No Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 25

Nancy reached for him with both hands, grabbing him hungrily and pulling him toward her. She chewed her lip excitedly and lifted her head to observe the slow progress of his prick toward her pussy.

"Ooo, baby," she moaned, when the tip brushed her lips, "I want it."

"Blue suede shoes," he responded with a hollow, disembodied voice that sounded almost like the echo of a concluded performance.

He supported himself with his hands on her knees and leaned toward her as she brought his dick to bear on her opening. He leered as she tugged him toward her hole, guiding the head between her thickened lips. He felt her wet heat cloaking him, and his face lit with a loose grin. A wave of spit washed over his crooked lip and poured down his chin. He swept up a corner of his cape and mopped his face, and then, he fell toward her with the weight of his torso behind his cock.

"Oh my God," she gushed breathlessly as his prick rushed unimpeded into her slick pussy. "I love it when you do that."

He fell across her body and her full breasts rose like twin, taut pillows to cushion his fall. She reached for his buttocks to pull him closer and spread her legs. Above them his cape swirled briefly and then settled over them, enveloping their merging bodies in a cloud of crimson satin even as the storm of her own flaming passion swept up from her core.

"Momma," he groaned ecstatically as his cock slid into her depths.

"Deeper, son," she whispered into the wiry polyester of his wig. "I want it all."

As she spoke, she lifted her hips off the bed to meet him, and her pussy came alive. She arched her back, and her pussy churned like a hungry demon with chewing, gnawing lips that seemed intent on devouring every inch of the trembling boy.

"Unk, unk, good pussy, fuck," the boy chanted meaninglessly as he pumped his hips to feed the ravenous mouth of his mother's pussy.

"Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," she mouthed against his shoulder as the boy lunged into her, and she felt his pubis smacking against her mons.

"Uh, uh," he gurgled nonsensically, jerking his cock out and slamming it back with spastic, unrestrained lunges of his hips.

"Archie, baby, slow down," she warned, and she lifted her feet and locked her heels behind his thighs.

She pulled against his thighs with her heels, preventing his withdrawal and slowed him to a pace she thought he could maintain.

He grimaced and tossed his black mane like a stallion fighting the bit, but she held him tight against her body and felt the tremors rumbling through the length of his rigid prick. She took him all and he filled her, and her heart overflowed with love and lust. She cherished these initial seconds when he first enters her, cramming her full of his throbbing nearly uncontrollable, eager energy, and hovers above her prancing and pawing like a stud chafing to bolt his stall. She took control of her rambunctious steed, tightening his reins to slow his gait, and felt the immense kinetic power of his lust throbbing between her spreading thighs.

"Slow down, baby; you don't want to cum too fast," she cautioned, holding him tightly, and she willed her pussy to slow its urgent spasms for a moment.

"Cum in shoes blue," he twittered anxiously, and she recognized in the fractured syntax the unmistakable signs of a brain, loosely wired to begin with, shorting out on a surge of sexual stimulation.

"Make me cum first, son, and you can cum in my shoes all you want," she snickered indulgently, but she locked her arms and legs around him so tightly he couldn't move and forced him to let his lust subside a mite.

"Momma?" he queried when he felt his senses returning.

"Yes, baby?" she answered gently, but her restraining limbs were like bands of spring steel.

"Lemmie loose so I can fuck you."

His voice had lost the frantic, raw edge she heard before, but still she clung to him, manipulating him like a sexual toy that existed only for her pleasure.

"Does Elvis want to fuck his mommy?" she purred, and his cock jerked an eager response.

"Uh-huh," he moaned, wiggling his hips in a futile attempt to generate some friction.

"How does mommy like for Elvis to fuck her? Do you remember?" she asked, testing him.

"Slow! Mommy likes cock slow and deep," he exclaimed proudly, because it had been a difficult lesson to master, and he frequently forgot her instructions.

"Good boy," she congratulated him, and she rewarded him with a tiny Kagel that caressed his cock with a fleeting shiver of her vaginal walls.

"Slow, mommy; I'll fuck you real slow," he promised earnestly.

"Oh, Archie," she whispered softly, giving voice to uncertainly, "can I trust you? Do you promise?"

The juice flooding her pussy was making the reins too slippery to hold and she felt herself losing control. Patience is too much to expect of a girl who has a cock the size of Mark McQuire's bat quivering inside her and a pussy that's screaming for relief like ten thousand banshees, she thought, excusing her weakness, and she relaxed the pressure of her heels a smidgen.

"Uh-huh," he nodded excitedly, "Jailhouse cock slow fuck, mommy." "Show me, Elvis," she sighed.

He began a slow, tantalizing withdrawal that seemed to her to last forever. She gazed rapturously over his shoulder, out the window, and it seemed to her that the traffic signal in the street below turned from green to yellow to red and back to green while the boy's cock slid out of her pussy. She felt the head stretching her lips and hooked his hips with her heels again to hold him there.

