Dream Cum True free porn video

--I know the story is long. I started this back in 2007 and never finished it. Maybe some day I will, and I'll condense it down for this site, but here is what I have for now. Enjoy!--

Kristine was the biggest slut in high school. Though she was only a month away from being promoted to the 12th grade – after being held back once – she had earned a reputation as being a "succubus" to all the guys on campus. Every girl in every grade hated and abhorred her, calling her "an insatiable thriving fuck whore," whereas the men all said she was capital H-O-T. Whenever the other girls picked on her and called her such names she always gave them the same response: "That's not what your boyfriend told me." And though it was a low blow, many of them didn't doubt that their boyfriend's had fucked her at least once. She had created a lot of tension and suspicion in everyone's relationship with her never-ending lust for cock. But as long as there was always someone to go down on, she couldn't care less. "Let 'em fall apart," she'd say. "It just means one more hard dick to fill myself with."
Kristine came from a broken family; her father was a drunkard who barely managed each month's mortgage payment, and her mother provided sexual services as a prostitute. Though Kristine never cared much for drinking – mostly because she liked being sober whenever she fucked – she did find it to be an exquisite aphrodisiac; she'd done it with a few drunk guys here and there.
It was really no surprise that she took more to her mom than her dad. They both knew that she was having sex at a young age, especially her mother since she was the one who bought Kristine condoms each week. While they didn't approve of what she was doing, they were nonetheless lenient and satisfied that she was using protection. Besides, they both knew they were a bad influence, mostly mom, so who were they to tell her she had to stop? Could they stop doing what they were doing?
She enjoyed sex too much and had blown most of the senior class. In fact, about half of them had asked her out, some claiming to want a long, loving relationship, while others promised all the pleasure she could handle. Though both proposals were enticing, she evidently rejected them all. "You’re a tease," they'd say. With a big, sexy grin she'd respond, "You weren't thinking that ten minutes ago when I was riding you." But she'd promise them they could fuck her anytime.
She often fantasized about sex, being ****d by three big tasty cocks dripping with sweet, sweet cum; one load for her pussy, one for her ass, and the third for her mouth. She couldn't imagine how much she'd swallowed or how many blowjobs she'd given since discovering this indulgence.
She'd never been with more than one guy at a time. She hoped to some day take on three at once, but the challenge would be finding candidates to fill the roll. None of the guys she's screwed thus far were into gangbangs, and she didn't want to give up her tight virgin asshole until the day she was in one.
A week prior to graduation, she managed to find someone who would take part in her fantasy. She couldn't understand how she missed him, though. He was a senior class representative, tall and lean with a hunky, well-built body, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Kristine imagined that if she were a guy, this is exactly how she would look, especially since she already exhibited half of these assets. In three years she'd never laid eyes on him until now, but he had apparently seen – and heard – a lot about her. She met him at the end of her rehearsal, right before his own, when he stepped out of the boy’s locker room directly in front of her. Whereas she had been wearing her normal clothes, he wore a black cap with gold tassel and full-length black gown with a gold medal pinned to the upper left breast.
Obviously recognizing her, he said, "Hey Kristine."
"Hi there," she responded, making friendly conversation with the cute stranger. "Big day already, huh?"
"Sure is. It's almost hard to believe." Looking down, he tended to the open portion of his exposed gown. "Will you zip this up for me?" he asked without testing it. "It keeps getting caught on the fabric."
"Sure." She stepped up to him and reached for the zipper, which resided halfway down the robe, barely enough to hold the two ends together. Her hand gently brushed against the front of his pants as the piece glided smoothly along the silver metal teeth, not catching once until it reached the top, coming to a halt just below his neck. He looked very professional and incredibly hot.
"There you go," she hummed. Stepping back, she made eye contact. His gaze was beautifully mesmerizing, and she could not look away.
"Thanks," he smiled, "Well, I gotta go. Don't wanna be late for my own rehearsal, ya know?"
Kristine nodded absentmindedly, still unable to take her horny eyes off him.
Finally, the spell was broken once he turned from her, and a feverish wave tingled in her pubic bone. Her face burned hotly and in a matter of seconds she became intensely aroused. She could feel her cotton thong panties becoming damp with her juices, and her strapless bra suddenly seemed too damn small for her big tits.
"By the way," he yelled from down the hall, too far away to see her blushing, "I'm Archie, but my friends call me Archer." A short pause. "So maybe I'll see you around sometime."
