by Marco Vassi
Manuel stood up. He peeled off his shirt quickly, his muscular arms bulging with the movement, his broad chest jutting forward. Then he undid his belt, the top button, the zipper, and was pulling his pants down his legs. His cock, three-quarters erect, bobbed lazily forward, swinging in the air. It was thick, succulent, long. The head was purplish and ribbed around the edge. The staff itself was thickly veined like fine marble, while beneath the juicy phallus hung the two sacs, like hairy eggs sculpted by a mad surrealist. At the very tip of his cock glistened a drop of preseminal fluid. Alma curled her tongue out.
“Let me taste you,” she said. “Let me hold you in my mouth.”
He knelt slowly and brought his throbbing cock to her lips. She did not lift her head from the floor, but let him come all the way down. His cock slid into her mouth softly, and she did not suck him at once, but just let herself feel the heft and texture of his huge organ. Her tongue flicked the drop of fluid from the tip of his cock, and she swallowed it with relish, enjoying the tangy flavor, the symbolic pleasure of the act.
She mouthed his cock gently, and gradually it became completely stiff, and with that change, transformed its character. Now a nine-inch engine with a single purpose, it seemed to take on a life of its own. Manuel looked down at Alma. Her legs were spread apart, her cunt wet between them, her breasts flattened on her chest, her arms at her side with her hands curled; she was totally open and inviting, waiting for him to fuck her in the mouth. He put one hand on her pussy, slid a finger into the hot slimy slit, and watched as she convulsed with yearning. Her lips pursed and reached up to kiss his cock.
And with that, he shoved the immense rod into her mouth. He moved slowly at first, sliding up and down her tongue, and then going from side to side, bulging out her cheeks. He pulled out and grabbed his cock with one hand, and rubbed the head of it all over her face. She licked his balls. He pulled his cock as though he were masturbating, and she sucked the head of it between her lips, licking furiously, hungry for sperm. Finally, he thrust deep down into her throat, until the whole thing was buried in her face, and she was glued to his body, her lips lost in his curling pubic hair. She held herself like that for a long moment, and then began to gag. Her legs kicked up and her stomach clenched, and he pulled his cock out of her, leaving her gasping, her face flecked with spit.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Fuck my mouth hard. Don’t stop even if I gag. I want to choke on your cock.”
Instead he grabbed her arms and rolled her over on her stomach. With all the weight she had lost, her waist was now slender and shapely between the curve of her shoulders and the sudden sweep of her ass. Her legs, perfectly shaped, seemed vulnerable from behind. He towered over her, his huge bulk dwarfing her feminine fragility, his giant cock throbbing with need. But he put its desire aside and slid down the length of her body until he was resting with his head on her buttocks.
“Come up on your knees, Alma,” he said. “I want to see you with your ass in the air, and your cunt spread apart underneath it. Come on, show me everything you have.”
Trembling, she came to her knees. She placed her body the way she knew he liked it, with her head and shoulders on the floor, her spine curved in a parabolic sweep, and her ass flaring wide and open. He got down behind her, and brought his hands up to spread her cunt apart. It was already dripping with the secretions of excitement, and he moved up near her to lick the pearly drops from her thighs. She twitched at his touch.
“So beautiful, so beautiful,” he murmured, and moved his mouth to cover the infolded center. His eyes closed, he entered a space which could not be understood from outside. Alma’s cunt became the world for him, and when his tongue slithered into the complex gash, he was transported into a totally different sense of scale. At that point, the inside of her cunt might have been the entire universe, for it was all that existed for him.
For her, she could feel his concentration and complete involvement, and she too closed her eyes against the tears she felt rising in them. It had been so long since she had felt this. Other men had been more skillful than Manuel, or more experienced in technique, but no one else had ever given himself so fully to her. It was a gift he had, and she was certain that he had not known it with any other woman, for if he had, he would not have come back to her. She let her cunt be as wide as the ocean, and lost herself with him in the deep clinging kiss of his mouth against her lower mouth.
