The erotic adventures of a South Seas sexpot

“OH, SHIT!!” Susana pushed at Peter’s chest, bucked her hips in a futile
attempt to throw him off. She hadn’t heard the car — not surprising in
view of the crashing intensity of the orgasm from which she had only
just recovered — but in the afterglow she heard the “snick” of her
husband’s key in the security gate lock, and the rattle of the latch as
he opened the front door. “Get OFF,” she hissed. “It’s Neil. The
bastard’s come home a day early.”
Peter, on the verge of climax, was incapable of rational response. His
eyes were glazed, unfocused, his face contorted into a mask of mindless
purpose which at any other time Susana would have found hilarious, and
his pile-driving prick hammered remorselessly at her still-palpitating
pussy. The tail was wagging the dog, and nature was just going to have
to take its course.
Susana shoved again, bucked again. “Get OFF.” It was no use. Her senses
keyed to almost supernatural levels, she heard Neil dump his suitcase on
the floor in the hall and kick off his shoes, then lock the gate and
close the door. “Surprise,” he called. “It’s me.” Even that didn’t get
through to Peter. She felt him tense, break stroke, but only in response
to a higher urgency than a soon-to-be-outraged husband’s voice. He
gasped, shoved, gasped, shoved, cursed, shoved, shuddered, shoved, and
in spite of her predicament Susana climaxed again, clawing at the
sheets, whimpering and thrashing her head from side to side as his
plunging cock exploded inside her.
As the fog cleared she looked towards the bedroom door. It was open — it
had been open all along — and Neil was standing just inside it, his face
unreadable and a bunch of flowers in his hand. Even at such a moment, he
could attempt a feeble joke. “Hi honey,” he said tonelessly. “I’m home.”
Peter’s head snapped round, his eyes widened in disbelief and he jerked
himself out of her, rolled off the bed and stood hunched in shock, his
hands clutched in front of his privates. He looked ridiculous. Allowing
for exaggeration, he was twice Neil’s size, and here he was cringing as
if he was about to be beaten to a pulp. Susana stifled a giggle, waved a
hand helplessly. For almost the first time in her life, she couldn’t
think of anything to say. She took refuge in formality. “This is Neil,”
she said to no one in particular. “Neil, this is Peter.”
Peter scrabbled on the floor for his underpants, turned away from Neil
and pulled them on. His shrinking dick wept a final dribble of sperm,
leaving a spreading wet spot.
“Get out.” Neil spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his voice that
Susana had never heard before, and she wondered whether she ought to be
frightened. He was looking at her, but when he spoke again it was
obvious his words were directed at Peter. “Get out,” he said. “I want to
speak to my wife.”
Peter reached for his trousers and Neil hissed at him. “Leave them
there,” he said. “I don’t want you running away. Just get your arse into
the living room. I’ll talk to you later — when I’ve finished with this
one.” Peter edged past him, his big frame strangely shrunken, both hands
covering his crotch as if he expected Neil — weedy little Neil!— to lash
out suddenly and kick him in the balls. Neil didn’t even look at him.
“Shut the door on your way out,” he said, and Peter backed into the
living room, obediently pulling the door shut behind him.
Neil stepped to the side of the bed, stood looking down at her, then
laid the flowers between her breasts. Like lilies on the chest of a
corpse, she thought in alarm. Quickly, she shoved the thought aside,
tried to brazen it out. “Thank you,” she said, and batted her eyelashes
at him. “Shut up, slut.” He raised a hand as if to strike her, then
snatched the flowers away and threw them on the floor behind him. His
eyes reflected pain, and anger, and something else that Susana couldn’t
quite identify. “Bitch,” he said. Where Susana came from it meant whore,
the cheapest kind of whore, and under any other circumstances she would
have leapt to her feet and tried to scratch his eyes out. Instead she
simply lay there, not daring to move, even to bring her knees together,
accepting the worst insult he could heap on her. She was acutely
conscious of the perspiration — hers and Peter’s — still mottling her
breasts and belly, and of the even more copious evidence of their
coupling trickling out of her cunt and on to the sheet between her
widespread thighs.
As if he read her thoughts, Neil leaned over and slipped the middle
finger of his right hand deep into her unresisting pussy. He drew it
out, wet and glistening, examined it for a moment and then held it in
front of her face. “Bitch,” he said again, and still she did not react.
