From Teen Bride To Hot Wife, Part 10: Zen, Caroline, And The Art Of Gang Bangs free porn video
Where the fuck is this Jerry bloke! The lady on the phone at the cab office told Caroline he would only be ten minutes; it's getting on for twenty now.
She's getting cold standing here outside the red telephone box from where she made the call. The autumn morning air seeps beneath her long coat and chills her flesh. For all the warmth the skimpy satin nightie she wears beneath it provides, she may as well be naked under there. She has fastened all the buttons, the top one tight against her throat. Her hands push deep into rabbit hole pockets, the right-hand toying with her keys, twisting them repeatedly in her fingers. The left-hand clutches a small leather purse, warm and soft.
She scans the road looking for his car, her eyes alert for whatever the night might offer up. Lyrics of a song in her head summon a pounding beat to drive away her thoughts of Joe. It is hardly a song, just the rise and fall of a monotonous rhythm that is no tune at all. It's from that album with the Warhol banana. She repeats words, whispered, over and over... How Ironic; it's Sunday morning too.
This Jerry bloke had better have a big cock. A man with a big cock to fuck her into sweet oblivion is precisely what she needs right now. It will be her opiate. And if his cock isn't as big as she might hope, please God, let him know how to use it.
But the words of a song as a mantra cannot rid her of intruding thoughts. With every moment that passes, her anger at Joe escalates. How could he have sidelined her like that, turned away from her to give his full attention to Dorothy? She feels used, an unwitting means to Joe's selfish end, merely the bait that brought Dorothy to his bed. Her purpose served, Caroline decides, she has become an irrelevance to them both.
A lone car way down the main road approaching, its reckless speed and roaring engine drawing her eye. This must be Jerry. She steps toward the curb and the vehicle comes to a halt at her feet. It's like on the telly, the Flying Squad here to arrest her. Perhaps her life really is a crime in the making, and that now they know her capable of murder. She half expects Reagan and Carter to leap out and bundle her into the back of their car.
But it's Jerry, not The Sweeny. She sees his silly grin through the windscreen, his face made ghoulish by sodium and shadows. There is another man too.
The passenger window descends and a muscular arm emerges to rest in the space vacated by the glass. Between his fingers, he holds a dying cigarette, its glowing tip about to expire. He drops it to to the ground and sparks flare as it lands at her feet. Younger than Jerry, he is perhaps her age — a little older maybe. He has long hair and wears a silver-grey T-shirt under a sleeveless Levi jacket. He inspects her as if he will buy her. Only months ago she would have thought him just her type. Now all she sees is another yob. Another Joe.
"Piggin-'eck, lads, I thought you were undercover fuzz come to arrest me."
"You been a bad girl then?" the long-haired one says.
"You're looking at a murderess in the making," she says.
"Good job we turned up then. You'd better get in," the young man says as Jerry revs the engine.
She does not hesitate. The rear door softly clunks when she pulls it shut behind her.
"Where to, princess?" Jerry asks as she settles herself on the back seat.
She hears the tick of the indicators as he pulls out into the road to accelerate away.
"I wasn't expecting you to bring a friend," she says.
"Don't worry about him. He does as he's told."
"I like that in a man," she says.
Jerry's eyes are studying her through the mirror. "Shit night?" he asks.
"You could say that," she says.
"I dropped you off earlier... Around the corner in Albert Street. That was you, wasn't it?"
"You remember me. How sweet."
"How could I forget a beauty like you. And then there were the other two: that guy, and the pretty girl he couldn't get enough of."
"You mean my husband and his new slut-for-a-night. Made an impression, did they?"
"It's like that is it?" Jerry says.
"Yes! It's exactly it's like that!"
"So where you off to now?
"I thought you'd tell me."
"I live not far. We could call in. Have a little party of our own — if you like."
She ignores him. He asks again: "So... Are you up for a bit of fun then?"
"Like I said, I wasn't expecting your friend. I don't even know his name. Nice girls like me don't go off to God-knows-where without an introduction. You could both be serial killers for all I know."
"Tommy," the young man says turning around quickly. "My name is Tommy."
He looks directly at her, and she sees his eyes hungry for her. She wants to lean forward and kiss him.
"Have you ever heard of serial killers with names like Jerry or Tommy?" Jerry says.
"Just the cartoon psycho cat and mouse type," she says.
"Ha-ha!" Jerry says. He turns around to face her as he drives. "Come on, princess, we'll take real good care of you."
"I'm not a princess."
"See how trusting I am. I've invited you back to my home without even knowing your name."