She waved goodbye to him, then, after he'd turned out of sight, rushed headlong into the nearest bathroom. It was deserted. Perfect. Occupying the furthest stall, she snapped the lock in place, stripped off her blouse, then her miniskirt. Next, her bra and panties, until she wore nothing but white socks and black heels. Raising her left leg atop the toilet seat, where she had also placed her clothes, she slipped two fingers into her dripping wet snatch. The room abruptly went fuzzy-dark as her eyes rolled deep within the back of her head. While she two-finger fucked her juicy pussy, she slid another two fingers into her open mouth, letting the overflow of saliva dribble down her hand onto her hard nipples. She felt like she were having a pleasure seizure, she was drooling so much.
Swapping hands and switching to doggy, she knelt with her head inches from her own cum-soaked panties, while she groaned with the insertion of her juice-covered fingers into her hot mouth. Though she had never had sex with another girl before, she knew by the taste of her own cum that she would love it. Reaching two consecutive orgasms in sixty seconds, she swapped hands again, while sucking the love from the crotch of her underwear.
Kristine wished she had her pink dildo with her, but unfortunately she was forced to leave it in her purse in her locker for the rehearsal. Though she was only being promoted to the 11th grade and not actually graduating – unlike Archer – a ceremony was still required, according to the Dean and the School Board. Both parties agreed that it helped boost the student’s self-esteem if a promotion was made out to be a big deal, and so they made everyone leave their belongings in their locker for the event. Kristine, however, only agreed that it took away from her a grand chance to feed the b**st within, and it vexed her that she didn't have her favorite oversized fuck-toy to lodge deep in her comparatively tiny hole.
For several long minutes, she thrust violently into her aching cunt, constantly changing positions, unable to keep still for a fixed period of time. However, she frequently wound up on her knees or bent over the seat with her face pressed firmly into her wet undies, licking and savoring whatever taste she was able to extract from the thin material.
But it wasn't enough and it never would be. Even if she could stay here all day doing this, it would never suffice. Whenever Kristine got horny, only thick, hard man-meat would be her cure. Hell, her dildo, even with its large size, was barely enough for her, and she'd have to stick with it for almost a full hour to reach sufficient climax. No, she needed some skin-on-skin action. Deep, rough, fleshy penetration to be exact. And soon. She doubted if she would make it through the rest of the day without it.
Her finger-fuck fest was interrupted by two loud-mouths entering the room and taking positions in front of the sink. Kristine could see their sneakers across the room from underneath the stall door, since she was already kneeling. It only took a second to identify the two voices: Tiffany and Allison, the two biggest flirts in school, besides herself of course. They were both obsessed with looking pretty, and Kristine knew for a fact that they were in here several times a day checking all ten tons of makeup, chatting about their stupid day and brushing each other’s hair. She knew this because they often interrupted her, much like now, and didn't leave for almost fifteen minutes. So instead of waiting for them to go, she'd just call it quits, get dressed, flush the toilet as a cover, wash her hands and leave. But the two girls always gave her dirty looks and took time to antagonize.
"Well, well, look who it is," Tiffany affronted. "And what were you doing in there all by yourself?"
"By myself? I thought I was with your boyfriend," she retorted as she washed. "This is the men’s room, isn't it?" An evil smile decorated Kristine's rouge lips.
"We don't have boyfriends," Allison butted in. "We're too hot for them to handle." She tossed her auburn hair back as if to emphasize her point.
"You mean you're too loose for them to satisfy." Her grin grew wider.
"Ha, ha, ha," Tiffany laughed dryly. "You’re one to talk, you fuckin' whore. I could probably fit a flag pole up that twat of yours."
Losing interest, Kristine stepped passed them towards the doorway, drying her hands on the supplied sheets of paper before tossing it in the nearby trash receptacle.
"No comeback?" Tiffany sneered. "I guess I hit the nail on the head this time. Just like I plan on hitting one through your clit someday."
"Ask your boyfriends, they'll tell you."
"We don't have boyfriends!" Allison yelled. "Don't you listen? Or do you have too much semen in your ears?”
"Then ask your former boyfriends," she responded confidently, delivering the final blow before slamming the door behind her.
Heading down the hall towards the auditorium – Tiffany and Allison already forgotten – her mind bobbed up and down and all around Archer, like she were psychically trying to give him a blowjob. Everything about him was perfect: the gentle, dominating tone of voice, his wild sapphire eyes, and his lean, hard body and equally thin lips that expressed tough love. She wanted to feel that love. But the thing she liked most about him was his cap and gown. With those two on he looked both smart and sexy, but at the same time they also made him look dangerous, for black was the color of evil. Evil and power...
By the time she'd reached the double doors, her panties were soaked once again. But this time she could do nothing about it. She would have to endure her wetness alone and without gratification. She tried to avoid thinking about him as much as possible while she waited.
