“My turn,” she husked as she pushed me away. Susan poured out a little more of her brandy, this time directly on my erect penis, and then drained her glass. She tossed her hair back and it was my turn to moan as she bent and took the tip of my organ in her mouth.
My hips rotated of their own accord, trying to drive my cock deeper into Susan’s mouth. I’d gone perhaps an inch more when she shrieked — muffled by my flesh — and sat up to look at me. I was concerned I’d offended her or gone further than she’d intended, but that didn’t seem to be the problem.
“What did you do to me?” she asked, looking me in the face with wild eyes before dropping her gaze to my crotch. I had no answer, but apparently it wasn’t needed; she hunched over and engulfed me again, this time sucking me in so deep I heard her start to gag. Susan backed off, but only so she could go down on my full length again.
The feeling was incredible. I’d had a girl take me in her mouth before, but it had been nothing like this, and with nowhere near the same enthusiasm. I started bucking back, and we settled into a fast rhythm. I could barely believe this gorgeous girl was servicing me this way; I tangled my fingers in her hair, but I could hardly drive her faster or harder than she was going on her own.
When her rhythm broke down and I realized Susan was climaxing, I couldn’t help blowing my load down her throat. She sat up, coughing, and we both tried to catch our breath.
“Oh, my,” Susan choked. She coughed once more, and then fastidiously wiped an errant drop of semen from her lip and examined me. “I never knew — is it like that for everybody?”
“I don’t think so,” I admitted sheepishly. “You seemed to enjoy it a lot.”
“It was almost as good as getting fucked,” she told me with a gleam in her eye. “The feel of you going into me, it was — well, orgasmic. I want more.”
We both looked down at my deflating penis. I’d already cum three times that evening, which was normally about my limit.
“Please fuck me again, Lloyd.”
I proceeded to make perhaps the stupidest decision of my life, before or after. Whether it was the lure of a beautiful vixen, hormones, the liquor, my own hubris, or more likely a combination of all of them, I closed my eyes and focused inward.
Forgetting that I’d admitted to myself that I had nearly no control or understanding of my ability, and glossing over any distinction between mental desire and physical aptitude, I sank into the glow of my own mind. I thought about my hard organ, the way it felt sinking into Susan, desire for her and Alexandra, and every girl that had ever prompted an erection, and tried to find that peculiar twist that could propel those thoughts.
The next thing I remember was lying flat on the floor with Susan leaning over me asking, “Lloyd! Are you all right?”
I looked down the length of her fire-lit body from her hanging jugs to the hidden juncture of her thighs, above my jutting tool. “Oh yeah,” I said, ignoring the return of my headache, and grabbed for her.
“Oh no you don’t!” she giggled, eluding me. “I left my condoms upstairs!”
We raced back to my room, laughing, and if Susan let herself be caught just short of the bed, I recovered enough to wait for her to cover my throbbing meat with a condom before throwing her backwards onto the bed and covering her. There was no finesse, but she was so wet that none was needed; I sank into her like a hot knife in butter.
We rutted like animals. Susan moaned and shrieked her way through another wracking orgasm, but like a machine my cock remained stubbornly rigid; there just wasn’t enough sensation through the condom. I wanted to be inside her, flesh to flesh. All the same, the point of the condoms hadn’t completely escaped me.
Abruptly, I pulled out of Susan and stripped off the condom.
“What are you doing?” Susan panted.
“Something different,” I told her. “I need more sensation.” I grabbed the tube of Brylcreem from my nightstand and squeezed a generous amount into my hand, then began coating my cock with it.
“I don’t want to get pregnant,” Susan protested half-heartedly. I probably could have just fucked her and she would have let me, but my mind was on a different path by that point.
“You can’t get knocked up this way,” I assured her, kneeling on the bed. “Have you ever had anything up your ass before?” I rolled her. She started kicking and screaming, but I had the advantages of surprise, size, and position. My cock was harder than a tire iron as I pressed it between her cheeks and began forcing myself into her tight anus.
It was the sensation I was looking for. I pressed harder, burying myself deeper inside her. Susan was lying quietly now, crying, but I didn’t need her active participation. I pulled nearly all the way free and then reversed my stroke.
“You bastard,” she sobbed, but her butt rose to meet me as I skewered her again. I smiled and picked up the pace. A few minutes later I’d hauled her to her hands and knees, making it easier to fondle her tits, and we were both pounding away with abandon. I finally climaxed, but not before Susan had shuddered and nearly collapsed beneath me from the force of her own orgasm.
“Don’t ever force me again,” Susan told me flatly after I pulled out and she could roll onto her side to look at me.
