AMATEUR XXX STORIES

-

ALPHABETICAL SEX STORY LISTINGS:

A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - I - J - K - L - M - N - O - P - Q - R - S - T - U - V - W - X - Y - Z

Picture This



-- oOo --

P I C T U R E T H I S



-- oOo --



by

Mary Jorsay Gandmar

maryjg@finebody.com

(c) 1999



JERRY ANTHONY GONSALVES, Goan Christian, resident of Bandra

(West), Bombay, hunched over his keyboard, fingers flying, the

keys clicking softly. A movement past his little white-surfaced

cubicle and he looks up sidelong and feels that quick stab in his

gut, the sudden wrench and lurch, a stirring beneath.

He knows her name, just the name: Veronica. Not the surname or

anything else about her except that she is Front Office,

telephone, reception, despatch and, he believes, now Personal

Secretary to the CEO. He tries to turn back to his machine,

cannot. She's using the fax. She stacks the papers in the slot,

flings her chiffon *dupatta* over her shoulder, punches the

numbers and waits for the handshake. Her manner is relaxed, one

hand on a hip thrust sideways, the fingers curled into the palm,

the body's weight supported on the other, outstretched arm, that

palm on the counter below the fax machine, fingers drumming as she

waits.

She seems unaware of his eyes on her and he lingers. She is dusky,

slender, about five foot five. Others think of her as rather

plain; to his eyes, she is irresistibly alluring. Her lips are

lovely, full and soft and slightly moist. She has dark eyes she

lines with *kajal*. Her teeth are very white, the two front teeth

a tad larger than the others. Her face is an oval, but a shade too

flat. Her nose is small, delicate - actually unremarkable. She

keeps her dark, springy hair to the middle of her spine, and keeps

it drawn back. Her neck is slender as are her fingers, delicately

shaped, well-kept, no nail polish and certainly none of that

ragged last-week's-polish-I-forgot-to-take-off look. She wears

some rings, different ones, no wedding band, a gold bracelet

watch.

She often dresses Indian, not just the western garments favoured

by the old-world Catholics like his mother and Aunt Maude (and no

crucifix at the neck either, he notices), a *salvar-khameez* or

some such.

Today she's wearing one in dark purple, a colour that goes well on

her skin. It has three quarter length sleeves and very slight

imprint pattern, dark on dark. The neck has a low enough cut for

him to see a shadow of her cleavage and, from its tight cut, he

notices - not for the first time - that her breasts are large,

high, full. Her belly is flat and her hips and buttocks neatly

curved. Gold hoop earrings, her finger-rings, her gold chain are

her only jewellery.

She is a compact, tidy little morsel and he wants her. The fax

whines.

His erection rages. He forces his head away, drifting with it.

It's late, and it's the monsoon (in Bombay, it doesn't just

*rain*). The city is sleek, bright black, light from the shops and

buildings spilling onto slick streets. It actually manages to look

good like this. It's coming down harder, umbrellas turn inside

out, the struggling owners drenched, women fighting fabric on two

fronts, the umbrella above and the petulant *sari* that flaps

upward below.

The office has closed, many left early, the water floods the train

tracks and the bus routes. It takes twice as long getting home and

to the ritual assault of sweat in nylon armpits suspended from

swaying straps is now added the dankness of wet clothing.

Jerry and Veronica are among the stragglers. She is stilling got a

stack of filing before her he sees as he peers round his cubicle

to where she sits, three carrels and fifteen feet away. He, too,

hasn't finished. The software code he is rewriting to meet their

internal Y2K deadline is giving him a headache. Some moron wrote

it a century ago and didn't bother to leave a manual. He doesn't

know how many more modules are stuck out on a limb, need to be

attended to. He has recommended, repeatedly, a trashing of this

archaic code for a newer application, Y2K compliant, but they're

cutting costs; and Jerry is in-house, salaried, and they don't

have to pay him by the hour, or even the day. He sighs, rubs his

eyes, saves, backs up, powers down. Tomorrow. One day closer to

the anticipated doom and miles to go.

Jerry collects his folding umbrella, his slim satchel, slips his

feet into his shoes and heads out. Pauses at her desk. She has a

huge folder in her lap, papers strewn all over her work surface,

staplers, a punch, pins and clips scattered. Two sheets held

between pursed lips as her fingers deftly unspring the levers of

the folder. Her fingers are so delicate, long, supple.

