Susie Learns the Hard Way Page 6

  Then the old man’s cock stiffened even further, if that was possible, and thickened. It grew in her fist and stretched her lips, and she felt the fluid pumping up its length just before the viscous spray burst into her mouth, and every time it jerked and pulsed in her fingers another jet splashed onto her tongue and she locked her thighs around his hand, clamping it against her as the muscles deep inside squeezed his fingers in a series of long, slow waves of release.

  As her body slumped she held him in her mouth, rubbing and licking and squeezing as she always did, waiting for it to go soft... but it didn’t.

  It lost the extra dimensions it had gained in the few moments before it had erupted so copiously, but otherwise he remained as hard as a teenager who’d found his father’s secret stash of adult magazines. She leaned back, and there it was, still as stiff and straight as ever, glistening in the gloom. As she looked up curiously at him, he turned his watery pink eyes on her, and pushed one knee onto the bed between hers, spreading apart the thighs that were still holding his hand at her groin, two fingers still deep in the heated wetness of her body.

  ‘Reckon I’ll do yer now,’ he hissed, and with no further ceremony he pulled his fingers from her, folded her skirt up around her waist, tugged the wet gusset of her knickers to one side, pressed her down into the mattress, and fed himself straight inside her vulnerable pussy.

  She was so shamefully wet and ready his erection sank into her body and thumped solidly home, knocking the breath from her in a loud gasp – a mixture of surprise and arousal.

  ‘Ar,’ he grunted again, and then pulled out, leaving her cold and empty. Then she felt her flesh spread wide as he pushed vigorously back into her.

  ‘Aaah!’ she sighed, and the sound had barely escaped her lips than he was gone again. ‘Aaah!’ she squealed, louder and more urgently as he rammed in once more. ‘Aaah... aaah... aaah...’ she gasped rhythmically as he began to move briskly in and out. He was watching himself, she realised. He was looking down between her thighs and watching himself thrusting in and out of her, a steady pulsing beat that came and went between the soft lips of her pussy.

  She wanted him inside her all the time, wanted to be filled with solid male flesh, needed to have a thick warm pole deep inside, to wriggle and squirm against while she built slowly to her climax. But it just kept coming and going, sliding briskly in and out, spreading her wide and then leaving her empty.

  Her hips writhed as she tried to move herself onto it, to hold him deep, but he just kept on going, in and out, in and out. She reached out with both hands, trying to grasp his bony thighs or buttocks to pull him into her and hold him there, but he cursed and panted at her in no uncertain terms to lift her hips and pin her hands under her bottom. She whimpered but instantly obeyed, and so she couldn’t hold him, couldn’t stop him thumping in and out, the new angle of her hips allowing him to plunge deeper and deeper. And as he plunged away she heard the bed thudding against the wall:

  Bump... bump... bump; a sound she knew so well, but always from downstairs when she’d been listening to someone else.

  She came almost at once, a writhing, squealing surprise of a climax that gave no warning, just a shattering burst of sensations, all lights, noise, colour and contracting muscles that wrenched a shuddering scream from her as she arched her back and then sagged limply into the mattress.

  But none of it distracted the old man, still pounding relentlessly away, no change in pace or rhythm as she lay inert beneath him. Then suddenly he stopped moving too, poised above her, his rasping breath making her damp fringe flutter on her perspiring forehead.

  ‘Ar,’ he grunted quietly, and then she felt him hosing into her, a long spray that made his dangling testicles jiggle against her bottom. And then he hastily pulled out of her, gripped her thighs and pressed them even further apart. Susie half opened her eyes and saw his erection pulsing in the dim light, and then it jerked and another jet of sticky fluid sprayed forth, tickling and tingling as it spattered onto her, leaving small pearls of moisture captured in the short blonde curls on her mound and clinging to the shiny wet folds of flesh. Susie reached out to grab it and pull him back into her, but before she could it sprayed again, thick white cream splashing across her stomach and her blue skirt. Then she was holding it, pulling it in, and as the pink folds parted to let the snub purple bell inside she felt the shaft vibrate in her hand and another gush of sticky fluid burst from the tip.

