The Pussyholic

"I've got to sit down," he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

He kicked clumsily free of his pants and briefs and sat heavily on the sofa. Suzanne crawled over and knelt beside him, her head on his lap. The little slit in the head of his cock was barely an inch from her mouth. She could smell the faint bleach-like scent of his come.

His cock was small now, gone the big, beautiful column that had filled her hands and mouth. She worried that he'd not be able to get it up again. The book said he would but she remembered her ex' and the way he slept the sleep of the dead after they'd had their all to brief couplings. Hopefully the book would be right. Simon was slumped back his eyes closed and happy grin on his face. It was an even match so far, one cum each.

Simon's heart and lungs slowly returned to their normal pace and he peeped at her through slitted eyes. She was quite lovely. Her brown hair belonged in a ponytail. The softness of he breasts pressed against his knee and thigh. Some of his come still glistened on her forehead and the side of her nose. She didn't seem aware of it. She'd actually swallowed, actually, actually swallowed; he'd not expected that.

He thought about the rest of the chapter. He prayed she'd stay, stay and play. He'd not felt such joy in a very long time.

"Shall we take a well earned break?" he asked.

"Fine by me." She got to her feet and went to the mini-bar, opened it and bent to look at the contents. She knew he'd be gazing up her short skirt at her ass. She liked the idea. 'You're quite the little slut Sooz,' she said to herself.'

"Another beer?"

"Beer's fine."

They were quoting the book almost word for word she realised and said, "Cocksucking's thirsty work."

She carried two bottles back to where he sat. She bent to pick up his briefs giving him a look down her blouse and noticed his eyes were drawn there. She handed bottles and underwear to him. "Don't cut your hand, I can never open those silly screw-off tops."

"To book-signings."

"To erotic writers," she said. They clinked bottles and drank.

Suzanne picked up the book and read silently. Her thighs closed and she took her bottom lip under her top teeth. She was suddenly looking forward to the next pages.

She glanced at her watch.

Simon noticed and his heart sank. Hating the words, he said, "Is it getting late?"

"Late? Would you like me to go?"

"Lord no! I'm sitting here praying you'll stay."

She tapped the open book with her finger. "Leave? No, let's at least finish the chapter?"

He turned towards her and she looked down. His cock was noticeably longer and fatter. "I think perhaps he wants me to stay," she said quietly.

Simon glanced down. "Yes, we both do."

Suzanne took off her watch and put it, face down, on the small table at her elbow. "There, time is on hold." She drank three swallows of beer and sensed she had a slight buzz. She'd not eaten since she'd left her apartment. "Mustn't get too drunk, anything might happen."

"Indeed, just about anything."

"Back to the story?" she asked.

"By all means." He held out his hand and she passed him the book.

He read, 'Maureen knelt astride his lap and reached for the top button on her blouse.'

Suzanne took another swallow of beer, put the bottle down and stood up. She turned, knelt astride his lap, her ass on his knees and reached for the top button of her blouse.

Simon licked his lips. He was going to get to see those breasts.

With the last button undone she opened her blouse and shrugged it off. Her bra was a lacy, white affair. It was low cut and gave her a delightful cleavage. His cock responded. She reached behind her and unfastened the hooks. She slipped the straps of her shoulders and the bra joined her blouse on the sofa beside them.

Her breasts were big and looked delightfully heavy. His hands moved of their own accord, he badly wanted to touch.

"They're too big," she said quietly, as if she feared he'd think so too.

"They're beautiful," he said with a sincerity that made her close her eyes and smile.

The nipples were big and dark. They jutted from their dark surrounds. He thought they begged to be loved.

"Are you a breast man too?"

"Too?"

"Well the hero of your tale says he's a pussyholic."

"I guess I'm both. How could I not love those?" he whispered.

She reached down and took his hands and placed them on her breasts.

They were so soft, so heavy, their skin like warm silk. He cock was rigid again. Jutting up between them. He circled his palms on her nipples and she moaned, squirming her ass on his lap. He kept his hands moving and she began breathing through her mouth.

He took his hands away and looked. Hers were the biggest nipples he'd seen. Erect now like his cock, they just had to be suckled. He took her right breast in both hands and lowered his head. With his lips round the nipple he sucked gently and teased with his tongue. He felt an awful urge to bite. He did, trying not to hurt her.

She moaned and her body went rigid. She scrambled off his lap and sprawled on the sofa beside him. With one hand she pulled up her shirt and clamped the other over her mound and began rubbing herself.

He watched and knew they were about to stray from the story. He wanted his cock under those panties and into her heat and he knew with an awful certainty that she wanted it too.

But some strange perverse part of him wanted to follow the story, to tease them both by prolonging this first encounter. He would, if he could, stay with the plot.

He knelt in front of her again. Her thighs were wide spread. Her little white panties had tiny blue flowers on and he knew she'd put on fresh ones when she'd visited the bathroom.

Her eyes opened and she looked at him. Her hand clawed the panties to one side baring herself to him. Her pubic hair was almost coppery. She held herself open and wetness gleamed. Helpless, he plunged his face into that wetness; his lips found the top of her cleft, found the prominent bud of her clitoris. He'd barely touched her with his questing tongue before she came.

She humped and bucked under his mouth. Somehow she got her legs up on his shoulders, her heels grinding into his hack. Her thighs clamped his head and she just fucked his face. She was wet and hot and Simon had to fight for breath.

Her hands were on the back of is head, pressing him into her and she just kept coming. He thought he'd drown or suffocate.

Finally she subsided and he managed to get her feet back on the floor. He raised himself. She seemed to glow. Her body had a sheen of sweat on it. Her big breasts moved wonderfully as she fought for breath. Her pussy gaped, shining with her juice and his saliva. Her panties were drawn to one side. She couldn't have been more fuckable.

When she gasped, "Please ...," her meaning very clear.

Simon moved awkwardly closer on his knees and she writhed her ass until she was all but slipping off the sofa. His cock slipped into her in one steady thrust.

His earlier orgasm made his second a struggle. With his hands under her ass he fucked her desperately. She squeezed her breasts cruelly with her hands, like in a porn movie. Just as he was wondering if he could make it, the first tremors began inside him. He was going to come, he was going to come. With each thrust there was a slap of him against her and he was saying, "Yes!" with each thrust.

Her mind and body caught his rhythm and in sweet unison they came, her first contraction, his first spurt. He thought his whole being would empty into her through his cock.

Her pussy walls milked at his spasming cock, the ripples sucking him empty. The contractions of her pussy seemed to go on forever. She was sobbing he was gasping for breath. They were both near exhaustion.

There was no post coital tenderness from either of them. They were beyond that. He sat on the floor between her feet as if he'd climbed a thousand stairs. Suzanne was sprawled, perhaps asleep, perhaps unconscious. Their combined juices oozed from her, out of her pussy, down the cleft of her ass and onto his knee.

He gazed at her big nipples, the strands of sweat-wet hair across her face and hoped she'd never leave.

Her eyes flickered open and she looked down at him. She sought words but found none. They just looked at each other. He ran the backs of his fingers gently across the wet curls of her pussy.

"What an incredible thing this is," he said softly. "Mustn't let it catch cold." He gently pulled the panties across to cover her mound.

She sighed, took a deep breath. "Will you read the whole book to me?"

"Now?"

"No silly, now we rest. Read to me tomorrow." She sounded half asleep.

"What do we do when it's finished?"

"You write me another and another and ..." she began snoring softly.