"Don't leave me yet, Elvis," she moaned, reaching between her legs to stop him with her hand.

She gripped his cock just below the head and held him in her slot, and the boy's eyes bulged with the pressure of pent-up desire. He crouched over her on hands and knees, poised to plunge into her wet depths the instant she released him, because her directions were obscured by the thickening fog of his lust.

"Now, baby," she groaned, relaxing her grip, "push it in real slow. I want to feel every inch of your cock going in me."

He would have ignored her and rammed his cock home in a heartbeat, but she still held him tightly and only allowed him to slip through her fingers a little at a time. He gurgled and sputtered and tried to push himself through her hands, but she used her nails like spikes on golf shoes to gain a purchase on his slippery shaft, and the harder he pushed, the deeper she dug, till finally, pain roared in his brain like a fog horn, and he remembered his promise.

"That's momma's good boy," she cooed, when she felt his pressure lessen, and she loosened her grip still more.

"Oooo, that's nice," she sighed, bragging on the boy's performance as he reentered her throbbing vagina.

"I can feel everything, every vein, every ridge, every wrinkle on your cock when you go slow like that, honey," she gushed as he stretched her.

"Tight pussy," he lied to explain her sensations, and he wistfully recalled how Imogene Justice's pussy had clung to him like the casing on a frankfurter.

"Oooo, Elvis, do you really think mommy's pussy is tight?" she asked deliriously as the boy's cock neared the end of its journey.

"Uh-huh," he grunted without much conviction as their bellies smacked together.

"Wait, wait, don't take it out, yet," she mouthed into his ear before he could withdraw again. "Just leave it inside me and rest for a minute before you take it out."

He paused like she told him, lying on top of her with his cock buried completely in his mother's hot pussy and waited for her signal. Her nipples burned into his chest; her belly heaved as she fought for breath. Her body adjusted miraculously to his presence with secret chambers that filled and swelled and pressed against him. Her slick walls enveloped him and molded to him like clay, embossing an impression of him in her brain that was exquisite in its detailed perfection.

"There, can you feel that," she whispered to the boy as the pressure of her growing desire built along his cock.

"Blue suede shoes," he grunted dreamily.

"Does it feel good, son?" she asked, raking his back with her sharp nails from his shoulders to his buttocks.

"Yes, mommy, yes," he cried almost tearfully so great was his excitement. "Let me fuck you, now, please."

"Take it out, slowly," she instructed, guiding him with her hands on his hips to ensure compliance.

The walls of her pussy clung to the boy's prick and contested every inch of his withdrawal. Walls closed in upon him, beckoning him to remain or quickly return, stroking him with sensuously soft satin and scalding his brain with the hot steam of desire. He followed, blindly, and let her push him away, sliding out, exposing his wet flesh to the cool air, and then, her fingertips were tugging his hips, and in the distance he heard her voice calling him.

"In, Archie, in."

Her fingers drew him toward her and set the pace of his descent. He pushed against her resistance and discovered that her pussy had closed behind him, her engorged tissues expanding in the emptiness and filling her vacated spaces. Exhilarated by the promise of magnified sensations, he thrust into her narrowed passage. Her wetness helped them both and eased his entry. He glided into her depths, and her thighs fell apart before his onslaught.

"Oh God, Archie, fuck me," she panted as the boy's cock filled her pussy.

Her pulse quickened; her passion soared and fell into step with his. Her hands fluttered to her sides as she surrendered herself to him.

"Fuck me good, Elvis," she implored hotly as she lay open beneath him.

She released him from the bonds of her will and wild currents crisscrossed in his brain, short-circuiting his wiring in a crackling shower of sparks. Thoughts and instructions vanished in a flash as she yielded to his instincts. His hips lunged for her, and he plunged into her tight sheath. Her pussy opened to him like waves breaking on the bow of a great ship, as he drove into her. Her voice again rose above the tumult in his mind.

"Awesome, baby; Elvis got an awesome cock for mommy," she cried when his hands circled her waist and pulled her onto the spike in her belly.

He jerked and lurched and pumped his hips, driving his cock in and out of her wet cylinder like a piston.

"Fuck me; fuck mommy; cram me full of cock," she chanted in a daisychain of erotic commands each time he thrust into her.

"Oh, God, yes," she screamed in delight, when he shortened his strokes and rubbed her mons with his pubis.

Her clit, swollen and erect, stood out amidst her fattened folds like the hood ornament on a '49 Pontiac; a sort of 'Winged Victory,' with her wings swept back and her face jutting forward into the wind. The thick trunk of the boy's prick slid alongside that tender face and, as he stroked her cheeks, Nancy's limbs jerked spasmodically.

