Often Harold Lissac skipped the frat house meal to eat at the White Fountain. As a young man with a French father and an American mother, who'd spent half his life living in Paris, he did not seem to fit into either Brighton University or the Sigma frat house. He was brilliant at art, which was why they'd pledged him. For the rest, forget it. What could you say about a Parisian dumped down into a small Midwestern college town, whose best friend, whose only friend, was a professor's wife who was gone on art?
He did not understand football, basketball or any of the American sports, habits, hobbies or past times. In the classroom he was great, but life stopped for him outside those walls. At the Frat house he was either ignored or ridden unmercifully about his exotic background. The White Fountain was more comfortable, and the meals not much worse than the Sigma kitchen, run by a serious nutritionist grad student who treated recipes like chemical formulas and produced artless, serious meals.
He debated whether or not to go to Professor Foster's house on campus to talk to his patron, go to the library, or back to the Sigmas. If he went to see Lisbeth Foster, at least he'd have somebody to talk to. Still, she'd told him she had a bad backache, so she wouldn't welcome company. He wanted to find a Swedish masseuse for her, but Americans snickered at massage; somehow in their overheated minds massage was confused with sex. Now if he were back in Paris-
As he started out of the White Fountain, two attractive females appeared. One was a blonde, the other a redhead. He blushed and lowered his head so that he wouldn't have to meet their eyes; he could not stand the direct, appraising glance of Brighton coeds. Dating was particularly hard for him. He was supposed to be the suave Frenchman, but he always dropped and kicked things. His frat brothers, obligated to get him dates in fraternal comradeship, soon found out that he used up one girl per date. There were no repeats for Harold. He appreciated the dates all right, but when the girl was fast he was slow, or if he pepped up his conversation and approach, he was too fast and the girl too slow.
He tried to brush past the two girls. Good looking females especially disturbed him. Since he was small and a little portly he thought they scorned him.
Suddenly he was captured. Abby took his left arm, Cheryl his right.
“Hello, Harold.”
"How are you tonight, Harold?”
He stood there, blushing, astounded. The girls locked arms with his and moved him up the aisle. Other students stared at him, especially the males, as he was escorted through the White Fountain with a lovely on each arm.
"Ah, hello. Hello there," he said. There was something vaguely familiar about the blonde. He blushed furiously.
"Where's your car, Harold?”
"We want to talk to you in your car.”
"My car-car?" he stammered. He felt captured, like in those gangster movies where the hard types came for you.
"Yes, your car-car," said Cheryl..
One wore thin beige pants and a satin blouse. The other wore cut-off jeans that showed thigh and boots. A cape across her shoulders made concessions to the cold fall night outside.
"I-left it outside," he said. "My car, that is, I mean.”
He felt very hot in the grasp of the two sexy girls. He saw that his mind was not going to function well tonight, saying dumb things like that.
"Good thinking, Harold. Leaving your car outside.”
"It would be stupid to send your car into the White Fountain while you stood at the curb," said the other.
"Still, it would be easier on your stomach," said Cheryl.
They eased him into the car between them. The blonde took the driver's seat and the redhead the other side. Four well shaped thighs graced his front seat.
"Are you comfortable, Harold?" The redhead put a warm hand on his cheek and turned his head so that their eyes met.
"We want you comfortable," said Cheryl.
She undid his necktie and the top button of his shirt. Harold was the only student among the Sigmas who wore neckties.
"What-what is this?" he squeaked.
The redhead put a hand on his thigh and ran it up toward his crotch. The blonde did the same on his other thigh, only the hand traveled to his zipper. She unzipped his pants and he felt the cold night air on his belly.
"This is a conversation in the front seat of Harold Lissac's car, with Abby and Cheryl," said Abby. Still holding his head, she kissed him on the mouth. At that moment Cheryl reached inside his pants and lifted out his soft cock and balls.
Harold almost went through the roof of the car. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. One minute he was living his ordinary, miserable freshman life, the next two beautiful creatures appeared, taking him to his car and beginning to fool with his cock.
