Veronica woke early the next morning and quickly looked all around her. She was amazed to see that she'd been so exhausted by her imaginary romps (which were in substance physically very real) that she'd fallen asleep on the rug in her front room. She was still nude and her tits were pink from all the woman handling. The doorbell began to ring, but the girl made a quick decision. She'd go on a total durge this weekend – no visitors, no going out, no diversions – and wouldn't let. Anything – not even an opportunity for the real thing – get in the way of her solo dance.
She thought quickly: there were several possibilities; from preparing a lazy breakfast, complete with eggs and toast; to taking another shower and preparing her own body for the coming festivities; from getting right down to some heavy action with the electric cock; to just letting her imagination take her any old place that it might.
Veronica decided upon the latter, and her first thought was that she hadn't quite settled the score with John the Con. She restaged that party complete with its orgiastic ramifications, but now she wanted more of the same, more group sex, more kinky experimenting which would go beyond any thing which ever happened with one of the boys from her funky office.
Immediately she imagined calling John and laying it right on him: listen, she would say. Don't you think we should go to another party tonight, just like last night. If he acted hurt that he didn't get on in the real action, she would just say it was his own fault; if he said he had enough of her wild ways, she would say that he owed it to himself to let her teach him a few things; if he said that he couldn't take any more of such hot action, that he was too timid, she'd tell him she'd make a man out of him. To make a long story short, when a young woman with a dildo, and with a vivid imagination, is painting her own sex scenes, she doesn't have many obstacles to overcome, and within minutes Veronica orchestrated a car scene, John driving, and herself helping with directions for their second hot party in two nights.
"Listen," he said, "I don't know many of the people."
"Come off it John. You have to get over your own shyness – where's it going to get you?"
He didn't answer which didn't matter since they were rapidly approaching the affluent home which would be the scene of the crime. John pulled into the driveway of a large ranch house, "Well, this is it." The host was already on the lawn ready to greet his guests, a good-looking blond man in his early thirties, middle height, wearing an open-necked shirt, tight flare pants and a pair of boots.
"How do you do," he said, "please come in. You know we have a special treat tonight; I have some footage which is just super, I mean, some fine portraiture, really fine portraiture, to say nothing of my treatment of intercourse, the best in naturalistic pornography." He led his new guests inside to his living room where he already had a projector set up and a large screen, much larger than your average home movie screen. "Listen, Don's in the other room smoking some grass, which is okay be cause he's seen this stuff – oh, you two are welcome to some if you like, but as a personal favor, I would appreciate it if you'd hold off until after the viewing, because you'll appreciate it more this way. Okay, why don't we begin."
Two other women, Bernice and Lu, watched the screen which began in complete darkness, then became more light until the form of a torrid blonde was visible, riding on something, as her body was moving up and down. Soon, somehow, the director managed to have her clothes magically stripped from her body as if by the wind, first blouse, then bra, until her torso was naked (or at least all of it which was visible from the waist up) at which point great gusts of wind blew against her so that her breasts were pushed up and down and her hair went back, pulled off her forehead.
Veronica was incredibly turned on by this. For that matter, she hadn't been to many porno flicks, even though she could have gone many times in the past. It was just that the guys from the office she'd gone out with never seemed to go for that sort of thing, unless it was due to the fact that Vern herself was so inhibited. But the images Veronica imagined the director creating, basking in her own sensuality and the physical sensations of the wind, made her want not only to be in the picture with the woman, but to make love to her.
The picture continued and now the camera angle moved into a subjective shot from the woman's point of view, looking down, so that she could see the man she was mounting, none other than the film maker. Bill. Bill pushed his head into her face, then buried his cock into her cunt, a close-up of his face showing his mouth open and his eyes alive with pleasure. Finally, locked in each other's loins, the couple turned over and over, rolling around some downward slope which didn't seem to have a bet torn.
Veronica imagined watching the two women watching the film.
Bernice: Bernice was a dark type, tanned and healthy, but in her own way quite exotic. Her breasts were nothing less than huge, proudly bulging under her sweater like two balloons, round and full. She looked as if she'd been manufactured expressly for sex, for enjoying a full-time romp with men, with boys, with girls and especially with women. Her arms were folded on her lap, a lap which looked like it had to contain the hottest, wettest, most fulsome and desirable cunt in town. She proudly had her legs stretched out in front of her body, legs which were curved like few others, thin from the thigh down but not meager, just long and lean enough to accentuate her womanly contours, all lines leading upwards until the eye is inevitably lead to her alluring pussy, covered by a short dress, but somehow promising to be naked as soon and as completely as possible. Her black hair fell down on her shoulders, in front of her chest, and finally moved outward with the curve of her bosom, hair which looked like it could advertise for a beauty dressing, shimmering, the kind of hair that a man wants to shoot his wad into, the kind of hair which could be intermingled with a man's nuts, with his cock, with his own pubic hair, the kind of hair which, as the rest of her body, was made for sex.
Lu: Lu was the blonde in the room, and if Bernice's breasts can be termed gigantic, Lu's were at the least, extra-large (not quite as mammoth as her friend's, but no small tomatoes either). Lu looked like she was ready to get it from every angle: her mouth, open and expectant, her arms, wrapped around her own torso just below the breasts which made them stick out even further; her eyes, wide and full, the pupils expanded to maximal opening. This was a specimen of a woman, a shining, radiant beauty, ready to pull down her pants and display to any willing partner – be it female or male – that she was every bit as good in bed as she looked.
Meanwhile, the film kept flashing in front of the viewers, a scene of now three naked forms rolling and romping together until finally coming to a sudden halt, entwined within each other's limbs. There were two males and the one woman, both men anxiously feeling her body, perhaps competing to be the first one inside of her enticing cunt. The woman spread her legs and exposed her pulsing pussy, creating an opportunity which neither of the men ignored, pushing their full, heavy cocks in that direction. But one clearly but the other, so the loser brought his cock up toward the woman's mouth as she was being penetrated down below. She groaned out at first when she was entered, then composed herself as she took the other man's cock in her mouth. She was on her back now, her body covered from the waist down by the man fucking her, his legs plastered against her own, his arms stretched out on each side of her body, his mouth open in pure ecstasy. The other man was on his knees and managed to point his cock directly down at her, positioning the stem so that eating it was as simple as a tilt of the head, an opening of the mouth, and a good suck emanating from within. There was no dialogue, no sound, but its dream-like qualities made it one of the sexiest sights Veronica had ever witnessed – and to think that it was all purely the product of a masturbatory imagination.
