The erotic adventures of a South Seas sexpot

“OH, SHIT!!” Susana pushed at Peter’s chest, bucked her hips in a futile attempt to throw him off. She hadn’t heard the car — not surprising in view of the crashing intensity of the orgasm from which she had only just recovered — but in the afterglow she heard the “snick” of her husband’s key in the security gate lock, and the rattle of the latch as he opened the front door. “Get OFF,” she hissed. “It’s Neil. The bastard’s come home a day early.” Peter, on the verge of climax, was incapable of rational response. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, his face contorted into a mask of mindless purpose which at any other time Susana would have found hilarious, and his pile-driving prick hammered remorselessly at her still-palpitating pussy. The tail was wagging the dog, and nature was just going to have to take its course. Susana shoved again, bucked again. “Get OFF.” It was no use. Her senses keyed to almost supernatural levels, she heard Neil dump his suitcase on the floor in the hall and kick off his shoes, then lock the gate and close the door. “Surprise,” he called. “It’s me.” Even that didn’t get through to Peter. She felt him tense, break stroke, but only in response to a higher urgency than a soon-to-be-outraged husband’s voice. He gasped, shoved, gasped, shoved, cursed, shoved, shuddered, shoved, and in spite of her predicament Susana climaxed again, clawing at the sheets, whimpering and thrashing her head from side to side as his plunging cock exploded inside her. As the fog cleared she looked towards the bedroom door. It was open — it had been open all along — and Neil was standing just inside it, his face unreadable and a bunch of flowers in his hand. Even at such a moment, he could attempt a feeble joke. “Hi honey,” he said tonelessly. “I’m home.” Peter’s head snapped round, his eyes widened in disbelief and he jerked himself out of her, rolled off the bed and stood hunched in shock, his hands clutched in front of his privates. He looked ridiculous. Allowing for exaggeration, he was twice Neil’s size, and here he was cringing as if he was about to be beaten to a pulp. Susana stifled a giggle, waved a hand helplessly. For almost the first time in her life, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She took refuge in formality. “This is Neil,” she said to no one in particular. “Neil, this is Peter.” Peter scrabbled on the floor for his underpants, turned away from Neil and pulled them on. His shrinking dick wept a final dribble of sperm, leaving a spreading wet spot. “Get out.” Neil spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his voice that Susana had never heard before, and she wondered whether she ought to be frightened. He was looking at her, but when he spoke again it was obvious his words were directed at Peter. “Get out,” he said. “I want to speak to my wife.” Peter reached for his trousers and Neil hissed at him. “Leave them there,” he said. “I don’t want you running away. Just get your arse into the living room. I’ll talk to you later — when I’ve finished with this one.” Peter edged past him, his big frame strangely shrunken, both hands covering his crotch as if he expected Neil — weedy little Neil!— to lash out suddenly and kick him in the balls. Neil didn’t even look at him. “Shut the door on your way out,” he said, and Peter backed into the living room, obediently pulling the door shut behind him. Neil stepped to the side of the bed, stood looking down at her, then laid the flowers between her breasts. Like lilies on the chest of a corpse, she thought in alarm. Quickly, she shoved the thought aside, tried to brazen it out. “Thank you,” she said, and batted her eyelashes at him. “Shut up, slut.” He raised a hand as if to strike her, then snatched the flowers away and threw them on the floor behind him. His eyes reflected pain, and anger, and something else that Susana couldn’t quite identify. “Bitch,” he said. Where Susana came from it meant whore, the cheapest kind of whore, and under any other circumstances she would have leapt to her feet and tried to scratch his eyes out. Instead she simply lay there, not daring to move, even to bring her knees together, accepting the worst insult he could heap on her. She was acutely conscious of the perspiration — hers and Peter’s — still mottling her breasts and belly, and of the even more copious evidence of their coupling trickling out of her cunt and on to the sheet between her widespread thighs. As if he read her thoughts, Neil leaned over and slipped the middle finger of his right hand deep into her unresisting pussy. He drew it out, wet and glistening, examined it for a moment and then held it in front of her face. “Bitch,” he said again, and still she did not react. He wiped his finger on her cheek, trailed his hand down her body and probed again into her cunt. “Fucking bitch.” Again he withdrew his exploring finger, held it up for her to inspect, then carefully smeared her lips with the slimy essence of her treachery. Susana studied his face, alert to every tiny nuance of