Paul sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Joselyn came out of the bathroom. She'd just finished a shower and she was naked except for a pink towel wrapped around her sarong-style. Her hair was wet. It looked much darker that way, almost brown, and it hung down around her face in long, stringy curls. Even soaked to the skin, she was still gorgeous, like some kind of water sprite.
Without even looking at him, she crossed the room and began combing out her hair in front of the mirror on the bureau. For the past couple of days, it'd been like that, like he was living with a stranger. Though they slept in the same bed at night, they hadn't touched. There was an invisible wall going up between them.
At first, all Paul could think of was that it was somehow his fault, that maybe she'd found out about Dr. Blensch and him, but when she was not around, when he could coolly consider the situation, he realized that her sudden sloffness coincided perfectly with her taking Dr. Bertrand on as her thesis advisor. That stung Paul even worse. It made him think that maybe she had had a chance to compare the two of them, Bertrand and him, and that he had come up short.
After having shared so much with her, after having given of himself to her as he'd given no other woman, he couldn't bear being cut off from her. He loved her deeply, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that a lot of the humiliating things she delighted in making him do were indications that she was a very confused girl; he knew that his willingness to humor her little perversities was symptomatic of no small amount of confusion on his part, too. He was aware of the similarities between Joselyn and Dr. Blensch, the similarities in what they demanded, of him, but he was also aware of his own motives in responding to them. One, he did for his future, the other, for love. He could stand the knowledge that he was a bit too infatuated, too devoted to Joselyn, that his love made him a coward, but the thought that he might be losing her to something, someone else was too much; it made him feel very desperate.
"Joselyn," he said, carefully to her back, "what's wrong?"
"Ummmm?" she said to her own reflection. She acted as if she were barely aware of his existence, as if she could've cared less if he were alive or dead, but nothing could have been, further from the truth.
"I said, what's wrong?" he repeated.
She glanced at him in the mirror, the look in her eyes suddenly going soft, vulnerable. If she hadn't wanted to tell him about the whole insidious plot right from the start, right after she realized what kind of living hell Bertrand was going to put her through, she would not have had to act so distant. She hadn't told him because she was afraid that he would not only be furious, jealous and the like, but that he would disapprove, think the less of her for putting out to her advisor. And then, too, there was the matter of his having warned her in advance what kind of "animal" she was getting involved with. She couldn't decide if her not telling him was merely vanity, pride on her part, or a truly compassionate impulse to shield him from the truth about her. Whatever it was, the conflict inside her was agonizing. She realized for the first time how much she valued Paul's friendship and that was something she did not want to learn. She didn't want to be dependent on him for anything, anything that mattered. Rather than dealing upfront with the problem, Joselyn just shut herself off from it, from him. She knew that she was hurting him by giving him the cold shoulder, but in a way she wanted to hurt him, to hurt him for getting too close.
"What makes you think something's wrong?" she said, her eyes cold and hard once more.
"You haven't said two words to me since you started work for Bertrand," he told her. "People don't change like that if nothing's the matter. He did try something with you or what? Or is it something I did? Something I said? You've got to tell me. I can't take this freeze out anymore. It's driving me out of my mind."
The look on his face got to her and that, in turn, infuriated her. She knew that by telling him anything she was taking a grave risk, but she needed to tell someone. She'd never felt so wretched, so used. And Velasquez acted like he'd never met her, let alone raped her. If the professor had at least talked to her, touched her, reassured her, she probably could've held out, but as it was, the pressure was too great. She knew that telling Paul the whole truth would wound him horribly and she took some satisfaction in that. It would at least put him in his place.
"Something is wrong, Paul," she said. As she spoke, she moved over to the bed and sat down beside him. She kept her face averted from his so he couldn't see the way her lower lip was quivering. She felt on the verge of bursting into tears, but she refused to break down. "It has nothing to do with you," she told him, flatly.
He very deliberately reached out and took hold of her chin, forcing her to turn her face towards his. He looked straight into her eyes and said, "Look, I want to help, Joselyn. We're more than just roommates, just lovers, I hope. Trust me. Give me a chance."
She jerked her face from his grip. When she spoke again, she spoke to the wall. "I've gotten myself into a real mess, Paul," she said in a monotone. "I think I made a big mistake, career wise."
"With Bertrand?" Paul said, his jaws tightening.
She nodded.