Harder and faster the two men stuck their peckers into the respective openings, engorging her with their manhood. She could not even cry out if she had wanted to, for her mouth was entirely filled with that hairy hobo, pressing fervidly, passionately into her orality. Oh, fuck her, Veronica thought, fuck her until she begs you to stop. She imagined what it would be like to have the exclusive use of two men like that, one of them concentrating on her pussy, the other lathing her breasts, or giving her some mouth action like in the picture. She imagined how exciting it would be to draw two erect penises up to her face and feel them against her lips, then compare them for size, for hardness, for consistency as well as the parameters of visual effect (color, form, design). Yes, it would be sheer heaven, an ultimate in sexual experiments.
But she had no desire to cut the movie off at such an early stage. She glanced at Lu who was obviously just as enraptured as herself, then at Bernice, whose very eyes seemed glued to the screen, but not wishing to miss out on the action herself, Veronica set her imagination exclusively on the screen once again.
There was a close-up of one of the guy's faces. He was grimacing now and looked desperate, had that expression that all men have right before coming – of pleasure-pain, of almost going out of their minds. He pulled his cock out of her mouth and pushed it against her tits and just as suddenly and jerkily as his motions, his cream poured all over her nicely rounded tits, first several drops, then larger drops, which drooled down the sides of her spheres and made her very nipples glisten. She watched in wonderment as the guy's cock seemed to get even harder still, filled with fluids, ejecting its own pleasure stuff, grown to a size almost beyond the maximum capacity. She imagined the strength of the male orgasm, so different from the female – one huge intensive spurt which could dissolve the strongest man's energy, make him the innocent victim of any woman's whimsies. Oh, she'd like those two cock-suckers to be her slaves. She fantasized having them tied up, their huge cocks bulging as she shamelessly stimulated them, then dropped their trousers and stripped them of their underwear; she imagined blowing them as they impotently attempted to bring up their knees and push back her face but were prevented by the ropes tied just below their groins; she imagined the confusion on their faces as they hopelessly gave way to passion although they attempted to hold themselves back, for what is more humiliating than to be raped, to be captive of a female.
But such fantasy dissolved under the dominant motif of the fucking movie, the sexy celluloid which held untold fancies and limitless perspectives and angles. A low-angle shot showed the woman just as she turned over on her side and exposed her fantastic buns, two perfectly shaped spheres, parted smoothly by a crack which displayed just the bottom side of her furry pussy. It was a delicate, torrid, and all too exciting pose, especially for the man who had taken his cock from her cunt, and was yet to come. Come on, Veronica thought, come on her now, take that fantastic pecker and come right in her cunt, giving all you've got to that broad.
And this is precisely what followed, the stud sticking his rod right into her cunt as they lay on their sides, the other gentleman falling to the side exhausted, holding his rapidly wilting cock between his fingers, wrenching out the final few drops of come. Fuck him, Veronica thought, fuck him all the way you bitch. The woman looked a little mad at this point, already well into her second orgasm as she brought her second man to his first. Faster, harder they fucked and then began to turn on their sides. Good cinema, thought Veronica. The couple was rapidly working up to a fever pitch, a frenzy of excitement as the other man looked on, as a room filled with horny people witnessed their machinations. It got even more energetic, and the man started to rub the woman's breasts, harder and faster, furiously, until his body lurched into a tight spasm, his face reddening, his legs jerking into a stiff position, his mouth opening in ecstasy.
As suddenly as it began, the film that Veronica composed in her imagination was over, the screen becoming white, Lu and Bernice looking ready for action, as Bernice fingered the sides of her huge breasts, eyeing the assorted men in the room, especially John and then, even Veronica.
"Well," she said, moving over to John, "I can tell you liked our little movie."
John was a little nervous at first, probably a bit in awe of her massive endowments, "Yes… loved it. I like a really hot piece of action."
Bernice was most direct, "Then I think you'll like me."
Before the man knew what was happening, he looked about and saw the two other men in the room began making it with two other women, which, for the moment, left a nice group of himself, Lu, Bernice, Vern, and then a guy who came over, introducing himself as Monty, a big, burly hulk of a man, already stripped to the waist. John moved over to Bernice and was given the visual go-ahead, which he promptly took advantage of by kissing the woman on her dark, hot lips, then feeling the firm flesh on her back, excited by the brassiere strap which he knew would soon be loosened and pushed out of the way. He began to rub the flesh on her back, then up her sides above the hip and just below the waist.
Meanwhile, Monty moved over to Veronica in order to get acquainted. Veronica liked the prospect as he was a big, aggressive type and would waste no time on the amenities, no small talk, no beating around the bush, no light drink or nibble of food be fore getting down to business, just hot fuck action. He immediately kissed her on the lips as Lu looked on, evaluating the woman's performance, as if deciding on if she was worthy of her own amorous interests. That's the way Vern liked to imagine things. Her imagination was being honed to a fine point where she could almost effortlessly conjure all types of images, and even better than that, the details of sexuality – the sizes and shapes of bodies, the nuances of behavior, the detail of genitals, almost as if she were there herself.
She imagined, could really feel, the poignant taste of the brute's lips as he aggressively, almost roughly, drew her to him and pursed his own kisser on top of hers, rubbing her back, feeling her big bet tom with the palm of his hand, which almost moved upward into her womanhood, but teased around the area. Vern felt like moaning out but controlled herself as the man brought her body closer to his own, until she could feel the bulge in his pants swelling, growing as it pushed against her own body, a development which almost drove her wild with passion, which made her want to push her body against his, yank down his pants, then really go at his hot member, with touches, pushed, yanks, pulls and pushes, and finally – and this would be best of all – hot sucks.
"Baby, I can see you don't fool around."