"Zut!" he said. He rattled off a startled sentence in French and squirmed. "Do you-are you-should we-" he stammered.
"Yes, yes, and why not?" said Cheryl calmly. Harold had a small prick, but in her warm, soft hands it began to uncoil rapidly. She'd laid down the strategy to Abby as they raced toward their target.
"So far we've failed to get Salt back because we've taken the logical, feminine approach," she said. "All we've gotten is screwed by those boys with hot balls. Let's do it different with this Harold. Overkill. Spider tells me he's a turkey. We'll move in fast, capture him, take him to his car and boil off his pronger before he starts games. Once he's de-spunked he won't use Salt to get freebies.”
"My God, you mean just maul his zinger?”
"Sure. I'm determined to jump off the merry-go-round. If it takes sex, we'll use it, fast and slick. He'll have no excuse to hold back then. Male thinking.”
"If you say so.”
Harold began to sweat, his prick jutting up in the warm, silken hand, his belly thrilling, especially with the redhead nibbling at his neck.
"You-woooo-are mas-jack-doing me!" he squealed.
"In America it's called 'masturbation'," sang out Cheryl happily. She was aware of Harold's background from Spider. His smallish prick had now risen to almost the standard six inches.
"I know what it's keeee!-called," he stuttered.
Cheryl was delighted with her bold approach and the look and feel of the innocent little cock.
"And what do you call this, Harold?" she asked. She bent and slipped his straining cock into her mouth.
"Yorrrrrrrp," he said.
"I knew it was called yorp," said Abby with a laugh.
"I just couldn't think of the right word… let me have a taste.”
"Vanilla," said Cheryl with a gasp. Her cunt had heated as she pulled back.
Abby sucked the short cock into her mouth and flexed it so that Harold surged up between them.
"Strawberry, I think," gasped Abby after a moment. "I think it's virgin cock. Are you a virgin, Harold?”
"I-me-oh, oh, oh," went Harold as Cheryl immediately took over the cock suck and ingested his prick deep in her mouth.
Abby grabbed one hand and pressed it over her big breast, sexy in the warm satin. Her nipple sprang to life as Harold instinctively clutched the soft tit and groaned from the feel of it through the sexy cloth. She directed his other hand to Cheryl's crotch.
"Put your hand between Cheryl's legs," said Abby. "A virgin has to start somewhere.”
"Inside pants," cried Cheryl, coming up for air. She broke the zipper on her cut-off jeans and pushed Harold's hand down her belly to her wet, warm cunt. At the same moment Abby leaned forward to take over the cock suck, Harold's clinging hand stayed right with her sexy breast. She did something and eased his hand inside the satin so he had the taut globe naked to his palm.
"It's happening, and I don't even know you!" cried Harold happily, at last convinced that his great day had come.
"Oh, you know me," said Cheryl. "You helped me climb a tree at the Sig house last night… anything boiling down there, Abby?”
"Not yet," gasped Abby, coming up for air. "Except his hand on my boob and his prick in my mouth are making me dizzy.”
"Mark this event, Harold," said Cheryl. "It's a first on the Brighton campus. A double girl suck." She went down on his prick.
She marveled at the adaptability of the human being, especially in the sex area. Harold had already accepted the situation and keened with soft grunts and twists in extreme pleasure. She liked his smallish prick and worked his hand on her cunt to increase her own sex rushes. She wanted to drive Harold to bursting, but Abby pulled her head back.
"My turn.”
She surrendered the prick reluctantly. The sex was serious now. It started as a lark, but she earnestly wanted to feel that young, virgin cock pumping hot semen into her mouth. Harold was a sight to see totally captured by the two females, arms crossed over, one hand holding Abby's breast, one dug into Cheryl's cunt. He wasn't an expert, but he didn't have to be. He couldn't miss her clit.