"That slimy bastard! He did try something, didn't he?!" Paul snarled. "I swear to God, I'm going to get that guy. I'm going to bust his fat face in!"
His outburst was typical… pathetic, pointless, ego salving… and Joselyn bristled at it. He was still trying to assert himself, to show that he was the big tough man who could protect and defend her. "Not just Bertrand," she said, her eyes glittering.
"Huh?"
She turned and looked him in the face, staring right into the quagmire of his soul. "It's Velasquez, too," she said.
"But you're working for Bertrand," Paul protested.
Joselyn shook her head. She took a deep breath and then told him the whole sordid story, the plot by one professor to ruin the reputation of the other using her body as the bait. She watched as his jaw dropped and by the time she was finished telling it all, he was the one who was on the verge of tears.
"Why did you ever agree to do it?" Paul asked, miserably. "You didn't have to take your advisor ship with either one of them."
She smiled a small smile. This was the part that hurt the worst, the part that hurt both ways, like a two-edged blade cutting Paul, cutting her as well.
"I think I'm in love with Velasquez," she said.
Paul's face got very pale, then flushed. "Son of a bitch!" he said. "Goddam son of a bitch!"
Joselyn said nothing more for a moment, a bit surprised by the real honest anger he was showing, a bit frightened by it. When Paul seemed to have got hold of himself, she went on, quickly. "I'm not sure that I really understand it myself," she said. "It's like I know that he's no good, that he's just using me, that he's degrading me, but I can't help myself."
"Bitchin'!"
"I wish you wouldn't take it so hard," she said.
"Oh, really?" he snapped. "And how should I take it?"
"Not personally," she told him. "It's nothing you've done, really."
"If you needed to be kicked around a little bit?" he said, bitterly, "all you had to do was ask."
"It's not like that," she said stiffly. "It's something different. Like chemistry. He doesn't ask, he takes. I'm a sucker for it. Intellectually, I know that it's wrong for me to give into him, to allow myself to be used, made into his whore, but I can't help myself."
"So, both of them are fucking you?"
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Only Bertrand, now," she told him. "That's the way Velasquez wants it. He ordered me to do whatever Bertrand wanted. But the man's so sick, Paul! He makes me do awful things. I'm trapped! There's no way out for me."
"You and me both," Paul said, sourly.
Joselyn gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand," she said.
Paul hadn't ever intended telling anyone about the long-standing affair between Dr. Blensch and himself, least of all Joselyn, but now there seemed to be little point in keeping it back. It was confession time.
"I think all of the profs in the Theoretical Chem Department are getting something off their research assistants," he said. "All except old Veblen. He's forgotten what his cock's for."
She blinked at him.
"Yeah, yeah, I've been screwing Dr. Blensch," he said. "I started fucking her as soon as I took the assistantship. It was like part of the deal. I've been fucking her regularly the whole time we've been together."
The blonde didn't know what to think. She was startled, stunned, and hurt, hurt more than she ever expected to be. She refused to let him see it, though. "Both of us?" she said, icy cold.
He nodded, deliberately averting his eyes from hers.
"Why, Paul?" she asked. "What made you agree to a thing like that in the first place?"
He shrugged. "She was and is a good-looking woman," he said. "I guess I thought I was real hot stuff for getting into one of the professors. It was a big ego boost. That coupled with the fact that she made all sorts of promises to me in the beginning. She promised me that I'd get a super-post doc, through her recommendation. You know, big bucks, private research grant, all that crap. All I've gotten so far is a pain in the balls. I haven't done a lick of work on my thesis. She's added my name to a couple of papers she's published, that's all. I don't have any time to work on my project. She makes me screw her four or five times a week."
It was Joselyn's jaw that fell, then. "God!" she groaned. "That could only mean you've been fucking…"
"Yeah," he said wincing. "Too damn many times to count. If I could have, I would've quit, dumped on her, but you know how the routine works. She's got me under her thumb. I'm nowhere on my thesis. I've got nothing to show for all the time I've put in here. If I try to get another assistantship, it'll have to be at another university because no other prof at Mira Pavo would have me. And even at another school, the profs would ask for some kind of report, evaluation on me from her and she'd be sure to bad rap me."
There was a long silence, then Joselyn spoke. "What can we do?" she asked.
