Warning: This is a VERY taboo, vintage, hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel. This is bad stuff. Both bad meaning bad and bad meaning *good*. The story is so crazy, we can't even give a proper description.***************Better than her mother? She'd never thought of it that way before. But maybe that was part of the reason she was always trying to bug her--to show that she wasn't so damn particular and finicky, to show that her mother's values were too rigid, too demanding, maybe even a little phony. She knew what her mother would think if she found out her daughter had been fucked by a dog. But how would she like it if she found out her daughter sucked cock, too? "Ahhhhhh, God ..." Robin moaned, unable to keep from weaving her ass back against Midnight's furry belly and thrusting prick. She licked her lips. That was all she'd intended to lick, anyway. But her tongue swept over the velvety mushroom of his straining, throbbing prick, too. Flavor burst through her senses, heady and strong. She smacked her lips and saw that the big eye on his prick was leaking clear oil. She watched another drop ooze out as he stretched his prick towards her face again. "Ahhhhh, yeah! Like that, baby! Lick it again! Give me that sweet tongue all over my prick-head. And your lips--those baby-soft, red lips!"
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Copyright © 2017
Table of Contents
Christine watched him come around the end of the sofa from the wet bar with the pair of drinks and knew in her mind that it was going to happen.
She felt her heart pound. She felt a thrill begin tingling through her belly, making her pussy-tunnel squirm warmly in a way it hadn't for nearly three years.
"Here, Mrs. Eglund--try this and see if it doesn't call forth faraway places and sugar-sand beaches under whispering palms for you and me."
He smiled handsomely and sat beside her. She looked into the glass and squeezed her thighs together to try to stop the quick, shameless bloating of her trembling cunt-lips.
"All that from one daiquiri?" she laughed softly, trying to sound flippant and sure of herself.
His hip slid against hers and made her catch her breath. He watched closely as she sipped the drink. She felt like jelly under his gaze. After all this time, it was a frightening feeling, and it made her wish he were Carl.
But he wasn't Carl. It wasn't three years ago, when she'd been deliriously happy, when Carl had sat beside her on this same sofa after Robin was asleep and she had pulled him down against her uplifted hips and drawn his prick deep into her quivering cunt.
Those nights were gone forever. It was the same sofa, the same balmy, tangy breeze coming in through the porch from the Gulf, the same feeling of softness and warmth and expectancy. But he wasn't the same man, whose prick had driven firmly into her succulent cunt until she'd whimpered and surged upward into orgasm.
Over the pounding of her heart, she could hear the gentle throb and hiss of the surf outside, and it occurred to her to remind him that she had a nice beach and whispering palms right outside.
"You need to use your imagination more, Chris," he said, whispering hotly into her ear, his warm breath puffing at the silky strands of her yellow hair. "You can't just bury yourself and stop using your imagination, or the world will pass you by."
His lips brushed against her cheek. She sucked in her breath and felt her tight, conical tits swell and harden, the pink nipples thrusting against the satin material of her dress.
The world and you, too, Logan? she wanted to ask.
She couldn't face him. She felt too jittery inside, knowing he was right, knowing that time was running out. "I haven't buried myself, Logan," she said weakly. "I just haven't gotten over ..."
"It's been three years since Carl piled himself up in his Porsche, honey," he said bluntly. "What good is this beautiful house on the beach and the boat in back and all the money he left you, if you bury yourself in a hole of grief and won't come out and enjoy it?"
She looked at him quickly. "Is that what bothers you, Logan? That my money isn't being spent the way you think it should be?"
"Aw, come on, Chris. What is this? Do you think I'm after your money? Is that really what you think? By God, let's get it out in the open-- right now!"
"You wouldn't be the first," she said tightly. "A rich widow, left alone in the prime of her life--"
"A beautiful widow, younger than prime," he smiled, half mocking her. "I've told you a hundred times, you don't look thirty-five. You look younger than I do, tall and willowy and slim and absolutely delicious."
"Easy pickings for some young stud to sweep off her feet, with a daughter who's just--"
"Just as beautiful as her mother, even if she is only eighteen, with high, thrusting tits and a twitch in her tight little ass that only a lecherous stepfather's prick could quiet."
"Oh, shut up!" Christine cried, gasping at the suggestion. Even though the thought had occurred to her before, she couldn't help but notice the slight smile on his mouth when he said it.
"And let's not forget old Midnight over there, snoring away with his head between his paws. Surely there must be a place in the grand and treacherous scheme for a black Labrador. Let's see, now--hush up that wailing sound of self-pity and let me think of a way to use the dog in my sinister plot."