She turned Harold's face toward her, and she kissed him on the mouth, driving her tongue between his surprised lips. He took to the French kiss like the Frenchman he was after only a slight hesitation. His warm body was putty in their hands, his stiff prick jogged, and Cheryl could tell by his excited breath popping on her cheek that he didn't have far to go.
"I want it!" gasped Abby, lifting her head.
"No," said Cheryl. "You take the mouth. I want the prick.”
"No way, I-”
Both heads went to Harold's lap. Two hands struggled for possession of his slippery, red and throbbing cock. He squeaked in extreme pleasure. He'd lost Abby's breast and he dove for something to replace it. His hand slid between Abby's legs and he inadvertently solved the problem with that action. As his hand dug into Abby's cunt through her beige pants he struck her clit and froze on it, riding his fingers.
"Great God, I see the light!" cried Abby.
She had to give up the struggle for his prick. She had to hump her loins on that commanding hand and lock her thighs.
"Yee,yeee, ruf, ruf," she went. It was her sex bark of orgasm. For Abby kinky sex was the world's greatest turn-on and this episode in Harold's car, alternately sucking his prick with her good friend when they hardly knew the guy, blew the top of her sex thermometer. She'd risen like a jet on takeoff, thrilling and glowing until her belly felt like a white-hot container of high test explosive. She felt singing good all over and halloed out her orgasmic, bitch cries of completion.
"Is she-sick-did I hurt her?" asked Harold, still drilling his hand on her cunt as he felt it pulsate and throb.
"You fucked her off-pretty good for a virgin. Now you have to lose your manhood, youngster.”
Cheryl plunged her mouth back on Harold's cock to suck him lusciously and make him lift right off the car seat.
"Great heh-heh-Heavens," he said in a soft, strangled voice. His belly locked and his butt tensed. He plucked futilely at Cheryl's head.
"It's-I'm going to cum," he warned her. "Better re-ohhhhh-your head.”
It had not occurred to him that he was supposed to spend in her mouth, thought Cheryl with delight. She ignored his friendly warnings and sucked harder. The boy actually died temporarily of joy.
"I-wooo, I-woooo," he cried, lifting his head and releasing hot darts of wet spunk in Cheryl's mouth.
"You woo good," quipped Abby, just coming out of her full orgasm. "Ask me tomorrow and I'll tell you the same, you crumb. You gave all your goodies to her.”
Harold barely heard what she said. He strained and grunted, feeling deliciously helpless as his cock expressed itself with flowing, full ejaculations right into the mouth of the beautiful blonde. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the girl's soft throat move. She actually drank down the delicious spill from his guts and it was the most glorious feeling he'd ever had. How he'd struggled to lose his virginity and, by a miracle, he was stripped by it by not one but two gorgeous girls without any effort on his part. For the first time since coming to Brighton his heart swelled with happiness as his spend tapered and his cock felt creamed with glowing after-feeling. The girls' saliva stung a little and he treasured that exotic feel on his prick.
"I certainly want to thank you for all this. I truly do," he said, sinking back in splendor.
Cheryl was done. She didn't want to risk an orgasm at this point only to meet her usual hang-up.
"Don't thank us," said she. "Just go get Salt for us.”
"The wooden figurine the Sigs stole from the Delta," said Abby, finally detaching his fingers from her crotch.
“That Spider got from Tom Talbot and passed on to you," added Cheryl.
"You mean the Doris Miller?" he asked. "Why, that's only a cheap nothing." He felt a little disappointed now that he saw their motive for this glorious meeting, but those who begged seldom chose.
Cheryl remembered the name scratched on the wood. "Give us the Doris Miller," she said. "Now, tonight, at once.”
"But I gave that to my patron, Mrs. Foster, at lunch today," he said.
He went on to explain that Professor Foster's wife was the Art Consciousness of Brighton. Her project this year was to create a display of all the artists who had ever attended Brighton as students, teachers or visiting experts. She especially wanted the Doris Millers.
