She swept my hand easily aside and turned her face away, stiff-arming me back into my place. “Lloyd, no!” Angela was clearly upset, but still in command of herself and the situation.
I stared at her in stark incomprehension. “No?”
“I invited you here tonight to salute you and feed you, Lloyd — not to have sex!” She was trembling now, herself. “I am not that kind of woman.”
“You’re all that kind of woman!” I shouted, and began struggling to reach her.
Physically, she had nothing to fear from me; emotionally, anger started to displace her initial disbelief. Angela shouted, “NO!” and slapped me, hard.
“YES!” I raged, and waves of emotion fueled by loss, rage, humiliation, and lust channeled through my mind’s eye and crashed down on her like a ton of bricks. Mentally, it was more like a ton of flashing, razor-edged knives.
I wasn’t consciously directing anything, but my raw ability hadn’t faded any after years of disuse. Any inhibitions I might have felt were buried beneath raw emotion and a bitter sense that all my past attempts at self-restraint had ended badly. I didn’t show any restraint at all, that evening.
The tangled ball of Angela’s mind thrashed as if the individual strands of her consciousness were unraveled simultaneously in place and then stretched in differing directions, somehow forming two almost independent but interwoven tangles, before the sparkles forming them began to flare under the pressure of my intent.
I wanted a slut, a wanton sex object who would always be ready for my attentions, craving my touch, and loyal beyond all doubt or distraction. Not a slave, exactly, but a partner whose most focused desire would be my own gratification by whatever means necessary. If I felt even a passing desire to take her, she would be ready. The living incarnation of every adolescent boy’s unwaking wet dream and carnal fantasy.
Both of us screamed. What Angela felt, I didn’t know, but the mother of all headaches seemed to hit me like lightning, and the sparkles of her mind were eclipsed by the stars appearing in my vision, just before I passed out.
My senses were out of kilter when I finally decided I was awake. Keeping my eyes closed seemed to reduce the intensity of the headache, and allowed me to concentrate on the pleasure I was receiving. My first thought was that Susan was blowing me; that we’d stolen away again to the lumpy couch in the ladies’ washroom for a quickie. She was all frantic desire, without the quiet, assured confidence that Alex had developed after decades of learning more about my body than I knew myself.
Belatedly I understood that framing the comparison at all meant it couldn’t be either of them, and I forced my aching eyes open. Angela knelt between my legs, worshipping my organ with an intensity of purpose that showed in every line of her body. The sight of this fantasy realized brought me to full rigidity.
Angela stood, revealing her sweatpants and underwear already were missing. My eyes drank in the arousing contours of her young body, pausing briefly at the traces of semen glistening near her neatly groomed bush. Wearing only the tee shirt and socks, she quickly knelt atop me and guided my erection into her pussy.
We both moaned at the exquisite sensation, and Angela quickly looked up at my face. Seeing that I was awake, she gave a cry of delight and leaned forward to kiss me aggressively. “Master!” she cooed a moment later.
“Don’t call me that,” I blurted, feeling the word jab at my guilty conscience.
She started and pulled back slightly, suddenly looking as if she might cry. “Don’t you find me pleasing?”
“Don’t stop! Oh, you’re extremely pleasing; just — not that word. I’m nobody’s master, least of all yours.”
The smile reappeared instantly. “Whatever you say,” she agreed, and began to work herself on me again. Angela’s expression suggested she was pandering to some beloved, but addled, elder — not a bad analogy — but became by turns more self-absorbed as our excitement crested higher.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cum more than once in a day, but years of abstinence coupled with the sight — and feel — of Angela’s wild abandon were pushing me to the edge again. “Oh, you hot fucking slut,” I gasped, not bothering with any self-censorship at this point.
As if my words were goads, Angela began panting. “Oh, fuck! Fill me up with your cock! I am your slut! Oh! OH! Ohmygod!”
She was too much for me, and I felt my penis throb as I orgasmed the remaining dregs of my scum into her. Angela screamed her delight at the same time, orgasming so wildly she put out a hand to grip the futon and keep from falling over. Part of me suspected it wasn’t a coincidence, but the rest of me was having too much fun watching to give it any thought.
Angela pulled herself off me and watched, entranced, as commingled lubrication and jism glistened along the entire length of my deflating manhood. She reached out to grasp me, but I shooed her away.
“Go easy on an old man! You don’t want to break it, do you?”