"Logan, stop making fun of me!" Chris cried again.
He looked at her deadpan. "Stop accusing me. Stop thinking the worst of me, when I've given you no reason to. I love you, Chris--not the money Carl left you. Not your constant memory of Carl that won't let me get near you."
"Logan, I didn't ..."
"He's gone, Chris. I'm here. I'm handsome and intriguing and bright and young and good-natured. And I want you."
She looked at him, her blue eyes running over his features. It would be so much simpler if he weren't big and blond, the way Carl was, if he didn't have nearly the same way of teasing her for her fears that Carl had.
When she said nothing for a long moment, his eyes went cool. He stood up. She knew the moment of decision was there. She couldn't help staring straight ahead at his crotch, seeing the bulge of his cock and balls inside the tight pants.
Her cunt seemed to crush down on itself as if giving out a scream of protest for the long absence of hard, thrusting cock to wrap itself around and suck into its depths.
God, it had been so long!
She lifted her arms to him, feeling anguished inside. "Oh, Carl, don't go away ..." She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him with wide eyes, feeling as if she could die.
After an eternity, a small smile came to his lips. "See?" he whispered. "Do you see what makes it so tough for me, Chris?"
"Logan, I'm sorry! I don't know how ... it just ... just slipped out, Logan!"
He sighed. "Maybe you're right, Chris. Maybe you need more time tucked away in your dark, insulating cave after all. But I ... I don't think I'll be around when you decide to come out, Chris. I don't think I can wait that long."
"Logan, don't do this to me!" she wailed, putting her hands to her face.
"I'm not doing it to you, Chris. You're doing it to yourself. You're overly suspicious. I don't want your money. I want you." He sighed again. "I can see it was a bad mistake to mention that idea of a shrimp farm to you. I can get the money somewhere else. I just thought you and I could ... that with the two of us working together, we could ..."
"Oh, God!" Chris cried. "It's got nothing to do with anything, Logan! I swear it hasn't! I ... Logan, I ... want you, too!"
She gasped. She sucked in her breath. She felt her pulse pound wildly. She felt the responsive flapping of her bloated pussy-lips, as if the sweltering, abandoned, depths of her cunt were giving out a lusty cheer.
She felt a current of shame run through her. She thought back on the words her mind had voiced a little while ago--that he was going to fuck her.
Not that he wanted to. Not that he was going to try to. But that he was going to fuck her. It was an admission of her mind that she would cooperate. It was a realization now that she'd known she would let him.
She gasped and hugged her arms shamelessly around his hips. She pressed the side of her head against his crotch. She felt the bulging wealth of his cock and balls, and another shiver passed through her sex-starved body as she begged forgiveness from herself.
"I want you, too, Logan," she rasped huskily, repeating it, letting them both know that she was his.
"Where's Robin?" he whispered, his own voice husky. He put his hand on the back of her head and pressed her face more tightly into his crotch.
"She went to the movies with Pete."
"Thorne Bast's kid?"
"Yes. Oh, Logan, I ..." she gasped, wishing she could withdraw into safety again.
"Huh-uh," he said firmly. "You're not backing out this time, Chris. I've left here with a hard, frustrated cock too many times to suffer through it again. We're going to settle this, Chris. We're going to lie right here and fuck. I'm going to lift you right up out of that hole you're buried in on the spear of my cock, and you're going to start living again!"
"No ... the bedroom ..." she whimpered, feeling the stiffening length of his prick under her cheek, feeling the warmth of it come through his pants and ignite her body.
"Huh-uh," he said again. "Not there. I've got enough to overcome with you. I don't need ghosts, too."
"All right, Logan," she gasped, knowing what he meant, knowing that she had wanted it there so that Carl's memory would give her the strength to resist.
There was a groan from the corner of the room that startled her--like a groan from the past, a warning not to yield. Midnight lifted up and stretched and yawned grandly, his tongue curled into a loop, his teeth catching the light. Then he circled and looked at them and thumped his tail against a table leg before collapsing to the floor again.
"Put him out, Logan," Chris whispered quickly.
Logan looked at the black dog and then back at the blonde at his waist. His prick throbbed heavily. He tangled his fingers into the yellow silk of her hair and tugged gently, hearing her gasp of passion. He licked his lips and moaned softly and then released her.
There would be time for that later ...
Chris watched him go over to Midnight and call him towards the door. The dog wanted to sleep, but he got up and padded onto the porch at Logan's command.
