into a tree, for the entire front had been pretzelized while the tree remained firm and upright. In the back seat, apparently unhurt and snoring away, was a guest from the party.