Paul was afraid she was going to ask that. A lump the size of a basketball rose in his throat. "We have to keep on keeping on," he said, knowing that it meant he would be as much as giving his consent to Bertrand's sadistic abuse of her, knowing that one more time he was showing his cowardice to her. "We don't have any choice if we want to get our degrees."
Joselyn scowled, but if she was angry at anyone, it was herself… herself for getting her hopes up, for letting herself think that Paul would come up with any other answer than the one he had. She knew what Paul was. He was soft, like putty to be molded, to flow with the direction of a force; he was in no sense a take-charge kind of guy. Though both of them were of different, even opposite psychological makeup, both had fallen into the same trap… he because he was too weak and wanted to be strong; she because she was too strong and wanted to be weak.
As she looked up at him, she felt a kind of kinship with him that she'd never felt with anyone before, save her poor mother. The idea that she could feel that kind of closeness with a man rankled her and attracted her. The inner conflict between the attraction and repulsion was so strong, so threatening to her that she felt she had to do something to put an end to it at once. She did what came naturally.
Joselyn put her hand on Paul's crotch, gently feeling the big bulge of his throbbing cock and balls through his jeans.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, startled by the suddenness of her movement. "Oh, wow!"
"It doesn't hurt too much, does it?" she asked, her fingers sliding over the outline of his penis, the long cylindrical shape down the inside of his pants leg, pressed tight to his thigh.
"No, it's fine. Fine," he said.
It hurt, all right, hurt like holy hell, but Paul grinned and bore it. The pain was worth it. He could sense that a change had come over Joselyn. She was touching him with a new tenderness, a kind of intimacy that had been missing before. He sensed that though they'd been making love for weeks, she was about to really give herself to him for the first time.
"I wouldn't want to strain you," she said, her fingers teasing up and down the thick, pulsing shaft.
"No strain, no strain," he said.
"Good," she said, knowing that he was lying and not caring. She unzipped his jeans, unbuttoning his waistband, slipping from the bed to haul both his pants and underwear down around his ankles.
Paul groaned as his engorged cock flipped up, every vein bulging, every tendon bowstring taut, every inch aching. Despite the erect condition of his penis, his testicles hung slack, pendulously in their ruddy bag. He had an "all night boner", the kind of insensitive, blunt instrument that absolutely terrifies young girls, and that matrons dream of. In order for him to orgasm again and lose his erection, he was going to have to get past the pain. His cock was going to require prolonged and passionate attention.
Joselyn reached out and caught hold of the neck of his cock in her fingers, trying to slide the outer sheath of skin up and down the rigid inner bone. The inner bone was so distended, so swollen with blood that the outer sheath moved hardly at all.
"How many times did you fuck her today?" she asked, marveling at the way the head puffed out when she squeezed hard on the neck.
Paul winced. "Twice," he said, through clenched teeth, adding, "and she blew me once."
"Greedy bitch," she said.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing," Joselyn said, lowering her face to his lap. As she made a ring out of her thumb and middle finger, as she slid the ring up and down his shaft, she sniffed at the velvety smooth tip of his cock. There was a faint, musky odor to it, the odor of pussy juice. It was the kind of smell that would not wash off, no matter how vigorously soap and water were applied to it; it was too pungent, too strong. That he had told her he'd fucked his advisor twice was one thing, but to experience the evidence of that coupling, firsthand, was another. Joselyn felt her face flush, felt a kind of rage building up inside her. Jealousy? She refused to allow that; it was too demeaning, too humiliating…
She opened her mouth, extended her tongue and licked at the stinky knob, sweeping the tip of it round and round the flaring spongy rim, painting it with her hot saliva. The moisture of her slobber only made the smell stronger. It was like she'd poured warm water over some kind of dehydrated fragrance. It was so powerful that it filled her head and made her moan. There was no forgetting where the head of his cock had been.
Paul moaned, too. He could hardly feel the touch of her tongue to his penis for the hurt racing up and down it. It was the sight of her licking him like that, loving his fat bulb, rather than the feel that was making his cock flex, which, in turn, was making it ache like the dickens.