"I bet she's one of those fucking feminists," Tommy says.
Jerry starts to laugh, turns to Tommy: "Don't be a plank. You only have to look at her to see she's not a feminist." He half-turns back to her: "Are you, princess?"
"If you say so," she says.
"You don't mind this male chauvinist pig tagging along, do you?" he asks.
"Do I have a choice?"
"You have more than one," Tommy says.
"Seems I do," Caroline says.
"You can never have too many choices," Tommy says.
"So what will your next choice be?" Jerry asks.
"Can't you guess?" she says.
"You'll have to tell us," Tommy says.
"It's quite a straightforward choice I have to make, and I can't believe you two can't guess what it is." She waits a moment before continuing. "I'll give you a clue. It's a choice I've never had to make before."
"We give up!" Jerry says.
"In that case, I'll tell you," she pauses for effect.
"We're waiting," Tommy says.
"The choice I have to make now is..." she pauses again, now it is time she hardly dares say it. She takes a deep breath. "I have to decide which one of you two lucky boys gets to fuck me first."
The crackle of the CB radio startles her. A male voice. Most of what he says she can't make out.
Jerry laughs, says, "Yeah, mate, too right. You should see her!"
"The voice on the cab radio lost amidst cracking: "... up for it then?"
Jerry Laughing again. "Up for it? Oh, mate! You won't believe how up and how for it she is!"
"Will he be at the party?" Caroline asks when Jerry has finished talking on the radio.
"Ray? Jerry says.
"So that was the famous Ray, then."
"You know him?"
"Please! What do you think? I will take that as an introduction,"
"You don't mind, do you, princess — him popping round later?"
"Anyone else likely to turn up?"
"Maybe. Depends on how things go."
"Ask who you want. Why should I care? It's your party."
"So, what is your name?" Tommy asks, emphasising the 'is'.
"Caroline," she says, her name surrendered like a sword.
She rests her head against the window, her gin-glazed eyes half watching the familiar yet night-changed streets pass like footage. Her breath has fogged a patch of glass where she draws a capital letter C with her forefinger. She closes her eyes. She is so very tired now.
He parks the car in a tree-lined street outside a rambling Victorian villa. A hundred years ago this house stood on the edge of town surrounded by trees and fields. It was built as a home, one to house a well-to-do Victorian family; doctors or lawyers, the upper management of local mills and mines. Now the once elegant facade appears unloved. Its interior partitioned into a warren of bedsits way back in the fifties.
The path through the garden to the front door is succumbing to the riot of shrubbery on either side. Jerry tells her to watch herself as from the darkness a wayward branch snags her hair, startling her. She squeals girlishly in surprise, She controls her annoyance, manages: "Now you tell me!"
Once through the old front door, they stand in a spacious vestibule from which rises a wide and ornately banistered staircase. Jerry's flat is at the top. It's in the eaves of the house, the old servants quarters, he tells her.
They meet no one as they make their way up the stairs. But passing the second floor she hears laughter and music coming from behind closed doors. The sound of a dull bass beat now dictates her footfall as she climbs the next flight.
At the top of the grand staircase, they reach a landing. A discreet doorway is to one side, behind which an enclosed, narrow wooden staircase climbs away before her, much like the one back at home. Directly at the top facing her, she sees another door, and she wonders how many years it has awaited her arrival. This is the end of her journeying. To Caroline, this door looks just the kind behind which a man might lock away his insane wife.
She watches Jerry dig into his jacket for his keys and then unlock the door. He flicks the light as he enters and the unshaded bulb reveals his life's squalor: a week's used crockery piled for washing in the sink, and empty bottles on the surfaces, beer, milk, and whiskey. And ashtrays overflowing; dog-ends as infestation.
His soiled clothes litter the floor, the bed and chair. He sees her distaste and rushes to gather his laundry up from the quilt so that she can sit down. A porn mag falls from the bundle as he moves it away. Tommy picks it up, sits down and flips through its pages.
She remains standing up, says, "It's like ice in here," while a shiver runs through her. Jerry tells her to make herself at home. She looks down at the bed. It is still littered with the debris of his life. She is careful not to sit on anything, perches tentatively at the edge. Her coat remains tightly fastened.
"When I get the fire lit, it'll soon warm up," Jerry says, attending to the gas fire set in a small, antique metal fire-surround.