"Pretty worthless stuff, actually," he told them. "But there's a lot of it, to fill out the collection. And who knows. Art tastes change. Someday the Millers might be worth something,”
He babbled on, apologetic that he couldn't help them. They mustn't blame Spider for passing it along to him. Spider worked in the Chem Lab for Lisbeth's husband and he could hardly refuse to turn it over, when Harold recognized it in Spider's room.
Cheryl closed her eyes and struck her forehead with the back of her fist. Stuck again! And Spider, the rat, had strung her out.
Abby said: "So much for hooching male milk and asking questions later.”
Harold squirmed in embarrassment. "If I could give back the-the-”
"The yorp?" suggested Abby.
"-I'd do it," he breathed. "I'm so sorry… "
It was time to quit-or get fanatic. Cheryl was no quitter. "So we head for the Foster's, right now.”
“Now?" groaned Abby.
"It's only nine, nine-thirty. Dig out your car keys, Harold,”
"I'm to cum?" asked Harold.
"You've gushed once; you might as well gush again," said Cheryl through gritted teeth.
They dropped off Abby who insisted that she had to make an important money call to Chicago. The timing was essential…
Mr. John Wallace was a male version of his daughter. Tall, blonde, and well-built. Older, of course. Abby wore black, sexy pantyhose and her last miniskirt. You seldom saw minis any more, but she knew the older generation of men retained a lingering likeness for same. Tonight she thought it would be wise to butter up Cheryl's father in this late night visit to his motel suite.
He blinked a little and that was good. Then he frowned and that was bad. On the whole it was bad, because he opened a cheap bottle of wine with a grave expression and she knew how to read those signals.
He waved her to a chair and she sat, giving him a lot of leg and. thigh. The living room of his suite, atop the premium local motel, was as big as the Delts’ dining room, and John Wallace looked as if he belonged here, sort of rich and important appearing. She swallowed.
He poured himself a glass of wine first, and that was bad.
"Well, Abby. Since August," he said.
"Long time no see," she responded nervously.
He poured her wine and moved over to sit down in a chair opposite her.
"I've decided to go after the Gypsy hard, Abby. I have to.”
"The company?" Her hand was cold when it touched his as she took her glass.
He nodded. "They knew I'd given it to a woman I had a leech for. It's a pattern in the jewelry trade. But with my reputation, they didn't suspect it was the daughter of an old friend and a best customer." His eyes looked tortured.
"So you didn't use the story that my tough boyfriend, Alien stole it.”
"Hell, no! They'd spot that in a second. I only told that story to Cheryl.”
"That's good, Mr. Wallace. I hated to blame Alien for something he didn't do.”
"They played my game with a hook. They suspended me. They gave me a deadline. It works when a woman's involved. She usually cares enough for the man to return it. They can always fall back on the criminal prosecution.”
She giggled. "You sure were drunk that night.”
"Dead drunk and a damned fool!”
"Wheeling up to my folks' house, finding them gone, finding only the young daughter half-dressed and zonked in grief over losing her boyfriend. You had 'fuck' written all over your face, Mr. Wallace, But I didn't care that night.”
She couldn't help being hostile. He'd used her body, hadn't he? More than once that night.
"Abby, I still can't believe I gave it to you.”
"You gave it to me. You practically shoved it down my throat. And how we romped before you passed out, Mr. Wallace. No young guy ever shoved his advocate into my body so deep or so often.”
She felt angry but a little tickled, too. The lust of a man to fuck his best friend's sexy, young daughter was kinky enough to be a turn on.
He sighed. "If this comes out, it'll ruin me with the company, your father and mother, my daughter, and probably Brighton. But I've got to have it back.”
"It slipped away temporarily. Cheryl and I expect to get it back tonight, anyway in a couple of days. You'll have to hold your horses.”
She wasn't so afraid, seeing him in person. She had more blackmail on-him than he did on her, after all.
He didn't answer at once. Then: "How's school? How's Cheryl?”
"School's fine. Cheryl's fine. She's been a good daughter to you, Mr. Wallace. She stole the Gypsy from me, believing the Alien story. But some frat types got hold of it by mistake. We'll get it back-give us a couple of days." She drank her wine, feeling better and better.