Encouraged, Veronica positioned her body even closer to the man's until he could feel her full breasts crushing against his chest, sense her hot breath on his face, on his neck and then on his shoulder as the hot woman really got down to business.
Meanwhile, Bernice was giving hot action to John. She moved over to the couch and removed the man's shirt, toying with the hair on his chest. As if to even the score, but really giving him by far the better deal, she removed her blouse and exposed her chest, complete with two spheres held in place by a low-cut and extremely sensual bra. "Go ahead," she encouraged, "kiss them, kiss my big, fat tits."
John pursed his lips and for a second just paused to take in the sights. He was aware that Vern and Monty were already a step ahead of him, Vern lying topless on her side on the rug, and Monty having his pants pulled down to his knees. But that was okay; this wasn't a competition. He preferred to bask in the sight and excite himself to the limit, slowly, but not languidly. His blood was almost boiling as he imagined what kind of nipples she had (small or large, red or pink, rounded or oval, large, huge, or medium, prickly or perfectly smooth, hard or spongy). "May I," he asked, but with the tone of a statement. He didn't have to wait for an answer, so he got down to business immediately. He unlatched the back of her brassiere. He slowly drew the cups down until her breasts were revealed, huge, glorious and magnificent. She had large button-shaped nipples, red and juicy, nipples which he immediately tongued and then covered with his own spittle. She liked that, liked that so much that she arched her back in order to put them in his face, arched her back in order to make her mammoth knockers appear even huger.
Then he pushed his head right into them, almost swimming in her endowments. "Ooh," she moaned out, "feel them all over, kiss my big tits." Without hesitation, John pushed the spheres together, then up and down, apart, together again, until he could see them at every angle, could feel their weight as they strained under his fondling. "You really know how to man handle a woman," she said, encouraging him further, enticing him by the tone of her voice and the enthusiasm of her body; by the look in her eye and the motion of her hand which was already making its way down to his cock; by the arch in her back and the very erection in both her nipples. "Come on John, why don't you make yourself nice and comfy – know what I mean."
John quickly began to remove his clothing: first his shirt, which was already entirely opened, then his trousers, and finally all his underwear. He noticed that he was still wearing his socks, which looked a little foolish, so he removed them quickly, bending over and exposing the back of his balls, distended and fat, as he bent over.
"Oh, John," she said, "you are a hulk." With that she moved over to him and shamelessly cupped his balls from the rear, touching a spot so sensitive that the big man almost yelled out and jumped forward more than a few inches. "Come now, I know you can take it." She moved closer to him, and this time took hold of his balls with her palms, squeezing them gently, then harder, until he held her hand in a motion for her to have mercy. "Got you by the balls so to speak, don't I." After she eased up, she began to stroke his shaft, from the bottom or the base, up ward to the middle, finally right to the sensitive tip, and just under the glans. "You like that," she said demurely, "I know you like that." This broad was the sexiest thing Vern bad conjured ever, kind of an ultimate in womanly power, the kind of woman no man in his right mind could walk away from, especially when she looked him straight in the eye and seemed to call out to him, to deliver her entire message: look, I'm hot and available and want some real action, so if you have the guts I have the pussy. That's the way Veronica had always wanted to be, and she realized that she'd invented close to her feminine idol. Bernice pushed her breasts into the man's chest once again, "Why not taste my lower parts?" she knew this was an offer John would quickly honor, probably without hesitation in answering (no need for confirmation when a lady is so fabulously available).
He yanked her panties entirely off, basking his eyes in the sight of her jet black pubic surprise. She sported a perfect "V" which dominated her lower portion, an area which looked all the more attractive the way she charmingly pushed her legs together and made him want more than anything to have her spread, to expose her beautiful pussy so he could get a nice whiff and even better, a terrific taste.
John moved down. Soon she was on the floor, sitting on her buns, propping her body up by her elbows, her knees flush together. John took a hold of those knees, one in each hand, and pushed them slowly apart. At first, he could see only half-way down her legs, then further, until a portion of her magnificent pussy was visible, then more, until she could be seen in all her splendid, crimson, juicy, sexy glory. She was a nymphet, no doubt, a veritable Goddess of sensuality.
John opened his mouth slowly. That's the way Veronica chose to picture it: a slow-motion, almost painful sequence of lips parting, of tongue slowly moving outward, of body lurching forward, of busty Bernice spreading her legs as far as they would go, of John finally making ecstatic contact with her womanly inner tissues.
"This is too much," Veronica said to Monty as she noticed the kind of action which was taking place.
"Oh, yeah, she's known for her talents if you know what I mean. But I think you could give her a run for her money. Ever make it with a broad?"
"Not quite like that one."
"Well, knowing this bitch the way I do, I can tell you that she'll be plenty hungry herself after your boy's feast – not that he's not giving her a nice little treat – but you know, the girl's got quite an ap petite."
"Do you think she'd like to make it with me?"
"I've seen her make it with chicks who looked a lot less talented than yourself. Sure, I saw the way she looked you over, the way she eyed you on top and on bottom, the way she caught sight of that fabulous turning of your hips as you walked across the room. That's the real go-ahead."
Complimented, her confidence boosted, Vern said, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what'll happen, won't we?"
Just then, the bitch started to moan out, obviously overcome with John's technique, his oral action sucking, taking her beyond the bounds of propriety and into the hinterland of animal lust, the jungle-like craving of a desire gone beyond all civilized restraint.
She looked like she'd do anything to keep him going, that she was beyond all limits of restraint.
"Come on baby, suck my cunt, suck my fucking cunt."
Vern liked to see her language degenerate – and that's why she orchestrated this entire fantasy sequence in such a manner – because it added to the abandon. Her theory had it that if you scratch the surface of the most civilized, high-brow broad, you can find a raging animal, foul-mouthed animal just underneath, waiting to be released from the imprisonment of clothing and manners. Bernice was at that point searching a way to enhance her al ready mounting frenzy. She settled upon Vern and gave her one of those visual green lights which says, come over here you bitch, and suck my tits, feel them all over, do it to me the way this guy's doing it down below.