The fireplaces are like the one in the bedrooms of her terraced house, the ones they never use. She thinks them old-fashioned, and has asked Joe to tear them out. In years to come, they will be coveted period features. Jerry has to twist the side nob of the fire hard to make it ignite. There are four hollow clicks before the flames roar into life. He stands up and turns on a giant lava lamp set on his bedside table. Its light is a hue of amber that sickens the room.
She undoes the top button of her coat, but it is too cold to take it off. She sits swaddled in it at the end of the bed and watches as Jerry pulls out a half-full whiskey bottle from a cupboard by the stove.
She should never have come here, had not thought it would be so seedy. She thinks of Damartin Manor and realises what she has been reduced to, driven to this place by anger and hurt.
Tommy is sitting by the small kitchen table watching her. He wants to touch her, have his body against hers. He is desperate for it to happen right away but does not want to seem too eager. He is almost beyond self-control now. She senses his lust just below the surface, sees his desire for her in his eyes.
She holds his gaze, daring him. She cannot help but be pleased that her face alone has affected him so intensely. He returns her stare. His cock is hard against his jeans. He thinks the denim will not hold it for much longer.
Jerry hands her whiskey in a mug. He has no mixers or ice. She takes a sip, pretends to swallow more than she does. She hates whiskey neat.
"You look tense," Jerry says. "Take your coat off and try to relax. We want to see a bit more of you, don't we, Tommy?"
"Losing the coat would be a start," Tommy says.
"I will when the room warms," she says.
Jerry's standing close by and looking down at her. His whiskey bottle is poised to decant more spirit into her mug. She pretends to drink. He offers her a top-up. She covers the mug's rim with her hand, looks up at him and holds his gaze, smiles and says, "Thanks, Jerry, but I'm okay." She is determined to keep a clear head.
He's telling her how his ex-wife has brought him to this. Once he had a big house, worked in finance. That was before his affair. And then came the bitch's lawyers.
The gas fire is pushing back the cold, the air growing thick and stuffy as she endures Jerry's self-pity. The coat will have to go. She stands up fast, feels lightheaded as she makes a start on the big buttons. It is as if she is standing in a small boat that will overbalance. She manages to undo all of them all but is compelled to sit back down before she can be rid of the garment.
"You okay?" Tommy asks.
"I stood up too fast, that's all. I'm okay now."
"Have you decided yet?" Jerry asks. He is standing so close now she can smell his sourness beneath cologne. "Which of us will it be?"
"I've not decided yet."
"How about you suck some cock while you considering the matter."
"If you like," she says as he reaches out with both hands for her to take. She raises her hands and takes them his in hers. His palms are moist. His voice is so hushed now he almost whispers: "Best if you kneel for me, princess."
She does as he says, slides her bum from off the bed and kneels before him, her coat still draped heavy about her shoulders. She cannot bear to look, shuts her eyes as tight as she can. The sound of his trouser zipper gives her focus, a thing she has struggled to achieve since arriving here. Something brushes her lips, and then to the side, over her cheek and the clean edge of her jaw, to her chin. She knows it immediately.
He wields his cock snail-slow, across to the other side of her face, and then comes full circle, back to her lips. She opens her eyes, sees his pale cock jutting outrageously, a patina of pre-cum glistening from its peeping tip as it catches the lamplight. His trousers and underpants are bunched about his ankles.
She does not hesitate, opens her mouth like at church awaiting the priest's dispensation, her tongue ready to take Jerry's cock as if a sacred wafer. This will purge her of her spite. It will be an exorcism. She sucks and sucks, moaning aloud her gratitude for this opportunity to drive cock as nails into Joe's heart. How she wishes Joe could see what he has made her do.
She takes hold of Jerry's cock and slathers it with her saliva, and then she sends her tongue skidding in long passes up and down. She takes it all, fills her mouth and savours its tang and pungency. For a moment it slips back out from between her lips. She takes it in her hand again and, before returning it to sodden darkness, presses it tenderly against her cheek. It has become a precious charm, a fleshy talisman to banish thoughts of Joe and Dorothy, their incessant fucking.
The thump of footfalls on the stairs followed by fists on wood. The knocking does not distract her, just makes her wonder who is visiting at such an hour. Tommy opens up. She hears greetings and loutish laughter from the landing, Jerry calling to them, "We've started without you."
Caroline's tongue laps balls now sodden by her saliva. And afterwards, she draws her tongue the full length of his cock again — underside and upwards this time. She completes the manoeuvre by taking as much of him as she can into her mouth. She is determined not to let anything or anyone distract her until he has cum. She does not look at the newcomers, but she senses them gathering around her.
