The Inga Chroncles Ch. 04bychristo©
Inga and her friends made it down to the beach around noon the next day. The topic of conversation as they hunted for a good place to set up shop was that that none of them had gotten any action yet. This was supposed to be a Girls-Gone-Wild getaway, yet so far they hadn't made a kill. Inga decided not to tell them that in the last 24 hours she'd had three of the most thrilling sexual encounters of her life. She wanted to keep that secret all to herself, for now.
There was the fact that she didn't know the name of the man who, early that morning, had slipped into her room and then, after eating her pussy like a starving man, has slipped into her vagina and fucked her so good she could still feel it between her legs. He wouldn't tell her his name when he left, and Inga decided that today would be the day she extracted that information from him. Yes, that was the word--"extract". She would compel him to talk. Force him. She do things to his body that would make his writhe and squeal and surrender any piece of information she desired. The mere thought of him wriggling beneath her touch made her wet and flushed and drove her half-mad with lust.
Inga saw a few familiar faces a few yards away. They were the group her mystery man had been with the night before in the bar. "Why don't we set down here?" she said, looking over those faces to see if she could see the only one she had eyes for. But no, he wasn't there. Her friends agreed and the spread out their towels and got their chairs situated. The sun wasn't quite so hot today, a good day to relax and work on your tan. Inga stretched the straps of her pale-green swimsuit to readjust her prodigious breasts, and settled down to think about how she would get her man.
One of the men sitting next to them got up and walked over to them. "I think we were at the same club last night," he said to one of Inga's friends.
"I think we were," she said, cooly appraising him.
"You know, all night I wanted to talk to you, but that guy you were talking to didn't leave you alone for one second. I kept waiting for him to go to the bathroom but he never did. He didn't go in his pants, did he?"
Inga's friend laughed. "No, he didn't. But I wondered about that too, he didn't give me a second's peace. And all he wanted to talk about was how he didn't think the outdoor deck conformed to the local building codes."
The man said, "Really? That's so very, very fascinating. Building codes. Now there's a player."
Inga's friend laughed, and pretty soon a few of his other friends noticed the promising signs and came over. Inga could see that a few of the men in the group were married, but quite a few were single and probably not adverse to talking to a group of attractive females, even those a few years older than them. Oddly, none of them made any advances toward Inga. They were polite to her, they included her in conversation, they leered at her tits, but the four men each had eyes for one of her four friends.
So where was HER man, the man she desperately wanted to see right now? One of her friends serendipitously provided the answer. "Hey," she said, "your buddy last night knocked over Inga's purse and made her lose her key card!"
"What," one of the guys said, and when her friend explained the situation he said, "Oh, that's Chris. He didn't say anything about it, are you sure it was him?"
"Of course," her friend said. "I saw him go back to your group after he apologized."
"So you were checking us out..." he teased.
Her friend smiled, "I check out every cute boy I see."
The flirtatious banter went on a few seconds more before Inga said, "Is your friend Chris coming down later? Maybe he saw the card fall on the floor? I'm going to call them later to see if they found it."
His friend said, "He's up at the house sleeping. A few in our group went on a bike ride at some ungodly hour this morning and he went out too hard. Julie," he motioned over his shoulder at a woman talking to her husband, "said Chris did an extra ten mile loop and met them at the end of the boardwalk, and by the time he got back he was exhausted. He was a bundle of energy this morning, I heard."
Inga's mouth went dry. He was sleeping up at the house. He was alone. He was exhausted. She flexed her fingers, wiggled her toes, took a deep breath. She had to go to him, now. While he was so deliciously vulnerable.
"I'm going to visit the ladies room," she said, and rose without anyone taking much notice. She walked down the beach...then made a sharp left turn for the steps leading to the road. She knew which house he was staying in, after he took her there yesterday and ran his hands over every quivering inch of her body. And now she'd turn the tables on him. On Chris. She liked that name. She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning it out loud.
She reached the house...and heard snoring. Quiet snoring, coming from the second-floor deck. He was there, outside, sleeping in the sun. Inga went to the front door and gently turned the knob. It twisted all the way and she stepped inside.