"Aren't you leaving?" Jerry asks. "It's very late."

Veronica smiles, a lovely smile that lights her eyes and shows her

teeth, taking the papers in her hand. "I know, but this will never

get done."

"Forget it. Do it tomorrow."

"I've got too much to do tomorrow."

"That's true of every day, isn't it?"

She laughs again. "Yes, I guess so."

"So why is this any different. Let it go. No need to kill yourself

over it. Besides, look at it coming down. It's going to take hours

getting home."

Veronica sighs. "Yeah, guess you're right." She looks at her

watch.

He notices a small, sexy spot just above her right jaw, before her

ear, partly concealed by a whisper of hair that snakes down the

side of her face and curls under her lobe. Her tongue flicks

across her lips. He wants to kiss her.

She begins putting away the papers and files, collects her small

shoulder handbag. Her feet are in open sandals. They'll be wet and

dirty before she gets home.

"Train?" he asks as they step out and take the elevator down the

three floors.

"Mostly but it's very late so I'll be taking the 83-84-86 bus."

That's his route. "Where do you stay?"

She looks a little shy, he finds it even more appealing. "Mahim,"

she says.

That's a stop before his, Bandra. "Oh, I'm at Bandra," he says.

"Same bus." And then, "Funny how come we've never seen each other

on the bus, no?"

She smiles, doesn't answer. She *has* seen him, often enough, but

she's always waited for the next one or got off or slunk into the

back out of sight. She knows where he stays, she's seen his

records - she does the filing, after all - and she knows the

place. But he scares her. He scares her because of the way he

makes her feel.

She knows exactly what is happening. It's happened before, and

always ended in disaster, or near-disaster and a lot of pain

within. She isn't prepared for it again, not so soon after the

last time. But he holds her, this one, she can't seem to flush him

as much as she tries.

He reminds her of the first, he was the best. If he hadn't gone

off to America and there married that dirty whore ... Veronica

pushes the thought back. She is very conscious of Jerry beside

her, feels flushed. They step out of the elevator, cross the

little hall and pause. The torrent continues outside and there is

a cascade over the eaves that blocks all sight of the street, a

curtain of water.

They hesitate. Veronica looks at him, feels a quick jump inside

her. Jerry is tall, lean, strong. Broad shoulders, a flat belly,

none of that middle flab, a wide chest; clean-shaven and square

jawed with smiling eyes and a wide mouth. He wears a simple shirt
without pleats, a single breast pocket, a quiet tie, dark

trousers, well cut. His voice is quiet, always quiet, he never

loses his temper. She knows he is bright and clever. She knows he

likes her, she's felt his eyes roving over her. He hasn't noticed

her eyeing him and thinking about him, recalling the pleasanter

memories of the others before.

They are standing very close and she can feel the heat of his

body. He is wearing a gentle cologne that appeals to her and her

nostrils flare suddenly. She forces the feeling down, her lips

parting with the effort.

He is so sexy. She wants to feel his ...

"Shall we?" He raises his voice over the din of the season.

They flick open their umbrellas and plunge into the street.

"Shit!" Jerry gasps.

Instantly, their umbrellas are whipped inside out, their feet are

ankle-deep in water. Waves of nearly horizontal rain blinding the

streetlights as the wind tears across, bending tall palm trees and

jerking off the plastic sheets over stalls and sheds.

Jerry and Veronica stumble back into the building, soaked to the

skin. Her clothes cling to her curves.

"We'll never make it to the bus stop," she murmurs.

He is hard put to keep his eyes off her, wants to grab her and

press her to him, jam his lips to hers, feel her breasts and then

... and doesn't know how she longs for it, too.

"Taxi? I'll pay. You're on my way."

"We won't find one," Veronica shakes her head.

"We can't spend the night here!"

*Why not*? Her mind cries. *Let's try! And this weather is an

excuse, isn't it*? Aloud, she says, "Okay."

Again, the wild rush and now they run to the taxi stand, there's

one waiting and without asking they dive in, slamming the door,

tossing their umbrellas on the floor. Water streams down their

faces.

"Where?" The taxi driver makes no move to start up. He wants to

refuse them, squeeze them for an extra fare.

