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Page 13.
 I mouthed her Venus mound and moved my tongue up around the shaft of her clitoris. As I played with her clitoral hood, her clit swelled and began to bulge out. She hissed with agonized pleasure as I touched it with the tip of my tongue. She hissed loudly, and stiffened, as I carefully worked my tongue around and around the mushroom bud of her clit. It waggled stiffly on its stem, so erect was it. She began moaning loudly, as if in pain. It sounded as if a large cat were wailing in the room, over and over again, the same tones.
When her clitoris was fully erect, almost like a little bone, I could work my tongue in behind the head and into her clitoral hood. Only for a second, though—because now she came. And how she came. She reared up, tilting her face back, and groaned loudly. Then a bellow. And a soft, declining wail. Her entire body stiffened. Ripples like ocean waves streaked back and forth through her stomach muscles. I had my mouth fully on her clit, suctioning it as she moved her rear back and forth in sharp motions. I lost my grip on her clit. At the same time she threw herself forward, off me, so that she could reach down and get her fingers on her clit and furiously massage herself to the end point of her climax.
Then she covered herself protectively down here with the same fingers while she lay breathing hard. "Oh, baby," she gasped finally. "That was good. You need something, baby. You need a reward and I have just what you need." She turned on her back and invited me to the good old missionary position. Knees parted, and fingers holding her vagina open, and purred: "Come here, baby, come inside. Get in here, baby, enjoy this good oyster. Come on, honey, get that thick dick in here so I can feel you inside me. You deserve some good candy and I have it here for you."
I got in there and rode on her like she was the ocean. It was tight in there, and my fish swam with it like a minnow in a drinking straw. She lightly slapped my buttocks and played with me. Her palms slapped loudly but painlessly on my butt cheeks—left, right, left, right—as if she were playing tambourine. "You have dimples there," she crowed, and drew circles in the sides of my buttocks with her long fingernails.
She lay under me, an Amazon, mighty and glowing, proud to have me on her breasts and under her smile. It is the only time I have ever come several times in rapid succession. I was limp by the time she was ready for the really big one. "Honey," she said, "I've worn you out." She rolled me on my back and started kissing me from my forehead on down, and from my toes on up. I couldn't move. "You are like a rag doll, baby. Was the ride that hard on you?" Then she came to my dick. "Oh, but look, your other half is still hard as a rock. Does it hurt, baby? Is it sore?" She flopped it gently between her palms and studied my facial reaction. I shook my head. "Go for it," I gasped.
She swung around and come down on me oyster first. I pulled a pillow down under my head so I could watch with ease. I rested my hands on her strong thighs and smooth knees as she rocked up and down. "I'm not too heavy for you?" She wasn't. Even sitting on me with those glorious cocoa cheeks, she was really light. Hard, athletic, but light.
Her stomach was flat with a slight scar running diagonally from some long-ago injury. Her belly button was a large innie stretched laterally in this position. Her breasts swung slowly while she supported herself with her hands on the sheets on either side of me. As her tight oyster rode up and down, I slowly found myself stiffening again. I had been hard, but now I was getting stiff.
I reached out with interest for her long, swinging tits. She breathed harder as she saw my renewed interest. She liked having her titties sucked, and leaned forward. She closed her eyes with pleasure as I pulled her heavy tits to my mouth and licked the nipples alternately. I did this languidly because I was too worn and lazy to do much more. She was an aggressive woman when she wanted something, and now she was reaching for that final gigantic orgasm so she could once again become the sweet little violinist and the quiet librarian standing with her books amid the stained glass light. She reached down and spread her hand over her clit, with my dick between her middle fingers. Everything she did to her clit, I felt on my shaft. "I'm getting so wet," she said. "I hope you can still feel me." I nodded. "Not to worry," I said, "it feels like heaven." And she said: "Oh good. That's nice." She rubbed steadily, faster, harder, turning her hand slightly so the ball of her index finger caught the tip of her clitoris from different angles. She liked to talk, and muttered softly: "Feels like I'm raining on you, baby. I can feel the juice sliding down your peepee from inside my vagina. Does it feel nice?" "Oh yes," I whispered as I started to become passionate again. I put my hands on her shoulders, then down her arms, and pulled her face down so our mouths entwined. She was breathing too hard, babbling too much, couldn’t get her breath if we tongue-locked, though she tried, dear girl, she tried to get her tongue down in my mouth, but she ended up raising her face up for air. "Oh sweetie," she said, "oh sweetie, what you are doing to me, baby."
I began to thrust with my groin, slowly at first. Each time, she moaned. She kept sliding her hand in these little figure eights that made her palm glide over her wet clitoris. Then she'd curve her hand so fingers entered her oyster. This pinched my dick a bit because her hole was so tight, and she eased up. I helped her though, by leaning down and sliding one finger up her oyster beside my dick.
That seemed to please her because she made these jerky little nodding motions. Her lips spoke soundlessly. Her breath came in gasps. Her supporting arm strained under her weight, while her oyster arm moved faster, and her fingers slid back and forth around the root of my dick. "Let me help you, baby," I said, and gently tilted her so she fell on her side, off that supporting arm. I reached down and hooked my hand under her knee. I pulled her leg up to me, opening up her underside for her. She reached down—one hand in front, the other in back—and worked her vagina from both ends. She slid two fingers on each hand in and out with my dick in between. I started @ing her from the side, and now she said: "I'm almost there. Peter. Don't stop. Keep it up. @ me, baby. @ me, Peter. @ me. @ me. @ me."
She kept up this mantra, trembling from the fast and wild exertions of her hands, until the great orgasm hit like a storm. I @ed her as hard as I could, hearing the slam of my hips against the solid weight of her basin. She slammed back with that great athletic body, and our flesh made slapping, slamming, wet noises that echoed under the white ceiling. "Give it to me," she cried. Then she reared up, higher and higher, in huge spasms, like a drowning person, pressing her dark tits into my face. Suddenly it was over. She collapsed and lay limp beside me. I stroked her back slowly and gently. It took a few minutes for her to regain her normal breathing composure. With a great sigh of relief and satisfaction, she grasped my dick and balls in her palm as if her hand were a jock strap. With her other hand she pushed my hair back out of my face and raised herself just enough to kiss me sweetly. Brushing my hair with her fingers, she whispered: "That was nice." We had many a lunch date like this until, as happens in life, she or I met someone new and moved on. I think her next man was a wealthy black banker with fine, subdued suits and gold rings and a sunny smile, who worked hard to win her love and then took her somewhere out west, where I imagine she stands before a white wall overlooking the Pacific Ocean and playing her violin.
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