Almost hypnotized, Veronica walked over, aware of the weight of her own jugs, but aware even her endowments were not quite up to this bombshell's. She pushed her head downward until she was able to feel the woman's spheres with her chin. They felt marvelously firm, but not hard, in tact, but not lifeless, just the right mixture of soft and hard, pliability and durability.
Within a few more minutes, Bernice was almost at the point of a big "O". Hut that would be no problem. She was so sexed, so fired up, that she was good for multiple orgasms, for many sprees as she brought one guy and one broad after another to the point of ultimate excitement as they would be barely able to keep up with her. She must have been a bottomless pit of sex energy, Veronica thought, and she wondered if it related to having such a dynamite body. Probably not, she thought. After all, drive like this has to do with physiology, metabolism, nervous system and most of all psychology. It was just glorious coincidence that this bitch looked every bit as torrid as she most likely felt.
"Come on baby, do a real number on me."
With that bit of encouragement, Vern lowered her head all the way, stuck out her tongue, and felt the tip of Bernice's huge, erect nipple. It sent chills down our girl's back, exciting her no end. Veronica, who had rarely gotten a chance to suck tit, found the opportunity ultimately exciting, the perfect beginning for a real sex party. She could observe that Monty was being driven crazy by such action. He already had his clothes off and was sitting and watching with a huge boner, his cock grown to gigantic proportions, his face flushed with a sex blush.
Veronica knelt down and really got down to business. She kneaded the flesh of the huge tits, pushing them together, then apart, up and down, intermittently sucking and tasting the salty, sinuous skin of breast flesh, the best flesh.
"Suck them bitch," she said.
With that Veronica, who was well endowed herself, pushed her own knockers in the woman's face, an action which did not go unheeded. Now that the man was concentrating on Bernice's lower legs, Vern was able to straddle her, feeling her soft midsection make contact with her own soft pussy, encouraging the contact by pushing down harder with her weight. Basking in the sensations, Vern pushed her back down until her tits met Bernice's, breast to breast, nipples to nipples. Then she pushed into the woman's chest harder, until it was almost a contest to see whose tits would stay firmest under the onslaught, whose endowments had the most durability.
But at the very least it was a drag. They both stayed firm, and both ached for more.
"Come on bitch," she said, "you call that pressure."
With that, Bernice drew Veronica even closer until the woman thought she might push through the woman's very skin, but the effect was fantastic. Feeling completely absorbed in her own passion, entirely taken away by the excitement of it all, Vern just went with it with entire abandon. Meanwhile, the man below was not idle, and for that matter, Monty had difficulty merely staying at the sidelines. Monty came over and stuck his huge cock right in Veronica's line of vision. It was a difficult choice, two options posed in front of her, two almost perfect tits, and one, almost perfect cock. But decisions must be made quickly in an orgy, and Veronica decided upon a little jaunt back to heterosexuality, standing up with more than a little difficulty, but quickly getting into the swing of excitement with Monty who whisked her off to the comfortable corner of a large couch.
"Hope you liked the little movie."
"Yes, most unusual."
"What did you like the most about it?"
"Honest…"
"Of course," he interjected.
"I was really turned on, really turned on," she repeated for emphasis, "by one girl getting it by two guys."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, there's something really fantastic about seeing two guys going crazy like that."
"Do you think two guys are twice as good as one?"
"I think so, but you know, the way to learn… is by experience," she interjected.
Within seconds, Veronica imagined herself surrounded by Monty and Bill, both men desperate to get at her sensual body, determined to get at her, and lathe her with their passion. There is no embroidery of the tale to stress that the men were livid, almost mad with desire, pushing Vern almost brutally to the edge of the couch and then on the floor.
"Fuck her," Lu said, soon echoed by Bernice.
At this point, it would have been difficult to convince Vern that her scenario was illusory, for she wriggled about in her apartment, right on the floor, and could feel the men breathing on her, pushing their manly flesh against her.
The men's flesh was positively unctuous, lubricated with the secretions of their desire, beads of sweat, drops of sweat, engulfing them, making them swim in their own juices.
"Fuck her!" Bernice demanded more emphatically.
Encouraged, Monty brought down his frothy mouth to the environs of Vern's own oral orifice, gently parting her lips with his tongue, then pushing his own inside her mouth until she was ready to cry out in passion.
"Mmm, baby," he canted, "you know how to kiss. Where did you learn how to do that?"
But there was no time for chatter, no time to do anything outside of pure sex action – kissing, fucking, burning, churning, doing it – and doing it quickly.
"Ho, baby, do it," Monty said.
Bill was anxious to get into the action, so he took a remarkably ample portion of Veronica's tit inside of his mouth, sucking it inward, making it turn nice and pink, then red and crimson, straining the tender womanly tissues to the limit.
"Oh, oh, suck me, suck me all the way."
Veronica didn't want him to stop, didn't want him to do anything but make her go all the way.
Meanwhile, Monty took some definite moves to position the trio properly on the floor. Picture this scene: the man pushed Veronica on her ass so that she straddled across John, then finally stretched out on her marvelous buns, ready and expectant; John spread her legs, then pushed his nose up into her cunt, until he could smell her sweet pussy, then actually touch her inner folds, the red, wet, juicy portions of her pussy; meanwhile Monty took the top, moving slowly from the convoluted areas under her arms to the magnificent open planes of her abdomen and the mountainous sphericity of her melons.
John turned on his side, bringing Veronica over on hers, locking their hips together as Monty nestled on his side behind her: a triple sex sandwich.
Meanwhile, Bernice and Lu decided to get acquainted, rubbing their respective bosoms against each other and generally increasing their passion geometrically. "Oh baby," Bernice groaned, "do it to me, and rub my big, fat cherries." That was all the encouragement Lu needed, so she pushed her entire body against the ruby black woman, pressing her against the wood-paneled wall and crushing her huge spheres, just hard enough to drive her into a frenzy.
Lu and Bernice were quite a pair (besides each one having quite a pair). The dark and the light, the Mediterranean and the Nordic classic, the mysterious and the open hook beauty, Raquel and Marilyn, both posed side by side like two complementary halves, all that any man in his right mind would want.
