"I'm cumming..." she rasped.
He drove his tongue, like a wet spike, right up her sodden hole, nailing her on a lance of bliss.
"Oooooh," she moaned, as her loins opened and melted and the heavy, pearly flood of release came gushing out as from a fountain, filling his eager mouth with the hot cream of her frantic need. This was no mild and passive female orgasm. Susan came in great spurts of cunt juice, almost ejaculating into his mouth, so powerful was the force compelling her climax and so abundant her sexual energy. Blackburn gulped her musky flow down and greedily tongued and sucked for a second course, then a third, served up steaming and succulent from the smoking cauldron and the hairy cup.
Finally, timeless moments or minutes or hours later, she sighed deeply and drew her steaming, sodden crotch back from his face. He gave her a last long tongue stroke and lay back as her tight little ass settled onto his chest. Her slender thighs were glistening with strands of juice, luminescent as the track of a snail, but her vulva had been slurped and lapped clean.
"Oooh, that was lovely," she purred.
Blackburn grunted wordlessly.
"I guess that taught my husband a lesson, huh?" she said, obviously pleased at her vengeance.
Blackburn had a disturbing thought.
"Er... you aren't going to tell him, are you"
"Why, yes, I mean, if he didn't know I got even with him, it wouldn't be much of a lesson, would it?"
"Oh, boy," he said. "Listen... is your husband very big?"
"Oh, huge."
Blackburn looked faintly ill.
"Almost twelve inches," she explained.
"Er... I didn't mean that. I mean, you know, your whole husband. Not just his cock. He isn't a giant or anything, is he?"
"Oh, no. He isn't as tall as you and he's sort of what you call scrawny."
"Ah, well, that's okay, then."
"He'll be crazy jealous. I hope."
Now Blackburn had another disturbing thought, more immediately worrying than the first. He was afraid he'd done the job too well and that, satisfied by his mouth, Susan might not require his further services.
Tentatively probing, he asked, "you don't happen to like getting eaten better than, er, normal fucking, do you? As an end in itself, I mean..."
"Oh, I like everything," she said, not exactly answering his question. She smiled impishly, "the reason I wanted you to eat me was because that's what I caught my husband doing to the lodger. Sort of sauce for the goose, don't you know? An eye for an eye and all. Then, too, it made me sort of hot to catch him with his tongue stuck up her nasty old box. Not right away. I was just furious, at first, but later, after I walked out and got to thinking about it, it got me excited. That's why I figured you ought to give me some head, right?"
Thinking fast, Blackburn said, "Quite right. But I suppose he fucks her too."
"Oh, sure."
"So you haven't really got even with him yet, have you? Just half even."
"Why, that's right!" she exclaimed. She frowned, nibbling her lower lip. Then she brightened. "I guess there's only one thing to do," she said.
"That's right," Blackburn agreed.
He was thinking: I wonder if the lodger gives her husband blow jobs, as well? But he didn't mention it, yet, because he believed firmly in the principle of first things first, and the nimble little deceived wife was already sliding down toward his thundering erection.
Straddling his flanks and smiling happily with the conviction that her pleasure was justified, Susan gazed down at the great hard lump which distended Blackburn's trousers.
"It sure is fun getting even with my husband," she said.
"He certainly deserves it," said Blackburn, righteously proud of serving as a vehicle of justice...
CHAPTER THREE
Marla Collins sat beside the telephone in her gracious St. John's Wood home, trying not to bite her fingernails. She was frightened and angry and she knew only one man who might be able to help her. That was James Blackburn, who was of a class which bridged the classes, and who had a knowledge of the seamier side of London society and might well be able to find out who had taken those incriminating photographs. And why. That was the important thing, why? She had tried to think of what possible reason anyone could have for doing such a thing, and the only possibility that occurred to her was that someone intended to blackmail her. Her husband, Geoffrey, was wealthy and she had rather a lot of money herself and blackmail seemed a likely danger. In fact, she expected the telephone to ring at any moment; to hear some low class voice, Cockney, no doubt. Unlike Blackburn, Marla knew little of the underworld and her images were stereotyped-demand money in return for the pictures, threatening to show them to Geoffrey or publish them in The News of the World or something of the sort. Marla had never read The News of the World. But the phone didn't ring, leaving her in doubt, and when she'd phoned Blackburn there had been no answer. That wasn't surprising, because the pubs hadn't been closed long, and she was hoping to find him at home later in the night.
As soon as they'd taken the pictures, the two intruders had left. Gibbs had looked blank.
"Who were they?" Marla asked.
"How should I know?"
"You mean... You didn't expect it?"
"Certainly not."
She'd been doubtful.
"Maybe it was a private detective hired by your husband to get evidence for a divorce," Gibbs suggested.
"Geoffrey wouldn't do any such sordid thing," Marla said. "Anyway, he trusts me."
