Living The Life Of Lust

CHAPTER ONE Cool air touched the sensitive insides of her thighs as she lifted one leg to the couch. She was on her back, and had one shoulder pressed against the back of the sofa. As she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes traced along the crack in the plaster. Soft, steady waves of passion were sweeping through her soft, pale flesh. Her breathing was unsteady. Her lungs felt knotted and tight from lust. Her flat stomach was clenching and unclenching as Sam's hands probed her. His thumbs tugged across her tight pink t**s, and her throat knotted with lust. Then he slid his hands down her torso, his rough palms scraping over her tender skin. His fingers hooked into the waist of her lace-patterned panties. She lifted her hips, and felt him ease her underpants down over the swelling of her ass, the roundness of her lower belly. He was sliding them down her smooth thighs, down her legs; then they were gone. She heard him suck in his breath as he studied her nude body. She was partially exposed. She knew he could see the soft brown curls of her bush, but not the rounded pout of her p***y lips or the dark shadow of her crack. She tried to read his expression. There was a hot gleam in his dark eyes, a faint sheen of perspiration on his face. His teeth flashed between his lips-lips spread in a smile? or a grimace of lust? It was hard to tell in the faint light. His straight black hair was mussed from their lead-up to this moment. Jill turned her thoughts away from herself and concentrated on the carnal need burning in her guts. She could feel hot wetness deep in her p***y, could feel the walls of her v****a pulsing hungrily. Her breasts felt swollen, her crotch hot and hungry. It had that delectable itch that just had to be scratched. And there was only one kind of scratcher that could reach it. No that wasn't quite true. There was only one way to scratch that itch, but there was more than one way to reach it, more than one tool that would do the job. "I feel cheated," she murmured to Sam. "You have the advantage on me." "Oh?" Sam was toying with one breast, his thumb running in circles around her pink tit, his fingers caressing the gentle soft swelling. She fumbled the buttons of his shirt open, one by one, baring his hairy chest. "You're overdressed," she said, her voice husky. "I guess I'll just have to do something about that," he decided. She stretched out on her back, and let her hands roam over her breasts, loving the feel of her skin, loving the fire that was burning in her. Sam tdwered above her as he stripped. He was trying to be casual about it, but the fumbling haste of his hands gave him away. He bared his torso. It was muscular, hairy, and tanned. His shirt dropped to the floor as he unfastened his belt, and unzipped his trousers. The push of his c**k tented out his underpants the minute he pushed his pants down. His big legs were covered with thick, black, curly hair. He hauled down his underpants and bared his phallus. It bobbed and weaved its head like a viper, like a primitive predator searching blindly for its prey, for what it needed to slake its hunger. Jill reached up and stroked its underside with gentle fingertips, as if trying to tame it. Hot stickiness burned her fingers, formed a gleaming strand between them. His prick was ivory pale from his thick black bush to the rift between the shaft and head. The groove there was shadowy black. The glans was dusky, looked almost brown in the faint light. A shining highlight made it gleam provocatively. Sam sat down on the couch in the hollow her waist formed. He turned and slid one hand up the inside of one thigh. His fingers felt rough and harsh on her sensitive flesh. As she curled her fingers around his c**k, Jill let her thighs slide open so he could touch her sweaty patch of hair. His p***s was rock hard, with a soft underbelly and a rubbery knob. She pressed and squeezed, measuring its bulk. It was about seven inches long, certainly no more than that. On the skinny side, as c***s went, she decided. Below it, the soft, hot sack of his scrotum shifted and squirmed at her touch. Probing very care fully, she located the two ropey tubes curling up from his testicles. She followed them until they disappeared inside his body. His fingers pressed at her labia, and she felt them squeezing together from the pressure. The gentle compression against her c******s sent a slow surge of heat through her whole crotch. She let her hips shift the way they wanted to, let them lift and twist. She was inviting him to probe deeper into her crotch, inviting him to seek the well of her s*x with his finger. He began to explore between her outer lips with the timidity of a person entering a dark room. He wiggled one finger into her slit, and moved it up and down, just barely spreading her hairy outer folds. She stroked delicate fingers over the hard tower of his c**k. She smeared her flesh and his with his hot, sticky oozings. She felt new waves of blood pulse into his hot, rigid pole as she caressed it. She curled her fingers around the rubbery knob and squeezed it gently, felt it yield to her pressure. A fresh, stinging wave of fluid welled out of the slit at the tip. She licked her lips as waves of heat burned through her body. His finger went deeper inside her, spreading the inner petals of her hot, moist flesh. He kept a steady pressure on her mons with the rough palm of his hand. Squeezing and milking his prick brought successive waves of hot lubricant which she smeared all over his hot meat. The heavy scent of s*x was all around them. The smell made her head swim, her mouth water. She inhaled deeply-she never tired of the unique odor. He was carefully torturing her with his finger, slipping it into her oozing v****a, wiggling it. He lashed the nerve endings there into fire, and