He wiped his finger on her cheek, trailed his hand down her body and
probed again into her cunt. “Fucking bitch.” Again he withdrew his
exploring finger, held it up for her to inspect, then carefully smeared
her lips with the slimy essence of her treachery.
Susana studied his face, alert to every tiny nuance of expression. His
mouth was set in a dead-straight line, except for a tiny tic tugging at
the left corner, and his nostrils were flared. His burning eyes searched
her body, came back to her lips, still puffy from her recent passion and
now plastered liberally with sperm and her own natural juices.
Tentatively, she parted her lips a fraction and licked a tiny curd of
cum from the left side of her mouth. Neil’s eyes widened, then narrowed,
and his breathing quickened. “That’s right, bitch,” he said, and now the
menace in his voice was overlaid with a rising note of urgency. “That’s
right. Lap it up.”
She opened her mouth a little wider and dabbed at her top lip with her
tongue, then slowly and methodically, watching his face the whole time,
licked herself clean.
When she’d finished, he groped again between her legs. Without taking
his eyes off her face, he screwed three fingers into her cunt and
rummaged about for several seconds. Peter always came in quarts, and her
pussy was positively awash. She raised her head to watch as Neil
withdrew his hand. His fingers were dripping with the leftovers of love,
pearly threads and three or four great glistening gobs of it. Her head
flopped back on the pillow as he brought up his hand and poised it
palm-up over her face. “Open up,” he said. She opened her mouth, poked
her tongue out over her lower lip, and he turned his hand palm-down and
dipped his fingers to the vertical. The stuff of life dripped gluily on
to her tongue and slid into her mouth, and she gulped it down, then
licked and sucked the sticky residue from his fingers as he presented
them to her one by one.
He straightened up, eyed her speculatively for a moment, then stepped
around to the end of the bed and stood staring at her weeping cunt.
Slowly, almost absently, he unbuttoned his shirt, tugged it free of the
waistband of his trousers, peeled it off and tossed it towards the
dirty-clothes basket. It missed. He unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of
its loops, and dangled it like a whip. Self-preservation leapt to the
fore and Susana snapped her knees together, then swiftly drew her feet
up towards her buttocks. Neil reacted just as swiftly. He let go of the
belt, dropped on to the end of the bed, and wrenched her legs apart. She
struggled for an instant, then decided resistance was only going to fuel
his anger, and went limp. Feet together and knees spread wide, she felt
like a frog pinned down for dissection in a high school biology lab.
Somehow, perversely, that thought excited her and her nipples sprang
Neil took his hands from her knees and backed off the bed. His face was
flushed and he was breathing heavily. He unzipped his fly, unhooked the
waistband of his trousers and let them fall, then slipped his underpants
down his legs, bent over and worked his feet free of both garments.
Susana, watching him warily through the flattened vee of her splayed
thighs, licked her lips involuntarily as he straightened up and revealed
the full extent of his arousal.
Normally, these days, it took some serious foreplay — licking, sucking
and stroking — to get him fully erect and ready to roll. Yet now,
totally untouched by human hands, his cock sprang proud from the base of
his belly, its single eye staring defiantly skywards as if searching the
There’d been a lunchroom legend, before she married him almost 11 years
ago, that he couldn’t fuck — that he fainted every time he got a hard-on
because his dick drained all the blood out of his brain. A prick of
truly mind-blowing proportions, as one wit put it. It wasn’t THAT big,
but it was certainly more than adequate, and for a long time after the
first time Susana couldn’t get enough of it. Well, that wasn’t quite
true either — for the first year or so they were at it three or four
times a day, often for hours at a stretch, and when they weren’t doing
it they were both thinking about doing it. How he managed to hold down a
responsible job while all that was going on was still a mystery.
She’d been an 18-year-old virgin when Neil came into her life, her only
previous sexual experience a wide-eyed handjob on a pushy young workmate
named Alipate, who lured her into his flat on some forgotten pretext and
then took off his pants and wouldn’t let her leave until she’d “fixed”
him. It had been quick, and messy, and in retrospect only mildly
interesting, and she’d kept well clear of him after that.
Neil was almost exactly twice her age, and she’d been frightened rather
than flattered when he first began showering his attentions on her. But
he made her laugh, and in spite of her friends’ dire warnings (or
perhaps because of them) she started going out with him. Simple,
innocuous dates — nothing that would keep her out beyond the curfew set
by her traditionalist father, nothing that would lead her down the
shameful path to dishonor about which the nuns at St Peter’s had been so
fond of talking. Just sandwich lunches in the park three or four times a
week, quick dinners in the Korner Kaff on nights she had to work late,
and once an afternoon at the football.