"Well, maybe it was just some pervert. This isn't a high class hotel, you know."
"But... who could have known I was here... with you?"
Gibbs shrugged.
Maybe he was right, she thought; hoped. Maybe the two men had no idea who she was, had simply chosen a room at random. But that did seem a tenuous hope. Not one she could depend on, doing nothing. She'd got up and started to put her clothes on.
"Listen, since the damage has already been done, you might as well stay, huh?" Gibbs suggested.
Marla had ignored that, her passion drowned in anxiety. She had left, with Gibbs still naked on the bed, and taken a taxi directly home where, without success, she'd phoned Blackburn. But now, surprisingly, she found herself thinking that perhaps she should have stayed. In some dark and perverse fashion, now that the initial shock had passed, Marla felt a sexual excitement. The idea that somewhere, still locked within the dark chamber of a camera but ready to come to light, there existed a photograph of her in the process of getting fucked at the very height of climax, in fact. Well, it was an exciting concept.
Marla, despite herself, would have liked to see those incriminating and stimulating pictures.
Well, if it really was blackmail, and if she paid, she supposed she'd have the opportunity. Before she destroyed them, of course.
Now she imagined them, graphically.
And, although it made her ashamed, Marla began to get sexually aroused.
For awhile she tried to think of other things, but her mind was too fixed upon the situation and, while considering the possibilities she found it impossible to see them without also recalling her physical condition. Presently, she yielded to the urge. She had undressed and was wearing a robe. Now she stood up and removed the garment and, quite naked, stood before the gilt-framed, full length looking glass, studying her body and trying to imagine what her image, in the photographs, would be like. Her face, of course, would appear shocked, but it wasn't her face that concerned her.
Marla had a good body and she knew it.
Marla liked her body.
It brought her great and frequent pleasures, that long, lithe figure and now, still posing before the mirror, she felt herself tingle. Her nipples stiffened and her loins began to heat. It was hard to keep her hands off of herself. Very hard and, in fact, it soon became impossible. Well, she rationalized, I suppose it's better than worrying about blackmail; it's a way to pass the time, at least.
And Marla began rubbing
her nipples.
She moved close up to the looking glass and, gazing at her own image, worked her breasts luxuriously, concentrating on the stiff pink tips until they tingled and glowed like points of fire.
"Ummmm," she purred. It was almost, she thought, like making love to another woman, feeling herself while she watched in the mirror. Marla had never made it with a woman but, as with most girls, she'd often been curious about it and saw nothing wrong in the idea. She watched her eyes narrow and her lips part as her hands worked points of desire into her tits and sent long lashings of lust running down through her belly.
Christ! I haven't had to do anything like this for years, she thought, rather more surprised at herself than she was embarrassed. She had no qualms against it, but wondered at the dark and devious path by which her mind and body had been led along this route' marveling at the uncharted course which desire could take, remaining hidden until suddenly, like a submarine, it surfaced and shattered the calm and level waters of a normal existence.
Watching her reflection with narrowed eyes, Marla ran her hands down her sides and onto her belly, wrists tilted and fingers, wide spread, pointing down. She jerked her hips, like a belly dancer, pumping her belly out and then drawing it back, tucking her loins in; then she twisted from side to side, presenting each sharp hipbone to the looking glass in turn, her lean body swiveling as on a pivot. Her breasts, small and firm, swung without drooping and her thighs tightened with dancer's sinew as she shifted her weight. The girl in the looking glass moved in accord. Marla smiled at that twin beauty, admiring her long, lithe body and her supple movements; marveling at the desirability of the female form. Someday, she mused... someday I'll have to try it with a girl. Not a lesbian, just some normal woman like myself who has never tried it and wonders what it feels like... sometime when we haven't planned it, but it just happens, we find our selves together, alone, and without discussing it or suggesting it or anything we suddenly look at one another and both realize, at the same time, what's going to happen... and we kiss and caress each other's breasts and then maybe... Ooooh... how deliciously depraved I feel tonight...
Excited more by her mind than by her hands, Marla felt her pussy began to glow like a heated nugget of coal between her thighs. If the lights were turned out, she fancied, she could see her hot vulva glow in the dark.
She had both hands spread on her lower belly and, heaving her hips forward and upward, thighs poised and braced, she slid her splayed fingertips down into her blonde pubic thicket. She cupped her vulva as if seeking to hold it in, to contain the sensations, to stifle the waves of lust which rippled from her heated crotch. Bending her thighs more, she lifted her loins, so that her cunt was visible in the mirror. The pink gash was damp and parted, showing plainly as it bisected her thick bush and, as she gazed at it, as if her vision had some property of physical caress or tactile stimulation, her pussy responded by opening wider, until the glistening pink gash became a gaping oval. Her mind, stimulated and stimulating in turn, told her that was what another woman's cunt would look like, once she touched her; that was how they would arouse one another, and then... poised and braced, she slid her splayed fingertips down into her blonde pubic thicket. She cupped her vulva as if seeking to hold it in, to contain the sensations, to stifle the waves of lust which rippled from her heated crotch. Bending her thighs even more, she lifted her legs, and stared at the exciting image in the full length mirror. Yes, that's exactly what another woman's cunt would look like... once she touched her... that was how they would arouse one another... and then...
