The Newlywed's Craving: Taboo Erotica E-Book

Barbara Birch

• Herausgeber: Palimpsest Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

This full length erotic novel is so sexy we can't even tell you the preview…

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Angela was licking, sucking, fucking; her membranes whiplashing Harry's rod like a violent tropical storm. His prick was like a sinking ship, in that he still hadn't started coming, and she was coming all around it. Her pussy was pouring out its thick, sweet juke and both of them were sweating cloudfuls of perspiration, as if it was raining on both of them. Harry was rocking while she was socking, his balls bursting, his prick quivering, as Angela rammed her pussy into his crotch, her tits into his chest, her tongue into his ear, almost shouting wordlessly the theme that screamed in her mind: "God-dam you, Harry, why don't you come?"
She felt a jabbing and stabbing in her wideopen, well-rounded ass.
It was the cop, who'd dropped his club of wood and was trying to insert a club of flesh instead. He'd unzipped his fly, pulled out his prick, and was now ramming and jamming it up her ass, right into her shuddering sphincter muscles. They opened wide to let his instrument in.
 

Leseprobe

The Newlywed's Craving

Barbara Birch

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Those sounds came through the sultry, smoggy evening in the Los Angeles beach community -- Venice West, more casual and Bohemian than city or community -- where Harry Johnson and his girl, Angela Wade, had lived for the past year. Their pad was a small, two-room (including kitchen and tiny bathroom) structure that was more shack than house; but, in this free-and-easy area, both custom and climatically, that was all they needed. They didn't need much money to live on, and Harry would get a quick swimming teacher job at the YMCA when the need for fast cash became more urgent than his normal desires for sun, sand, surf, and sex.

The latter was interesting him more, at the moment, than any of the other-listed preoccupations.

Harry was enjoying his nightly ritual with Angela, Before they got down to the serious business of fucking, she'd get him hotter than a furnace by doing her own personalized "stripper" routine for him -- and him alone. Gypse Rose Lee couldn't have been more accommodating, he thought, remembering that this was one of the reasons he'd asked her to live with him. She'd turned him on with her knowledge of both body and clothing language; and, he had always had a thing about making it, living and loving with a nice, young chick of his own. He was a bit possessive, even he had to admit; but, since she didn't care one way or the other, and she liked living with him, she'd just moved right in and made herself at home.

"Oh, baby, you're really doing fine ... oh, Angela, sweetheart, you've got the best boobs in the world "

They were sitting on the bedroom floor -- that is, Harry was, his legs crossed and an erection in his crotch. A single candle was burning, a San Francisco psychedelic rock group was on the FM, and Angela was dancing on their bed, that really was a couple of mattresses stacked together.

She had just taken off her bra, a black one with a half-rise; it only held the bottom of her beautiful breasts, but supported them just the same. Her tits really needed no support; they were 36C, as lovely and conical as juicy canteloupes, their long erectile nipples glowing pinkly in the light of the candle, thrust forward and raised slightly upward, as if they might take off for the moon at any minute.

Angela was only halfway through her 18th year, and there wasn't one wrinkle on her creamy white skin. She was five-seven, tall for a girl but spectacular as far as height goes for one so young, especially with her waist-length hair that combed straight back from her forehead, the color of dark amber. A natural redhead, with light green eyes, slanted and as calculating as a cat's. A long oval face, full cherry-thick lips, pouting mouth, slender torso and long, tapered dancer's legs completed the pretty picture.

"How do you like it so far, Harry?" she asked, her voice mellow as cider, speaking in her alto register with a slurring, purring sound that made everything she said sound deliberately vague.

"Beautiful ... baby ... just beautiful ..." was all her lover could murmur in his low, sometimes sonorous, tenor voice that would have sounded radio-announcer smooth if he'd been more articulate in his phrasing.

So, Harry sat there, clutching at his crotch.

He was nude, naturally, and his prick was jutting out from its protective thatch of pubic hair like a missle from its silo. His cock wasn't much more than six inches, but, with its tip shaped like a snake's head and its unusual width -- it looked like a stuffed sausage, and was almost the same ruddy color -- it could really get itself inside a woman's pussy and dig right in like a soldier in his trench.