Joselyn wrapped all of her fingers about his shaft and began pumping much, much harder, shoving the head between her teeth and into her mouth, forcing her lips to slip down over the puffy rim. The knob filled her mouth to the point of pain, pushing out against the insides of her cheeks, up against the roof of her mouth and down upon her tongue, but she gave herself no mercy. She held the head like that while she masturbated his rigid shaft, jacking him off into her mouth. Every time her fist slipped to the thick base, the bulb throbbed mightily, pressing down so hard on her tongue that she had to fight to keep from gagging. Gradually, her mouth seemed to relax, to allow itself to stretch a bit, and the discomfort became minimal, at which point, she began to twist and turn her head, wedging his big cock deeper, forcing the tip to slide over the back of her tongue and into her throat.
In a way, Paul was glad that his cock hurt so much. If it hadn't, he knew that he would've already squirted and he would've missed the sight of her perfect, soft lips diving down over his meat, her lovely face distorted by the size of his erection. As it was, the squirming of her mouth around his bulb, the lashing of her tongue, was beginning to get through to him. The delicious warmth and wetness of her throat encased his cock head and he knew she was going for broke, that she was going to try and bottom him. The thought of her enduring that kind of agony just to give him pleasure made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
It didn't hurt her nearly so much as he imagined. Joselyn had become accustomed to sucking big cocks and she knew that it was a mind over matter kind of problem. If one relaxed and sort of swallowed the monstrous rod down, it hardly hurt at all. She did just that, her Adam's apple bobbing frantically as his penis surged down into her gullet, as her wet lips drove down over his broad root. She held her face mashed uptight against his hairy loins, her chin nuzzling into the hot, slightly tacky skin of his scrotum, every inch of his meaty cock sheathed in her throat.
Paul could only gasp. The sight of her going down on him like that, her pretty face buried in his pubic hairs, the thick base of his penis wedged between her obscenely ovalled lips, the feel of her swallowing, gulping, her throat rhythmically rippling about his shaft, made him claw at the bedcovers, shifting his buttocks anxiously, fighting the almost overwhelming impulse to fuck up into her face… an action he knew might cause her serious harm.
Joselyn raised her head, her cheeks becoming concave as she sucked her way up the shaft. She removed her lips from the head, holding the glistening, friction-reddened thing upright with her fingers. She looked from the bulb to Paul's face, trying to decide which of the two was a deeper shade of red. Her own face felt very hot, too, and her pulse was hammering at her temples. She knew that he was ready for her, now, but she wasn't quite ready for him. She wanted to drive him out of his mind and she knew just how to do it.
Paul gasped with delight as the blonde jerked his jeans and underwear roughly over his shoes, then pushed his knees wide apart, pushing them up so they hovered over his waist.
Joselyn dropped to her knees on the floor, burying her face in his slackened scrotum, licking, sucking frantically at his fat testicles, sweeping her tongue over the pebbly chicken skin.
He could hardly see her, just the top of her wet head over the iron hard curve of his penis, but he could feel her… and then some! Her hot breath was gusting over the equally hot slobber she was smearing on his balls and the low-pitched groans of pleasure she was giving voice to vibrated right through his leathery sack, right through his tender orbs, rattling the very core of his being. His cock commenced to sputter and furtte upon his chest, spitting threads of sticky white pre-cum all over the front of his t-shirt.
She was no longer aware of the musky odor of Dr. Blensch's pussy. There was only the sweet smell of her own saliva and the musty, rank scent of Paul's aroused crotch. She wallowed in that manly aroma, rubbing not only her lips and tongue, but her nose, her cheeks, her chin over the drool-drenched sack as well. And the more she rooted about between his legs, the hotter she got, the more she wanted. She gently lifted his sagging balls and swept her tongue underneath them.
"Oh!" Paul gasped, his legs stiffening as he felt the moist tip of her tongue tease over the super smooth band of skin that, separated his scrotum from anus.
Joselyn giggled, despite her own arousal. What she'd started to do to him had been almost automatic… something she'd picked up from Dr. Bertrand, who considered ass-licking as an integral part of her duties. She'd never even come close to doing anything of the kind to Paul and she could tell from his violent reaction that it had taken him by surprise. She also knew that if she did perform on him, he would have to realize who taught her not only the proper technique, but to love doing it. By rubbing her nose in it, she would be rubbing his nose in it, so to speak.
She pushed his testicles way up over the underside of his cock, holding them out of the way, and mashed her tongue against that band of skin, sliding the tip down between his firm, muscular buttocks, wriggling it about in his ass crack.