But the men in this scene, created so aptly by Veronica, were kept quite busy and quite satisfied at the moment, laying together, squeezing their bodies into entwined beings, one organism; they were dead to the world. It was a sight to behold, first one hair buttocks, then the smooth contours of Veronica, finally another hairy ass and legs, surrounding the fair lovely. Monty turned about slightly until he was facing Vern, breathing right into her and able to slide his cock right into her dark slit as John held her buns from the rear, pushing them for ward as if to make her better able to accommodate the form, the massive shaft of Monty's cock. "Come on," John whispered, "give it to this girl, give all you got to this fucking sexy bitch."
Veronica's rotundity, in a positive sense, was something to behold, the most womanly shape, her hips curved almost inhumanly inward like the perfection of femininity, her breasts falling against each other, creating explicit, perfect cleavage. Monty couldn't keep his hands off that cleavage, pushing the breasts together, pushing them apart, licking the fat, full cherries until they were almost as erect as his very cock.
"Do it," she pleaded.
Harder he pushed, all the way inside.
Now that his stem was completely lost in her womanhood, he felt like her captive, as if he was hers to do with as she would. He brushed, licked, manipulated, kneaded, and contacted with every inch of her lasciviously molded flesh. He pushed against her with such force that he could feel his own pubic hair intermingling with Veronica's until it would have been difficult to extricate it. He felt his heavy balls become more excited, the thick skin covering becoming prickly, pushing his ball hairs upward and making him seem closer to some sort of orgasmic climax.
The other stud kept up his action from the rear, spreading her buns, pushing his hands around toward her front area, and downright scratching against her tits with his long, manicured nails. "Ow," she protested in surprise, but that didn't stop this demon, didn't stop him until he had pierced her skin and created a fine, thin red line which quickly evaporated due to its fortunate superficiality. He rested his long schlong inside of her ass crack, and could feel each time his friend thrust inward from the front, a beautiful sensation which made Veronica lurch backward, which, of course, like any action from the woman at that point, had a direct connection to the man's cock.
The trio created a potpourri, a medley of musical variations, with roulades, cadenzas, its own sense of cadence, fugue and canon. Monty was a virtuoso, a performer who had his instrument tuned perfectly; Bill was a fine trumpeter, and a piper, and a drummer, a flutist who could change the timbre of his instrument as quickly and as surely as a one man band. "Oooh," Veronica called out, "fuck me, you two fantastic studs."
Meanwhile, Lu and her friend continued to get acquainted. Bernice pushed Lu against the wall, then moved her hand downward slowly, first ascribing circles on her shoulders, pausing momentarily about the chest, then moving down to the real business, the fantastic cleavage and sack-like beginning of her tits, an area which she caressed with loving care, almost obsessional care. "Come on, Bernice," she said, "come and give it to me, give it to me good. I want you to stick your fingers right inside of me, all the way that they can go, because… I want you to… I want you to… make me… come!" Bernice was pleased. Bernice was pleased. After all, she'd been encouraged by the broad before, but never given the green light to such extent and degree, with such determination and abandon. So, she thought, you want me to fuck you huh, you want me to stick my hands in the inner side of your thighs, to move upward until I can feel the heat above, to cut right through your womanly hairs, to open your folds, and then to manipulate your womanly organs? You want me to do all that? Baby, you've got it.
The women were seething with passion, driven to nothing short of a white heat (a heat which was as intense as it was voluminous, all embracing as it was centered and well adjusted). When Bernice pushed her hand down to the triangle of her friend's pubics, she sparked another flame and drove the woman to yet a new level of excitation – another dimension to the experience – then she pushed just above the slit, flaming a caloric quantum, an incandescence within the woman's brain and her entire body. "Come on, baby," she pleaded, "all the way in and now… right now, baby, do it."
Now it was Bernice's turn to tease, and no one can tease a woman like another woman, for another woman, possibly having been in the same place, knows what it is that takes a female over the top, from the desperate heat of building, to the melting transcendence of melting orgasm. A lambent flame burnt within her partner, and Bernice knew it.
"Come on bitch," Lu began to plead, "do it, and now. I can't stand it."
"You really want it, don't you?"
"Come on, come on!"
Veronica loved this part. She loved to orchestrate a passionate scene between women, loved to be in complete control. True, she knew none of it was real – one glance at the electric dildo which was all but overheated at that point told her that – but it felt real, in her torrid cunt, in her tits, and she began to feel that that's all that counted. She continued with her play, and began to drive the women to even higher heights of passion.
"Do it, baby, do it to me now."
"Okay, don't sweat; you know that you'll get yours."
At that point Veronica decided to change the scene a bit. Just when just about everyone in the room was at the point of coming, Veronica had John speak up. "Wait a minute, let's all go into the bedroom and do some rearranging – no sense putting an end to such a good thing so soon, know what I mean?"
It sounded good to everyone, even though it meant the almost painful discipline of holding back their collective wads, keeping the boner boned, the hot pussy hot, the erect nipples unsatisfied, but that was okay, just as long as they knew the best part was soon coming.
John led the way, his big erect penis proudly stuck out in front like the great forefront of a ship, cutting its way through a stormy sea. He arranged the pillows on the bed so that the king bed would be able to contain all of their forms – John himself, Monty, Lu, Bernice and Veronica (not a bad boy girl ratio, two to three) all moved inward. They were a sight, the women sweated, lubricated as they were with their own fluids, the men, penises erect, balls heavy and distended, all possessing that gaunt and hungry look which demands release only in orgasm.
Positioned on the bed, Veronica had herself lay out like some great sexual display. "Come on folks," she imagined saying, "how about all of you doing a number on me first. You know, look," she added, beginning to get into the swing of giving direct orders, "Lu over here, now suck me on the nipples, yes… oh, that's it, now concentrate on the left one. Bernice, you take the right." Bernice approached, slowly at first, reluctant to take orders from a mere sexual peer, but eventually going with the tide. Soon, Veronica pictured herself lathed in the kisses of two broads (who occasionally pushed their massive bosoms against her) until she could hardly stand it – pressed, caressed, kissed and sucked, her tits almost as red as the flush in her face. "Okay," she was barely able to moan out, "now I want you two to really go to town on me, you know what I mean." She paused, then looked Bill over, from head to foot. He really was a stud of a man, especially the way he stood there with his hairy bobo as erect as could be. He didn't seem to mind her stare at all as she glued her eyes to his pecker. It was fatter than she'd remembered it, and longer, and thicker at the base, and redder at the tip. It seemed to be the center of his being, just as Bernice's jugs were the center of hers, or Lu's great loins were her center of gravity. No, this man was a pecker person, a great hulk of a sexy bastard waiting to fuck his big, lush broad.