About 45 minutes later, a mass of dark wizards burst forth from the cathedral in two diverse lines, each one giving her a mixture of glances that could easily melt her into a tiny, insignificant puddle. Their speech was archaic, undecipherable while coming out, one sentence clashing with another to form a jumble of sounds and broken verses. Kristine wouldn't have been surprised if several of them came out carrying candles and a bound goat.
At the end of the long occult line, appearing like a phantom from a thick fog, was her new love, Archer. And in his arms was, apparently, his love. This revelation did not bode well with Kristine, and she felt somewhat foolish for waiting nearly one hour for him only to find out that he was fucking someone else. She was about to turn and leave when he spotted her against the wall.
"Kristine!" The two love birds approached her. "You've been waiting for me all this time? That's so nice of you." He seemed genuinely appreciated that she had hung around.
"Well, you know," she smiled innocently, almost embarrassed.
"You two know each other?" the girlfriend asked, eyeing Kristine suspiciously.
"Oh, ya," Archer responded. "We bumped into each other before practice."
"I see." She seemed to accept the story, but her tone remained hostile. Another one of her fans, no doubt. "So. What brings you all the way down here, hmm?"
"I asked her to come," Archer lied. “Always excited to meet new people.”
"I see," she repeated. "Well then, come along. We're going to the ice cream and sandwich shop." Though the invitation was friendly, her demeanor suggested otherwise. Evidently she didn't want Kristine tagging along."
"You go on without me, Sarah. I need to take care of some stuff first." The girlfriend seemed hurt. "I'll catch up with you later." He smiled.
"But you promised to buy me an ice cream!" she complained, stepping away and looking up at him.
"And I will." He gently pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Like a lullaby he explained, "I need to talk with Kristine about something first, then I'll get you whatever you want."
She brightened up a devilish red, and a broad grin spread across her thin lips. "Anything?"
"Anything," he confirmed.
"Fine," she whistled. "I'll see you later, then." She looked him over once then turned down the hall towards the girl’s dressing room. "Don't make wait too long," she called over her shoulder.
The two dressing rooms were on opposite sides of the building, so as the better maintain each other’s privacy, or rather to keep the boys from spying on the girls while they changed. So Kristine walked silently with Archer to the other end. After a minute he spoke.
"I know what you want," he confronted her.
Startled by the directness, she babbled, "Huh?"
"Your reputation is legendary, even outside these walls, ya know." He looked at her with cold, unloving eyes, very different from they're previous encounter. "All my guy friends know about your deeds...personally. And all their girlfriends wanna sodomize your asshole with lead pipes and nightsticks so that you'll never wanna fuck their boyfriends again."
Kristine was taken back by this dreadful news, yet at the same time she was pleased to hear it. She always wanted to be popular for something, and now she was: for being an unstoppable fuck machine. But she already knew all this; being told by a guy for once was the shock.
Stopping in front of the changing room, Archer turned to Kristine. "I expect you'll wait for me again, huh?" But they both knew the answer.
"Of course," she grinned sexily.
He entered the room alone, letting the door swing shut with a gentle click.
Lingering outside for several seconds, she abruptly dashed down the hallway to her locker, dodging side to side, trying to avoid a major collision with the seniors, having suddenly remembered that she had yet to retrieve her belongings. Whipping her locker door open almost brutishly, she grabbed her nylon black purse – nearly breaking the strap clean off – stuffed her things in sloppily, slammed the door with a loud clash, and jogged sluggishly back to the boys dressing room. There she stood await, utterly exhausted. She may have been gifted with a figure that didn't require much toning, and the sexual stamina to take a massive hammering in the back seat of a car, but her physical endurance was less than stellar. Cardio workouts weren’t normally something she invested time in.
Fifteen very long minutes after he'd left Kristine waiting for him, Archer returned in regular street clothes: faded blue jeans, short-sleeved blue and white checkered button-up shirt with exposed T-shirt, and bleached white sneakers with an orange Nike logo on the back. Seeing him so comfortable and carefree, she felt the desire to slide her hands up under his T and explore his hard body; let her fingers pinch the pink flesh on his round nipples while she drew close to him, drinking in both the warmth and the aromatic fragrance. She longed to tickle his soft belly button and rub against his protruding abs.
Being around him made her feel so naughty. She wanted very much for him to bend her over his knee, like a c***d who'd misbehaved, with her bare ass thrust high in the air, and spank and grope her to his content. "I won't ever do it again!" she'd plead. "You better not," he'd warn between smacks, "Or else." And of course she'd do it again anyway just to be near him and see what that "else" was.