The sensation was so devastating that Paul did some pretty wild wriggling of his own, kicking his feet in the air, madly squirming his ass about. He was astonished at what she was attempting to do to him.
"Stop moving," she said, pulling back. "Grab hold of your knees and pull them down. Do it!"
Paul obeyed her, not knowing why, not really sure that he wanted her to go on licking his ass. He pinned his knees to his chest, tipping up his crotch to her. When he felt her small thumbs sliding in between his buns, levering them wide apart, he groaned aloud. When he felt her hot breath gusting over his naked anus, he began to whimper softly. This, he knew, was what Bertrand had made her do, this was what he, Paul, was condemning her to do more of.
Without pausing, Joselyn pressed her parted lips to his wrinkly pore, kissing it passionately, shivering at the astounding heat it gave off, and the feel of it puckering beneath her mouth, then starting to lick it, lick it as Bertrand had shown her how, using long, swirling strokes.
"Ohhh! Ohhh, wow!" Paul wailed, his eyes rolling up in his head so that only the whites showed. The feeling of her hot, wet tongue laving his anus was indeed incredible. It was nasty, yes, unspeakably nasty. Therein was reason for its appeal. It made every other sensation, every other love act, gesture of affection seem pale, dilute in comparison. It was simply the ultimate. Powerful waves of warmth, delectable warmth emanated from the twitching sphincter, from the tickling, teasing tongue tip, waves that raged over his entire crotch, his testicles, his penis. Great globs of pre-cum oozed from his vigorously pulsing cockhead, pooling on his chest. The ache in his penis was gone. It had been suddenly replaced by a kind of marvelous, pleasurable glow.
If it was good for him, it was even better for her. She snuffled and snorted between his cheeks, her face burning up with fever as she both licked and sucked at the flexing ring. And there was another bonfire, too, a bonfire between her thighs. As she shifted her legs together, making the flesh high up on her inner thighs rub over the lips of her pussy, she could feel a heavy moisture, a slick seepage trickling down over her buttocks. She slipped her left hand up from his bottom, up over his scrotum. Instead of encountering a loose bag and pendulous balls, her fingers closed over something rockhard. His testicles were drawn uptight to his loins, sitting like a pair of goose eggs under the lee of his arching erection. It was time.
She pushed back from his crotch and stood up, reaching out to grab his leg to steady herself. Paul blinked at her, his desperate need for release written all over his face. She smiled at him and undid the bath towel, letting it fall to the floor.
"Ohhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!" he moaned, his eyes darting from the pointed peaks of her breasts to the glistening furrow, so pink, so soft, between her legs. Every hair on her cunt was plastered down by the flow of her juices and there were tiny, shiny streaks on the insides of her thighs, the wet paths left behind by the escaping lubricant.
She clambered up on the bed, clambered between his legs, rubbing the stiff points of her nipples against his chest, rubbing the sticky, seething maw of her pussy over the broad root of his cock.
"Oh, baby," he crooned, his hands slipping down around his hips, down to cup the smooth, resilient cheeks of her ass. He squeezed her ass cheeks, grinding them together, then started to roll the both of them over, to roll on top of her.
"No! No!!" she told him, pushing free of his grip. "Not that way. I want to be on top." Her voice lost its edge, grew husky, thick. "I want you to see it going in and out of me," she said. "I want you to see what it does to me."
Paul swallowed hard, then nodded. Whatever she wanted was fine with him, just fine.
She scooted up, straddling his waist, dragging her wet pussy right up over the underside of his cock. "Pick your knees up," she said. "Make me a little ramp."
He did as she asked, his entire consciousness focused on the head of his cock and the moist, pliant lips that half covered it.
She adjusted the angle of his thighs, forming a little backrest for herself, then moved back, lifting her pussy from his penis. She half-hunkered, half sat over his crotch, her feet on either side of his hips, her knees out flung, her hot cunt hanging a foot or so above his balls. She put both hands to her pussy, lifting the swollen lips apart with her fingertips, spreading them wide apart the full length of her slit.
Paul groaned as he looked into the gleaming flesh of her vagina. He could actually see, at the nadir of her gash, the round, flexing opening that was soon going to be sliding down over the head of his cock.
When Joselyn let go of her pussy lips, they remained in a peeled-back position, puckering, pouting from her fork. She reached down and picked Paul's cock up from his stomach, bending it up, aiming the purpling, bloated head at her parted slit.
