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The Pussyholic Pt 2

Again? Yes, and Again
"The Pussyholic" Part 2
by Smutwriter
Copyright October 2010

When she re-emerged she looked much the same. Perhaps her makeup had been retouched, her eyes looked darker, bigger and surely her lipstick brighter, whatever, she looked lovely. He sat and watched her.

She went to the chair where he’d sat and picked up his beer and drank the half-glass that remained. “An orgasm like that leaves a girl thirsty I guess.”

Next she came over the where he sat and bent and picked up the book. “Now, where were we?”

He smiled up at her, “I remember it quite clearly.” He stood and gestured at the couch.

Suzanne nodded and sat down. “Mmm, so do I.” She flicked through the pages until she found the right place. She glanced up at Simon and read, ‘He got to his feet and Maureen reached for his belt buckle.’

Suzanne put down the book and he took a step nearer. He felt a tremor of excitement run through him as her hands reached out towards him. She fumbled a while with the buckle but eventually got it unfastened. She took the tag of his zipper and drew it slowly down, very slowly. He felt, rather than heard, the buzz of it.

His cock stirred as she undid the button at the waistband and, with a jingle from his pocket change, his pants slid to his ankles. She turned and picked up the book. She was teasing him he realised in a mix of delight and dismay.

‘Maureen sat and gazed at the contours of the bulge at the front of his briefs.’ she read.

“Nice bulge, nice contours.”

Her hand reached out and touched him. He gave an involuntary gasp. His cock began its swelling and straightening.

Suzanne’s heart seemed to be hammering in her throat. She’d never done this to a man before. She sensed the power of the moment but also realised that her earlier orgasm had done little to reduce the horniness that possessed her. She was touching him through the soft grey cotton of his briefs, feeling the roundness of his balls, the ridge formed by his cock. That cock was growing.

Her self-restraint slipped away and she slid her hands round him to dig her fingers in to his ass and press her face against that lovely bulge. With nose and mouth she nuzzled at him, turning her face this way and that. He cock became huge, or so it seemed. She’d dreamed of doing things like this to a man. There’d been nothing like this in five years of empty marriage. But now it seemed so natural. Next she’d pull down his briefs and do it all again.

She pulled back reluctantly. Where the head of his cock strained against the fabric there was a dark patch. That was precum he was leaking. Just like in the story his cock was producing precum and it was doing it because of her.

She reached for him again, hooking fingers in the elastic waistband easing the briefs carefully out and down. His cockhead appeared and she held her breath, her hands moved slowly down. When he was exposed she paused to look. How primitive his cock looked with its veins tracing random lines and the skin so tight- looking.

“I’ve never …,” she breathed the words, “I’ve never seen one so up-close.”

The wrinkled ball sac below his rearing penis fascinated her. She loved the red-tinged hair that sprouted everywhere.

Of course she did it again; grabbed his ass and buried her face in him, breathing his musky warmth. She turned her face, her cheek against the beautiful rigidity of his cock. He groaned above her.

She pulled back again and reached a small hand to grasp him, she squeezed and sure enough a jewel appeared from the little slit, as per the book. And, as per the story she leaned forward and took it with her tongue-tip. She closed her mouth and tasted, sweet and salty. The inside of her pussy seemed to convulse, an involuntary clenching as body and brain reacted. God! She was in a hotel room, licking a man’s cock, she giggled.

“Giggling at my cock isn’t in the book,” he told her.

She knew that of course but she knew too what was next.

Since that awful fiasco in her teens she’d never sucked a cock. Could she do it now, as she was supposed to? To gain a little time she reached for the book which was open, face down, on the sofa. She handed it to him.

Simon took the book wondering if she’d really follow the story. Already the whole thing had gone further than he’d dreamed it would. Suzanne had turned out to be a delight. He cleared his throat and began, ‘Patrick was close to the brink when she licked the head of his cock. She looked up at him, her eyes huge.’

He looked down and she raised herself off her heels and kissed the end of his cock again, then took the head into her mouth. Simon lowered the book and closed his eyes for a moment but he had to watch. She looked up and her eyes did look big and round with what seemed, in his imagination, to be a worshiping look. Her lips looked red and swollen and slowly she slid them down him, sucking him in. In and in went his cock with wonderful slowness until, finally, she gagged slightly and out it slid again.