“More,” she pleaded, with the air of a five-year-old in a candy store.
I couldn’t help laughing. “We’ll see! First, I’d like to see more of you.”
Angela stood without artifice, but with innate grace, and faced me. She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. A toss of her head arranged her hair behind her shoulders, and she was already removing the simple cotton bra she wore.
My mouth went dry looking at her. I knew what Angela looked like fully clothed, but some women were expert at using garments to accentuate their good points and obscure those that weren’t so good. She hadn’t struck me as that type, but it was clear her body didn’t need any help at all in that regard. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I wasn’t going to end the night at this point!
I stood up, and discovered my pants were still puddled around my ankles. Happy I’d worn loafers, I managed to free my feet without killing myself. A few steps brought me within reach of Angela. Gingerly, I reached out to cup a breast; it was warm, soft, and I felt the nipple erect itself against the palm of my hand. Angela’s lips parted in an unaspirated sigh, and her body melted against mine. Well, against my flannel shirt and cardigan, anyway.
“Damn shirt,” I muttered, and withdrew my hand to start unbuttoning it.
Angela brushed my hands gently aside. “Let me,” she offered. Her fingers were deft, and didn’t miss a single opportunity to touch and stroke my body. When she finished peeling my undershirt over my head, we were pressed against each other with our outstretched arms entwined.
My cock was thinking about rising to the occasion a third time. I left it to fend for itself, sandwiched against a toned hip, and pulled Angela tighter against me. I kissed her again, and this time she reacted passively, parting her lips and allowing my tongue to explore her mouth as I chose.
“Where’s your bed?” I asked, finally, and watched Angela’s eyes light up.
She nearly danced across the room, walking on tip-toe, and I followed behind, watching the flex and sway of her tight ass. “Have you ever had anal sex?” I wondered.
“Oh, no,” Angela replied, turning to glance over her shoulder at me. She didn’t look disgusted or scared; she sounded excited. “You’ll be my first,” she husked, echoing my thoughts. With an air of unconcern, she added, “Will it hurt?”
“It shouldn’t,” I reassured her — or myself — as we entered the bedroom. “Do you have some Vaseline or some other lubricant?”
Angela nodded eagerly. “I’ll be right back!”
I looked around the bedroom after she left. Stacks of textbooks sat on a small desk, along with other (relatively) untidy debris from school. The bed was occupied by a doll wearing a presumably home-made camouflage uniform, and a teddy bear; I moved them to the floor, telling myself there was no point in half measures or remorse at this late date.
With a short sigh, I closed my eyes and focused inward. It was a little disorienting, but I looked at my own mind. From my vantage, the tangles were more complex and clearer than those of other people, if equally impenetrable. The difference was that, stroking ever so lightly here and there, I could feel the feedback of insubstantial phantom fingers walking across the outside and inside of my body.
Finally, it felt like I’d found the right place and I pressed. The result was pretty much like blowing into an inflation valve attached to my cock; it obediently rose and hardened, while my vision greyed and I reeled slightly. I’d regret it in the morning, but I had a lot of things to regret already, and one more wouldn’t matter that much. When I opened my eyes, Angela was standing in the doorway, a jar of Vaseline in her hand and an expression of delight on her face.
There were a couple ways to do this, but I chose the one that pleased me best. “Good girl! Work some of that up into your ass, and loosen yourself up a little. Feel free to touch yourself, too. Show off.”
Angela popped the cap off the Vaseline and dipped a finger into it. She turned so was facing somewhat away from me, but could still watch my reaction. I watched with excited interest as she reached carefully between her buns and touched the rosebud of her virgin ass. There was a brief moment of hesitation, and then her arm twitched and a look of introspection appeared on her face.
I leaned back against the pillows on the bed, resting my back. I was tempted to touch myself, but it seemed better to hold off — I didn’t know what I really had left in the tank at that point. I did know I wasn’t going to waste myself on my hand, when I had Angela.
Her hand reappeared, and she coated a second finger. “I want you,” Angela complained, although she was working both fingers into her back door at the same time. She set down the Vaseline and began using the other hand to touch herself in front. “I am so fucking wet for you, I can’t believe it!” Angela’s hips rocked slightly in rhythm with her probing fingers, and a look of frustrated desire crept onto her face. “Oh please, I don’t care if I’m ready or not!” Her nipples looked like rocks and moisture beaded on her inner thighs.
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