"Come on," she added, "come over here and do a number on my cunt. Come on boys, don't be afraid," but adding cryptically, "don't be greedy." John liked that, so he was the first to make a move.
He slowly positioned himself over Veronica's body, looking down at the feast which was being enacted above the waist, then observing the tempting sight below: her pussy, all hot and swollen, her legs moving apart, then together, apart again, like some sinuous fan awaiting to be plugged in. Her caloric measure had risen by quantums. And so had his. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was for the couple to move and grind, jerk and push, until their bodies would be locked in love, and their orgasms would spurt, and melt, then churn slowly down, leaving the individuals in a basking, glowing ecstasy.
This is the way it would happen, and this is the way it happened – for Veronica was the author, the conductor, the composer, the creator of it all.
Veronica paused to get her breath. She stopped and looked around for a second, and could hardly believe that she was alone. Where was John, and Bernice? Where was that dynamite blonde, Lu? And what about good old Monty? No, it was all fantasy, and for a second Veronica felt very much apart from anything, almost lonely, until she picked up her dildo once again, and any thought of negativism evaporated under the onslaught of her own torrid sensuality. Just for the sake of experiment Veronica decided to try the auto-fuck without image, without the elaborate fantasy. She felt the pure sensation of the hard, white, porcelain-like structure quickly, almost rudely invade her womanhood, and how that inorganic phallus warmed her up, almost better than a real, throbbing cock. The electric vibrations pushed against her tissues, massaging, then caress mg, then doing more than that; it was almost obscene to think of the powers of a mere machine. How could an object control her so? How could a mere vanilla dick drive her almost crazy? She pushed it farther inside, the cruel phallus, the monument to feminine isolation, transforming into a symbol of her self-sufficiency. She could feel the sensations envelope her. It tickled her cunt, then traveled up her spine and into her head; it churned against her inside like a fire stick, making her swell and expand and take in even more of the stick, making her want it until she couldn't stand it; it made her almost sick with constant, growing desire; from the erection in her nipple; to the ache in her womanhood.
Oh, she said to herself, this is it. This is the ultimate, the final goal of my life-long search for satisfaction. There were people, many people, but at the same time she could turn them off as quickly and as surely as a television set, and just take in pure sensation. But when she tired of that, she could go back to the convolutions of plot and orgy, of relationship, character and tangible form, to fuck and suck with the living fantasies of some real people.
She knew she would be going back soon, for Bernice, Lu and John and Monty were waiting for her, and could only continue, could only exist with her in the driver seat of imagination.
She eased into her orgy, the scenario in the bedroom, and was gratified to find she could carry on right where she left off. She was lathed by Lu and Bernice, and being approached by John, who quickly pushed his face into her upreached cunt. He liked her like that, all perched up, her back arched, her legs spread, and all of her senses primed for the real thing. John moved forward and put his hands under Veronica's buns. That way he was able to move her pussy even higher in space, until it reached even higher into the air than her melonous breasts. Her spheres were almost dwarfed by the arched back which pushed her pussy as high as possible. Having his hands behind the buns, perching her in the proper way, positioned in the perfect manner, John pushed his face into her pussy and felt the fantastic heat as it invaded his proboscis, bathing him in olfactory saturation. "Oooh," he moaned out – a man about to taste the most fragrant, delicious, poignant dinner of his career: pure pussy juice.
"Eat me," she ordered – and liked giving the directive.
"Baby, glad to oblige," he said, and felt happy to be so smooth, almost like his favorite matinee idol.
He lowered his head, buried it deeply within the woman, and began to lick, to suck and to take in her most intimate womanhood. "Mmmm," he said, basking in the flavors. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly; what was it, salt, sour, sweet, semisweet, tangy, acidic, vitriolic, mellow, bland, enticing, spicy, or what? Just as it was hard to define, it tasted as fantastic, the greatest treat he remembered in one hell of a long time. He spread her legs and looked down at her cut and cherry. He was fascinated to see the way her slit formed a finely symmetrical form, all oval and opened, containing the fine seed of her womanhood, and in the deepest area of the channel, a dark chasm which seemed to lead to nowhere.
"Eat it baby," she said.
"It's good, real good," he answered, still sounding suave.
"Oh, do it to me."
He continued his incessant licking, watching her grit her teeth as if in pain, but aware that he was taking this little lady for the sex ride of her life.
"Oh, yes, suck."
"You taste good."
Lu said, "What a pair, what a fantastic pair of knockers." – the two women were obviously satisfied with their playing up above.
"Yeah," Monty added as he stroked Veronica's leg, "but the real action is always just below the equator. How does the song go: down below, down below, that's where I want to be, a lot of mellow fellows but better than all, some spicy lady, lay dee!" He had himself a good laugh, but his jolly mood soon transformed into a good-natured passion when he began to get a whiff of the fantastic pussy juice rapidly dominating the entire area. "Potent," he observed as he sniffed.
"All the better to seduce you with."
"Hey, you know we fellas can do a bit of that ourselves."
"Come now… how?"
"Don't you think we notice the way you broads look us over when we stand up, the way your eyes center on the fly area, trying to guess if we're hard or not, the way you follow our buns as we go strolling down the street. No, you broads are every bit as horny as the guys, but you're just sneaky about it, that's the entire difference."
"You might have a point," Lu added.
"Sure I do… I have a few perceptions myself." But the first perception on his mind at that moment was just above his nose: the dark and secluded place, above the knees and below the waist – to quote from an old song.
When John and Monty began to suck her off at the same time it was almost to much to take (it was, actually, just that added straw of excitement which took her over the edge).
