Rick Jennings - Pet shop pussy

And so now he strummed her body as if he was a musician getting harmonies and chords from an instrument. His fingers tickled the insides of her thighs, finally sliding higher until he was able to take hold of the edges of her thin girlish cunt lips.

These were no scarlet rooster combs of flabby drooping flesh, but taut elastic lapels that he now eased back, stretching them wide as butterfly wings. Pam thrust her crotch up again and again and when she let go of his head, Justin eased his tongue back. He lifted his face and stared down at her meaty box.

Between a narrow and gristly set of cunt lips he could see the swollen meaty button of her clit and it was to this delectable tidbit that he now centered his attentions. He rammed his face down with rising impatience, nipping at her clit so that she could not stop moaning and crying out with pleasure.

Her cunt gave off a strong heady odor, at once musky and pungent. And her juices tasted salty and spicy against his lips and tongue. Delighted with the way she was responding, he kept at it, nipping and frictioning his teeth and tongue against the tender shaft of her clitoris, then ramming his tongue as far inside of her tight girlish split as he could.

Her vaginal muscles jerked against his invading tongue, nipping at it with such conclusive force that he knew she was going to prove to be even more wild and arousing when they were in bed together. And that, needless to say, was something he didn't doubt would happen whenever he was ready to make the move.

But what he knew she still didn't understand were the kind of things he wanted done to her, the lurid sexual acts he had long imagined, never having been able to see them brought to life, consummated before his wide and staring eyes. Something told him that Pam would do anything he wanted, that the heated excesses of her sexual reaction were a product not only of his erotic skill, but also because she had fallen for him, head over heels.

That she seemed to be in love, or at least infatuated, certainly was no hindrance. And though he was yet to experience the same kind of breathless emotional involvement, his physical appetites were just as overheated and insatiable as hers.

Behind the front of his faded blue jeans he could feel how his cock was jerking angrily. It thrust out like a bar of steel against his fly, imprisoned, stifled inside of his dungarees. He wore no underwear and, as a result, he was acutely aware of how clammy and sweaty his groin had become, pre-come dribbling out of the bulbous and blood-engorged head of his tool to seep over his pubes and soak into the denim material of his jeans.

But Justin was a young man who knew how to exercise proper control; at least when sex was involved. He wasn't worried about coming in his pants, though not because he feared he wouldn't be able to climax a second time, but simply because he had trained himself to hold back until the last possible moment.

As a result, women had always found his sexual pyrotechnics unbeatable. His ability to sustain an erection without any artificial devices, his skill at holding his orgasm back until he had milked a woman of several climaxes, one right after the other, had all stood him in good stead with the women who had passed in and out of his life.

And Pam, he knew was not going to be the exception to the rule. He could feel how she was shuddering, how her vaginal muscles had already gone out of control, signaling her imminent release. But he did not want to milk her of an orgasm, not yet at any rate.

No, there would be time enough for that, when the moment was right. So he finally eased his probing licking tongue from out of her cooze, tickling her clitoris and then lifting his sweaty face. He let go of her cunt lips and they sprang elastically back, their hairy outer edges all wet and glistening, slippery with a mixture of saliva and cunt juice.

Pam slumped back against the couch, breathless and wild-eyed. She had no idea why Justin had stopped, especially when she had been riding a kind of stoned sexual rush, floating up towards the very moment of release.

But that, needless to say, was all part of his technique.

He edged back to rock against his knees and the backs of his legs, taking her in with a single wide and all-encompassing stare. She was naked, her flesh glistening and white, dewdrops not only beading the furry triangle that marked her tender mons veneris, but also dotting the fine down along her upper lip and right below her hairline.

Her breasts rose and fell and he saw her then as the very personification of tenderness and vulnerability. "I… I don't know what to say," she whispered when she had recovered a modicum of self-composure.

"Don't say anything… just do," he replied in a whisper, as if he didn't want to break the spell that had been cast between them. He got abruptly to his feet to turn over the record, for Franck's symphony had come to its side one halt just moments after he had finally slid his tongue out of her juicy little muff.

And as he rose up before her, Pamela Harper's eyes opened even wider than before. She was now able to see that which she had tried to glimpse earlier. And what she saw, she liked, plain and simple. Justin caught her staring, held himself steady, facing her like that for a silent moment before turning around to change the record.

But the few seconds he had stood there, frozen and unmoving in space and time, had enabled Pam to see what she had lusted after.

There could be no doubt in her mind that he was as well equipped as she had always imagined… no, felt… her dream-image to be. Behind the front of his provocative skintight jeans she had seen the long swollen outline of his cock and she wanted to throw herself at his feet the way he had done to her. Not slavishly, but merely so that she would be able to lunge forward and rip his jeans off, feasting upon the thick bloated length of his manly cock.

Justin had exactly the same thought in mind.

He turned the disc over to side two. The second movement Allegretto began, its moderately fast tempo setting the rhythm for the delicious bout of fellatio he planned to enjoy. That she would be ready and willing was something he didn't doubt for one second and when he turned back to her, he thrust his crotch forward as if to demand she gape and stare at the silhouette of his rigid and throbbing hard-on.

His dick had slipped down along the inside of one dungaree leg. The denim was tented out so distinctly that Pam had no difficulty making out the exact dimensions of Justin's turgid member, even down to the shape of his leaking glans and the slight depression at the neck of his cock.

His rounded stones seemed full and loose, a swollen bag she could see stuffed – no doubt uncomfortably, she supposed – inside the crotch of his jeans. "Is it crazy that I'm staring?" she asked.

"By whose standards? You dig looking at it – cool. You dig playing with it, even better," Justin told her.

He sauntered forward, half play-acting, half-serious. But he was totally earnest about having her rub her lips and tongue over his boner and no sooner had he moved in front of her than Pam lost the last vestiges of her self-control.

She lunged forward, nearly toppling him over. Her hands clawed at the front of his jeans and she slid her horny fingers up and down the inside of his stuffed trouser leg, fondling the stiff and steely projection that was his pulsating cunt-rammer.

Justin smiled to himself; delighted with the intensity of her reaction, with the way she was really anxious to have him. She rapidly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, not even thinking of what she was doing. Having sex with Bix was one thing. But this was something else, neither better nor worse. Just different…

But the gist of it was that she had gone without this kind of "difference" for far too long. Now, it was as if Pam Harper was making up for lost time. She pulled his fly open and rather than reaching inside to haul out the stiff projection of his dick, she shoved his tight faded jeans down off of his waist and hips.