“Manuel, my sweet sweet lover,” she moaned, “make a feast of my cunt. Take my delicious pussy and suck it until there is nothing left.”
He drew her juices onto his tongue and let them slide down his throat. His hands went to her buttocks and spread the cheeks apart, his fingers digging into the thick curved flesh. She pushed her ass back further so he could penetrate more deeply into her. He sucked at her cunt until it was dry, and then he licked it with the flat of his tongue, flicking the clitoris and caressing the spongy lips. Then, moving up, he curled his tongue between her cheeks, and slid it into her puckered asshole, forcing his way in as she squirmed with the unorthodox sensations. He tossed his head to and fro, his hair piling about like a lion’s mane, corkscrewing his tongue around in the tiny opening.
Alma curved her spine until it seemed it must snap. She had begun a spiral of pleasure with Manuel that couldn’t end short of an explosion. As she opened her ass wider and wider, he dug his tongue deeper and deeper, causing her to spread even farther, which caused him to probe even more strongly. Her hands came up underneath her and found her cunt, one going inside the neglected hole and the other beginning to twirl her clitoris with ever more rapid strokes. She finger-fucked herself with mounting excitement as Manuel lavished all his attention on her ass, now biting the cheeks and the crack and the hole itself.
“Oh baby, I’m coming,” she cried. “With your mouth all over my ass, I’m coming on my fingers.” And pumping harder and harder, thrusting her hands into her pussy, she climbed the curve of excitement until the tremors began in her thighs, and the warmth began in her belly, and she let herself go, soaring and tumbling into the chaotic cataclysm of feeling that defined her orgasm.
As she came, Manuel wrapped his arms around her legs and pulled her tightly into him so that he felt every tremor in her body as she reached her climax, and just as she was spending her juices, he brought his mouth down to suck them, hot and tangy from her pulsating cunt.
Afterwards, they lay quietly for a long time, listening to the fire pop, and letting waves of tingling fatigue wash over them, drifting in and out at the edges of sleep.
Finally, Manuel lifted himself off her body. His cock was soft, but bursting with sensation. It felt so tender that just to brush it against her leg was enough to make him feel like coming. Alma knew that he was going to fuck her now, and she tried to pull herself together to assimilate what had happened. She wanted him to wait a few minutes so she could be ready to receive him, but he was already arched over her, supporting his weight on his hands and feet, his arms and legs stiff. The only part of him that touched her was his cock, and he trailed it back and forth along the crack of her ass. She could feel it responding and slowly beginning to get hard.
Alma turned over and lay on her back under him. She looked up into his eyes.
“Manuel,” she said. “You are going to fuck me.”
He smiled. “Yes, querida,” he told her, “I am going to hoist my thick cock into your hole and fuck you until you are screaming.”
“Not like that,” she said. “Not for the first time.”
She put her hands around his back and drew him down so that he lay on top of her, their bodies touching entirely. His cock slid between her thighs. The heat from her cunt was extraordinary.
“Fuck me gently,” she said. “I want to feel all of you, not just your cock.”
Her legs parted slightly, and he moved his body up until his cock was at the opening of her pussy. The wet cunt let him in easily. And his cock entered her for a long time, each inch opening her hole wid
er, each inch touching a deeper part of her, until he was completely embedded in her body. Her cunt quivered and kissed the length of the cock inside of it.
“You are really here,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.
“I feel here, and then I don’t,” he told her.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It takes time to get over the strangeness.”
“Time,” he repeated.
“We have all our lives,” she told him.
“You mean, to try again?” he asked.
Alma tightened the muscles of her cunt and grasped him tightly. Manuel shivered with pleasure.
“I’m not going to want to let you go,” she said. “You know that. You can fuck me now, and leave me in the morning. But I’m not going to want to let you go.”