Then he was indeed near the brink, the pressure seemed to build and he knew that first spasm was close. She seemed to sense it too because she slid her mouth off him and blew gently, chilling his wet skin. Simon realised she must know the story by heart.

Now Suzanne wanted to do everything, all at once. Cursing the book she took his spit-slick cock in her hands and began to jerk him off. One hand was stroking the length of him, the other rolling its palm over the head. In no time it seemed he was moaning and telling her to stop before it was too late, then begging him never to stop.

His hips bucked, he sobbed and she felt his first jet spurt into her hand, against her palm. Surprised, delighted she took the hand away and the second hit her between the eyes. She squealed in delight, this was just like the story. A third spurt and she put her mouth over him to catch the fourth. It tasted just like his precum, not really much taste at all. Not the awful flavour she’d half expected. It took an effort to swallow what she’d caught but she did it. With her hands she gently milked out the last few drops, pearly white over her knuckles.

“I’ve got to sit down,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

He kicked clumsily free of his pants and briefs and sat heavily on the sofa. Suzanne crawled over and knelt beside him, her head on his lap. The little slit in the head of his cock was barely an inch from her mouth. She could smell the faint bleach-like scent of his come.

His cock was small now, gone the big, beautiful column that had filled her hands and mouth. She worried that he’d not be able to get it up again. The book said he would but she remembered her ex’ and the way he slept the sleep of the dead after they’d had their all to brief couplings. Hopefully the book would be right. Simon was slumped back his eyes closed and happy grin on his face. It was an even match so far, one cum each.

Simon’s heart and lungs slowly returned to their normal pace and he peeped at her through slitted eyes. She was quite lovely. Her brown hair belonged in a ponytail. The softness of he breasts pressed against his knee and thigh. Some of his come still glistened on her forehead and the side of her nose. She didn’t seem aware of it. She’d actually swallowed, actually, actually swallowed; he’d not expected that.

He thought about the rest of the chapter. He prayed she’d stay, stay and play. He’d not felt such joy in a very long time.

“Shall we take a well earned break?” he asked.

“Fine by me.” She got to her feet and went to the mini-bar, opened it and bent to look at the contents. She knew he’d be gazing up her short skirt at her ass. She liked the idea. ‘You’re quite the little slut Sooz,’ she said to herself.’

“Another beer?”

“Beer’s fine.”

They were quoting the book almost word for word she realised and said, “Cock sucking’s thirsty work.”

She carried two bottles back to where he sat. She bent to pick up his briefs giving him a look down her blouse and noticed his eyes were drawn there. She handed bottles and underwear to him. “Don’t cut your hand, I can never open those silly screw-off tops.”

“To book-signings.”

“To erotic writers,” she said. They clinked bottles and drank.

Suzanne picked up the book and read silently. Her thighs closed and she took her bottom lip under her top teeth. She was suddenly looking forward to the next pages.

She glanced at her watch.

Simon noticed and his heart sank. Hating the words, he said, “Is it getting late?”

“Late? Would you like me to go?”

“Lord no! I’m sitting here praying you’ll stay.”

She tapped the open book with her finger. “Leave? No, let’s at least finish the chapter?”

He turned towards her and she looked down. His cock was noticeably longer and fatter. “I think perhaps he wants me to stay,” she said quietly.

Simon glanced down. “Yes, we both do.”

Suzanne took off her watch and put it, face down, on the small table at her elbow. “There, time is on hold.”
She drank three swallows of beer and sensed she had a slight buzz. She’d not eaten since she’d left her apartment. “Mustn’t get too drunk, anything might happen.”

“Indeed, just about anything.”

“Back to the story?” she asked.

“By all means.” He held out his hand and she passed him the book.

He read, ‘Maureen knelt astride his lap and reached for the top button on her blouse.’

Suzanne took another swallow of beer, put the bottle down and stood up. She turned, knelt astride his lap, her ass on his knees and reached for the top button of her blouse.

Simon licked his lips. He was going to get to see those breasts. He put the book down. 

With the last button undone she opened her blouse and shrugged it off. Her bra was a lacy, white affair. It was low cut and gave her a delightful cleavage. His cock responded. She reached behind her and unfastened the hooks. She slipped the straps of her shoulders and the bra joined her blouse on the sofa beside them.