expression. His mouth was set in a dead-straight line, except for a tiny tic tugging at the left corner, and his nostrils were flared. His burning eyes searched her body, came back to her lips, still puffy from her recent passion and now plastered liberally with sperm and her own natural juices. Tentatively, she parted her lips a fraction and licked a tiny curd of cum from the left side of her mouth. Neil’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and his breathing quickened. “That’s right, bitch,” he said, and now the menace in his voice was overlaid with a rising note of urgency. “That’s right. Lap it up.” She opened her mouth a little wider and dabbed at her top lip with her tongue, then slowly and methodically, watching his face the whole time, licked herself clean. When she’d finished, he groped again between her legs. Without taking his eyes off her face, he screwed three fingers into her cunt and rummaged about for several seconds. Peter always came in quarts, and her pussy was positively awash. She raised her head to watch as Neil withdrew his hand. His fingers were dripping with the leftovers of love, pearly threads and three or four great glistening gobs of it. Her head flopped back on the pillow as he brought up his hand and poised it palm-up over her face. “Open up,” he said. She opened her mouth, poked her tongue out over her lower lip, and he turned his hand palm-down and dipped his fingers to the vertical. The stuff of life dripped gluily on to her tongue and slid into her mouth, and she gulped it down, then licked and sucked the sticky residue from his fingers as he presented them to her one by one. He straightened up, eyed her speculatively for a moment, then stepped around to the end of the bed and stood staring at her weeping cunt. Slowly, almost absently, he unbuttoned his shirt, tugged it free of the waistband of his trousers, peeled it off and tossed it towards the dirty-clothes basket. It missed. He unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of its loops, and dangled it like a whip. Self-preservation leapt to the fore and Susana snapped her knees together, then swiftly drew her feet up towards her buttocks. Neil reacted just as swiftly. He let go of the belt, dropped on to the end of the bed, and wrenched her legs apart. She struggled for an instant, then decided resistance was only going to fuel his anger, and went limp. Feet together and knees spread wide, she felt like a frog pinned down for dissection in a high school biology lab. Somehow, perversely, that thought excited her and her nipples sprang erect. Neil took his hands from her knees and backed off the bed. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. He unzipped his fly, unhooked the waistband of his trousers and let them fall, then slipped his underpants down his legs, bent over and worked his feet free of both garments. Susana, watching him warily through the flattened vee of her splayed thighs, licked her lips involuntarily as he straightened up and revealed the full extent of his arousal. Normally, these days, it took some serious foreplay — licking, sucking and stroking — to get him fully erect and ready to roll. Yet now, totally untouched by human hands, his cock sprang proud from the base of his belly, its single eye staring defiantly skywards as if searching the ceiling. ___ There’d been a lunchroom legend, before she married him almost 11 years ago, that he couldn’t fuck — that he fainted every time he got a hard-on because his dick drained all the blood out of his brain. A prick of truly mind-blowing proportions, as one wit put it. It wasn’t THAT big, but it was certainly more than adequate, and for a long time after the first time Susana couldn’t get enough of it. Well, that wasn’t quite true either — for the first year or so they were at it three or four times a day, often for hours at a stretch, and when they weren’t doing it they were both thinking about doing it. How he managed to hold down a responsible job while all that was going on was still a mystery. She’d been an 18-year-old virgin when Neil came into her life, her only previous sexual experience a wide-eyed handjob on a pushy young workmate named Alipate, who lured her into his flat on some forgotten pretext and then took off his pants and wouldn’t let her leave until she’d “fixed” him. It had been quick, and messy, and in retrospect only mildly interesting, and she’d kept well clear of him after that. Neil was almost exactly twice her age, and she’d been frightened rather than flattered when he first began showering his attentions on her. But he made her laugh, and in spite of her friends’ dire warnings (or perhaps because of them) she started going out with him. Simple, innocuous dates — nothing that would keep her out beyond the curfew set by her traditionalist father, nothing that would lead her down the shameful path to dishonor about which the nuns at St Peter’s had been so fond of talking. Just sandwich lunches in the park three or four times a week, quick dinners in the Korner Kaff on nights she had to work late, and once an