She closes her eyes to shut them out while she works on Jerry with all the skill she has learnt over these last months. This will be a demonstration of her talents. She will show these men — show them a woman's strength, her fire. They will see her lasciviousness inner truth.
See, Jerry, I am a feminist! You fucking cock-brained-moron!
Jerry is on the verge of ejaculation. His hands cup each side of her skull, his fingers entwining in the wild tangle of her hair that tonight's insanity has styled for her. He pushes hard, and she takes him deep. Her hands control him from the base of his cock. And although she takes him deep, it is not so far that she might choke.
She hears male voices all about her, their laughter and coarse language. She senses their animal excitement, their lust reigned in by apprehension. They are wondering if it is too late. Have they missed the boat that is this beautiful girl, this gift from the night? Each wonders if he will ever get his turn.
But they really should not worry; this is only the beginning. The men are a crowd, theatregoers just arriving and finding their places, this spectacle a crowd-warmer. Soon there will be a theatre in the round, and audience participation. In the cramp of Jerry's room, the individualities of these men will loosen, their sense of decency become untethered.
Someone asks for her name. He could be asking what track is playing on the radio, though there is no music. She hears Tommy offer it up glibly to the room: "Caroline". This is her name — more than her name, it is who she is. The sound of it on a stranger's lips as another stranger fucks her jars her nerves. This name, her Caroline, was chosen for her with love and hope. Tonight it has been thrown down to feed strangers while they watcher her suck cock while waiting their turn to fuck her. If only she had lied when they'd asked for it. She wishes she had made them spin straw for it.
A man, tall and muscled, stoops behind her to ease her coat from her shoulders. "I'll take good care of you," he says quietly into her ear.
This one is Ray, she later learns, the middle-aged owner of the cab firm. Only the top half of her coat falls free when he tries to take it. Its length means she is kneeling on the lower part. The heavy black velvet lies pooled about her feet and knees. Her nightie is exposed now, and through the skimpy satin, they see the elegance of her form. In that first moment of her body's unveiling, an astonished silence engulfs the room. How could they have ever known she would be so beautiful.
The man behind her, the one who unburdened her of her coat, the one named Ray, cradles her breasts through her nightie, his palms skidding the silky material across their surface. She feels his warm breath moistening her hair, his mouth, nose, lips and chin becoming entangled in strand as they push through the fragrant cascade. He pinches her nipples hard as he laps at her neck flesh, destination finally achieved.
She wants to yell out in shock and pleasure from the pinching but will not be distracted. She strokes Jerry's balls as she sucks and licks his cock. She is eager to hurry his completion, wants to turn and kiss the mouth of the one named Ray who now kneads her breasts purposefully with large, calloused hands. Her cunt is protesting its neglect. Too many options. She makes that choice, the one she told them she would have to make while travelling here in the car. It will be Ray who gets to fuck her first.
Her tongue moves into overdrive while she nests Jerry's balls in one palm, gently moulding them like putty. He is nearly there now, the subtle pulsation running the length of his cock warns her of his impending orgasm. Then the cock-tip-detonations scatter his cum, dousing the tissues of her deep throat. He swears at his undoing — he wanted to impress — calling out, "Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck, Fuuuuuck!" He empties into her all the pent-up lust that has grown for her since Doris at the cab office told him a girl had phoned and asked for him by name.
And when his cock begins to soften, he tries to reclaim it from her mouth. But she will not relinquish it, wants to suck him dry. Finally, when she understands he has no more to give, she releases him. He moves away and tells the room the slut is good. And Caroline looks up at the faces of all the men who have gathered around, defying them with brazen delight while she licks her lips hoping to find any last traces of Jerry's jizz that might still linger there.
Ray, the one behind her, caresses her breasts while kissing her neck, her shoulder and upper back. He will not share her, begins to turn her to face him. But the others want her on her feet. They take hold of her arms and pull her up. Ray allows her to rise, joins them in coaxing her up on to her feet. Her coat unwraps from her legs and is left lining-side up lying on the floor. If you look, you see its dark shiny lining reflecting the sickly lamplight.
They surround her and lift her arms high to let her nightie pass, yanked up over them and away. There is some pushing, and she is nearly on her knees again. She is still not sure how many men are present. She looks around with wild eyes, sees them impatient for her. She counts from one to six.
They sense her fragility, support her standing during these moments that are no longer a beginning. She intuits their caution, their fear she might put a stop to it all at any moment. They do not want to spook her. They are testing her, scouting out what she will allow.