At 25, Harry was hitting five-nine; maybe a little thick in the ankles, just a bit of belly, but not obviously so. He had a damn good posture, and his thick, curly dark-brown hair spilled over the side of his round, pleasant face and down to the back of his neck, giving him a "good little boy" sort of look that was appealing to most females, Angela included. His eyes were almost the color of chocolate, large and sensuous, with his mouth making a pouting "0" that his girl also effected; but, his was more successful, because he could still breathe better in that position than she could.

Angela was now doing some things with her bra that held Harry's interest. She was holding it against her breasts as if she'd suddenly discovered that it was slipping off, and at the same time revealing a nipple here, base of boob there, now a portion of this part of her tanned flesh, then a portion of that. All the while, her legs were in constant motion, as she executed some fancy dancing steps that were de-signed to wiggle every curve in her long, lovely body. Her haunches, jutting out behind her like softly-rounded hills, were vibrating in time to the music and shifting from side to side. Harry hardly knew where to concentrate his gaze, there was so much shaking and shimmying for him to enjoy.

He felt his balls tighten in their scrotum, and his cock was so hard he was afraid it was frozen stiff, like an ice cream bar. Though she was doing all the moving, it seemed to him, as great gobs of perspiration fell from his forehead and dripped from beneath his armpits, that he was doing all of the sweating and straining.

Angela, meanwhile, was digging her own body and its rhythmic movements. There was merely a thin patina of moisture on her skin -- where she was burned by the California sun almost the color of a redwood tree, her skin tones, though tanned, were the color of light copper -- and her muscles were enjoying their exercise.

Expecially her vaginal muscles, expanding and contracting with great eagerness, as her taut clit, like a pointing finger, held itself erect with grace while her cunt lips, beneath their covering of red-dish pubic hair, hung sufficiently open to reveal the dark pink of her pussy membranes.

She flipped her bra into Harry's hands.

He caught it, holding it close to his nostrils while he sniffed. He loved the mixture of teat sweat and her orchid perfume ( the latter she used not only behind her ears, but also on her breasts and between her legs) . As he inhaled the holy scent of sex, his cock grew larger, stiffened to its fullest length, protruding forward like the long rifle of a hunter aimed at big, big game ...

While Angela, fondling her hair, whipped her long cherry-colored tresses right on the tip of Harry's semen-swollen prick ...

"Oh, Angela ... you turn me on too fast ... I'm coming ..."

He dropped the bra, giving attention to his spurting instrument of sex.

But, Angela, aware as always, intercepted.

Bending her legs like a ballerina in a difficult dance movement, she bent forward, her haunches riding high behind her, and, still moving, got her head so that his dick was just a few inches from her pouting mouth. Out snaked her tongue, and she licked the tip of his prick, slurping down the thick, foaming liquid, as Harry felt the delicate, yet probing touch of her tongue.

Which spurred him into greater sexual effort, as his swollen instrument gushed forth another load of come juice.

But, this time, she was even more ready for him.

Her mouth was open now, her lips creased into an "O" of pleasurable expectations. Though she could feel her back stiffening from holding her difficult dancing pose, she got her mouth on his agitated, jumping prick and began to suck it inside her mouth, letting her lovely lips and massaging membranes do the job. As she greedily swallowed his sperm, feeling the hot, sticky stuff dripping down her throat, her eyes rolled and her nostrils flared in ecstasy, while he felt the tender touch of her mouth membranes urging him on to more and more explosions, to a greater and greater outpouring of his masculine liquid.

She guzzled from his cock like a freshly-popped 7-Up bottle, desiring his effervescence now, before it might turn stale and flat. He reached for her in his lust and passion, tying to throw his arms around her neck and pull her head even closer, her mouth even more firmly around, his spurting instrument of sex.

Even while still sucking him off, she shook her head.

She drank her fill, pushing his hands away with hers. She knew she could get it up again for him; then, she'd let him inside her. She could feel her own cunt starting to churn like a leaky laundromat. Yes, she would want her satisfaction, too; but ... not just yet ... not now ...

"Goddam you, Angela!" Harry cried angrily. "I want more action that that, you crazy cunt!"

She airily danced away from him, shaking her ass in time to the minor blues theme of the band's guitars, tapping her toes to the drummer's driving beat. As Harry got up from the floor, his dick still drip-ping sperm, she began to remove her panties.

This had always turned him on more than any-thing.

He stopped, one hand on his cock, the other hanging at his side, as Angela, putting her legs close together, dropped her panties, inch by suggestive inch.