Lust is a queer thing in some people, especially when it nears apogee and becomes a force of its own, like an uncontrollable power that defies direction. In some, the flame that seduces the moth consumes the house, and so it was with Nancy Farber. A lifetime of thumbing her nose at convention and sneering at decorum, of crossing the line where ever and when ever she could, had left her bored and jaded. She was a thrill seeker burnt out on cheap thrills; a leaky sexpot with so many unplugged holes that she required an ever-increasing volume of sexual excess just to maintain her level. Cock wasn't enough by itself, not even huge cock. Fucking was an empty, washed out pantomime that left her famished when she was done. She craved more than that, far more; she needed to soar into the thin air at the very edge of existence itself, where the light is sharp and the senses are keen, where life and death, creation and destruction, could unite cataclysmically in her womb.

"Fuck me, you little bastard," she growled; her face was contorted with a sort of rage that would have frightened the boy had he not been accustomed to his mother's abrupt mood shifts.

"Go on, Goddamn you, you little shit. What are you waiting for? Use that cock on me; fuck your momma like you mean it," she continued, ranting mercilessly at her struggling Elvis.

He clutched her waist and stabbed her with his prick like a Neanderthal killing a pig with a spear, and she lunged up, lifting her head and shoulders from the bed. Her hands circled behind his back and grabbed the loose folds of his cape. She yanked hard, pulling the tightly knotted cord across his throat and his head snapped back. She pulled harder and lifted the upper half of her torso off the bed, supporting her weight by the slender strand of satin around the boy's neck.

"Fuck me good or I'll strangle you right here, you miserable little fuck," she screeched, and the noose tightened.

Archie pumped his hips furiously to appease his mother. He understood her needs, perhaps better than most, and he adored her. He reached between their bodies and made a grab for the little patch of hair on her mons. He seized her mound, pinching her flesh between his fingertips and palm like he was gripping the pommel of a saddle on a bucking bronco, and he yanked her toward him with vicious ripping jerks as he speared her.

"Arghhh, yes, harder," she groaned ecstatically, taking up the slack in his cape to choke off his air supply.

The boy tried to gulp, but his Adam's apple couldn't move, and the air was caught in his windpipe like smoke in a clogged chimney. His eyes bulged and rolled crazily in their sockets. His face reddened as his frantic fucking depleted the oxygen in his lungs. The room was spinning crazily; darkness was creeping in from the edges of his brain, a numbing, obliterating blackness that swallowed everything in its path.

"Cum in my blue suede shoes, Elvis," she screamed at the boy, who was teetering on the brink of unconsciousness.

His lips moved soundlessly. His eyeballs rolled up toward the ceiling, and then, slowly, his pupils disappeared under his fluttering eyelids. His face was deep purple, nearly black, and his mouth hung open like someone had cut the string that held up his jaw. Brain cells were dying by the millions as their supply of oxygen dwindled to nothing. His arms dangled limply by his sides, and he rocked drunkenly back and forth on his knees. His fat cock, swollen with cum, skewered into her hot hole like it had a mind of its own and a purpose for living.

"Oh God, I feel it cuming, baby," she cried as the leading edge of his flood rushed into her womb, but he was much too far gone to hear her words.

She timed it perfectly, she thought, tightening the noose another notch and feeling the strength flee from the boy's limbs and pour into her pussy in a thick hot stream.

"Yes, that's right, baby; shoot my shoes full of your cum," she whispered in encouragement as her pussy erupted with wave after wave of exquisite sensation.

Archie sagged between her legs, going totally limp everywhere except in the prick. His head fell forward and his chin hit his chest with an audible plop. She held him upright by pulling on his cape and climbed his legs to cram his spurting cock into her pussy. She fucked him with quickly rolling hips and gulped his cum with her pussy till he filled her and the excess poured down her ass to the crumpled sheets. She climaxed, sustaining that lofty plateau for as long as she dared, and her pussy convulsed in a climatic massage along the length of the boy's prick, but he was not there to enjoy the experience.

Endorphins sped to her brain on the crest of her orgasm, and her hands went limp. The cape slipped from her grasp, and her hands dropped. She fell back on the bed, exhausted and drained. Archie, his face blackened like he had been made up with greasepaint for a minstrel show, tottered between her legs like he was praying, held upright only by the tension remaining in his prick and its anchorage inside her pussy.

Nancy arched her back and ran her palms over the inflamed tips of her nipples while her strength returned. She glanced indifferently at Archie's inert body without a hint of concern and casually lifted her foot. She placed it in the center of the boy's chest, holding it there for a moment as though she was examining her pedicure for flaws, and then, she gave him a sharp shove that dislodged his prick and sent the unconscious boy tumbling toward the end of the bed.

"Elvis has left the building," she chuckled, reaching for the glass on the nightstand.