"Bandra."

The cab guns the motor. Bandra is far enough away to make it worth

his while and the traffic will be backed up with his meter

ticking.

They have to roll up the windows, back and front. The rain gets

heavier still. The glasses begin to fog. This is India and the

taxi is a 50 year old model; ergo, no air-conditioning, no

defogging. It gets hot. He and Veronica have to sit close in the

middle of the back seat to avoid the drip from the windows. Jerry

takes off his tie, undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.

Visibility is next to nothing. They are crawling along, stop and

go, stop and go, seldom out of second gear. It takes them forty

five minutes to do three kilometres. They are going to be here all

night.

Jerry feels Veronica getting tense beside him. Her face is turned

away, her fingers twisting and untwisting nervously.

"Don't worry, we'll be okay," Jerry murmurs.

"I'm not worried," she says, and it's partly true. She likes being

confined in this small space with him, she likes it very much. His

knee is inches from hers, their shoulders are touching. She wants

to put her head on his shoulder, on his chest, slide her hand down

...

The cabbie has just a single wiper working, he can barely see. He

mutters under his breath, peering through the streaky glass.

Occasionally he wipes the inside of the windscreen to get rid of

the fogging. It doesn't help much, not for long anyway.

Jerry lifts his arm and stretches it across the back of the seat,

behind her head. Veronica tenses. Will he? *Come on! Do it! Touch

me!* She turns her face away from his.

Jerry is nervous, anxious, deeply aroused. He wants her hand on

his cock, then her mouth, then her cunt, then her ass, he wants

her. He is scared, too, doesn't want to blow it with a stupid

move. He doesn't know what she thinks.

He takes the plunge. Tentatively, cautiously, he bends his elbow

and drops his hand to her shoulder. Veronica doesn't move. Doesn't

push his hand away, doesn't move. Jerry feels a sense of relief

and exultation. Perhaps ... perhaps ...

He strokes her shoulder gently as though comforting her. She

remains with her face turned away, her hands in her lap, tries to

keep her breathing steady. Her breasts are swollen already, she

can feel the long nipples stiffening in her dark aureoles, feels

the dampness below. It's been so long, too long, since ... since

the *others*. She misses them suddenly, sorely, misses their

touch, their manner, each one different, each one wonderful but

the best was the first, the others were poor substitutes in her

quest to regain that first loss. She remembers them all, clearly,

each one, remembers how it felt when ...

Jerry's emboldened hand, fingers curled inward, is venturing

afield. The backs of his fingers brush the nape of her neck, her

cheek. Veronica stiffens; it is going to happen, she knows it now.

Still she is unsure, baulking because of the others and the loss

and the pain, not wanting it again.

His fingers ripple up her neck to her cheek, her ear. Her head is

turned away and his fingers move to them.

Veronica succumbs.

She presses his lips to her fingertips, opening them slightly,

moistening them with the tip of her tongue and, simultaneously,

her body presses closer to his and she puts her hand on his thigh

and closes her eyes and leans her head against his cheek and lets

herself slip.

Jerry's mind explodes, pinwheels of joyous anticipation. He does

not know how far he will be able to go, but it is a beginning, a

glorious one.

Veronica's lips part and she murmurs softly, sexily, her eyes

closed. Jerry looks down at her, deeply aroused, feeling tender

and protective and animal all at once. His fingers curl into the

little hollow at her throat, caress her face. She turns her head

this way and that against his hand, kissing his fingers. He cups

her face and turns it closer to his.

Still with her eyes closed, she lifts her arm, takes his under it,

under her *dupatta*, puts his hand on her breast and lifts her

mouth to his. Her lips flower under his, and Jerry's cock throbs

in monstrous excitement as he darts his own into her mouth. Her

breast is wonderful, full and heavy and he can feel the hardness

of her nipple. Her hand begins to slide up his thigh.

The cabbie grins to himself in the rear view mirror. This is good.

It takes the edge off. He wonders if she will suck him off, he had

that happen once.

In the back, their bodies are turned to one another's now, the

kiss lengthening, deepening, breaking, resuming, his hands on her

breasts, hers still nervous, tentatively on his upper thigh not

quite where either of them wants it to be. Her cunt is seeping now

and her breasts are swollen, on fire, she wants to feel his mouth

on them, wants to feel his cock in her hands, under her tongue, in

her lips, and then ... oh yes, especially and then ...