Her nightie gone, they stretch out her arms to await a cross-beam, her crucifixion imminent. Broad shoulders either side support her outstretched arms. One stoops down to arrange her legs, parts them where she stands, making an arch through with their hands must pass to do homage at her cunt. Caroline as starfish as hands explore all that her body is.
Some begin removing their clothes, their shirts and trousers soon discarded. Others remain fully clothed, too mesmerised by her astonishing presence to imagine undressing themselves. The ones who are naked keep their rampant cocks in hand, impatient for their moment.
She wishes she had not drunk so much, fears all that booze will anesthetise the pleasure six men should bring her. She so wants to give herself, throw the girl-Caroline away and be a woman who will astound them all.
Their hands and mouths are everywhere. She tries to please each one as they kiss her, works hard to play the lover, allows their tongues to go where they will, seeks to express something of herself by returning their passion. Mouths come and go. It is never-ending. Surrender is her only resource. They will take her on a journey without a destination, a route of their choosing, not hers. And so she stands naked among them, acquiescing to the rising torrent of their lust.
Their hands are a horde that has broken pasture, swarming, never at rest. They pillage her body, its contours, its heights and depths. She is still wearing her knee-length boots. No one has thought to remove them.
Ray lifts her up, turns with her and lowers onto the bed. He is naked, his cock as big as she could ever have hoped. There is a silent understanding among them that of who will be the first. She pushes out the thought of an audience all around her and focuses on Ray's face as he kneels on the bed sending the mattress dipping.
He penetrates her without preparation; an enormous lunge that makes her gasp. But her cunt is already sodden; their hands have prepared her well. She brings back her knees and reaches for his face as he fucks her with erratic jabs that make her gasp.
One of them is talking:
"Now that I can see her face, I recognise her."
"Where from?" Tommy says.
"She works in Woolworths, on the record counter. You must have seen her."
"I don't go in there. If I had, I would never forget someone as beautiful as Caroline," Tommy says.
"I see her most nights," the voice says as Ray fucks Caroline hard. "I see her walking along Kings Road most tea-times."
"What you doing driving there at that time of day?" Tommy asks.
"I have a regular fare — that disabled kid, Jamie. I bring him home from The Chilterns — that special school. That's when I see this one and her legs walking home. She always wears a miniskirt and tan tights. I get a hard-on every time I see those legs of hers."
"A dream come true for you, then. Looks like you might get to use it on her very soon," another one says.
"Those are the same boots she wears."
"We should take them off."
"No, leave them on. At least until I've fucked her while she's wearing them."
They all burst out laughing.
Ray ramps-up his pace. Both palms are beneath her shoulder blades, his fingers curled over her collarbone to force her horizontally and bodily down onto his cock — or is he levering himself into her, giving himself traction. What's the difference; the sensation for Caroline is divine. He wants to split her with his cock. It is a spike in lumber that's hammered hard.
Laughter and chatter all around her from men who reach for her, stroke her, kiss her where they can as Ray fucks her. He is oblivious to their presence.
Stretched out like this, beneath a stranger and fucked while watched by other strangers, arouses her as she has never known before.
Ray is approaching his climax. It is blatant in the force and pace with which he propels his cock. He is taking her to a new level. He angles his hips to grate her clit as he fucks her. The pressure from his hands as they force her body onto him has a brutality that inflames her. No previous lover has thought of this. Has Ray even thought of it? She doubts it. A fortuitous accident.
The rasp of his pubic hairs as he grinds himself against her is taking her to where she needs to be. She rarely orgasms from a man's fucking. It has always had to be fingers or tongue. She does not know why it should happen now, but — Oh-God!
She screams it into the night. There is not one word to tell it; when she does she will have to choose from: fulfilment, completion, attainment, rapture. Bliss.
Her hands go up to him, pulls herself hard to him. She needs his body to ground her in this world. This orgasm will make a nonsense of her, like nothing she has known before. Every nerve in her body sings in electric ecstasy. She can only ride the bliss, prays that when it passes she will still be sane.
For Ray, to have had this strange and beautiful girl give herself to him so readily is well-near incomprehensible. To feel her now subsumed by an ecstasy he considers his sole doing, brings on his own orgasm. She has infected him with bliss. He explodes into her, deposits cum, the accrued interest from the astonishing windfall that is Caroline. It fills her and she pushes up her hips beneath him demanding more than he can give, letting him know that even this is not enough.
The men clap and cheer. Already Tommy hurries to take Ray's place. Ray slaps his back as he vacates the bed.
Caroline has found her second breath. There only three more hours until dawn.
Libbie
- 27.09.2020
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- Group Sex