As she began to stroke him, masturbating him quite hard, it took every ounce of willpower that he possessed to keep from hunching up, fucking into her milking fist. He didn't want to cum, not yet, not on her… in her.
She continued wringing out his cock with her right hand while with the left, she began fiddling around with the mouth of her pussy, rummaging among the pink, swollen folds. Then she had what she'd been searching for: her clitoris. She held the tiny marble of erect flesh between her thumb and forefinger and as she worked his thick penis through her hand, she rolled the nerve filled bud in her fingers.
"Ohhhh," she moaned, her belly starting to ripple, her pussy contracting as a minor orgasm exploded between her legs.
Paul could see her wet fingers, see the tiny node she was pinching, and he could see the effect that the pinching was having on her cunt. That round orifice at the bottom of her pussy started winking at him, fluttering open and shut like mad. The combination of that sight, the keen, foxy odor of her cunt, and her pumping hand was almost too much for him. His penis bucked against her grip, flexing so hard that he was afraid it would rip a tendon.
"Darling!" she cooed, raising and lowering her bottom against the tops of his thighs, rubbing her buttocks against his legs, bumping her pussy right down onto the head of his cock. Over and over, she did that, smacking her open cunt into his knob, smearing the broad head with her viscous cuntal juices.
It was exquisite torture for Paul. At each smack, each wet kiss of pussy to bulb, the tip of his penis was not only bathed in super-heated lubricant, but it slipped, for a fleeting instant, up between the buttery soft lips, up into the seething cleft, and then she lifted her buttocks and the delicious sensation was gone. The repeated bumping of her cunt did have a cumulative effect, though. It caused a veritable torrent of her hot juice to wash over the entire length of his cock and trickle down over his aching balls. To Paul, it felt like his cock had been dipped in heavy oil, in steaming 30-weight.
Joselyn puffed and pouted, a gamut of emotion passing across her face as she slammed her cunt down against the bloated head. That she wanted to take him inside was very obvious. Just as obvious was the fact that she was taking no small pleasure from denying herself… and him… what she wanted. She ruthlessly, mercilessly dropped herself onto him, using more and more force, more and more of her body weight, until the poor, battered mouth of her pussy just gave up the ghost, yielded, opened up, until the tip of his penis pushed through it.
The heat inside her cunt was staggering. Paul clawed at the coverlet, shivering in its fiery grip, shivering as she squirmed her pussy down over the bum of his cock. Her cunt was glove-tight, tighter than it had any right to be, and so slick that it stole the breath from his lungs.
"Uhhh! Uhhhh, it's going in!" she gasped, clutching at her own fork, digging the heel of her hand into the sweet summit of her mound. "Look! Look!!" she whined, pointing at the juncture of their bodies, at the soft pink lips gaping wide to receive his massive knob.
Nothing, save grim death, could've kept Paul from looking. The cap of his penis, clear to the wide rim, had disappeared up inside her, and all around the thick neck of his shaft the overstuffed sphincter of her vagina clung, clung so fiercely that it felt like it was shutting off the flow of blood to his cockhead, making the thing swell up even bigger in her pussy. He could actually see the pulse of his cock, the heavy, blue dark veins throbbing just beneath the ragged edge of her labia, beneath the strangulating grip.
Joselyn lowered herself down further on his shaft, using her bodyweight to force the head deeper, making the glistening lips of her cunt dive down over his cock to mid-stem.
Paul was utterly flabbergasted by the heat, the friction of her cunt. It felt like she was skinning him alive. The buttery folds of her pussy, the slick corrugations squirmed down over his meat, sending thrill after thrill coursing straight to his balls.
Joselyn stopped bearing down at that point and, putting her hands flat on his chest, she pushed herself up, lifting her cunt, making the quaking tube slide up his cock, making the flattened folds tug and bump over the rim of his bulb, teasing it. The friction of all that meat sliding out of her created an awesome suction, an outward force that drew her whole seething pussy far from her fork, her labia stretched, clinging desperately to the sides of his gleaming hard on.
More stimulating to Paul than the suction, than the incredible volume of hot juice cascading down over his balls, than the keen, musky fragrance of her cunt, was the maddening, spastic caress of her sphincter. Never, in all the times they'd made love, had her pussy squeezed so hard, so frantically. It felt like she was trying to crush him, to crack his bloated bulb like a walnut.
