Bob Katt: Hot 'n juicy Lucy

Even when I'd finished shooting, her tight cunt wouldn't release my prick. It gripped even harder, squeezing, wringing out my prick, shaking it out and then squeezing even tighter. By the time she collapsed, emotionally exhausted and lying upon me limply, my prick felt it had been through a wringer.

There were drawbacks. One fuck with Lillian drained more energy out of me than half-a-dozen fucks with other girls. I too was completely exhausted and drained of strength.

But I felt deliriously happy too.

But only for a short time. And then, while my prick curled up sleepily, I remembered that life is not only fucking.

The traitor didn't care. He was happily satiated. He lay flabbily contented within Lillian's cunt, joyously steeped in hot cunt-juice.

But me. I sprawled back with Lillian's dead weight increasing every moment, and depression swamping over me as I recalled my problems.

How could I marry two girls at the same time?

It wasn't possible.

But it was equally unthinkable not to marry them!

Dave Powell, the Ship's Officer who shared the expenses of my pad, was in port. His boisterous exuberance conflicted with my despondency as I sat dolefully on the bed. He was healthy and sun-bronzed, flexing his biceps before the mirror. "A ten-day voyage and ten pussies," he crowed. "I hardly got time to sleep. Sea air does something to women. They prowl the decks, straddle-legged and begging for prick. If you pass a woman in the corridor she sticks out her hip so it brushes your cock. They lean over the deck rail, looking at the sea and stick out their ass when you pass.'"

"I need advice," I told him, "I can't marry both. So what do I do?" He flexed his muscles and admired them. "What advice can I give?" He hadn't a worry in the world. "You've done it now. It's like jumping off a cuff. You can't go back and start again. You should never allow the word 'marriage' to be spoken. If you do, you're doomed. No woman lets a man escape a marriage promise, except when he gives her everything he's got to get rid of her!"

"Don't criticize," I growled. "Give me advice. I've stepped off the cliff. What do I do now?"

He shrugged. "Obey the force of gravity!" He cupped his balls with reverence. "Look at this scrotum. Isn't it a beauty! You should see it tighten when a girl licks it!"

"Your balls are fine," I said. "But how many years do you get for bigamy?"

"About five years," he said with heartless cheerfulness. "You've brought it on yourself. You screw the same girls too often. It gets to be a habit they don't want to break. So they make you talk marriage and then it's money or your life."

"I've explained how it happened," I said desperately. "I didn't mention matrimony to either of them."

"Too bad, Mike." He shook his head sadly. But he didn't care a damn. "Be like me," he boasted. "Fuck 'em and leave 'em. I don't have your trouble. I flit from one cunt to another, and sample them all." He stroked his prick lovingly. "Ain't that a beautiful erection!"

"It looks just like my bastard prick," I gloomed. "It's always getting me in trouble."

"Not mine!" He patted it fondly. "We fuck 'em all. No hang-up's, no emotional entanglements and no wedding bells. Look how the bastard's twitching; it's straining on the leash! D'you know why? There was this specialty dancer aboard who's doing the London clubs. She dangled her cunt under my nose every day of the voyage, but I held off until she was walking down the gangway. Then I took her telephone number. Right now she's in her hotel room getting perfumed and fragrant-smelling." Again he patted his knob fondly. 'This monster's dying to wallow in that fragrance."

"You hard-hearted sod!" I complained. "Help me. Let me introduce you to Lillian. She's a lovely fuck. Screw the ass off her so she gets a taste for a different prick. She might slow down on the wedding bells so she can sample other pricks."

"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "Women always grab at matrimony. After the ceremony they can get any hot cock they want. Anyway, I can't spare the time. There's this specialty dancer, a couple of other passengers cunts, and those three sisters I screwed on my last leave. They're sex-bombs! It was a girlie-girlie feet-up until I nosed in. They sucked each other silly. But when my big prick got busy it drove them wild. They'd never tasted hot cock and couldn't get enough of it. We locked the door and threw away the key for three days!"

"Can't you squeeze in Janet?" I pleaded. "You should see the long, black hairs on her cunt. You've never seen them so long, nor so black. They're very special!"

"Fuck Janet," he said bluntly. "I wouldn't go near those two girls wearing chain armour. They're dynamite. They've got their prey in their sights and fingers trembling on the trigger. I don't want my head mounted in a little suburban home!"

"You're a shit, Dave."

"Sure. A happy shit. A free-wheeling, free-fucking shit. Is it my fault you're stupid and hog-tied? Should I shove you over and lay my head on the executioner's block?"

I sighed. I was asking too much of friendship.

"Be like me," he lectured. "Fuck 'em and leave 'em. Take this specialty dancer. She'll be a lovely fuck. She did her act on board. All she wears is silver halos on her nipples, and a sequined cunt-gusset that fits it like a glove. It's held up by a slender silver chain that's pulled up inside her bottom-cheeks. She's got a lovely ass, and her bones are India-rubber. She dances and twists herself around in ways that aren't possible." His eyes shone. "D'you know the first thing I'm gonna do? Stand behind her while she bends over with feet astride. I'm going to make her stick her head right through between her legs and suck my knob. I'll touch-up her tight ass-hole while she's doing it!"

I sighed. I wouldn't get any help from Dave. And I was late for the office.

"The pad's yours for the next few days," I said and drifted towards the door.

"I'll keep in touch," he promised. He was fascinated by his quivering prick. He stroked it lovingly.

I'd overstayed my lunch hour but the Boss beamed benignly. "Get the executive habit," he chuckled genially. "Long lunches give a man confidence. He feels he's running the business, instead of clocking in on the minute." A week earlier he'd ranted like Hitler when I was five minutes late.

But now I was a prospective son-in-law he could afford to be magnanimous. He'd already fixed it for me to marry Janet the same day I married Lillian, but an hour later and in another part of London. If I had a car, and a police escort blasting a path for me, I'd just make it. The Boss put on his hat. "They're cutting a new disc at Appletrees," he told me. "Ring there if I'm wanted. Meanwhile, find me a smash-hit." He chuckled and slapped my back. "We've got to pay for your wonderful honeymoon some way!"

He hurried away. I tiptoed to my office and slipped inside. Janet was in the Boss's office. I hoped she hadn't heard me.

A vain hope. Five seconds later my door opened. She smiled lovingly, her eyes enormous behind her pebbled glasses. Sweat glistened on her moustache, and the long hair of her mole sprouted aggressively. The temperature soared and the smell of cunt gushed out at me from between her legs.

"I've been thinking, Mike," she said solemnly. "We mustn't screw in the office. It's too dangerous. It'll give the business a bad name."

I couldn't believe my ears. I was reprieved. Yet she made sense. Yesterday, two nuns had wandered into the office with a charity collecting box. Nobody was around so they'd peeked into my office. Janet had me braced back over the desk.

The nuns were so shocked they just stood there, gaping at Janet's frenziedly pistoning buttocks. Then they screamed like train whistles and ran for their lives. During the afternoon a wholesaler had walked in on us. He wanted to make a deal for stocks of old records.