Manuel began to rotate his hips, his pelvis thrusting forward. His cock swelled to its full hardness and length, and he dug it deep into her cunt. Alma groaned and opened her legs wider. Manuel pumped his cock into her a dozen times, each time changing the angle, each time penetrating more deeply. Alma began to moan continuously, and her legs opened still wider, and bent at the knees. Manuel lowered his pelvis and brought his cock into her from below so that it hit upwards into her cervix.
“Holy Mother of God,” she exclaimed. “Oh Manuel, I am all yours. My cunt is yours, my ass is yours, my tits are yours, my mouth is yours, my heart is yours. Take me, take me, my beloved.”
Manuel slid his hands down until they cupped the cheeks of her ass and he pulled her into him.
“Give it to me, baby,” he said, “give me that juicy hot cunt of yours. Make it open, make it loose. Just hold it there and let me fuck it. Let me fuck your cunt.”
And they entered that strange litany of lust, that baroque dialogue of sex, in which the words and the actions are complements to each other, serving no purpose but to bring the people involved to higher and higher levels of pleasure.
Alma lifted her legs high in the air, making her cunt and ass an open crack for Manuel’s cock to dive in and out with total abandon. His fingers dug into her buttocks and her breasts were flat against his chest. Her hands raked his shoulders, and her mouth sought his until their lips met, and their souls flew together in the breath of their kiss. Manuel rode her with the ease born of surrender, and Alma wrapped her legs around his back, clasping him in the ultimate embrace, as her hips began to rotate, and she pumped her cunt back into the thrusts of his cock, until their rhythms matched, and they were lost in the far reaches of unselfish fucking, in which there was no longer a self and an other, but a single joint movement toward climax.
With the hot juices spilling out of her cunt as his cock sloshed in and out. Alma thought over and over again, “Oh Lord, please let him stay this time, please let him know what he means to me,” and with her spiralling joy at having him in her arms, there came a chord of despair that he might not understand how deeply he had touched her.
And as he felt his orgasm approach, the rich writhing body of the luscious woman grinding into him, he said to himself, “I don’t know if this is enough. It is the best thing I will ever know with a woman, but I don’t know if I will be able to resist if Joan calls me to her.”
They fucked all night long, and when they fell asleep, it seemed that they would never leave one another’s arms again. Only the following day would tell if that were true.
FIVE
Joan rang the bell with apprehension. It was the front door to a brownstone in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn. When Jack had invited her he slipped her a ten-dollar bill that morning, saying simply, “For cab fare.”
Manuel had not been to work for two days, and Joan toyed for a while with the idea of calling him at his apartment, and then dismissed the notion as foolish. Falling into a stereotypic understanding of Manuel, she assumed that her running after him would be met by scorn on his part, and she would have to play out an elaborate drama of submission before he would deign to touch her. She conveniently forgot all aspects of their encounter which pointed to something deeper in the man, since she was not ready to confront him seriously.
“It was great fun but it was just one of those things,” she hummed a number of times during the day.
It was while she was humming the tune that Jack poked his head in through the door of her cubicle. An eternally jolly man of about forty, so nondescript in appearance that she could not tell whether he was good-looking or not, he stood perhaps five feet eight inches, had loose sandy hair, and no one could remember ever seeing him without a smile.
“How’s my favorite smut sorter?” he called out to her.
Joan turned in her chair, smiling reflexively. After the inordinate heaviness of the previous several days, she was relieved to relate in a less than cataclysmic fashion. She put down the manuscript she was reading, threw her feet up on the desk, and asked Jack to come in.
He paused a moment at the doorway to look at the way her skirt slid back past her knees to reveal the first glimpses of her full thighs disappearing into the exotic shadows beyond. Joan looked at him quizzically, for he had never seemed to exhibit any sexual interest in her before.
He walked into the tiny office and sat down on a pile of manuscripts. The room was littered with paper, giving it the appearance of a used book shop or a mathematician’s study. He lit a cigarette, and took several drags before speaking.
“Been to any good orgies lately?” he asked.
Joan sighed. “The only orgies I ever get to never have more than two people.”
