With Interest Ch. 4

A respectful hush descended on the room. Penelope continued to stare at the prick in admiration, like it was a thing of incomparable beauty. Slowly she began to lick it, up one side to its base, down under, just grazing his scrotum, and back along the other side to the head. Faint mews escaped her lips, as she paused for a moment, holding Marcus' slowly growing erection in complete reverence. Placing his hands at the sides of her head, Marcus let his fingers trace the curves of her jaw and dance through her hair. He smiled down upon her benevolently, but she never even looked up. Her entire focus, her undivided awareness was centered on his penis.

Although Penelope couldn't even nearly close her fingers about his shaft, she began earnestly stroking her hands up and down its length, following her lapping tongue and making the black post glisten with her saliva. Faster and faster she laved it, flattening her tongue to reach around and along every inch. Abruptly she pulled right back and swung the black beam directly in front of her. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, she forced herself against the huge knob. Continuing with her hands whilst writhing her head around and around, Penelope struggled to get her lips around the massive plum. She worked her jaw ceaselessly as she shoved harder and harder, stretching her cheeks and lips to the limit of their elasticity. Finally, gradually, the huge head of Marcus' prick slipped past her teeth to utterly fill her oral cavity. Penelope didn't stop, twisting and turning her head continuously on the end of the still swelling shank. Penelope puffed and snorted frantically through her nose as she attempted to stuff the knot of hot meat down her gullet, not yet willing to accept the futility of the struggle. Whimpering around the fleshy mass, her gyrations were working into a frenzy, until Marcus gently pulled himself out of her distended gape with a pop.

Penelope stared up at him in a daze as he tenderly took her beneath her arms and raised her to her feet. Smiling beneficently, Marcus pushed Penelope back against the table, laying her back onto the polished surface. The rest of us watched in awe as his massive dong bounced out in front of him, not yet quite stiff enough to support its own weight. Climbing up after her, Marcus wedged his huge cock up against her dripping bush and held still for a moment, holding her blank gaze with his eyes. Then, slowly he dropped his hips, tilting his pelvis and pushing himself inexorably between the puffy folds of her vulva. Lifting her knees and dropping her feet onto the wooden deck, Penelope hissed through her teeth as she pushed back onto the tubular intruder. Working together, mere inches at a time, Marcus and Penelope eventually, incrementally, managed to hide half his penis in her vagina.

After a brief pause, Marcus almost lazily drew himself nearly clear of her labia – then he pushed back in – then withdrew – inserting and receding – pressing, retreating, gathering a slow, relentless rhythm. Raising her legs to lock across his back, Penelope exposed their lewd conjunction to the inspection of the rest of us. Her vaginal lips were ludicrously stretched, rolling and puckering with his every stroke. Holding tight around his neck, she rocked her bum to meet his thrusts. Exertion furled her brow every time she strenuously shoved her bottom hard onto his truncheon. Unexpectedly taking control, Penelope turned up the violence of the congress, ramming herself onto him with an increased vengeance, her breath becoming rapid and ragged. Suddenly, she froze, squeezing him so tight, his arms buckled and he fell forward, covering her with his chest and forcing their union to its physical limits. Her lips now firm against Marcus' breast, Penelope unleashed a piercing though muffled shriek as her body was overwhelmed by a powerful orgasm. Her legs trembled in their clutch while she quivered and shook – her fundament shuddering about its pinioned center.

Although Marcus had not apparently come, he withdrew slowly, and gently rolled Penelope, still shivering in a post-orgasmic fever, onto her stomach. Cautiously he lifted her hips, allowing her knees to fall beneath her, and tenderly lowered her onto them. With her head in her arms and her chest still heaving with the exertion, Penelope made a delightful pose – her ass cheeks pulled tight, her bottom virtually calling to Marcus' swaying erection. It was almost surreal, the way the gigantic helmeted head-first addressed the proffered sheath, then slithered in almost, it seemed, in slow motion.

Setting the meter right away, Marcus sawed his ebony log in and out doggy-style, inching in further and further, as Penelope joined the rhythm, pushing back to meet his every stroke. As the black beam continued to part her bush, stabbing her innards, she gasped and threw back her head, eyes wide with surprise. More and more of Marcus' humungous cock disappeared up into her, until, amazingly, their pubic hair almost touched. There, Marcus stopped. Keeping his own hips still, he guide Penelope's with his hands, and she moved, very slightly at first, then bit by bit, longer and faster until she was virtually vibrating – waving her head to and fro and squealing pathetically. Her dirty-blonde hair, all stringy and wet, having grown long over the past year and a half, whipped about in her frenzy, looking all the more attractive for being, at that moment, wild and unkempt. Marcus simply held on, as her voice rose to a screech and her movements became feverish, threatening to detach her head at the neck. Abruptly, she stiffened and froze with her head flung back and her mouth wide. The silent scream of her unbelievable crisis was all the more eerie for its soundlessness. It seemed like minutes before the high-pitched whine of her receding zenith became audible. And still Marcus had not come.

Like a candle, melting after burning too hot, Penelope's arms slowly, almost gracefully, buckled under her, letting her head to sink into their tangle, her chest fall back to the polished platform. As Marcus pulled out, looking very much like a magician removing a large salami from a tiny lunch-box, Penelope's knees slipped a bit on the moist table-top, splaying slightly and spreading her cheeks to expose her brown rosebud.