  ‘Ar,’ croaked the old man. ‘That’s wore me out,’ and she caught another blast of stale beer and roll-ups as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Almost at once the odour of the public bar was joined by an even nastier whiff; his clothes smelt as bad as his breath, maybe worse.

  Hastily Susie moved away from him, not making her distaste too obvious in case it angered him, but immediately regretting her fastidious move. Now her nose was in clear air, but her groin was closer to his face. Her knickers were still where they’d been left, tugged to one side, and he was gazing deep between her thighs, where his still-warm fluids dribbled from her. The flow was matched by his mouth, where spittle dribbled from the corners of his slack lips. His stare was uncomfortable, embarrassing, unpleasant. Even more so as a gappy smile disfigured his countenance. ‘Ar,’ he said again. ‘Not had so much fun for years.’ It was his longest speech so far. Susie doubted if he’d had this much fun this century.

  ‘How long since you, um, er...’ Her voice tailed away. He blinked, squeezing a tear from a gummy pink eye, and looked up at her face. Then he began to cough, a deep hacking that ripped out of his chest and left him wheezing for breath.

  ‘More than seventeen year,’ he croaked, the source of his sinister whisper now revealed as a chronic smoker’s cough. She sat, spellbound by the whole procedure; every rasping cough made the fleshy pole between his legs jerk in perfect time, as if it was the baton and his chest were the orchestra. But interesting though its syncopated wobbling may have been, the reason she was staring was simply that it was still there, almost as erect as it had been at the beginning. He saw the direction of her stare, and he saw the look on her face.

  ‘Reckon yer wants what yer shouldn’t have,’ he whispered throatily, and flexed his hips with a surprising agility so that it flopped around again, spraying sticky droplets from the end. She continued to stare as he grasped it with one hand, his bony fingers wrapping around it so that she noticed, for the first time, the nicotine stains, the cracked and blackened nails and the ingrained dirt in the coarse skin of his fingertips. Fingertips which only a short while ago had been prying her soft pink lips apart and fumbling their way into her body. She shuddered.

  Now it was over she didn’t want to look at him any more, at his wrinkled, loose-fitting skin, his dirty hands and face, or the still-hard shaft with its rough hedge of grey and white hair.

  Primly she reached down and tugged the damp rag of her knickers back into place before she stood up, making a pretence of studying herself in the dressing table mirror, but watching to see what he would do next. She was relieved to see him struggle to his feet, bend down and pull up his baggy old cord trousers, fastening the belt at his waist.

  She turned, crossing the room towards the door, planning to hustle him out and then get away herself.

  As she did he finished tucking in his shirt and was just trying to cram his softening erection back inside his pants. He paused, watching her cross the room; short skirt and long legs, white socks, and lovely youthful tits inside the nice white blouse. She was hardly any different to the senior girls who’d surrounded him at school all his working life. She could have been any one of them, loose-limbed and coltish, with an easy grace and a hot little pussy. The memory of it was still fresh in his mind and still damp on his knob, which was slowly straightening again in his hand.

  He saw her staring in total disbelief as it lengthened and thickened once more. ‘Shame to waste it,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Don’t know when
I’ll see it like this again. Or you, come to that.’

  Susie’s mouth flapped uselessly open and shut several times. What was there to say? What could she say? Later she realised that she could have flattened him with one good push and been halfway down the street before he was back on his feet, but she’d started off playing the role of Annie because she didn’t think there was any choice, and it simply didn’t occur to her now that things were any different.

  He shuffled towards her, taking one shoulder in his hand, turning her towards the end of the bed and bending her forward, and she felt the other hand lifting her skirt. She grasped the rail that ran waist-high across the end of the bed as he draped her skirt up over her back, exposing the supple curves of her bottom, straining against the sheer cotton of her panties.

  ‘Ar,’ he grunted, apparently never tiring of his sole expression of emotion, and he reached down to caress the taut globes inside their thin covering. After only a few moments his bony old fingers were digging down between them, scrabbling at the wet material stretched across the full curves swelling her gusset into a squashy, squeezable mound.