"Abby, Cheryl must never know what happened between us. It would ruin me… our relationship, father to daughter.”
"You're telling me," said Abby. It would ruin things between her and Cheryl, too, if Cheryl found it that her redheaded roommate had, well, face it, fucked the balls off her father. Cheryl, after her other disappointments of not getting to Vassar and fighting for the necklace, would kill herself or go off to India and never speak to either of them again. Something wild, that was for sure.
She went on: "Cheryl and I are good friends now, just like you and my dad. I almost mailed your damned necklace back. Then she showed up at the Delt house and I had to find out what you two were up to. If you'd've come to me, I'd've given it back.”
It was his turn to go negative. "Maybe. You're impulsive, as my wife, Cheryl's mother, was. Impulsive women sometimes destroy things. She ruined our marriage. She got us involved in… a peculiar form of sex. After I developed a strong desire for it, she turned on me. She hated it and would never have sex with me again. It's a good thing she died, actually.”
The word "peculiar" caught Abby's intention. She had finished her drink and risen to go.
"What was her 'peculiar' desire?”
He only grunted, staring at his glass. After a moment she moved to the door. "Well, I'm sorry about the whole mess of the Gypsy. Trust us to get it back.”
"Anal sex!" he suddenly volunteered. "I hate that goddam perversion." He stood up and hurled his empty glass across the room to crash into the wall. "Still, I can't shake it off.”
It was the first time she realized he was a little tipsy, like that night back in Chicago.
Her hand froze on the doorknob. "You said-anal sex?”
"God help me!" he said. "Not a woman in a thousand likes it. Sometimes I can buy it, but often not even then. I'm hooked. You understand, Cheryl's mother had a remarkable ass. It was fabulous.”
Abby began to tremble. Her knees felt weak. "You never… tried that on me last August.”
"A sweet, young and innocent girl? I'm no monster."
She came back to him, cunt wetting, breath short, cheeks flushing. "Pour me some more wine-John!”
She was afraid he'd pass out from a heart attack as he played with her as as she lay face down on the big sofa. He ran his hands up her curving back thighs, over the smooth elegance of firm young flesh encased in sheer pantyhose. He felt under her miniskirt, laying it back to her waist. He stroked the rounded moons of her buttocks, enjoying the play of the sheer pantyhose over her brief bikini panties. He snorted and gurgled and made inarticulate sounds.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
She felt high herself. The thrill of realizing that she was going to get her back tunnel reamed by a cock was enough to make her light-headed and burning hot already. She'd wet through her panties and pantyhose and her clit was swollen in anticipation of a new romp in kinky sex.
"I'm beautiful!" he said. "I just can't believe-a miracle.”
"No miracle," she laughed. "I've got a million hot little nerves around my back door. Maybe twice as many as most people. Even to think about being touched there gives my stomach a thrill like a fast elevator ride.”
“They'll make a new friend tonight," he chuckled.
He peeled down her pantyhose and panties, exposing the creamy, bare flesh. She got goose-bumps of excitement as he bit and nibbled on the yielding flesh of her rear. He teased her crack with his tongue. That was when she blurted out the story of Alien and his tongue-reaming. In a flash John Wallace washed off her seam and gave her hot reaming on her pucker, which made her tense her legs and gasp in sheer delight.
"I'm going crazeeeee," she wailed. "Rub my clit-I-I have to go.”
His gentle finger sunk between her cunt lips and found her central joy spot. His avid tongue kept firing up those nerves that protected her butt hole. She tensed her buttocks, lifted, fell back, squirmed and panted.
"Holy-holy-oh, ooohhh! I'm goooiiiiing," she sang.
The best part about an orgasm was the swift, inevitable rise to the throbbing sex death. She gurgled impossible things as he pinioned her and took her to glory, finally locking her legs, freezing her belly and buttocks and spending off for him with magnificent spasms of both her asshole and cunt. Wham, wham, wham. It was the most delicious ass tonguing she'd ever felt, because John was a master and unafraid. At last she went passive and glowing, the first part of her anal trip exquisite and yet only a prelude to the main act.