afternoon at the football. Right at the outset, he told her he intended to marry her, but marriage was still a long way in her future and she didn’t take him seriously. He wooed her with flowers and silly presents — a rubber duck (?), a strange kaftan-type dress which she gave to her mother (telling her it was a present from an overseas pen-friend) and the one which finally did the trick, a fur-covered pillow in the shape of an enormously fat, brown sea-lion (she loved it dearly from the start and even today, more than a decade later, she pulled it out of the closet occasionally when she felt in need of comfort). Unlike the boys against whose crude advances she was constantly on guard, he never grabbed at her and he never tried to ply her with liquor. They’d hold hands, and he’d kiss her lightly on the forehead when he dropped her off down the street from her home, and that was all. Pretty soon, she realised it wasn’t enough. On the Saturday afternoon three weeks after their first date she turned up at his house uninvited, unannounced and alone, and fell into his arms. Barely 10 minutes later, without knowing quite how she got there or how she came to be naked, she was writhing in astonished ecstasy on his bed with his tongue in her virgin pussy and his burgeoning cock throbbing hotly against her shoulder. He didn’t lose consciousness as rumored, but he didn’t actually fuck her, either, in spite of her willingness to yield up her hymen to him right there and then. It was a willingness she made perfectly obvious when he came up for air and lay beside her, gently teasing her nipples with his fingers. She pulled him over on top of her, groped for his cock and tried inexpertly to manoeuvre it between the lips of her cunt. He rolled off. Susana was puzzled. Everyone knew that all men wanted was to put their thing into your thing and wiggle it about. Was there something wrong with her? He laughed, hugged her tightly and kissed her, his mouth fragrant with the spoils of cunnilingual congress. He didn’t, he said quaintly, want to “defile” her. Then he licked his way back down her body and ducked his head once more between her legs. Susana thought she’d died and gone to heaven. The world fell away beneath her, and she was just a few square centimetres of quivering flesh and a bundle of nerve-endings, which sprouted wings and flew her higher, higher, dragging a kaleidoscope of colors behind them until she broke through the roof of the sky into inky blackness and exploded in shower after shower of silver sparks. As she fluttered back to earth she became aware that he was once again stretched out on his back beside her, his left arm beneath her shoulders. She rolled towards him and flung her own left arm across his chest. What did he mean, he didn’t want to “defile” her? He licked her ear, launched into a long and confusing explanation that boiled down to not wanting to pop her cherry unless she was willing to give him not just her body but also her soul. It came across as pompous rubbish, but she realised he was saying, like her mother and the nuns at St Peter’s, that her virginity was something to be guarded jealously until she was safely married. It was only then that she realised how serious he was about marrying her, and in that moment she discovered also that she loved him. She kissed him, snuggled her head on his chest and studied the foreshortened view of his cock lying quietly on his belly like a beached eel, its tip reaching to within a couple of centimetres of his navel. She tiptoed her fingers down his body, and stroked it lightly. It shook itself awake, its head swelled visibly, and it rose up and winked at her. Neil slipped his hand beneath her armpit and cupped her left breast, and she circled his prick with her fingers and made the milking motions the obnoxious Alipate had taught her. Neil groaned and squeezed gently on her breast, then began kneading her nipple lightly between his middle and ring fingers. “Yes,” he breathed. “Oh yes, love, do that.” His cock was hot and hard, and it stiffened and swelled even more as she tugged and squeezed. Susana sat up, knelt beside him and watched his face as she worked on him. His eyes were closed and his tongue showed through parted lips. “Yes,” he said again. “Oh, yes. Do it. I love it. I need it. Do it.” He opened his eyes and she was shocked and excited to see the helpless pleading in them. He reached up a hand and caressed her cheek, then her throat, then dropped it lower and stroked her breast. Her nipple stiffened again to his touch. Both of them were breathing heavily now. Susana wrapped both hands around his cock and pumped faster. He was gasping, jerking his hips in time with her stroking, and his cock was growing huge. Susana licked her lips, watched fascinated as its rosy tip emerged, disappeared, then re-emerged from between her circling fingers. “Yes,” he gasped. “Oh, yes. Pump me. It feels so good. Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh, yes.” His left hand was busy rubbing, stroking and squeezing her nipple, the fingers straying every so often to caress the firmly contoured faces of her breast. Then he raised it to her mouth and pressed his thumb against her lips. Susana allowed it partway into her mouth, bit gently on it and teased it with her tongue. She tore her gaze from his cock, turned her head and looked directly into his eyes. As if that was the signal he had been waiting for, he raised his hips towards her and forced his cock further into her hands. “Now,” he said. “Now. Make me come. Now. Yes. Now. Yes. Now. Now. Now.” He was shaking his head in ecstasy, his cock burned and throbbed, and she gripped him still tighter, sensing the pressure building inside him. Suddenly he screamed softly, his hips jerked upward, and his juice spurted out of him, arcing into the air and splashing back over her hands. She kept pumping and there was another jet of sperm over his belly, then another, then a slow dribble that dripped stickily through her fingers. He lifted her hands from his prick, raised them to his lips, and kissed the tips of her fingers. “Clever hands,” he whispered. “So clever.” He let go of them, sat up and put his arms around her, then kissed her softly on the forehead, the eyes, the nose and, finally, the lips. He pulled up a corner of the sheet, wiped her hands with it, then leaned back while, giggling, she mopped up the mess on his belly and in his pubic hair. Then he had her lie face down on the bed and sat beside her, tracing a zigzag path with his fingers from the nape of her neck, down her back, over her buttocks and down the backs of her legs to her feet, and up again between her legs to the warm-wet sweetness of her most secret place. He turned her over, traced the same kind of path with his lips from throat to nipples, across her belly and further down, and she spread her legs and moaned as he dipped his head between them and slipped his tongue again into her pussy. After a while he raised his head, licked his way back up her body and kissed her on the lips. Susana shuddered as his probing fingers found another love-button. “Lick me some more,” she whispered. “Please. Do me more.” She put a hand on his head, urged it down her body, shuddered again as his tongue slipped into her crack, slithered over her clitoris and stabbed at the half-sealed entrance to her vagina. She closed her eyes, and her legs twitched while a series of near-electric shocks passed through her body. As the pressure built within her, Susana reached for him, her fingers caressing his back, his belly, then circling his now-flaccid prick, tugging insistently until he moved over her, his tongue still flicking at her quivering clitoris, his knees to either side of her head and his cock hanging directly over her face. She poked out her tongue and licked him, tasting the drying sperm on the tip of his cock. Then she flung her arms around his back and suddenly, somehow, it was in her mouth. Older, worldly-wise girlfriends had talked about this, giggling, nudging each other and slyly watching her reactions. The very idea had repelled her. Now, however, it seemed perfectly natural, and she cuddled tighter, lifting her head off the bed and purring with passion as his prick began to stiffen again between her lips. He moaned, and a fresh thrill swept through her body as his tongue stabbed at her cunt and his bottom lip vibrated against her clitoris. He began to hump his hips, fucking her face, and she worked eagerly on him, guided by instinct, licking, pressing and sucking. Then he was rolling over, his own lips and tongue still busy between her legs as he flopped on to his back and pulled her on top of him. Susana lifted her head off his cock, moved so that she was kneeling astride his chest, and pushed her crotch at his face. “Do more,” she said, and gasped as he spread the lips of her cunt with his thumbs and began nipping at the burning bud of her clitoris. His tool jerked and flopped against his belly, and she leaned forward and once again slurped it into her mouth. Now that she was in control she began to experiment, raising her head so that only the very tip was between her lips, teasing with her tongue, then slowly working her way down the shaft until her mouth was full of him. Up, down, in, out, and all the time his prick seemed to be growing harder and bigger, longer and thicker, and his tongue lapping at her cunt was causing tiny shockwaves that seemed to run right through her body and burst in sparks behind her eyeballs. Up, down, in, out, faster, deeper. He began to writhe beneath her, and she found herself shaking uncontrollably as he pressed his face harder into her cunt, his cunning tongue jabbing, probing, stabbing, sliding sensuously over every surface and into every crevice. Up, down, up, down, her busy lips and tongue on autopilot now and all of her conscious attention centred on the fire Neil was stoking in her crotch. Then she was coming, and she pressed back hard into his face as the shocks merged into a blinding flash of silver sparks in her head. She cried out, the sound smothered by the rigid pole of flesh in her mouth, as wave after giant wave of orgasm