Few men got along with Midnight. Or maybe it was the other way around. But Midnight liked Logan. She felt good inside about that. It was a good sign. It was something she could trust.
He came back towards her. The hump at his crotch was plain now. She looked at it and felt her pussy clambering for its first cock in three years.
She felt dizzy with the knowledge that she'd gone that long without fucking. She'd had plenty of chances, it wasn't that. There was the loyalty to Carl, the memory of him, the fear that nobody would ever measure up to him.
It wasn't that she was sexless, either. But she'd found a solution to salve her jittering pussy and keep herself from becoming prey to the unscrupulous studs who had fluttered around her for the first two years, wanting all the goodies that Carl had left behind.
The solution hadn't been enough lately. Finger-fucking was fine for a while. It could take care of the burning need. It was fine in the dark of night when she would awaken with her pussy aflame and dripping between her thighs and her hips pumping up and down as if there were a prick thrusting into her cunt.
She could spread her thighs and move her hands between her legs and make her fingers swirl over her honeyed cunt-mouth and straining clit, make them massage the bloated lips and even venture into the slick, wet haven of her cunt in imitation of a big cock.
But the time had come now when she wanted a real one, a hard one, a cock that spurted and boiled slick sperm into her depths and bathed her flaming pussy walls to put out the fire inside her.
She saw it. It was coming towards her, hard and long. She could see the full line of the throbbing shaft inside his pants, and she couldn't suppress the little shiver rippling through her body.
She wanted it. Even if it wasn't Carl's, she wanted to be fucked by that hard, thrusting prick!
"Ohhhhhh, God ..." she moaned softly, lying back on the couch before he was even over her, shameless and hot.
He paused. He gazed on her slim, willowy form, seeing the clear outline of her thrusting, firm tits under the satiny material of the green dress.
He ran his eyes over the pinch of her waist, the sweet curves of her hips, the way the material dipped between her thighs and outlined the vee of her pussy.
He saw the trim thighs, the long legs, slightly parted now, the undercurve of her tight ass. He saw the blue eyes, hooded with passion, the slackness of her red, full lips, the fine chiseling of her nose and chin.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispered.
"Don't watch me like that, Logan," she moaned, turning her head to the side. "I feel obscene!"
She closed her legs. He stood beside the couch and reached down gently and slid his hand between them, running it high up between her soft inner thighs, pushing the skirt up to the triangle of her slick panties.
Her legs opened again as if under their own will. She knew her pussy was draining syrupy honey into the crotch of her panties, soaking them, leaving a dark, sticky streak on them that he could see and feel.
"Ohhhhh, God ..." she gasped thickly, feeling her cunt-lips shudder with the touch of the tip of his finger.
"So ready," he whispered. "So hot and yearning and ready! Chris, how could you go so long without it!"
"Ohhhhh, don't-don't torture me, Logan! I feel so shameless like this! Do it! Hurry and do it and get it over with!"
Her hips pumped up and down wantonly. They circled and shifted. She felt the give of the sofa cushion under her tight, round ass-cheeks, the heat steaming up from between her legs.
"You don't look shameless," he said. "You look like a Girl Scout, all green and yellow and pretty."
A peal of hiccuping laughter left her lips and made her shake all over. She put her arm over her eyes and gave him an affectionate oath. It was just the kind of thing Carl would have said.
Because her eyes were covered, she didn't see the way his prick pounded with quick urgency in his pants or the way his eyes shifted from her squirming body to the framed snapshot on the coffee table--the one of Robin in her bikini that was taken a year ago on her eighteenth birthday.
He undid his belt. He pushed down his pants. Chris heard the rustle of clothing and drew her arm away. She stared at the thrust of his big prick, the throbbing redness of it jutting from the snarl of blond pubes.
"Oh, my God!" she cried heatedly.
Her pussy-mouth jumped and spasmed around the tip of his finger. She felt the slick nylon of her panties being pressed into her puffy, drenched gash, and she knew there was no way she could back out of it now.
What was worse, she didn't want to back out of it. She wanted that big cock up her sweltering cunt!
"Olihhhh, Logan--do it! Take my panties off! Stick that thing inside me! Ahhhhh, God, I want it!"
He leaned towards her, his prick throbbing. He fixed his gaze on her soft, slack lips. He saw the tip of her pink tongue just inside the white, even line of her teeth.
"Then take it, Chris," he whispered.