The house was empty. She kicked off her sandals and walked soundlessly up the stairs. There were clean, folded towels sitting the dining room table and two boxes of cereal sitting on the kitchen counter. The kitchen was open and faced the living room, and Inga saw that next to the cereal was a bottle of tanning oil. She picked up the bottle and felt that it was nearly full. And then something in the kitchen caught her eye. There was a knife block near the stove and tucked in the block were a pair of kitchen shears. With trembling fingers Inga pulled the shears out of their notch and walked toward the deck.
Inga slipped the straps off her shoulders and stepped out of her suit. She pushed the far screen door open and stepped onto the cool wood. There he was, stretched out on a chaise lounge and sound asleep, sunglasses obscuring his eyes. He wore a ratty pair of mesh running shorts and nothing else. Quietly she uncapped the bottle of oil and poured it all over her breasts, stomach and thighs. Then she walked slowly toward him, careful to not let her shadow fall across his face. She paused next to where he lay, threw her leg over him, and sat down across his thighs.
He jerked violently as he came awake. "What the hell," he mumbled, trying to twist free, but Inga was a big girl and he had no leverage. "Remember me?" Inga said, running her slick hands up his chest to press him back down.
He fell back and Inga eased herself up a few inches until she had his thighs under her buttocks. "I told you what I'd do to you in your sleep." Already his shorts were becoming a tent and she slipped a hand through the opening by his thigh to caress him.
"How did you know I was up here?" he demanded, and Inga ignored him. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" she asked, and then answered her own question. "I'm going to make you tell me your name."
He laughed. "You think?"
She shook her head. "I know."
She reached down and pulled out the kitchen shears. For the briefest second a look of fear crossed his face but then she grabbed a handful of his shorts along the hip and used the shears to slice his shorts open in one deft, "zzzzzip!" Underneath he was wearing tighty-whities and it took Inga and the shears two seconds to slit them open. "And now," she breathed, pulled the folds of fabric away to reveal his stiff and bobbing erection.
She had to control herself. She wanted to suck it, she wanted it in her mouth and she wanted him to pour his semen down her throat. She wanted to sit on it, she wanted to grind her hips against his pubic bone and feel all that hot flesh throbbing inside her until he filled her with come. But that wasn't why she was here. She was here to interrogate him. She was here to make him talk. She had to stay in control.
She grabbed the bottle of oil, uncapped it, and poured it all over his chest and groin. He sighed as rivulets slithered down his chest and pooled along his belly. She let the bottle rest against his cock and used both hands to coat his skin with glistening oil. "What's your name, honey?"
"I'm only permitted to tell you my rank and serial number," he said. "They dropped the name portion a few years back."
Inga picked up the bottle and poured oil all over his cock, covering his shaft in the honey-colored liquid. "I'm going to ask you that question again," Inga said, "and I'll expect a more forthright answer."
She wrapped her hand around his shaft and started pumping, her breasts jiggling as she stroked him. He let out a long breath and let his head fall back. "Yeah..." he groaned.
Inga stopped and his head popped back up. "Come on," he panted, and Inga gave him two strokes before stopping. He licked his lips and Inga put both hands around his cock and twisted them back and forth as if she was trying to start a fire using his erection. And then she stopped. He twisted his hips but she had him under control and he knew it.
She put his cock inside her fist again and started pumping. "What's your name?" she asked quietly, and before he could answer she said, "I know, you won't tell me. Yet. But when you're desperate to come, you'll tell me. And I'm going to make you desperate."
Inga made a ring of the thumb and index finger of her right hand and wrapped it round the base of his shaft. She slowly drew it up the entirely of his cock until the gorgeous, fat head popped through. Before it did she repeated the act with her left and, and then went back to her right, so that it felt like his penis was pulling out of the longest, slickest, hottest pussy in the universe. She did this until his head started rocking back and forth...and then she reversed the procedure, starting at the very tip of his penis and pulling her fingers down, down, down to the base of his shaft, using both hands, one at a time, his infinitely long cock penetrating a pussy that extended to the end of the universe.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and chest, visible even through the oil. "What's your name, honey?" she cooed. He just shook his head. Inga got more oil and poured it over his cock. A tiny stream trickled over his balls and Inga gently caressed them until they too were shiny with oil. She made a V of the index finger and thumb of her left hand and stroked the tender skin around his testicles while her right hand resumed stroking him.