Right at the outset, he told her he intended to marry her, but marriage
was still a long way in her future and she didn’t take him seriously. He
wooed her with flowers and silly presents — a rubber duck (?), a strange
kaftan-type dress which she gave to her mother (telling her it was a
present from an overseas pen-friend) and the one which finally did the
trick, a fur-covered pillow in the shape of an enormously fat, brown
sea-lion (she loved it dearly from the start and even today, more than a
decade later, she pulled it out of the closet occasionally when she felt
in need of comfort). Unlike the boys against whose crude advances she
was constantly on guard, he never grabbed at her and he never tried to
ply her with liquor. They’d hold hands, and he’d kiss her lightly on the
forehead when he dropped her off down the street from her home, and that
was all. Pretty soon, she realised it wasn’t enough.
On the Saturday afternoon three weeks after their first date she turned
up at his house uninvited, unannounced and alone, and fell into his
arms. Barely 10 minutes later, without knowing quite how she got there
or how she came to be naked, she was writhing in astonished ecstasy on
his bed with his tongue in her virgin pussy and his burgeoning cock
throbbing hotly against her shoulder.
He didn’t lose consciousness as rumored, but he didn’t actually fuck
her, either, in spite of her willingness to yield up her hymen to him
right there and then. It was a willingness she made perfectly obvious
when he came up for air and lay beside her, gently teasing her nipples
with his fingers. She pulled him over on top of her, groped for his cock
and tried inexpertly to manoeuvre it between the lips of her cunt. He
rolled off. Susana was puzzled. Everyone knew that all men wanted was to
put their thing into your thing and wiggle it about. Was there something
wrong with her? He laughed, hugged her tightly and kissed her, his mouth
fragrant with the spoils of cunnilingual congress. He didn’t, he said
quaintly, want to “defile” her. Then he licked his way back down her
body and ducked his head once more between her legs.
Susana thought she’d died and gone to heaven. The world fell away
beneath her, and she was just a few square centimetres of quivering
flesh and a bundle of nerve-endings, which sprouted wings and flew her
higher, higher, dragging a kaleidoscope of colors behind them until she
broke through the roof of the sky into inky blackness and exploded in
shower after shower of silver sparks.
As she fluttered back to earth she became aware that he was once again
stretched out on his back beside her, his left arm beneath her
shoulders. She rolled towards him and flung her own left arm across his
chest. What did he mean, he didn’t want to “defile” her? He licked her
ear, launched into a long and confusing explanation that boiled down to
not wanting to pop her cherry unless she was willing to give him not
just her body but also her soul. It came across as pompous rubbish, but
she realised he was saying, like her mother and the nuns at St Peter’s,
that her virginity was something to be guarded jealously until she was
safely married. It was only then that she realised how serious he was
about marrying her, and in that moment she discovered also that she
loved him.
She kissed him, snuggled her head on his chest and studied the
foreshortened view of his cock lying quietly on his belly like a beached
eel, its tip reaching to within a couple of centimetres of his navel.
She tiptoed her fingers down his body, and stroked it lightly. It shook
itself awake, its head swelled visibly, and it rose up and winked at
Neil slipped his hand beneath her armpit and cupped her left breast, and
she circled his prick with her fingers and made the milking motions the
obnoxious Alipate had taught her. Neil groaned and squeezed gently on
her breast, then began kneading her nipple lightly between his middle
and ring fingers. “Yes,” he breathed. “Oh yes, love, do that.”
His cock was hot and hard, and it stiffened and swelled even more as she
tugged and squeezed. Susana sat up, knelt beside him and watched his
face as she worked on him. His eyes were closed and his tongue showed
through parted lips. “Yes,” he said again. “Oh, yes. Do it. I love it. I
need it. Do it.”
He opened his eyes and she was shocked and excited to see the helpless
pleading in them. He reached up a hand and caressed her cheek, then her
throat, then dropped it lower and stroked her breast. Her nipple
stiffened again to his touch.
Both of them were breathing heavily now. Susana wrapped both hands
around his cock and pumped faster. He was gasping, jerking his hips in
time with her stroking, and his cock was growing huge.
Susana licked her lips, watched fascinated as its rosy tip emerged,
disappeared, then re-emerged from between her circling fingers. “Yes,”
he gasped. “Oh, yes. Pump me. It feels so good. Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh, yes.”