reared up, broke, and came crashing down on the sunswept beach of her body. When she regained her senses he was still licking at her, his tongue slithering up and down her crack and stabbing at her swollen clit. His cock was still in her mouth, and now he was humping his hips, heaving himself up to drive deeper and deeper on every one of her downstrokes. Suddenly he tensed, and somehow his cock seemed to swell even more, stretching her lips to the limit and boring even deeper into her mouth. Up, down, up, down, and he threw his arms over her buttocks, cuddled her tight and thrashed his head from side to side in her crotch. His cock jerked once, twice, and then exploded, flooding her mouth with warm, salty fluid. Susana choked, swallowed, and went on sucking. There was more sperm, a strange mixture of faint, indefinable flavors that numbed her mouth, and she swallowed again, pulling at his twitching tool with her lips and tongue to milk him dry. He moaned with pleasure, plunged his tongue once again into her pussy and they came together, clinging tightly to each other and thrashing about on the bed until neither of them had any more to give. Finally, she rolled off and lay panting on her back. Neil sat up, turned around and lay beside her. He slipped an arm beneath her shoulders and pulled her to him. They kissed, then slept. Three days later, at lunch in the park with people all around them, he went down on his knees at her feet and formally asked her to marry him. The little box he proffered turned out to contain what may have been the smallest solitaire diamond ever set in a ring, and she thought it the most beautiful piece of jewellery she had ever seen. She wore it proudly back to the office, and no one dared comment on the size of the stone. Nor, ever again, did any of them say anything — at least in front of her — about the supposed size of Neil’s equipment. Her parents were horrified. In accordance with custom she had been “promised” to a remote cousin since she was 14. That was not a real problem — the promise could be broken without shame, and in any case he wouldn’t want her if she was no longer a virgin. They couldn’t believe she was still intacta, and she had to submit to examination by her grandmother. The result of the examination mollified her father a little. What was more worrying was Neil’s age (he was actually three or four months older than Susana’s mother), the fact that she had kept his existence secret from them, and the Really Big Issue — he was white! They discussed it for two days, during which she wasn’t allowed to leave the house, and were no closer to agreement when Neil turned up and brought the whole thing to a head. Everyone — brothers, sisters, grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins — crowded into the house to watch and listen as he asked her father for her hand in marriage. He answered all their questions politely, quietly and confidently. In a little more than an hour and a half he had won them over and Susana didn’t even have to play her trump card — that she would get pregnant and then they would HAVE to let her marry him. After their betrothal feast the following weekend, she moved in with him. That was entirely her idea — Neil was willing to wait, months if necessary, until they were properly married, but Susana wanted it all and she wanted it NOW. The last guest was barely out the door before she dragged him to bed and literally overpowered him with the full force of her instinctive, driving sexuality. She cried out more in triumph than in pain when he deflowered her, and they fucked until dawn, then slept for four hours and started again. Hours later, as she lay bathed in sweat in the crook of his arm and toyed absently with his exhausted tool, he wanted to know if she was really sure. After all, he said, she was very young and he was her first love. For himself, he said, he had no doubts at all, but he would understand if she wanted to hold off on marriage for a while, play the dating game and maybe taste the fruit in someone else’s garden before taking the final step. She kissed him to shut him up, told him not to be silly, swore eternal love and slithered down the bed to lick him back into shape. They fucked again. Afterwards he held her face in his hands and looked earnestly into her eyes, vowed that in spite of his notorious past she was now and forever hence the only woman in his life, but that he fully expected her eventually to develop an itch for a younger lover. She protested, and he hushed her with a kiss. In 10 years or so, he said, he’d be pushing 50 and she’d be regretting not having sown her wild oats. When that happened, he said, as he was sure it would, he hoped she would trust him enough to tell him, and not go sneaking around behind his back. That, he said, was what had killed his first marriage — he could have handled the infidelity but he couldn’t stomach the lies. Susana cuddled him, told him he was talking twaddle, and soothed him to sleep. They were married three weeks later and she had been faithful to him ever since. Until Peter . . .