Then Marla began fingering herself.
Using both hands, but only the tips of her fingers, she lovingly rubbed her unfurled cunt lips and massaged the fiery bud of her clit. Creamy love juice flowed onto her hands and trickled down between her legs into the tight crack of her ass. The sight of that rich, musky flow drove the girl to new heights of excitement. Using one hand to spread her twat wide open, she shoved two fingers of the other hand up the gash, slowly pushing them in and out and turning them around in the softly padded depths; scissoring them and tightening her hole around them, so that her loins pulled and tugged on her probing digit. She added a third finger and, moving faster, began shoveling those stiff members in and up with a fucking motion while, with her other hand, she rubbed her love bud up to a frenzy.
Abruptly, she came.
It was no long, drawn out and prolonged orgasm, for she knew her own body too well, her touch was too well applied, and she came in one sudden, shattering climax, the thick cream welling up in her gasping slot and coating her finger with beads and ribbons of oily juice.
Her knees turned to water and her thighs trembled. Her nipples swelled like balloons and her breasts heaved as she drew in great lungs full of air. Then the moment passed. The thrill, violent and stunning, was too great to last long, and it faded away as suddenly as it had come.
Marla smiled rather weakly at her reflection. She drew her hands away, giving her pussy a final, loving rub and then, because even though her body had been satisfied, her lively mind was still excited, she brought her hand up to her lips and stuck her creamy fingers into her mouth and hungrily sucked her own hot cunt juice from her hand. Gazing at her image, pretending it was another woman and building a wild sexual fantasy, she licked and sucked her fingers clean. The saline taste of cunt juice burned on her tastebuds and she whimpered. Marla had never tasted cunt juice before. It had never occurred to her. But now, with that distinctive and savory flavour on her tongue, she moaned and knew just what she wanted to do when, and if, she ever found herself in a situation with another woman and that knowledge was so exciting that her body began to renew its sexual urges all over again.
Oh, my, she thought, amazed at herself.
Am I going to have to do it all over again; am I going to spend the whole night rubbing my pussy to climax after climax?
It wasn't an unpleasant thought...
Well, we'll see, she told herself and, smiling farewell to the mirror, she turned away. Marla was rather a fastidious person and, because she could still quite definitely taste cunt juice, she decided she had better brush her teeth. She went into the bathroom and did so, using her electric toothbrush. The toothbrush hummed merrily away, vigorously massaging her mouth and, somewhere toward the end of the process Marla began to see that the motion of an electric toothbrush had definite connotations; that the in and out strokes reminded her very much of a more basic function.
Geoffrey, too, had an electric toothbrush.
Her eyes glinting wickedly, Marla replaced her own brush and plugged his in. The firm-bristled tip hummed back and forth. Vaguely wondering what Geoffrey would think of the idea debating whether she should tell him Marla brought the mobile head between her legs. The firm bristles stroked her lovebud deliciously, moving faster than she could have rubbed herself with her hand, causing the bud to swell and tingle and throb. Oh, she thought... being wicked and depraved is so much fun...
And then, as another orgasm racked her, she didn't think much about anything at all.
But when she returned to her seat beside the telephone, she brought the toothbrush with her. There was a very handy plug, and she had time to kill, and she didn't phone Blackburn right away, being preoccupied, which was just as well because he wouldn't have answered the phone anyway, but it might well have distracted him from the task at hand or, more precisely, at cock as Susan continued to avenge her husband's sins...
And, speaking of husband's sins...
* * *
In Paris the bars and pubs did not close early. In fact many of them never closed, and it was in one of these smoky rooms that Geoffrey Collins, relaxing with a Pernod after his hard day's work, met the whore called Monique.
Geoffrey wasn't a womanizer, really, but he had an eye for a trim figure and, in particular, a good ass. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, an ass man, his tastes ranging from the tight little globes of his wife's bottom to the steatopygian buttocks of aborigi
nes and Hottentots and, without a doubt, Monique had a splendid derriere. Her ass was shaped like an inverted heart not a real heart, but a stylized valentine heart sweeping out from her tiny waist and curving in to a low slung bottom which jutted out a good three inches from the backs of her thighs. She was wearing very tight slacks of a stretchy material which clung to those delightful curves and moulded into the crack between.
A Taste Of It Page 3