His left hand was busy rubbing, stroking and squeezing her nipple, the
fingers straying every so often to caress the firmly contoured faces of
her breast. Then he raised it to her mouth and pressed his thumb against
her lips. Susana allowed it partway into her mouth, bit gently on it and
teased it with her tongue. She tore her gaze from his cock, turned her
head and looked directly into his eyes.
As if that was the signal he had been waiting for, he raised his hips
towards her and forced his cock further into her hands. “Now,” he said.
“Now. Make me come. Now. Yes. Now. Yes. Now. Now. Now.”
He was shaking his head in ecstasy, his cock burned and throbbed, and
she gripped him still tighter, sensing the pressure building inside him.
Suddenly he screamed softly, his hips jerked upward, and his juice
spurted out of him, arcing into the air and splashing back over her
hands. She kept pumping and there was another jet of sperm over his
belly, then another, then a slow dribble that dripped stickily through
her fingers.
He lifted her hands from his prick, raised them to his lips, and kissed
the tips of her fingers. “Clever hands,” he whispered. “So clever.” He
let go of them, sat up and put his arms around her, then kissed her
softly on the forehead, the eyes, the nose and, finally, the lips.
He pulled up a corner of the sheet, wiped her hands with it, then leaned
back while, giggling, she mopped up the mess on his belly and in his
pubic hair. Then he had her lie face down on the bed and sat beside her,
tracing a zigzag path with his fingers from the nape of her neck, down
her back, over her buttocks and down the backs of her legs to her feet,
and up again between her legs to the warm-wet sweetness of her most
secret place.
He turned her over, traced the same kind of path with his lips from
throat to nipples, across her belly and further down, and she spread her
legs and moaned as he dipped his head between them and slipped his
tongue again into her pussy.
After a while he raised his head, licked his way back up her body and
kissed her on the lips. Susana shuddered as his probing fingers found
another love-button. “Lick me some more,” she whispered. “Please. Do me
more.” She put a hand on his head, urged it down her body, shuddered
again as his tongue slipped into her crack, slithered over her clitoris
and stabbed at the half-sealed entrance to her vagina. She closed her
eyes, and her legs twitched while a series of near-electric shocks
passed through her body.
As the pressure built within her, Susana reached for him, her fingers
caressing his back, his belly, then circling his now-flaccid prick,
tugging insistently until he moved over her, his tongue still flicking
at her quivering clitoris, his knees to either side of her head and his
cock hanging directly over her face.
She poked out her tongue and licked him, tasting the drying sperm on the
tip of his cock. Then she flung her arms around his back and suddenly,
somehow, it was in her mouth.
Older, worldly-wise girlfriends had talked about this, giggling, nudging
each other and slyly watching her reactions. The very idea had repelled
her. Now, however, it seemed perfectly natural, and she cuddled tighter,
lifting her head off the bed and purring with passion as his prick began
to stiffen again between her lips.
He moaned, and a fresh thrill swept through her body as his tongue
stabbed at her cunt and his bottom lip vibrated against her clitoris. He
began to hump his hips, fucking her face, and she worked eagerly on him,
guided by instinct, licking, pressing and sucking. Then he was rolling
over, his own lips and tongue still busy between her legs as he flopped
on to his back and pulled her on top of him.
Susana lifted her head off his cock, moved so that she was kneeling
astride his chest, and pushed her crotch at his face. “Do more,” she
said, and gasped as he spread the lips of her cunt with his thumbs and
began nipping at the burning bud of her clitoris. His tool jerked and
flopped against his belly, and she leaned forward and once again slurped
it into her mouth.
Now that she was in control she began to experiment, raising her head so
that only the very tip was between her lips, teasing with her tongue,
then slowly working her way down the shaft until her mouth was full of
him. Up, down, in, out, and all the time his prick seemed to be growing
harder and bigger, longer and thicker, and his tongue lapping at her
cunt was causing tiny shockwaves that seemed to run right through her
body and burst in sparks behind her eyeballs.
Up, down, in, out, faster, deeper. He began to writhe beneath her, and
she found herself shaking uncontrollably as he pressed his face harder
into her cunt, his cunning tongue jabbing, probing, stabbing, sliding
sensuously over every surface and into every crevice.