"*MOTHERFUCKER!*" The cabbie swears loudly, slams on the brakes,

the car slithers a bit and then, with a little thud rocks to a

stop. It is rocking oddly.

The two splinter apart in the back, instant worry on their faces.

The road ahead has disappeared.

Water from edge to edge, pavement to pavement, parked cars

bobbing, a bus stranded, a big truck skewed, dead, two other

taxis, other cars. The water is knee-deep, black, there are

manholes there, open ones, you could drown and it is waving,

pulsating, a thing alive.

Veronica cries out, looks down. Water is beginning to seep in

under the door. The engine dies. The cabbie cranks it. It

sputters, dies. He tries again, it doesn't turn over. He rolls

down the window, tries to open the door. Water floods the front,

spurts onto the floor at the back.

"Shit, we're stuck!" Jerry leans forward, peers through the fogged

glass.

Veronica rolls down her window. The road is cambered, higher on

her side than his, still flooded.

"God, what are we going to do?"

*Fucked if I know*, Jerry thinks, truly worried now. They are

miles from their homes, and if this is anything to go by, they

will never make it on foot. They need to get out of here, this

water is going to rise by the look of things.

"How much?" he asks the cabbie, who doesn't answer, concerned

about his only investment. "How much?"

The cabbie tells him, a figure twice normal. Jerry pulls out his

wallet, tosses it on the front seat, the fare and more, *keep the

change*.

"What ... what are you doing?" Veronica gasps as he grabs her

hand.

"Getting out," he mutters. "This water's going up, we have to get

out, *now*, come on, Veronica, let's go."

It's the first time he's said her name she realizes. She likes the

way he says it. No time for that now because he's pushing against

the water on his side.

"It's less here," she says. "It's lower this side!"

"Okay, move, move, move! Quick!"

He leans across her, heaves at the door. Her breasts press to his

arms and shoulders. No time for that, though, not now. Water pours

in, covers the floor.

"Out! C'mon, let's go!"

Veronica grabs her bag and umbrella and, nervously, puts her leg

out. It goes down in the water to the knee. She cries out,

stumbles. Jerry jumps out after her, grabs her, lifts her to the

divider, it's slightly higher, not much.

"What now?" she shouts above the rain, no need for umbrellas, they

are going to get wet anyway.

"This way! Follow me! Hold my hand!" he yells and turns and begins

picking his way along the narrow divider, back the way they came.

"Where are we going?" she shouts.

"Some place higher, hotel or restaurant or something! We're going

to be here all night at this rate, no place to go.

Across the road, a hotel he knows well from the time of another

girl, one he bedded with demanding regularity till she married and

went off to Muscat, or maybe Dubai or Bahrain. They have rooms at

the back he knows, not by the hour, full night only.

They have to get off the divider into what looks to be deep water.

"We won't make it!" she cries.

"Yes we will!" he says. "Trust me!"

He steps off the divider and instantly is up to his knees, her

thighs. Across the road, people huddled on the pavement, it's

still knee deep even there, the entrance to the hotel crowded,

even that looks to be under water. Get out of the water before a

lamp short circuits or something.

It's getting deeper and Veronica is in it to her waist now, her

clothes clinging to her, hair plastered to her head. He holds her

hand and strikes out, determined, gasping, kicking the water

ahead, feeling nervously for an open manhole.

They make it across, a solid wall of bodies standing under the

eaves of the hotel. They try to shoulder in. *Full, all full, no

place, no place*.

*Balls to you*, Jerry thinks, muscles his way through, holding her

hand in his. A harried clerk at the front desk, water over his

carpet, flooding his lobby. Others scurrying around, the place is

full of people, shouting, trying to use the phone, all lines down,

the cellphone networks gone too. The restaurant has closed

service, its floor is flooded too, people sitting and standing,

chairs and tables being moved back to make place for more.

"Joachim!" Jerry lifts his hand and waves madly. "Hey, Joachim!"

A man at the back looks up, sees them, looks exhausted, sweaty,

distraught. He recognizes Jerry, manages a wave, shakes his head

*this is fucking crazy!*

Jerry elbows his way to him, his other hand stretched behind,

holding Veronica's. There's a NO VACANCY sign on the counter.