Jack grinned, shook his head. “I know what you mean,” he said. And he turned his head sideways to look frankly up her dress. Her ochre panties glowed dully in the dark space between her thighs, and he imagined he could feel the hot moist mound in the palm of his hand. His cock twitched once, but he did not change his cheerful and lighthearted approach.
“I’m going to one tonight that’ll have maybe seventy-five or a hundred people,” he said offhandedly.
Thinking he was joking, Joan said, “Wow, that sounds like a ball. Why don’t you invite me?”
Jack narrowed his eyes, ran his gaze up her legs and over her breasts, his face a curious split between humor and lust. “OK,” he told her, “you’re invited.”
Joan took a sip of the almost cold coffee in her cup, made a wry face, and swallowed it as though it were foul-tasting medicine. Her refreshment was often the rancid remains of coffee she would pour, forget, and then return to a half hour after it was prepared. She stuck out her tongue in an exhibition of distaste.
“Do you ever drink piss?” Jack asked her.
Joan blinked. His question, asked so calmly and matter-of-factly, took her by surprise.
“I haven’t,” she told him.
“Do you want to?” he persisted.
“I suppose if I got hot enough I would do just about anything,” she said. “Is that what you do at your orgies?”
Talking with Jack was usually a matter of staying at the edge between seriousness and whims, between fact and fancy. He was Centaur’s most successful salesman, and once, when she had an opportunity to glance at the company’s pay sheets, she was astounded to learn that he had grossed over forty thousand dollars in commissions in a single year. “And that’s nothing,” the accountant had told her, “in comparison to what he gets under the table.”
“Under the table?” Joan had repeated naively.
“That’s right,” the accountant said and slipped his hand up Joan’s skirt and bunched his fingers in her crotch. She had jumped up in surprise, only to land on his hand again, and this time his fingers were waiting to squeeze her cunt. She wriggled away, and he had laughed as though the thing had been a prank. But she retained the feeling of his hand on her pussy for hours afterwards. It was like that in a pornographer’s publishing company; people were always on the alert for sexual encounter.
Joan remembered the incident as Jack smoked with studied precision. “It’s an interesting activity,” he went on. “But,
no, to answer your question, no one does anything unless he or she wants to at the orgies. The only rule is: no watching. Everyone has to do something, even if it’s only to masturbate. Having an audience creates self-consciousness. But you know that. You used to be in theater, didn’t you? That’s the trouble with theater—the audience.”
“Why did you ask me that?” she wondered out loud.
“I’m taking a survey,” he told her, “just for my private curiosity. I’ve found that most people don’t even know that urine is sterile, and if it comes from a healthy person is probably safer to drink than our beloved city’s tap water. And yet, there is something in everyone’s mind that drinking piss is one of the dirtiest things we can do. Isn’t that interesting?”
“I’ve always thought it was dirty,” she said.
“Just so,” he told her. “And thinking something is dirty is often the best way to get a thrill out of it, isn’t it?”
He looked at her so knowingly, so piercingly, that she wondered for a moment whether he too had been made privy to Lou’s movies of her. Concurrently, a flash of anger and a spasm of erotic tension went through her. She was torn in two, as always, between her dislike of being a commodity that Lou passed around via his movie projector, and her excitement at thinking of the strange eyes that watched her perform in the dramas of degradation that Lou had staged with her. “Has Jack seen me with Lou’s cock in my mouth, with the sperm dripping down my chin, spilling over my lips and tongue? Has he seen me with two men sandwiching me between them, one fucking me in the cunt and the other fucking me in the ass, while I went wild squirming and humping myself on their cocks? Has he seen me with my legs spread apart, pulling my cunt lips apart?”
“Well?” Jack asked.
“Well what?” she replied.
“Would you like to come to the orgy?” he said.
She smiled. “You mean, there really is an orgy?”
“Of course,” he told her. “There are orgies all the time, all over the place. We are living in the shadow of the fall of two thousand years of Western civilization. The witches are taking to the woods again. But this time there are hardly any woods left, so we must perform our rites in apartment houses.”