She laid there squeezing her toes in delight as he undressed and got ready to cornhole her. It was so terrific to find herself secure with him, alone in this room, about to enjoy perverted sex. There were no fingers to point, no secret, repulsive thoughts going on in his head for her to worry about. They were birds of a feather. What a shame she hadn't known this last August.
His prick looked red and fussed and she worried that he might not have lasting power. As she lay there on the bed, her young, adult body nude, her creamy skin moist with sex desire, her beautiful buttocks with the dark, inviting crack open to him, she guessed he was about out of his mind. How many good looking young girls could he approach and ask for anal sex?
"Now, Abby, baby, don't worry about what happens," he told her. "If you like it even a little bit, it'll be a great trip.”
Then he parted her buttocks and greased her seam with Vaseline, working her sphincter. She thrilled to the exotic pressure. Over her shoulder she could see his prick and his face. His prick, which had loosened a little, now tightened to such a rock hardness that it got a slight bow in it. The congested blood made it almost purple. His face was a symphony of delight and wonder, as if he had experienced a miracle that might fade at any moment.
"You're an ass-hound, all right," he laughed.
His probing finger met minimal resistance. More than once in the secrecy of her bed alone, Abby had assaulted her ass-button for the high thrills it provided. Sometimes she masturbated with one hand while she cornholed herself with the other, a dark secret she'd never reveal to anyone else. She loved the slide of hard flesh on the tender mucous membranes just inside her hole. In point of fact, she'd trained that highly sensitive area to respond to sex stimulation, another example of the high adaptability of the human body.
He pulled up her butt, knelt behind her, and fitted the knob of his cock to her sphincter.
Golden moment. She felt her heart pump rapidly, her body alive to this perverted cock invasion. It was authentic kinkiness, a total perversion, or misuse of both his cock and her ass for sexual purposes. It was far past kid stuff like sucking, whipping, bondage and those perversions that didn't involve a true lock of cock and body hole.
She knew it would hurt, but in her white hot desire to experience a full ass fuck she didn't care. He did it expertly. With his cock heavily greased, he took hold of her hips and lanced her asshole like a doctor plunges a needle into the flesh while giving a shot. It would've taken considerable work with a non-anal girl to loosen her sphincter. With an ass-wild girl, he violated her ruthlessly with a powerful fuck stroke.
Her sphincter caved in while her eyes went wild, her heart raced, and her nerves thrilled and sang in ecstasy. A cock was far bigger than a finger and she couldn't believe the cruel strain of her tight muscle opening for that rape stroke.
There was a massive shock of pain, fear and embarrassment at taking his cock into that private hole. There was thick oil and hard meat friction on her interior tissues that she already associated with hot sex. She gave a groan.
"Oh, noooo. So hard-so fast.”
He gripped her hips and forced her ruthlessly, her tunnel unsealing to this strange invader, and it seemed to her that every nerve in her lower body quivered with the intensity of mixed pain and pleasure.
"Deep, deep," he intoned, like a man drugged.
His cock oozed, up, up, up, driving her crazy. She'd never felt so open, so violated, so exposed to the harsh world, as quivering pink and tender tissues were forced to accept his deep penetration. She thought he must surely tear gaps in her sensitized flesh and destroy her. His average-sized prick felt like a ball-bat up there.
He gave a cry of inarticulate delight. She actually felt his cock throb in her tight tunnel and then he exploded. She jumped as if shot at his fast bursts of jissum.
"Oh, oh,-ohhhh, noooo," she wailed.
She was hot and he'd already faded.
"Not… to worry," he gasped. "You'll see.”
He lay on her while his cock ejaculated body hot semen that burned and oiled her ass. Then he began to move, slowly, and she felt the true wonder of good anal sex. Her asshole was stretched, but the pain was gone. The Vaseline made the cock friction sexy for both of them. Added to that was the wonderful spill he'd just pumped into her, giving her tunnel a silken, creamy feel.