"Oh God," he breathed as she masturbated him. It was very quiet on the deck but Inga could hear the occasional car go by, hear pedestrians chatting as they passed the house. "Until I know you're name, you don't get to come," Inga said, slowing the pace until he looked more under control.
A solidary drop of oil hung at the base of his testicles, and Inga used her middle finger to smooth it out until her finger rested at the base. Her fingertips touched the sensitive skin between his anus and his balls and his mouth fell open and he shivered and a tiny, frightened, "Oh!" escaped his lips. She smiled warmly and said, "You like that?" and when she was rewarded with a weak nod she let her hand snake down below his balls and she tenderly caressed him there as she masturbated him.
He would twitch, jerk, moan softly as she touched him. And Inga realized that the closer her fingertips came to his anus, the more he whimpered. She remembered how he had fingered her in the asshole, how that penetration had thrilled her into revealing her own name, and excited almost beyond words now Inga slid a few inches down his thighs to give herself better access to his ass. She pressed her index finger against his sphincter and he moaned and arched his back. "No," he bleated.
"Yes," Inga breathed. "Tell me your name or you know what happens next."
He squirmed but it was impossible to tell if he was trying to move away or toward her. "No, please!"
Inga tipped the bottle of oil and let it drip all over her fingers. She kept at his opening, probing, teasing, and all the while he moaned and whimpered and begged her to stop. All the while struggling to open his legs to give her better access.
He opened his thighs enough for Inga to wiggle her finger inside him. "What is your name?" she demanded.
"Chris," he cried, a huge smile blossoming over his face as she penetrated him. "My name is Chris! Please, don't, please...put it..."
Inga stood up and released his legs. She sat down on the chaise lounge, grabbed his ankles, and draped his legs on her shoulders. His legs hung in the air, in much the same position he's put her in last night. His anus was fully exposed and completely vulnerable and she inserted her index fingers inside him all the way to the knuckle. He pushed his hips forward to maximize the penetration and he breathed heavily through his open mouth as she fingered him.
He bit his lip, arched his back, and groaned, "Uhhh, my name's Chris." Inga grabbed his penis and started jerking him like a madwoman. She was mad, she was finger-fucking him and jerking him and from the expression on his face he was in the throes of some unspeakable rapture.
"You like it in the ass, Chrissy?" she teased. "You like your legs in the air while you get fucked?"
He nodded mournfully. "You win," he groaned. "But...uhhh...how did you know to...oh...to DO that?"
"You did it to me yesterday, and it made me talk," Inga said, pistoning her finger in and out of his rectum. The tender resistence her finger met made her want to push it in harder, deeper, and every time she upped the pace Chris's face would contort, twist...and then relax into a beatific smile. She pulled out her index finger and saw him look down in frantic disappointment. Inga poured oil over her fingers, smeared it around his opening, and then gently inserted her middle finger, allowing her to burrow a few delicious centimeters deeper inside him. She visualized his excited prostate gland swelling with semen as she tenderly stimulated it over and over and over again.
She fingered him, she masturbated him. And as she did so Chris raised his legs so high they came off her shoulders, and he reached up and grabbed his ankles to allow her total freedom to ravish him. His eyes never closed, he stared at her quivering breasts, at her lips, at the fingers that were torturing him. His hips undulated slowly as she had her way with him, and again Inga felt an almost overwhelming urge to sit down on that straining erection and feel it split her in two. But was so vulnerable, so exposed, that Inga didn't want to relinquish this position of total control.
"Do you want to come?" Inga demanded.
"Yes, please," he cried, and Inga released his cock and instead wiggled her finger deeper inside his ass. He cried out and Inga said, "You'll come when I say you can come."