Her breasts were big and looked delightfully heavy. His hands moved of their own accord, he badly wanted to touch.

“They’re too big,” she said quietly, as if she feared he’d think so too.

“They’re beautiful,” he said with a sincerity that made her close her eyes and smile.

The nipples were big and dark. They jutted from their dark surrounds. He thought they begged to be loved.

“Are you a breast man too?”


“Well the hero of your tale says he’s a pussyholic.”

“I guess I’m both. How could I not love those?” he whispered.

She reached down and took his hands and placed them on her breasts.

They were so soft, so heavy, their skin like warm silk. He cock was rigid again, jutting up in front of her. He circled his palms on her nipples and she moaned, squirming her ass on his lap. He kept his hands moving and she began breathing through her mouth.

He took his hands away and looked. Hers were the biggest nipples he’d seen. Erect now like his cock, they just had to be suckled. He took her right breast in both hands and lowered his head. With his lips round the nipple he sucked gently and teased with his tongue. He felt an awful urge to bite. He did, trying not to hurt her.

She moaned and her body went rigid. She scrambled off his lap and sprawled on the sofa beside him. With one hand she pulled up her shirt and clamped the other over her mound and began rubbing herself.

He watched and knew they were about to stray from the story. He wanted his cock under those panties and into her heat and he knew with an awful certainty that she wanted it too.

But some strange perverse part of him wanted to follow the story, to tease them both by prolonging this first encounter. He would, if he could, stay with the plot.

He knelt in front of her again. Her thighs were wide spread. Her little white panties had tiny blue flowers on and he knew she’d put on fresh ones when she’d visited the bathroom.

Her eyes opened and she looked at him. Her hand clawed the panties to one side baring herself to him. Her pubic hair was almost coppery. She held herself open and wetness gleamed. Helpless, he plunged his face into that wetness; his lips found the top of her cleft, found the prominent bud of her clitoris. He’d barely touched her with his questing tongue before she came.

She humped and bucked under his mouth. Somehow she got her legs up on his shoulders, her heels grinding into his hack. Her thighs clamped his head and she just fucked his face. She was wet and hot and Simon had to fight for breath.

Her hands were on the back of is head, pressing him into her and she just kept coming. He thought he’d drown or suffocate.

Finally she subsided and he managed to get her feet back on the floor. He raised himself. She seemed to glow. Her body had a sheen of sweat on it. Her big breasts moved wonderfully as she fought for breath. Her pussy gaped, shining with her juice and his saliva. Her panties were drawn to one side. She couldn’t have been more fuckable.

When she gasped, “Please …,” her meaning very clear.

Simon moved awkwardly closer on his knees and she writhed her ass until she was all but slipping off the sofa. His cock slipped into her in one steady thrust.

His earlier orgasm made his second a struggle. With his hands under her ass he fucked her desperately. She squeezed her breasts cruelly with her hands, like in a porn movie. Just as he was wondering if he could make it, the first tremors began inside him. He was going to come, he was going to come. With each thrust there was a slap of him against her and he was saying, “Yes!” with each thrust.

Her mind and body caught his rhythm and in sweet unison they came, her first contraction, his first spurt. He thought his whole being would empty into her through his cock.

Her pussy walls milked at his spasming cock, the ripples sucking him empty. The contractions of her pussy seemed to go on forever. She was sobbing he was gasping for breath. They were both near exhaustion.

There was no post coital tenderness from either of them. They were beyond that. He sat on the floor between her feet, struggling for breath as if he’d climbed a thousand stairs. Suzanne was sprawled, perhaps asleep, perhaps unconscious. Their combined juices oozed from her, out of her pussy, down the cleft of her ass.

He gazed at her big nipples, the strands of sweat-wet hair across her face and hoped she’d never leave.

Her eyes flickered open and she looked down at him. She sought words but found none. They just looked at each other. He ran the backs of his fingers gently across the wet curls of her pussy.

“What an incredible thing this is,” he said softly. “Mustn’t let it catch cold.” He gently pulled the panties across to cover her mound.

She sighed, took a deep breath. “Will you read the whole book to me?”


“No silly, now we rest. Read to me tomorrow.” She sounded half asleep.

“What do we do when it’s finished?”

“You write me another and another and …” she began snoring softly.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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