In her own home, her imagination churning with the throttle entirely out, Veronica twisted and turned on her rug, knowing that she was already into the involuntary spasms of orgasms. She was perplexed for a moment, her mind for the first time out of control, not knowing whether to retain the cast of characters from the fantasy or just roll with the pure sensations. But somehow, the answer was made for her, and it was just Veronica, alone in a room, crazy with passion, dripping in sexuality as if she were really excited by ten studs, one handsomer than the next. "Ooh, oh, agghh!" she groaned out suddenly like a wild animal in pain. She felt her entire body go tense, then her entire being swell, until, for just a second, it felt as if she were suspended in space, alone, frightened and paralyzed. But then came the fantastic melting, the release from ultimate incapacitating tension: "Oh, oh, oohh!" she groaned. This was even better than the initial sensation, the verification of her orgasmic state. She could feel all the energy leave her at once, could feel her blood boiling, then simmer and finally cool in the instance that a glow and flush took over her face. It was indescribable peace, and she was out of breath, but pleasantly puffing, as if she were simply trying to taste something, rather than reach out for a necessity of life; the air tasted sweet under these conditions, like a bonus.
But within minutes, almost to Veronica's own surprise, she felt her inner passion build once again. She could feel those strong sensations – the ache to be manhandled, the dull desire in her breasts to be fondled, the reaching out of her body for hot, torrid action – then she knew she'd return to her little scene. Whence such energy? Who knows, she thought, but she was going to take advantage of every watt of it, if it was the last thing she'd do.
Back in that little synthetic orgy, she started to play with her men, first very gently tapping them in the groin, then harder until they had to back off.
"So, you want a little rough trade, eh?" asked Monty.
"YOU can't get near me," she replied with tremendous arrogance.
Monty came nearer, but to his amazement, the girl knelt under his arms and tripped his legs so that he fell flat on his face. An instant later Bill approached but met the same fate. This was an old and constant fantasy of Veronica's – to have some men by the balls, to be able to overpower them purely in the physical realm. But one must be on the outlook for women, for they are sneaky creatures, and Lu snuck up from the rear, positioning Veronica in a helpless nelson hold. Try as she might, she could not wrench herself free of the wench's grasp.
"Well, well, well," said John, almost sadistically, "what have we here?"
She could feel the blond's huge breasts press against her back, and she leaned against them, hoping to discourage her by the pressure of her weight. But there was no percentage in such action, for the bitch was determined to keep her hold.
So held captive – another dynamite fantasy – John walked up to her (this time it was he who was the arrogant one) and spread her legs. When she managed to squirm loose of his grasp, he had Monty hold her legs apart.
Monty delighted in pinning her in such a manner, as did Bernice, who stood a bit in the background, ejaculating with the most hideous of sighs. But the scene was far too erotic to be humiliating, and in all honesty, it was a scene which turned Veronica on like few others. Her knees were pulled apart as she tried to push them together; there was just no way she could cover her exposed body, her naked pussy, all vulnerable to whatever indignity the likes of these horny bastards might choose to impart. John decided on some straight ahead, no nonsense, no foreplay, straight on fucking. He rammed his cock right up slit and began pumping away. Within seconds, his face was red. Lu looked on and lit a cigarette. Her blond hair looked radiant and her face lit up in a smile as she watched, cupping her own breast and passionately sensing the erection of her nipple.
"Oh, fuck her, fuck her," she said out loud.
"Oh, yes, do it to me you brute."
Monty started to press against John's back in encouragement, but he needed none of that. A big man, a cocky man by nature and temperament (he'd known nothing but success, from college days in ac counting, to switching fields first on a whimsy and then for the sake of career; from the lower structures of corporate insurance, to middle management, and now to his present position, in line for one of the coveted managerial spots).
Monty was a bit of a contrast, no great head on career goals but a good solid jock – full frame, muscular build, coordinated and graceful, and there when you need him, but let the individual to engage in philosophical discussion with his lies be warned.
Nothing really mattered at that point but the nuts and bolts ball and socket operation of straight ahead fucking: all throttles out.
"Oh," she moaned, like a trapped animal.
Veronica was back in her apartment for a second. She looked up and observed that the ceiling was about twirling around her head, the light fixture converted into a mobile, a cartwheel filled with psychedelic colors and forms, the windows in her room, a great cathedral in some futuristic city, her furnishings the surrealistic representations of her inner psychology, all of course being mere accessories to the realities of her genital experience. She stuck that dildo deeper inside but now it wasn't enough. Her pussy demanded change, some novel sensation which could approximate the forced entry she imagined herself experiencing.
Sure, there were several options: (1) she could go outside and get herself raped – an easy enough prospect in this day and age, yet all too dangerous for her own taste given the association of rape and violence; (2) she could call a friend and ask him to rape her (but that would ruin her resolve to make this weekend entirely on her own: (3) she could search for some finer object with which to penetrate pussy. She decided upon the latter, fortunately for her and society and for, as things would turn out, everyone directly and indirectly involved with her life.
She soon struck upon some phallic items in the kitchen, her favorite being the trusty cucumber, the standard carrot, the slightly exotic half-sour pickle, and finally simply a tube-shape applier of frosting, which though a little hard around the edges, could with care approximate the cold cock of the rapist.
Vern went with the cucumber first. It was a bit cold and slimy at first, but as soon as she was able to go beyond this, it was quite desirable. She slowly tickled the outer rim of her cunt, basking in the glow created by the smooth skin. She marveled at how the glistening vegetable skin merged with her own tissue and drove her to a keen state of passion. Then she pushed the vegetable a full halfway into her cunt, excited beyond measure by the sensation. Suddenly, she was rudely interrupted by the rude sound of her doorbell. Without thinking, Veronica automatically pulled out the vegetable and walked over to the front door. "Who is it?" she asked.
"Electric meter," he said.
Oh no, Veronica thought. She was really stuck for a response, just could not come up with an excuse, so she quickly blurted, "Go away."
The young man was no doubt surprised and certainly not willing to destroy his route to suddenly. "Now wait a minute, mam, may I ask you just what's going on. You know, I have a job to do."
"Uh… I wasn't told you were coming."
"We come the same time each month."