Jerry goes past, Joachim comes around, their heads bend together,

Joachim lifts the counter flap and they go through and into his

office at the back. Jerry introduces them, Joachim is moaning,

wild-eyed, rummages in a desk, gets a key and tosses it to Jerry.

"Through the back," he groans, and hurries back to the front desk.

Jerry grins, tosses the keys, winks at Veronica and opens a door

behind the desk, to one side. They are in the service area and

they take the service elevator up to the fifth floor.

::::

VERONICA sucking JERRY'S COCK.

Half an hour later, they have showered (separately), nothing to

change into, so Veronica wears a terry robe, complimentary, her

hair in a white towel and Jerry makes do with a towel around his

waist.

Veronica phones home and says she is stranded, will spend the

night at a hotel, gives this number. Jerry phones his place and

just says not to worry, he is okay, at Joachim's.

Then they are on their own and free. The hunger leaps through the

space between them and she seems to slide into his arms and their

avid mouths seek each other. Veronica shakes her hair loose and he

slowly unbelts her robe and cups her breasts and thinks she looks

really lovely. Her breasts are high, sloping, full, rounded with

long nipples in darkly puckered aureoles. She flicks open his

towel and her fingers crawl into his crotch and she moans as she

feels his hard heat and thickness and length. Her deepens in the

kiss and she pushes him back into the couch and slides to her

knees and bends her head over his lap and takes his cock in her

mouth.

"How did you manage this?" she mumbles, lifting his cock, dragging

her lips and tongue down its underside, sucking his balls.

"Joachim is my closest friend," he murmurs. "Childhood, grew up

together. I helped him start this place, arranged some funds,

loans. I always have a room here. He keeps it for me. Used to keep

some of my stuff here, too, clothes and stuff, I can have it

brought up later."

sucking Jerry's cock again, Veronica wonders if he has brought

other girls here. Like she was brought by her others, and by him

most of all, the first one.

The taste and smell of Jerry's cock in her mouth is heavenly; she

has forgotten how good it feels, how much she enjoys this, this

and the later cum, too. She moans softly, her hands on her

breasts. Jerry watches her, deeply aroused, his hand on her head,

grunting and gasping softly, his hips rocking under her face. She

is incredibly good at this, uses her tongue and lips and teeth and

his erection is monstrous, his balls on fire.

"God ... yes ... I love sucking cock," she groans and Jerry

wonders how many before his, how many *others*. He feels a shard

of jealousy, he wants to be her first, her only.

Her dexterity (the previous experience is increasingly obvious)

and her explicit language don't leave room enough for the envy to

grow. He wants to hear her say it again, holds her head and pulls

it down on his cock.

"Mm ... yeh," she mumbles. "God yes!" Opening her mouth wide, she

winds her tongue round and round his cock-head, caresses her face

with it, rises up to squeeze her swollen breasts over it, nuzzling

his belly. "Yes! Ohh uhh yes!"

"Suck it," he grunts. "C'mon, Veronica, suck my cock!"

She whimpers, wishes he would be bolder, use words like *bitch*

and *whore* and *slut* and *cunt* like ... like the *others* ...

and, dipping her head, takes his cock deep in her mouth again, her

head rocking rapidly up and down, her fingers, be-ringed, curled

lovingly around his thick, long shaft, pumping it. Pre-cum gunk

shines on her lips and cheeks. Jerry's hips buck and heave under

her face. The heat spread in his loins, surging up and down his

long cock-shaft. Veronica senses it and sucks harder, moaning deep

in her cock-filled throat, her hands on her breasts, crushing them

in joy.

He jerks her head away from his groin, gasping and panting. She

groans and yields reluctantly, slithering up his body, licking him

like a wanton slut, feral, kissing him hard again, squirming

against him, astride him. Jerry's hands crushing her breasts,

pinching and tweaking her stiff nipples, making her groan and

shudder and arch her head, her cunt damp, warm, hovering over the

sticky swell of his cock-head. Jerry arches his hips, trying to

thrust up into her but she moves away, rising with him, turns

quickly, her back to him, legs outside his, feet on the floor and

lowers her hips. Reaches down, takes his penis, guides it to her

cunt.