"Come on! Paul, come on!!" she bawled, dropping her pussy back down his shaft, her stomach contracting violently as the upper surface of his cock rasped over her clitoris, as waves of pleasure washed up over her breasts.
The second time around, her pussy slid much further down on his cock. It gobbled him up hungrily, taking all but the last couple of inches, squeezing, squeezing at him. Paul flipped his hips, lunging upwards, bringing the two inch gap between their loins.
"Ohhh!" Joselyn cried as his pulsing cock eased home, as her soft petals bashed into his furry crotch, as his heavy testicles ground into her buttocks. She sat flat on his groin, skewered, spitted to the hairs.
It was impossible for Paul to keep still then. His need to climax was a burning hunger in his belly. He jerked his cock back a bit, jamming his ass down into the bed, then slammed it back up into her…
The blonde's jaw dropped, her eyes closed, her lips formed words, but no sounds came from her throat. In her mind, she stood on the edge of a vast precipice and the ground under her feet was starting to crumble away, chunks of rubble tumbling off into the abyss; between her legs, there was white light and heat and indescribable ecstasy.
Paul started fucking her in a brisk, insistent hot rhythm, ramming every inch of his cock in and out of her pussy, watching the expression on her face change, her upper lip curling back, her eyelids fluttering as he shoved himself home, her mouth forming a round "O" as he drew back.
Joselyn jerked and twitched about on his belly like a puppet. She was too out of control to coordinate her hip movements with his, indeed, to make any hip movements at all. She just sat there, shuddering, the muscles of her tummy, her cunt clasping, wringing out his cock as it flipped to and fro.
He knew she was going to let loose at any instant and he was determined to finish a close second. He sped up his thrusts, making his cock dart in and out of her in brutal, tip-to-root lunges. Her cunt sputtered and farted about the pistoning shaft, sending spray after spray of hot juice raining down on his balls, his thighs.
"Uhhhh! Uhhhh-heeee!!" she squealed in delight as a mind-boggling explosion racked her loins, as the whole section of cliff she was standing on suddenly gave way, as she plummeted down into the blackness.
Beside himself with passion, Paul redoubled his efforts, bashing his cock into her so hard that her breasts jiggled and jounced all over her chest, the stiff nipples oscillating in opposite directions.
"Ahhhhhhh!" she bawled, her nails raking across his forearms, her face flushed a deep red.
If Paul hadn't gotten himself worked up to such a sweat, her scratches wouldn't have stung him so, but as it was, the burning pain was so staggering that he just froze there under her, whimpering like a kicked dog.
"Noooo! God!!! Don't stop!!! Not now!!!" she cried, suddenly raising and lowering her bottom, humping him like a madwoman, turning her contracting cunt into a blur over his cock.
He could only moan as that convulsing sheath sucked the orgasm from his testicles. A tiny flicker of pleasure in his cockhead tumbled down the length of his penis, snowballing, turning into an unstoppable avalanche of delight. His bottom jerked up from the bed with such force that he practically knocked her pussy from his cock.
"Yesss! Yesss, give it to me!!" she warbled, reaching back behind her bobbing asscheeks to cup his balls, to knead them urgently.
Paul gave it to her. A huge gob of cum suddenly surged up the hollow stem of his penis and shot deep into her cunt.
"Uhhhh!!" she gasped, clutching at her breasts with her free hand, mauling the soft globes. "I love it!! God, Paul, I love it! I love you!!"
A chill scuttled crab-like under Paul's scalp. She loved him! She loved him!! Moaning ecstatically, he sent gusher after gusher of thick sperm shooting into her pussy, letting the violent spasms of her cunt suck the cum from his balls, letting them milk the fluid up his cock.
Even before he finished squirting, before the delirious girl collapsed on his chest, her hard nipples digging into him, her pussy quivering, quaking about his cockroot, Paul had come to a momentous decision. Before, even though Joselyn had never spoken of love to him, he had been sorely tempted to dump on Dr. Blensch, to perhaps sacrifice his career to give himself totally to her. He'd thought that it was cowardice that had been holding him back, but now he knew that it was something else. He needed to hear her say those words, needed to know that she felt as strongly about him as he did about her. Now that he had that commitment, nothing would stop him, nothing.
He hugged her silky body to him, a profound sense of contentment welling up within him. Everything was going to be all right, after all.