  Susie gasped as he squeezed. ‘Oooh...’ she moaned, as he squashed firmly. Her knees buckled slightly, parting her thighs and making room for him to push deeper between them. She shuffled her feet, spreading her legs wider as she leaned further forward from the waist, exposing herself to his touch and his stare.

  The pose was familiar to him, and highly arousing. He’d seen it many times before, but only from a distance, never this close. But he’d imagined it would be like this, the sight, the sound and the smell; the warm musky scent of arousal carried upwards by the heat of her body. And he’d imagined what he would do now, imagined it so exactly and precisely that he’d stood back away from her and spoken without thinking.

  ‘Touch yerself.’

  ‘What?’ She knew at once what he meant, and wasn’t so much asking a question as registering surprise. But the flat of his hand cracked solidly against the tight-stretched knickers and the moist flesh within. Whack!

  ‘Ow!’ Susie jumped, and her squeal was a mixture of pain and surprise.

  ‘Touch it,’ he wheezed, and suddenly Susie was afraid of him, and what he might do if she refused to obey. Her trembling hand reached back between her legs, and her fingers rested lightly on her knickers, still damp from before but now absorbing the sudden rush of fear that exuded from her sex.

  ‘Do it proper,’ ordered the croaky voice, and the hand slapped across her bottom, adding another flush of red to the first.

  She bit her lip, not wanting to cry out, and her fingers curled, pressing firmly into the cotton, pushing into the oozing furrow of warmth, spreading the opening, digging higher.

  ‘Ar,’ he grunted, but he smacked her again anyway, another stinging burst of pain that sent the heat glowing and burning across both her tightened cheeks.

  ‘Aaaah!’ She couldn’t stop herself crying out this time, and she worked her fingers harder and faster between her legs, trying to make her actions more visible to him, feeling at the same time the arousal her movements created beginning to mingle with the heat spreading from the red weals made by his hand. She slowed and let her body dictate its own pace, let her fingers spread her body, sliding the sodden material across it in silky waves of pleasure.

  ‘Ar.’ She knew the grunt of pleasure was the prelude to it but even so the stinging slap surprised her, forcing another squeal.

  ‘Oooh!’

  ‘Ar.’ He slapped her again, almost at once, and this time the shock doubled the pain.

  ‘Owww!’ Her fingertips were sliding across the slippery skin as her knickers became a single strand of soaking wet cotton that slipped easily aside; almost as easily as her fingers slipped between the swollen lips and slowly disappeared from sight, one knuckle, then two, until they were as deep as they would go.

  Staring down on her from above, seeing it in glorious close-up, it was better than ever he’d imagined, better by miles and miles. ‘Faster!’ he ordered in a throaty wheeze, swinging his arm in a long curve that brought the flat of his hand across the firm buttock nearest him, letting the fingertip brush swiftly over the slick wetness.

  The sting of the slap was one thing, but the brush of his fingers as they slapped against her own forced her hand against her body, pushing the two fingers even higher inside. She didn’t need his orders now, and she was pushing back and forth, pulling her fingers almost completely out of her body so that just the tips were there, resting lightly against the opening, holding her lips just slightly apart. Then, when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she pushed them gently inwards, spreading herself. And his hand would slap down, making her body jerk so she could feel the knuckles of her hand against the soft flesh as her fingers pushed a tiny fraction deeper, until suddenly she felt her body explode, just as the pain from her bottom seared from another slap. So she came, a loud convulsion of pleasure that forced the breath from her mouth in a long scream of release, leaving her limp and exhausted.

  She was draped over the brass bed-rail, legs still apart, her firm bottom pulled taut by the pose, panties stretched in a silky-white sheen that encased her delicate pussy, revealing the wet flesh that still gripped the deeply-buried fingers, that still pulsated in climax, tensing and releasing. Never had he imagined anything quite like this. He reached out, stroking her fingers almost tenderly, feeling the oily juices on the skin of her hands, feeling the heat from her body, wriggling his own finger between her two slender ones, pushing in deeper, feeling her getting hotter and wetter the deeper he went.

  She moaned, a low animal noise in her throat, and he felt her fingers slither away and out, so she could press both palms into the bed, pushing herself up until she was standing once again, gripping the brass rail, but leaning forward at the waist, pushing her bottom back towards him, pushing herself onto his finger, urging him to use her body.