A pause, that delicate hesitation in the second before flesh

enters flesh.

Then her cunt-lips open, yield, the warm softness closes taut

around his burning mass, takes him in deeper and deeper and he

gasps loudly, flings his head back, arches his back, thrusts up,

greedy for her. Above him, Veronica moans, her head arched, her

belly sucked in, her hands under her breasts.

There is a mirror on the opposite wall. Watching herself, she is

aroused, it used to be like, often, several times, more often than

she can remember, but she remembers each one, each time. It has

been too long. She cups her breasts, feeling the swollen mounds

fill her palms, the nipples hard, quivering. Her cunt is on fire,

her body burns. She moans and rises up his cock, then down again,

impaling her cunt on his cock in a greedy plunge, then up, and

down.

"Yes!" she gasps. "Ohh uhhh yes ... oh god yes!"

Under her, Jerry, gasping too, his hands on her buttocks, moving

her up and down on his lap, wondering if she will take it up the

ass just like he did with the ones who went before, what he always

liked to do.

Moving faster now, greed and hunger and a too-long time without,

and Veronica leans back, one hand on the sofa's armrest, the other

on the seat, her body twisted, her face twisted, head flung back,

body jerking and jiggling, breasts bouncing, his hands on them,

feverish.

A cry erupting from her throat, loud, pure, raw, hers yet not

hers, from another time and place with another: "Fuck me! C'mon

Jerry! Fuck me! Fuck my cunt! Fuck me hard, baby! Fuck me like a

whore!"

Jerry frozen, ears blazing, a burst of sun-filled joy and

jubilation racing from his head to his loins.

"Yes! Take it! C'mon bitch! Take it!"

He shoves her forward, her hands on his knees, grips her waist,

rams up and down madly under her, tossing her on his groin. The

last barrier fallen and Veronica cries out loud, unashamed, free,

plunging her flexing and unflexing buttocks up and down,

swallowing his flesh in hers, her cunt in convulsions.

"Take me, Jerry! Take me! Fuck me hard! OHHHHHH uhhhyes oh god yes

ohhh uhhh yes oh yes baby yes!"

::::

ON THE BIG, WELL-SPRUNG BED, and Veronica on her forearms and

knees, swollen breasts pendent, thighs spread, buttocks thrust up

and Jerry kneeling behind her, tempted by the dark wink of her

nether eye, falters in his desire; but not long, not for long, and

the soft black ringlets around of its seeping neighbour draw him

down into spasming warmth.

He thrusts hard, ramming his cock into her as far as it will go

and she cries out, her head lurching up, her body jerking, her

face twisting, mouth torn wide as the heat sears into her belly.

Her cunt contracts fiercely on the intruder and his hands are

under her breasts, crushing them and he runs his cock out and

thrusts in hard again, slamming his hips against her buttocks.

"Oh fuck yes! Take it! C'mon, whore! Take it! Take my cock!"

Veronica's head spinning, desire and lust rocking her to and fro.

His hands on her hips and now he is ram-fucking her fast and hard

and deep, plunging his cock in and out of her cunt, his thighs

slapping at hers, his cock pistoning wildly in and out, in and

out, to and fro, to and fro. She rocks under him, gold necklace

tossing, breasts jiggling, her cries sharp, high.

"Yes! Oh god uhh ohma uhh ohhhh yes oh god yes fuck me! Fuck me,

Jerry! Oh yes that's it ohhhhhhhhhhh uuhhh yes! Oh god yes!"

Slowing to a deep skewering action, Jerry leaning over her and she

turns her face and he jams his lips to hers, plunging his tongue

into her mouth as his cock pierces her cunt again and her grateful

hips press to his in urgency.

::::

JERRY ON HIS BACK on the bed, unable to take his eyes off her

straddling his hips, her head flung back, face radiant, eyes

closed, moaning and whimpering and rocking slowly and unhurriedly

to and fro. The gold hoops in her ears dancing, her necklace

slithering, her soft, moist lips apart, the white teeth

glistening, Veronica is in heaven, flying slowly above white

clouds. Her breasts, like ripe fruit on a dappled morning, a

dewdrop of sweat glistening on one dark nipple draws to it his

ardent lips and loving tongue.