Up, down, up, down, her busy lips and tongue on autopilot now and all of
her conscious attention centred on the fire Neil was stoking in her
Then she was coming, and she pressed back hard into his face as the
shocks merged into a blinding flash of silver sparks in her head. She
cried out, the sound smothered by the rigid pole of flesh in her mouth,
as wave after giant wave of orgasm reared up, broke, and came crashing
down on the sunswept beach of her body.
When she regained her senses he was still licking at her, his tongue
slithering up and down her crack and stabbing at her swollen clit. His
cock was still in her mouth, and now he was humping his hips, heaving
himself up to drive deeper and deeper on every one of her downstrokes.
Suddenly he tensed, and somehow his cock seemed to swell even more,
stretching her lips to the limit and boring even deeper into her mouth.
Up, down, up, down, and he threw his arms over her buttocks, cuddled her
tight and thrashed his head from side to side in her crotch. His cock
jerked once, twice, and then exploded, flooding her mouth with warm,
salty fluid. Susana choked, swallowed, and went on sucking. There was
more sperm, a strange mixture of faint, indefinable flavors that numbed
her mouth, and she swallowed again, pulling at his twitching tool with
her lips and tongue to milk him dry.
He moaned with pleasure, plunged his tongue once again into her pussy
and they came together, clinging tightly to each other and thrashing
about on the bed until neither of them had any more to give.
Finally, she rolled off and lay panting on her back. Neil sat up, turned
around and lay beside her. He slipped an arm beneath her shoulders and
pulled her to him. They kissed, then slept.
Three days later, at lunch in the park with people all around them, he
went down on his knees at her feet and formally asked her to marry him.
The little box he proffered turned out to contain what may have been the
smallest solitaire diamond ever set in a ring, and she thought it the
most beautiful piece of jewellery she had ever seen. She wore it proudly
back to the office, and no one dared comment on the size of the stone.
Nor, ever again, did any of them say anything — at least in front of her
— about the supposed size of Neil’s equipment.
Her parents were horrified. In accordance with custom she had been
“promised” to a remote cousin since she was 14. That was not a real
problem — the promise could be broken without shame, and in any case he
wouldn’t want her if she was no longer a virgin. They couldn’t believe
she was still intacta, and she had to submit to examination by her
grandmother. The result of the examination mollified her father a
little. What was more worrying was Neil’s age (he was actually three or
four months older than Susana’s mother), the fact that she had kept his
existence secret from them, and the Really Big Issue — he was white!
They discussed it for two days, during which she wasn’t allowed to leave
the house, and were no closer to agreement when Neil turned up and
brought the whole thing to a head. Everyone — brothers, sisters,
grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins — crowded into the house to watch
and listen as he asked her father for her hand in marriage. He answered
all their questions politely, quietly and confidently. In a little more
than an hour and a half he had won them over and Susana didn’t even have
to play her trump card — that she would get pregnant and then they would
HAVE to let her marry him.
After their betrothal feast the following weekend, she moved in with
him. That was entirely her idea — Neil was willing to wait, months if
necessary, until they were properly married, but Susana wanted it all
and she wanted it NOW. The last guest was barely out the door before she
dragged him to bed and literally overpowered him with the full force of
her instinctive, driving sexuality. She cried out more in triumph than
in pain when he deflowered her, and they fucked until dawn, then slept
for four hours and started again.
Hours later, as she lay bathed in sweat in the crook of his arm and
toyed absently with his exhausted tool, he wanted to know if she was
really sure. After all, he said, she was very young and he was her first
love. For himself, he said, he had no doubts at all, but he would
understand if she wanted to hold off on marriage for a while, play the
dating game and maybe taste the fruit in someone else’s garden before
taking the final step. She kissed him to shut him up, told him not to be
silly, swore eternal love and slithered down the bed to lick him back
into shape.
They fucked again. Afterwards he held her face in his hands and looked
earnestly into her eyes, vowed that in spite of his notorious past she
was now and forever hence the only woman in his life, but that he fully
expected her eventually to develop an itch for a younger lover. She
protested, and he hushed her with a kiss. In 10 years or so, he said,
he’d be pushing 50 and she’d be regretting not having sown her wild
oats. When that happened, he said, as he was sure it would, he hoped she
would trust him enough to tell him, and not go sneaking around behind
his back. That, he said, was what had killed his first marriage — he
could have handled the infidelity but he couldn’t stomach the lies.
Susana cuddled him, told him he was talking twaddle, and soothed him to
sleep. They were married three weeks later and she had been faithful to
him ever since.
Until Peter . . .