She wanted to keep him like this all day, and all night, quivering and moaning and his skin glistening more now from sweat than the oil. But she was a bit out of control herself. She wanted to see him come, she wanted to see him surrender to the pleasure, surrender to HER. She wanted to MAKE him come. She poured more oil in her hand, smeared it all over his cock, and started pumping. And pumping. And pumping. Her finger in his ass never stopped moving and she pumped and pumped and pumped his penis until she could tell he was perilously close.
"Don't you dare come," Inga said sharply. "Don't you come until I say so."
"I...Inga...I can't..." he licked his lips.
"Hold it in. Don't come. Not until I say!"
She stroked him faster, and a tremor ran through his body. "Oh, oh my God."
"No. Don't do it."
"I have to! You're..." and his voice grew very quiet. "You're making me come..."
Inga buried her finger in his ass and let her palm flutter around the head of his erection before jacking him off like a machine. "Don't you dare come!"
He gasped, arched his back, and bleated, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
"No!" she demanded, but she couldn't hold back a feral smile as his legs fell to the floor and his hips tensed and a watery gout of semen pulsed out of his penis and sprayed all over his chest up to his shoulders. Inga kept fingering him and stroking him as Chris had an orgasm that awed her. His second ejaculation was far more copious and splattered his chest just past his nipples. And then his cock fluttered in her hand and irregular gouts of come jetted all over his belly and crotch, and he moaned softy and writhed and squealed--exactly as she'd fantasized about. And she kept her finger and her fist working until she'd extracted--extracted--every ounce of semen his testicles possessed.
He lay on his back, arms out to the side, legs splayed. His chest rose and heaved from the colossal exertion. "Look what you did to me," he said, his eyes looking down at his cum-splattered skin. "Look what you made me do."
Inga rose, knelt down, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "I'm glad we've now been properly introduced, Chris." She held out her hand, "In case you'd forgotten, my name is Inga."
He took her hand and shook it. "Inga. I think I'll remember that name."
"I think you will." She kissed him again, and he kissed back as best he could in his state. She rose and started to walk toward the house. "I left my friends talking to some of your friends. It wouldn't surprise me if a few of them ended up in bed tonight. Isn't that a happy coincidence? It gives us a chance to spend some time together."
"If I spend more time with you," he croaked. "I might drop dead."
"Oh, I wouldn't let that happen," she said as she slipped on her suit. "I'll need a dip in the ocean before I go back. You need a shower, honey. A long, soapy shower." She walked back and gently touched his gooey erection, and Chris twitched.
"You know, it's going to be hard for me to top this," he said.
"I know," she said, looming over him and kissing him on the lips. "See you down at the beach."
She walked back to the house, and then she heard his voice over her shoulder. "It'll be hard...but not impossible."
Inga left the house and walked to a different set of stairs before returning the beach. Her skin glistened with tanning oil and sweat, and she walked down to the surf and gingerly walked into the waves. The cold water felt delicious on her sizzling skin and after a few minutes bobbing in the water she waded out and walked back to her friends.
They were deep in conversation with their new boy toys. Yes, there would be a lot of sex tonight, she thought. She wondered if these strapping younger men knew what her friends would do to them in the bedroom, how hungry and aggressive they were.
Well, if they talked to Chris, he could clue them in.
"What took you so long?" one of her friends asked, and Inga said that on the walk back she'd started talking to a man and they went for a dip. "But then he let it slip that his wife wasn't coming down till tonight and, hey, would I like to see his hotel room?"
"Tsk," one of the guys said. "That's pretty weak."
And another grinned and said, "Well, you can't blame the guy for trying."
Thirty minutes later a shadow moved behind Inga and there he was, Chris, in bathing trunks and a towel over his shoulder. His friends jeered at him for sleeping so long, and after he traded a few insults back he was introduced to all her friends.
"And this is Inga," he was told, and he leaned down and shook her hand. He said, "You know, I think I knocked your purse off the bar last night. I'm very sorry."
"That's all right," Inga said.
"She think she lost the card for her hotel room when it fell," one of her friends said. "You really need to make it up to her..."
His face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry. If you don't find it let me know, I'll pay for it."
"Don't worry about it," Inga said, smiling at him.
There was room for him to sit next to her, but instead he said, "I think I'm gonna go for a swim," and he walked off.