Marcus's cock waggled up her crack, spreading a fine sheen of its juicy coating, to stop, bouncing against her anus. If Penelope was concerned at the prospect of this impending reaming, she was apparently too exhausted to do anything about it.

"It's not going to work," I muttered under my breath. "You just can't put an elephant through the eye of a needle." I watched intently as Marcus began to push once again. "Please don't hurt her," I hissed, through my teeth. I could hear Penelope grunting and groaning as he pulled on her hips, leaning over her ass with his body, and forcing his swollen member hard against her unyielding sphincter. "Oh, Christ," I muttered, starting to push myself to my feet. "You're going to rip her apart!" I was suddenly really worried. I had to stop him. "Don't tear…," I started to call, when, with an audible 'whump' and long exhale from Penelope, the huge helmet disappeared into her hole. I let myself sit back down, without taking my eyes off the spectacle on the table in front of me.

They remained motionless just a moment. Penelope's quiet panting shook her hanging tits. You could almost hear the tissue around her anus stretching.

After a bit, Marcus scooped lubricant from Penelope's vagina, and slathered it on the shaft of his cock. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he increased the pressure, slowly, slowly inching his enormous pike into her. If I thought it was amazing that he'd actually got so deeply into her box, it was even more amazing to watch him disappear up her ass. Insistently he ploughed further and deeper into her rear passage.

Penelope grunted and groaned, apparently still not quite sure if this was ecstasy or agony. There was complete quiet in the room except for their subtle sounds of exertion, while, in unison, they worked his solid limb resolutely up her dirt-chute. It was a while before Marcus was fully ensconced. At the apex, he stopped only a moment before reversing. Pulling back only enough to unroll the twisted flesh at Penelope's stressed sphincter, Marcus pushed in to depth again. This time he pulled back a little further, spreading love-juice from Penelope's reservoir on his rod before sending it back in.

Penelope, at first, held still, letting Marcus set the pace. Head in her arms, arse up high, she looked like some nymph or lesser goddess supplicating herself before her lord. There was an intensity to the tableau that held the rest of us in thrall, hands trailing up and down our own members. But Marcus continued the unhurried assault, heedless of his audience, although probably not heedless of Penelope's growing participation in her own sodomy. Her gentle rocking, meeting and recovering from his persistence, kept time with swelling melody of her sighs – a mixture of passion, desire, arousal and contentment.

Slowly and steadily, Penelope picked up the tempo – both in stroke and displacement, until at last she was fully involved – plunging and lunging recklessly on Marcus' piston. She seemed curiously intent on testing the limits of her anal opening on the girth of his hardwood timber – hissing her breath through her teeth as his balls slapped against her pudendum. Now it was her turn. Once again, Marcus simply braced himself, passing the conductor's baton, as it were, to her. Seizing the proffered control, Penelope proceeded to work herself furiously against him, twisting and turning as if she were trying to rip him off with her butt.

Marcus leaned over her to keep his balance – to keep from being jarred loose – placing his left hand in the small of her back. Supporting himself on his arm, he reached around with his right hand to strum her clitoris gently with his fingers, all the while endeavoring to hold his hips still. At the touch of his fingers, her body, already sweaty and flushed seemed now to glitter and glow. He played her like a musician, bringing her so close, then pausing to let her recede – crescendo and decrescendo – composing her like a song; mercilessly controlling her arousal.

Penelope's orgasm – when he finally allowed it – came over her like a tsunami. Bucking back violently, she screamed and cried, until, drained of energy, she dropped her head back into her arms. As the crisis washed past, Marcus kept on pumping, triggering, in short order, an after-shock – though, more than that, it surpassed the first climax in its intensity. Dripping with sweat and spittle, Penelope wailed like an animal lost to the spirits.

Marcus now seemed to get harder and larger with every stroke. Penelope had hardly caught her breath when she was hit by a third wave. Not just an echo, but a third, discrete orgasm – full-blown, higher yet. Marcus, it seems, had sent her soaring to unbelievably heights – further, I had to admit, than she'd ever been with me – further than I'd ever witnessed. I had never seen her so aroused – so involved, so energized with passion. Her cries were both strong and pitiful, as if she knew she was finally at the end – the well was dry – and in some way, she almost grieved that this was the last peak – for the time being, anyway.

Her uncontrolled convulsions, in the rarified air of new heights, finally dragged Marcus over the summit. He stiffened and moaned, as the spasms of ejaculation rocked his hips. Holding himself firmly in place, emitting low growls, he closed his eyes tight, while tremors ran the length of his polished chocolate body. He must have come in quarts, for rivulets of semen began to seep from their conjunction, dripping down Penelope's crack, even before he'd finished twitching and jolting. Penelope's gasping, shrieking cries made it obvious that Marcus had carried her past a new frontier. He hummed in satisfaction, and a contented smile gradually appeared on his lips.

Still connected, they disintegrated into a heap of panting, sweating protoplasm – collapsing as one – enervated from their journey. Penelope appeared to be insensate to all but the echoes of her orgasms. Following a long silence, one of us in the gallery became to applaud. And if we were reserved in our applause, it was due to awe rather than a lack of appreciation. It had been a marvelous suite – in three movements. Marcus had been the maestro; Penelope, the priceless instrument. Together they had produced superb music. We sat, all of us, speechless.

Some time later, while several of us in the audience had jerked off during the spectacle, the rest off us accepted a slow, tired blowjob when Penelope finally got off the table. It had been a full day and it was well into the evening when everyone made their good-byes and left, completely satisfied.

Concluded in part five.