  He looked down to where his finger was buried, at the delicate pink flesh that was separated by its intrusion but clutched it in its welcoming grasp, wanting it inside.

  ‘Ar,’ he grunted quietly, and his finger plopped out. Using both hands, he pulled her panties down over her bottom, down her thighs until they were low enough for her to shake one leg free. Then he stood and leaned his waist towards her, aiming the purple-tipped shaft so it was nudging between the cheeks of her bottom, separating the puffy pink lips, pushing the glistening flesh aside and pressing easily up into the succulent wetness.

  His groans and Susie’s sighs were in perfect harmony.

  Standing with her feet apart, bent forward over the metal bed-frame, clutching the rails tightly, Susie marvelled at the virility of a bloke so old. He was as erect as any eighteen-year-old on his first attempt, never mind third or fourth. She locked her knees and let her hips do all the movements, rocking backwards and forwards, luxuriating in the solid girth as Groudle stirred away inside her, bringing the familiar hot flush to every part of her body.

  She hadn’t recognised him, of course, any more than he’d recognised her. Over the years he’d seen lots of girls from a similar angle, but only from a distance. And only a couple of them really stood out in his memory, and as he luxuriated in the silky wetness of Susie’s body it was ironic that in his mind’s eye he should see her again, bent over a school desk, one hand between her legs. Strange that he should be thinking of her teenage form as he pushed steadily into the very same little pussy that he’d seen over and over again in his mind, and which had caused him to spurt into his hand more times than he cared to think about as he re-lived that afternoon.

  Susie had no idea that he’d seen her that time, or that he was thinking of her being beaten by Miss Piggy right now, although the similarity of her position then and today had not escaped her. In fact, standing with two feet on the floor, bent over a table, an armchair or anything handy, was her favourite position still, making her more aroused befor
ehand and more satisfied afterwards than anything else at all.

  And as she felt him swell further, felt his thrusting lengthen and deepen, she could feel an orgasm about to overwhelm her, and reached back between her legs to grasp the dangling sac, squeezing his testicles, milking them till they contracted in her hand and he sprayed inside her yet again...

  ‘Yer good, yer know,’ he said on the way out. ‘Dead keen. Here’s a little extra,’ and he dropped a ten-pound note on the bed, and was gone.

  Crisp and straight, it was brand new.

  Susie had never been paid for sex before, and she expected she ought to feel dirty... and she did. Deep down dirty as hell, as rude as a girl could feel.

  Downstairs in the safety of her own flat, with the door locked and bolted, she pressed the note up between her legs, smearing it with her oily juices, and the waves of pleasure spreading through her body made up in a very small way for the disappointment at the collapse of her slaver story. He was just a pimp, and the girl was just a hooker.

  No wonder she’d been squealing so much, thought Susie, as she knelt on the bed with her bum in the air, rocking against her own straight-fingered thrusts. She was being paid to have sex. It was the best sensation ever, and as she held the note to her nose and breathed in the intoxicating mixture of money and musk she too screamed as she orgasmed for the sixth and final time that day.

  Chapter Four

  To Susie’s joy – and a little surprise – the editor had replied in encouraging terms to her letter, and asked her to attend an interview, with samples of her work. Now she sat in reception clutching a slim leather briefcase, hoping she looked more like a businesswoman than a student. A smart black suit – more than she could afford – a nice white blouse, heels not too high, she hoped she looked like a junior barrister; competent, clever, and self-assured. And to be fair that was pretty much the overall effect, and it was totally at odds with her innermost feelings. Sheer terror dominated, followed by anxiety and a small degree of panic. She would have been this nervous anyway, but she felt especially nervous after the collapse of her big scoop story. How would the editor take that? She’d rehearsed her explanation many times on the train, but still she knew she had messed it up; she’d gone public too soon, before checking her facts, and there were no excuses for such a basic error. And he would know at once, and probably throw her out and she’d never get a second chance and this was the biggie, the biggest-selling tabloid of them all, the place to work if you wanted to be in this sort of job, which she did, and now, and... and... oh shit!