"Oh this is so good," she murmurs. "I just love your cock in my

cunt, Jerry ... it's so good ... mm ... yes ... oh yes ...," and

her hips are turning round, swirling, her cunt contracting,

churning.

Jerry's hands exploring her back and buttocks, teasing them open,

venturing into the rift between, rippling over the pucker of flesh

and she squirms and moans and her face lights and she, bending

over him, breasts hot and heavy on his chest, slips her tongue

into his mouth.

Slowly building, rising, moving faster, the bed rocking and

bucking under them, their cries echoing, her breasts jumping as

her cunt rises and falls along the long stem of his penis,

necklace flying now, earrings dancing and she hisses loudly as he

arches up steep into her, flings her head back, slides her hands

up her body and over her breasts, lifts one to her bent head, laps

at her nipple sexily with pointed tongue.

"Take it! Ohhh uhhhhyes take it, slut ... take it!" he grunts.

"OHHH uhh yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, Jerry! Fuck me harder! OHHH uhh

yes oh god yes!" and her body is tossing wildly, jerking and

rocking furiously up and down on his lap.

Jerry's hands on her breasts, full, swollen, filling his palms and

Veronica leaning back, stretching back, cupping his balls, her

fingertips raking his cock-shaft as it goes in and out of her

cunt, her buttocks writhing and squirming and swirling on his lap,

his penis bursting inside her, searing, pulsating in angry lust.

Veronica leaning forward on outstretched arms, her head back, her

hips jerking up and down, up and down, crashing back on his lap,

her cries renting the quiet air.

"Uh Oh uhh OHHHH uhh Ohma uhh ahhh yes oh god yes! Fuck me! Yes!

C'mon Jerry! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!"

"Take it! Oh fuck yes, take it! Take it, bitch! Take it!" Jerry's

hips crashing under hers, his cock pounding in and out of her

flesh.

Dam-burst and a flood, and Jerry, too, is lost, the perfidy of

lust in triumph over experience, the heat surging endlessly from

his flesh into hers, making her moan and lurch, her cunt in

paroxysms of a joy reflected on her face.

::::

LATER, ROOM SERVICE BRINGS UP coffee with cream, sandwiches,

fries, ice-cream and Jerry eats off her, sluicing the cream on her

cunt, ladling ice-cream between her breasts and in her crotch, his

tongue everywhere, and she responds in kind, a mouthful of

ice-cream and cock.

Veronica on her back, arching with a loud moan as Jerry's cock

slips slowly into her slit and her legs wind around his waist as

she pulls him in deeper and pulls, too, his head down to hers, his

tongue into her mouth.

Jerry wondering again if she will take it up the ass this time, he

wants that, he wants the memory regained, and there will be, as

there ever was, only one way to find out.

Beyond the double-paned glass, the storm-stung city labours still

in the broken rhythm of its streets.

::::

A WHIRRING SOUND, a staple click, rustle of clothing, a fleeting

whiff of some light, lemony fragrance. Jerry Anthony Gonsalves,

eyes swimming, figures blurred and waving on the screen before

him, sucks in his breath, stills a pounding heart. Focus, and

reluctant, leaden fingers move again. He cannot resist peering

around the partition, sees her back as she settles in at her desk.

He doesn't see the little crease of worry crinkle her forehead, or

notice the flush creeping up the back of her neck, doesn't know of

the sudden, deep tightness she feels, the guilty fear that makes

her fingers tremble.



== oOooOo ==

NOTE: This story may be archived and distributed free, but may NOT be sold or otherwise distributed for commercial gain/profit.

== oOooOo ==



If you enjoyed this story, please visit http://scandalpoint.fsn.net

Erotic stories and pics, 100% free!

Subscribers to Mary Jorsay Gandmar's mailing list can retrieve copies of this and other xxx stories by email -- 100% FREE!

Send email to mailto:scandalpoint@comports.com with the word SUBSCRIBE in the subject line.

Subscribers get free copies of Indian Heat, the Scandal Point!

newsletter, and are entitled to access the archives to retrieve

stories.

Scandalpoint now offers four egroups at http://www.egroups.com --

pictures, stories, site information and personals. To subscribe to all four scandalpoint egroups, send a blank mail to --

mailto:scandal-point-subscribe@egroups.com

== oOooOo ==