His cock did not soften. He kept working it up and down her bowels, lifting her to higher and higher heights of pleasure now that her fear was gone. The forceful action moved the skin of her entire crotch so that even her clit got stimulation. When he tried to finger inside her cunt, she pushed his hand away.
"No. Do it all-with cock-in my ass," she begged. It was her chance of a lifetime to explore her anal urge to the extreme and see if she could go to orgasm from the cornhole action.
She knew she could. For once those sensitive nerves, thick around her sphincter, got plenty of stimulation to send hot messages deep inside her body. For another thing, she thrilled to the forced action, the natural function of hollow muscles to expel. This gave her wild rushes of delight, because in a perverse way, most of the pleasure came from the back-stroke of his cock, not the penetration.
She grunted as he thrust forward, finding the invasion of his prick vaguely unpleasant and somewhat alarming. She cooed when he slid back, the hot, pink tissues thrilling at her gut power. She could pinch down on her anal passage as well, if not better, than with her cunt to tighten on his cock.
John was completely out of the world. Forced to restrain or even hide his urge from the women he dated as a widower, he found himself ass-fucking a luscious young girl who wanted a hot cock up her rectum. She quivered under him, rich buttocks working, tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing, smooth flesh and muscle caressing his belly. It felt like his cock drove to the deepest, most sensitive part of her being on each stroke, and he felt her insides shift in little spasms as he found new nerves to fire with his plunging prick.
"Don't understand-why-best fucking," he went.
It was true that in normal sex he was good for only one good session a week. In anal sex, his cock was a tiger. Too excited to hold back, he always burst once he'd forced a woman's ass open to his depth. But his prick stayed hard and then he could rock in her and whip up a new bath of sperm from the crazy friction.
He hugged her completely now, with a good angle, relishing the contact of his torso on her nude back. He had a complete armful of nubile girl, driving her to glory with back door sex.
They twisted and gasped and plunged for long minutes. Abby felt that she'd never been used in sex before as she was now. Her whole body felt moist, her tits drove her crazy, her empty cunt sweated joy juice, and her clit burned like a pulsating, hard diamond. Her body was total slave to his prick, with the region from her waist down a chaotic, delicious bed of volcanic action, as her pleasure and sex tension rose.
Her orgasm was totally different from any she'd had before. A throbbing spike of pure, ecstatic passion formed in her back thighs and buttocks and seemed to burst outwards, her young body locked and then she totally lost control of her functions.
"Ahhhhhh-my assssss!" she keened.
Her sphincter clutched the moving shaft of his cock with involuntary spasms. Her empty cunt throbbed, too, and that felt good. What really whipped her to the heights was trying to get control of her wild, uncontrollable sphincter. As she squeezed down, the luscious quakes defeated her. She kept squeezing and losing control to the insistent prick and it was a long, majestic orgasm, compared to her others. She gurgled, sweated and drooled, and kept on gushing and gushing.
"Ah, oh, ah, oh, ah, oh-I'm so taaaaaaken," she squealed.
John had never felt so virile as in his complete mastery of the girl's body through her asshole. As she squirmed and squealed helplessly under him, her body lost to his prick power, he felt the sweet, sudden rush of his own orgasm. He was almost reluctant to give in to it, but he wanted the surging joy.
"Oh, Abby, now!" was all he said.
Then he, too, went stiff and began to fill her rectum with rich, body-hot spurts of male supremacy, planting his sperm deep in the body of the possessed female. Shot after shot of hot cream boiled into her ass as she tapered off her orgasm and quivered to take this new liquid invasion. He held her tight and worked off every drop of white-hot spend that the excitement of her cornhole had worked up.
Afterwards, in sheer pleasure, they lay locked, he stroking her moist flesh. He knew with growing wonder he loved this girl and would get to possess her ass all night long… for as long as his prick would stay hard.