For a minute Vern was tempted. After all, the young man had a rather sensual voice, and for a fleeting instant, she imagined seducing him once he was inside, taking his cock out of his uniformed trousers and sucking him as he put down his meter records and abandoned all thoughts of work.
But, no. She had made a resolution: this would be one solo week end. She'd get through the entire two days, entertained simply by her own efforts, without outside stimulation, without the aid of a single solitary soul outside of herself.
"No, I'm sorry, but I'm in no shape to receive visitors."
"No shape to receive visitors?" he repeated in credulously.
Perhaps it was the arrogance and sureness of her reply, perhaps the novelty of the situation, but he found himself quietly, almost meekly walking back to his truck and scratching his head.
That's that, Vern thought eyeing the cucumber and getting herself ready for a quick renewal of some action.
Suddenly the phone rang. Oh no, she thought, what wag could this be, rudely interrupting my sweet solitude, but again, rather than just ignoring it, she found herself dutifully answering – perhaps out of habit, perhaps simply to stop that annoying ringing which could possibly go on ten, fifteen times.
"Hello," she chirped.
"Veronica, how are you."
It was none other than John, and Veronica had a quick reply, "Oh, John, I was just thinking of you."
"Is that right. I'm complimented… I think."
"What's up, John."
"How about dinner and a show tonight, that's what's up. I have front row seats to that big new musical."
It was tempting. John, for all his faults, knew how to show a girl a good time, was willing to part with the green stuff enough to ensure entertainment – the whole bit: fine food, a good show, a good after show snack, then, of course, a nice evening of sensuality. Now, how did that compare to a cold cucumber, romping on her own rug, twisting her imagination, overworking her body until she would be too exhausted to know what was happening. But that was okay. If anything at all, Vern was a woman of decision, and once a decision had been made, she'd stick to it. She got rid of her friend easily enough, then returned to the kitchen and looked at her favorite cucumber. It was shinier than usual (she was aware of the cause of that phenomenon) which made it look all the more desirable.
Just looking at the scintillating object made Veronica hot, and the closer she moved to it, the hotter she became. It was sitting – almost innocently, like some addition to a salad or garnish for a main course – waiting for some assignment of role and action. Vern felt the heavy weight of her breasts as she approached it, and was aware of her supreme nakedness, the radical sensuality of her body. Would she be able to sustain her masturbatory fantasy throughout the weekend, forego the usual pleasures of entertainment and the flesh which could be hers for the taking, and sustain an effort, not built on reality, but mere whimsy and fantasy?
One whiff of her woman stuff on that vegetable was enough to make her feel optimistic on this regard. Forward she walked until she was face to face with her full mirror. Not bad, she thought, one piece of action. Her breasts, for all the manipulations they'd been through recently, looked fresh as could be; her legs were long, firm supports for her solid trunk, moving upward to a firm "V" which held her womanly treasures within.
She turned around so that she could glance at her broad, womanly back, which looked every bit as enticing as her front, all smooth and lovely. Of course, there were a few scratches, some red lines leading from around the side of her breasts to her lower back, then swirling suddenly upward toward the back of her neck. She pushed her dark brown hair upward in a bun. She was happy to see how surprisingly elegant she appeared – and that was a feat, looking truly elegant when in the buff.
She planned her strategy. The world, given her fantasy approach, was entirely open to her, an unwritten book for which she had blank paper and a welled inked pen. Would it be a night of elegance, of fashionable sport in high society, another orgy, hot and bothered like her little film experience, or perhaps more young cock, those juicy, ripe examples of boyhood who couldn't wait to get at her own ripe cunt and drive her almost wild with desire.
She wanted John, that was for sure. Why? After all, he was directly available in real life, a big hulk of a stud who could offer her a variety of experiences – from a hot dance in some hip disco, to a more stately evening in a society club, to a bound less orgy, all experiences he'd readily presented. Somehow, this touch of reality gave a presence to her imagination, rooted it on firm ground, and gave true continuity.
She'd remembered that John once offered her a most unusual experience, not unusual by any conventional standards but unusual in light of what was everyday to Veronica. He once approached her in the office and the following ensued.
"Veronica, you'll never guess what I have in mind for this weekend, plans in which I'd like you included."
"Mysterious, aren't we?"
Vern didn't like guessing games, never did, so she handled her lack of enthusiasm by some pointed sarcasm.
"Well, since you're so positive about it, I rented some equipment."
"What kind of equipment," she asked – but picturing kinky sexual apparati, like rough trade, or some sort of exotic costuming.
"Look, it's straight and simple, and a lot more wholesome than I'm sure you have in mind. What I'd like to do is something a little off the beaten track, different from our wild parties and society jaunts. I want to get out there, out where things are natural and real. You see – I rented some camping gear – not just your usual stove and trailer but the tough stuff, a little pup tent, and a guide to take us into the mountains where we can really get it on with nature."
"Now hang on," Vern had countered, "I don't quite think that's my style, not at all. I'm a city girl. You know that. I can't quite see getting turned on by exhausting myself climbing around a lot of rocks, getting soaked by the rain, caked up by the mud – besides there aren't any powder rooms out there."
"Come on Vern."
"No deal."
That's what happened and now Vern regretted it. She wished she'd taken advantage of the opportunity, if for no other reason, that it would have given her a new setting for hot action, a new atmosphere to get it on with the stud. But that didn't even cross her mind at the time; she was too involved with thoughts of creature comforts, of her fool vanity, which she should have realized wasn't even on John's mind at all – what difference what she looks like on a trip like this, he'd thought.
Now she'd make up for missed opportunity, rewrite the scene in her mind's eye with a vengeance. Veronica walked into her bedroom and orchestrated the dialogue the proper way. She glance at her clock, and felt drowsy for a second; it had been a rough day yesterday, and especially last night. Vern stretched out on the cool sheets, her sleek body dominating the spread, her arms stretched above her head and her breasts uplifted beautifully by the movement. Suddenly she was off on cloud nine, dreaming, languidly moving about on the sheets, and after several hours she awoke.
She jerked forward and glanced at the clock. One thirty, she observed, as if she'd almost missed an important appointment. Lucky I woke up, or I might have missed one fantastic journey.