She stared at the slitted knob. She saw the gleam of oil there. She watched him angle the strong prick-shaft right towards her parted lips. She licked the soft surfaces. She felt hypnotized. She felt as if she were going to suck his cock into
"Ohhhhh, take them off, Logan!" she gasped, turning her head to the side again, her chest heaving with her quick breaths.
He slid his hands up the outsides of her hips, pushing the skirt high, baring her slick white bikini panties. He kneaded her hips, his fingers curling around towards the firm meat of her ass-cheeks. her mouth against her will, even though it was her pussy-mouth that screamed for it.
"Ohhhhhh, no, Logan--no!" she gasped finally. "Fuck me! Fuck my cunt!"
He backed away after a moment's reluctance. He let out a small sigh of resignation that she didn't catch and sat on the edge of the sofa near her churning hips. His prick throbbed at the sight of her red, pursed lips.
That, too, could come later ...
Chris moaned and opened her thighs shamelessly, letting him see the dark wetness flowing from her cunt-gap, the puffy mounds of her bloated, parted pussy-lips, the little crinkles her honey-yellow pubes made.
His fingertip ran up and down her pantied slit and twirled slightly at the top of her cleft, making her clit sing and pulse.
"Ahhhhh, my God! Take them off and fuck me!" she cried.
"Huh-uh, baby," he rasped. "You've got to do some of this yourself. You slip them off. Bare your hot cunt to me and spread your pussy-lips with your fingers, and let your cunt talk to me. Let it smack its lips and tell my hard cock to come inside. Reach, Chris--reach out and stop expecting everything to come to you."
"Ohhhhh, God ..." she moaned, shame creeping over her again.
His hands wouldn't stop. They massaged her inner thighs. They swept up and down her pantied twat. They gently massaged her flat tummy and squeezed her tits and moved all over her flaming, yearning body.
"Be a part of this, Chris," he whispered again, pressing his warm, wet lips high on her inner thigh. "I don't want you telling me afterwards that I fucked you, that I forced you. I want you to be able to say that we did it to each other."
"Ohhhhhh ..." she moaned again, jittering all over, squeezing her thighs around his hand as he slipped his finger inside the legband of her panties and swept it up and down through the silky, drenched meat of her pussy-gap.
She knew what he wanted. She hated him for it, and yet she felt another emotion besides--a kind of grudging admiration. He wasn't going to let her hide at all. If she wanted to be fucked right now, she was going to have to make a positive move, take a step away from Carl's memory on her own.
She weaved her hips and ass around in circles, making her clit brush against the tip of his finger. She began to gasp. He chuckled softly and removed his finger, and she knew he'd caught her again, unwilling to let her come in such a sneaky manner.
"Ahhhhh, my God!" she gasped. "All right--all right!" She yanked her skirt up her slim waist as high as it would go. She lifted her hips, raising her tight, round ass-cheeks from the cushion. She put her hands at the sides of her slim hips and slid them downward.
Her fingers slid under the waistband and pushed. The panties foiled down her hips. They slid off her pussy-mound, baring the honey-yellow curls over it.
The nylon clung to her sticky, soaked pussy-lips and tugged gently. She lifted her legs, bending her knees. She rolled the panties down the slim, trim, long legs and let them slip from her fingers to the floor.
"There!" she gasped, lifting her head enough to look at him through hooded eyes. She put one leg over his head and rested her foot on the floor, opening her cunt to him shamelessly. "Ohhhhh, God, there! Fuck me! God, fuck me!"
Logan looked at her spread pussy. He saw the parted lips, bloated and drenched, soft and silky on the inner surfaces, pink with heat. He saw the sparse thatch of hair over her twat, and his prick pounded at the way he could look right through the covering, as if it weren't even there.
Her pubes hid nothing. Rather, they were like frosting on the delectable meat of her honeyed cunt. If her face looked young, then her cunt was even younger--like a little girl's freshly sprouting patch of fuzz.
His prick throbbed and beat. He licked his lips and stared fixedly at the sight of her youthful twat, and he scooped his hands under her naked ass, lifting her hips high.
"Ohhhh, Logan!" she gasped.
He fairly dove at her cunt. His tongue was already thrusting between his lips when his face came against her twat and his tongue speared into her gash and twirled.
"Ahhhh, God!" Chris cried, bucking upward, her cheeks tightening to hard knots in his hands.
His tongue slurped and twirled over her pussy. It darted into her watering cunt-mouth and stabbed deep through the slippery, silken folds.
"Ahhhhh--no! No! Ohhhh, don't do that, Logan! Fuck me! God, don't make me come like that! Don't suck ... ahhhhhh, fuck me, hurry!"
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