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Joyce 3/4 (mf, breastfeeding)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Joyce felt some of her education pay off right about then -- she
found herself escalating into a soaring pleasure oblivion as the blur
of Curt's slithering tongue pushed her over the edge. She had no idea
how long she felt the ecstasy, only that it seemed to melt through
minutes. However long, she came down only to find herself on the
verge of coming again. She could see Curt burying his lips between
her labia, sucking her clitoris into his mouth and refusing to let it
go. She began a quiet yelp -- "No, it's too . . ." -- that was
stifled as she rocketed away into a second orgasm.
Curt had noticed that her hands had found her bare breasts. A finger
delicately orbited each nipple until drops of her milk trickled and
spilled around her areolae. Curt had had enough. He dropped his hands
to his pants, unzipping with fury. About the time Joyce's third or
fourth orgasm (she'd lost count) ended, he presented his penis at the
opening of her vagina.
"Wait," he heard her say. She pushed the chair back and slid to the
floor. Even Curt, not the hallmark of sexual experience, could tell
how hungry Joyce was for that final act, coupling. She spread her
legs so far back and apart that she could grasp each ankle with ease.
Her cunt was opened wide, a stretched set of moist pink lips
surrounded by a trail of light brown hair. But though Curt could see
the entrance to Joyce's vagina easily, he noticed that the tunnel
itself hadn't opened much at all.
"Enter my gates with thanksgiving," Joyce joked nervously, making a
pun of a hymn the congregation had sung during the service.
Curt didn't let it spoil the mood. "I love you," he said, dropping
the head of his dick into Joyce.
Both gasped at once. Curt felt how warm -- no, hot -- she felt
inside, how soft, how wet. Joyce was recalling the previous, first
cock she had let inside her. She knew Curt was barely inside her, but
already she could tell that he was bigger than the other guy was.
He didn't exactly know what he was doing, but pumping in and out of
Joyce's cunt felt good, and he found himself doing it at a fairly
fast rate. Joyce, it was obvious to him, was enjoying it, too: her
hands were back at her breasts, milking the nipples with tight
squeezes, while her mouth was open. He wondered if she would come.
Joyce was coming. About five strokes into intercourse, the sweep of
orgasm suddenly enveloped her, and it refused to let her down. It
melted into different stages: she tingled all over, then her crotch
burned almost painfully, then she was aware of the relentless ramming
of Curt's dick in her pussy. Then her breasts -- oh, her breasts.
God. Each light touch of a finger to a puffy areola made her sting
with a delicious pleasure, a tiny orgasm in itself, on top of the one
that now seemed continuous.
When it slipped away, she opened her eyes to watch Curt leaning over
her, thrusting at the brown furry patch between her legs
unrelentlessly. God, what a turn-on. She found herself coming again,
but relatively briefly. When those 30 seconds were through, she
opened her eyes again, and this time the determination on his face
soon sent her back into ecstasy. And the cycle continued.
[continued]
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