John C Douglas

Wild cherry

CHAPTER ONE

Like most teenagers, Kitty was eager for sex but afraid-after she was introduced to its excitement she became the neighborhood femme fatale!

"Don't answer it, Steve!"

Glenda Walling's words were muffled, drifting up from between our naked bodies like little puffs of supersaturated steam. They sprayed my left nipple with their hot wetness, then floated upward to blend with the sounds of coital fusion and the insistent jangle of the telephone.

The words were also a little strained, which was not at all surprising when you consider Glenda's position at that moment and the fact that I was ramming nine inches of prick in and out of her awkwardly placed cunt.

We were on the king-sized water bed in my apartment, Glenda on her back with her statuesque legs shoved up and back until the slender ankles formed an erotic frame for her disheveled hair, and her delightfully tight pussy was elevated at least two feet above the bed's obscene undulations.

Suspended above her contorted body, I was braced on both arms, my fingers clutching her ankles to maintain the angle of her juicy slit, fucking her with a rhythm dictated by the searing waves of pleasure that tore through my tightening balls with every delicious slide.

Since my chest was directly over her face, Glenda had unhesitatingly started licking my tit, finally covering the small circle with her wet lips and providing the full treatment. Like everything else she did, the action seemed designed to satisfy her own desire, rather than something she was doing for my benefit.

When the phone rang, I came to a pelvic halt with my cock rammed hard against her womb. For Glenda, this provided the opportunity to exercise those highly trained vaginal muscles and she began a powerful flexing which made me groan each time the hot pressure rippled up the length of my prick.

Ever screw a woman with a cunt that rippled?