her flesh watered as if it was trying to quench the flames. "I'm ready," she said softly. "Hmmmm?" he asked, teasing, pretending he didn't know what she was talking about. "Put it in me," she urged. "Eager beaver," he chuckled, wiggling his finger in her wet snatch. "You bet," she agreed, tugging gently on his p***s. "I could bring you off this way," he pointed out, still tormenting her ready crotch with his finger. "And I could bring you off this way," she retorted, pumping her hand on his towering erection. "But I don't want to do it that way. Do you?" "No," he admitted, shifting and moving between her spread thighs. He drew his hand out of her cunt, and she felt her own hot, sticky juices smear her flesh as he cupped his hand over her heaving breast. She guided his phallus to her crack. Wishing that she could see, she aimed it into her v****a by feel alone. She pulled at him, tugging him into her body. He held his hips up and away, letting her get only the tip of his prick in her. Bracing himself up on his hands, he gazed down at her nude body. Then he pressed his phallus steadily into her steaming tunnel. Jill was set ablaze as his c**k slid deep into her willing, eager body. There was that marvelous, stretching feeling as her vaginal walls embraced his hot tower. Then there was that feeling of fullness, a feeling like nothing else in the world, the feeling of a phallus entering her cunt. Out of the corner of her eye, Jill could see the empty glasses, the ashtray overflowing with Sam's cigarette butts. All the accoutrements of the mating ritual were there, even though both of them had known exactly how the evening was to end, and what it was they both really wanted. They had gone through all the appropriate rituals that led up to the pistoning of a hot male member in a eager female orifice. "Aaahh!" A sudden blast of pure pleasure caught Jill by surprise, wrenching the cry from her. Everything faded but the alternating fullness/emptiness as Sam pistoned his c**k in and out of her sucking v****a. With every thrust there was a crackling explosion as her c**t was smashed between their pubic arches. Her hips heaved and jumped mindlessly. The itch of approaching ultimate ecstasy swelled and grew, pushing aside everything else. The world, everything, was waiting for that final eruption of searing pleasure. It came. Her body arching, Jill's consciousness was tumbled in the turbulent wash of her coming. Clinging to the man on and in her, she was swept along in the seething power of her orgasm. Her vaginal walls spasmed around his cylinder. She was faintly aware of thick wads of hot semen spattering her inner flesh as Sam pumped his fluids into her hungry passage. Then came the inevitable fall from the peak. Clutching at him, Jill writhed and squirmed in a desperate attempt to recapture the pleasure. She blinked back the tears that threatened to drown her. Why the hell should she be crying? She hadn't really cried since that first time. She had been eighteen, just starting her senior year in high school. Her parents, reluctantly, had let her accept an invitation from her steady for a football weekend at his college. "Are you sure this is all right?" she asked nervously as he opened the heavy entryway door for her. "Yeah, sure," he answered, with the bold brashness of a college freshman out to impress his date. "I told you, women are allowed in our rooms until nine o'clock on Fridays and Saturdays." Jill found some comfort in the knowledge it was not against the rules for her to be there. The stairway zigzagged upward. She let Bill guide her through the heavy fire-door and into a short hallway. "GIRL EST THE DORM!" he yelled abruptly, making her jump. "You don't have to brag about it," she giggled nervously. "That's just in case someone's in the shower," Bill answered, motioning toward a wooden door. He led the way to the end of the hall and unlocked a door. "Here we are," he said proudly. As Jill entered his room, she had the feeling she was crossing more than one threshold. She looked around the-small room curiously. It looked self-consciously meticulous. The bunk beds near the door were vaguely ridged, the covers drawn tight over the recalcitrant wrinkles. Two beds, two desks, two bureaus, and two desk chairs. That's all the furniture there was. Books were stacked with precise neatness on the desks. "Where's your roommate?" Jill asked anxiously, not sure whether she wanted someone else there, or not. "Showing his girl the campus," Bill answered easily. "We'll meet 'em at dinner." "Oh." Jill looked around for a place to sit. "Use the bottom bunk," Bill suggested. "Sorry about the lack of chairs, but this is supposed to be a single room. They stuff frosh in any old place. Would you like a drink?" Jill sat down nervously on the bed. Her head just missed hitting the frame of the upper bunk. She put her purse on the floor by her feet, and crossed her legs nervously. "Uh, okay," she agreed. "But nothing too strong." "Cantly is dantly, but liquor is quicker," Bill teased as he fixed her drink. The top of one bureau was fixed up as a bar. "Bill-eee!" "Just joking," he assured her. "Here, try this. It's a whiskey sour." Jill sipped it cautiously, acutely aware she was unused to hard liquor. Reassuringly, it tasted like thick lemonade. She drank it a bit more boldly as Bill settled himself beside her on the bed. His arm went behind her, and the mattress sagged, tipping her against him. She felt warm, and comfortable, but there was a tight knot in her lower belly. She let her head rest on Bill's strong shoulder. He moved suddenly, nervously. "Hey, how about some music," he suggested, lurching up. He fiddled with the record player, which sat on the wide windowsill by one desk. The first record was one they had danced to at his senior prom the spring before. "Want a refill?"