Still moving ... still grooving ...

From the waist up, her torso was swiveling like a top, her boobs vibrating as if they were leading a separate, swirling life of their own.

She now had her pubic hair exposed ...

Then, her cunt lips ...

Finally, the whole big box, the palpitating pussy that he'd paid plenty for during the past year of living and loving together.

He could feel his rod getting stiff again, and it wasn't just because he was automatically fondling it between his fingers, either.

She had now dropped her panties right to the tips of her toes. Carefully stepping out of them, she flipped them with her talented toes right at Harry, but catching them first with her fingers as he reached for them.

He almost tripped, but regained his balance quickly. Waving her panties at him like a flag, she danced away from him again. She held them with one hand, waving them aloft triumphally, while her other hand slipped down between her own legs to check the temperature.

She rubbed her own erectile clit a few times on the way, pleased at its hard-rubber stiffness, and brushing gently against her damp pubic hairs, got her little finger past her trembling lips and half-way inside her opening.

It was like sticking her finger into a boiling bath.

She pulled her finger out fast, after massaging her membranes for a few seconds. She could almost feel the heat causing her finger to swell; she raised her hand to her mouth, and licked the tip of her juicy-stained finger, tasting the heady pungency of her own pussy juice.

That, to Harry, was a good sign.

From past experience, he knew that whenever she started playing with herself like that -- instead of teasing him with her dancing routine -- she was really ready for it.

And, from the ever-growing, ever-heavy feeling of that beautiful thing he carried between his legs, he didn't have to look, much less touch, to know that his cock was, again, ready to ram itself deep inside her cunt.

He advanced toward her, dancing on his feet, his cock long and strong and sticking out in front like a loaded gun.

She stopped dancing.

She spread open her legs, thrust out her arms ...

And Harry, perspiring and hot to trot, kept on moving, doing his own dance of love, moving until their bodies were skin-touching each other.

He shoved his cock against her cunt-lips. Teasingly, she tried to close her lips, to prolong the moment of entrance.

He -clamped her around the shoulders, and her breasts bored into his chest. His cock pushed aside her cunt lips, driving deep, driving hard, straight, and true. She gasped as its thickness penetrated her pussy, forcing her membranes apart like a knife slicing a piece of cheese; her arms automatically went round his waist for support.

Her hips were still twitching from ecstasy as he bent her down upon the bed, his prick still deep inside her pussy. As he braced her back against the coolness of the spread-out sheets, the movement made his rod seem as if it was being blown up like a balloon inside her. She moaned with pleasure; his joystick was indeed, something else.

He flattened her, spread-eagle style, against the sheets, and his toes touched hers and curled her legs

into a deep "V" as his cock, still connected, dug deeper and deeper inside her cunt. He began to probe her dripping pussy, making rhythmic thrusts in time to the music, and she felt the sexual power of his prick turning on every one of her nerve fibers. Electricity coursed through her body, and her pussy lips clutched tightly at his manhood, responding in it's own rhythmic patterns to his savage, masculine thrusts.

She began to come, her haunches vibrating, her cunt churning with dripping juices which poured forth from her pussy like honey from a jar. Her cunt clutched at his cock, and the more it did, the harder he shoved it against every one of her membranes. She could feel him all over her; she was sweating now, as much as he was. Her mouth connected with his ear, and her tongue began to probe into his eardrums ...

Then he came.

He caught her right at the beginning of her second orgasm. He had wanted to wait until her third, but she had simply gotten him too hot for further delay. His manhood buckled, shooting out a steady stream of sperm like water from a fire hose. She was so much on fire, there was almost no quenching her, as he thrust and parried and blasted her with seeds, and she poured out her foaming juices to meet his holy fluid. She could feel him in every part of her pulsating body, and she cried tearfully, with much joy, as they came together: "Oh, Harry ... never take it out ..."

He grunted, "you just keep taking it off ... and I'll put it in ... Angela ... and I'll never take it out ... again ..."

CHAPTER TWO

It was a Sunday, one of those relaxing, sunny Sundays on the beach that had not only the singles but also the families out in droves to enjoy the sand, sea, sun ... and sex. A national pastime, certainly; but, on any beach near or adjacent to Los Angeles, a year-round celebration, considering the salubrious, sun-drenched climate for it.