I ducked my head guiltily. “I’m sorry, honestly. I think I screwed us both up a little bit.” She was looking at my cock, which was still hard, and seemed to force herself to look up.
“I can’t pretend I didn’t like it, by the end. Just remember I’m not your toy.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Can you fix things?”
“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “You want to get cleaned up first? This is sort of…” My voice trailed off.
Susan gave me a small smile. “I’d like that. I feel unclean.”
I led her to the bathroom and dug an extra set of towels out of the linen cupboard. “Do you want to go first?”
She considered. “How’s the hot water supply?”
“You won’t have a problem,” I answered. The least I could do was avoid mentioning that the second shower might be problematic if I wasn’t quick. My self-induced lust, or whatever it was, was fading and I felt increasingly bad about raping Susan — there really was no other way to describe what had happened.
“Come in with me,” she decided, “you’re already naked.” I hesitated, and she reached out and hauled me to the tub. “Don’t be an idiot. I forgive you.”
What followed was a lot of soaping and fondling, followed by a stand-up ass-fuck when Susan lowered herself gingerly onto my revived tool. We both orgasmed again, Susan more colorfully than I, and we just had time to clean ourselves before the fading water temperature chased us back to my bed.
We snuggled together under the blankets and quilt, this time face-to-face. “I just wanted us to both enjoy sex,” I explained to Susan. “I’m not sure if I can reverse it or not.”
She gently kissed me. “I trust you, Lloyd. Still. Just do your best — if nothing happens, well, I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the glow of her mind. I watched it swirl and pulse, resistant to my cautious attempts, but kept trying. At some point, I fell asleep.
Alexandra swayed before me, her hair swirling gracefully in a breeze I couldn’t feel, her body barely concealed beneath a filmy negligee. I moved towards her, naked and rampantly erect, and her ruby red lips formed an “O” of awe as she admired my manhood.
Neither of us shifted position, but somehow she was lying on a bed or large couch and I hovered over her. I drifted closer, the tip of my organ pushing white fabric before it into her sex. She pulled at her nightgown, the sodden material forcing me out, but I pressed it back in again. We embraced, locking our bodies together, and she breathed, “Lloyd,” in my ear as our hips thrust against each other.
I woke as my balls clenched and I jetted into Susan. She had her face buried in a pillow, which served to muffle her shrieks of ecstasy so only I could hear them.
“Good morning,” she greeted me with a wide smile after dropping the pillow.
“Good morning,” I replied, followed a moment later by, “oh, God,” as my mind stumbled into action. I didn’t know what to be panicked about first. It was light out, the Wagners surely must be awake, the bedsprings weren’t muffled, I’d just cum inside Susan, and I hadn’t succeeded in changing us back.
“No, just Susan,” she quipped, disengaging herself from my cock. She relieved one of my anxieties by removing a condom from my erection and discarding it out the side of the bed.
“I wasn’t able to do anything last night,” I confessed.
Susan’s hand tightened about me. “I gathered as much; we’ll both live.” She flashed a grin and disappeared beneath the covers; a moment later I felt her mouth sucking on my heated flesh.
The mental picture of her servicing me this way reignited my carnal desires. My dick felt a bit raw, but jabbing it into Susan until her nose nestled near my balls felt even better. I felt for her body and started fingering her sopping pussy, not that she really needed it, and suddenly it seemed we were in a quiet race to see who could make the other climax first.
I lost, exhaling explosively but silently as yet more sperm jetted into Susan. I didn’t lose by much, though, as a fingernail against her clit set off Susan so explosively I thought she might bite through my cock. Luckily, I and the covers muffled her quite effectively.
Her head reappeared a moment later. “Good morning again,” she whispered, and pushed her tousled hair out of her face.
“Yes it is,” I grinned, and kissed her. She tasted of sperm, but I knew it was mine, and that she’d take me again if I wanted. My cock pulsed slightly, no longer eager to perform, but able to if called upon. Then reality set in again. “The Wagners! How are we going to get you out of here?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Susan giggled.
“Oh, thanks,” I muttered, climbing out of the bed and realizing the floor around it was littered with torn-open wrappers and used condoms.
I pulled on some briefs to hide my distracting cock and started picking up the debris. The bedroom door opened and closed behind me, nearly giving me a heart attack, but I realized Susan had gone to the bathroom. That probably would be safe; usually Mr. Wagner would be reading the paper and Mrs. Wagner would be puttering in the kitchen. It was unsettling to realize I couldn’t remember if we’d left the door open or closed the previous night, but I pushed the thought from my mind.
Leave a Reply