"All right," he said. "Time to meet up with my girlfriend."
"Speaking of which," Kristine inquired curiously, "Why did you lie for me? Why didn't you just tell her the truth instead of saying that you needed to talk with me?"
"Oh, ya, that would have gone real smooth," he mocked. "I can already see how well that situation would have turned out." He began to imitate his girlfriend. "'Who is she?' 'Her? Oh, just some girl I ran into earlier. She looks desperate to fuck me. Hope you don't mind.'"
Kristine gasped. "I am not desperate."
"Oh, come on," he laughed. "A girl of your standing doesn't get that kind of accommodation by not being desperate." He glanced at her. "Besides, your panties say otherwise."
She flushed a cherry red; she'd forgotten all about them. They were so wet now that the musk was becoming obvious to everyone. The guys who had been hanging back eavesdropping on their conversation had drawn considerably closer, until she was sure that they could reach a hand out and grab a hold of her ass. She turned around to face them. They looked like a large football team getting ready to hustle.
"Can I help you boys?" she asked, sweetly.
"Yes you can. Right fellas?" There was a hoot, then a whistle and a shout, until the entire hallway had become one giant orchestra of chaos. A few of them even patted Archer on the back. "Give it to her good!" "Show her whose boss!" "Make that bitch screeeaammm!" The crowd laughed as one. But he effectively ignored them all. He was in a league of his own.
They paused in front of the girl’s bathroom. The traveling group behind her stopped as well and their voices settled to a gentle, yet lively hush. She was enjoying her newfound popularity very much. Archer pointed a thumb towards the door.
"Go in there and rinse those out," he ordered. "Sarah won't be happy if she thinks we were doing it."
"And what if I don't wanna?" Kristine challenged.
"Then I'll hand you off to team ‘Hallway’ over here and let them do whatever they want with you." They each licked their lips with greedy anticipation; but she wasn't interested in any of them, and Archer knew it. "Now go!"
With a slap on the ass from one of the players and no second thoughts, she scrambled into the empty lounge. Right before the door closed someone yelled, "And don't forget to wash that snatch of yours too!" Another round of cheers reverberated through the brick walls.
Lifting up her black miniskirt, Kristine wrenched her thong free of her dripping cunt, wrestled them down her legs past her ankles and, by hopping on one foot, over her heels. She was so spellbound by Archer's command to clean up that she'd forgotten to put down her purse. Setting it off to the side so it wouldn't get splashed, she drained the juice out of her underwear into her eagerly awaiting mouth, then tossed them into the large oval sink. Turning on both faucets full blast, she let them drench lazily in the warm water, as tiny droplets spattered up over the countertop, forming several small, sparkling pools. Reaching past the cylindrical raging waterfall, she pulled the thin metal staff out – closing the floodgates – and watched the soaked pair quickly ascend to the top. She reversed the two knobs before it could overflow.
Dipping a finger into the blue liquid, she began tracing the inner edges of the basin, progressively increasing speed while diminishing volume, until she had created a vortex large enough to swallow her panties whole and exorcize them underwater.
Before long the door crept open and a single voice emitted through the crack. "Need a hand in there? How about a cock?"
Kristine didn't find their remarks humorous, though they were arousing to consider. She wished one of them really did have the balls to step into the room and have his way with her. She wanted him to rough her up a bit, slap her a couple times before forcibly bending her over and stuffing his rigid, unprotected member deep into her aching fuckslot, while he reached up under her blouse and grappled with her supple breasts. Or better yet, be raised on top of the sink with her legs spread so that she could put her arms around him and gingerly suck on his tongue while he viciously wrung her out. They wouldn't have to worry about getting caught, for as long as everyone outside knew exactly what was going on and was given every filthy detail afterwards, they would willingly cover for her.
The thought of unprotected sex in the girl’s bathroom was a real turn-on. She'd never had sex without using a condom, and certainly never in a public place, but the idea was so appetizing that she wouldn't care if she did get caught and was expelled from school; the thrill of receiving penetration in a non-private location would be all she needed to say "I do" to the lucky guy screwing her.
Commitment didn't scare her, lack of action and attention did. She would gladly marry any guy as long as he was able to keep up with her sexual desires; otherwise he was just another piece of man-meat.
But the guy who'd called in after she'd entered was right: she would have to "wash that snatch of hers" if she expected to keep herself clean and fresh in the presence of Archer's girlfriend. What was her name? Sarah, wasn't it? Kristine closed her eyes and summoned her image. "She's cute. Wouldn't mind going down on her. Bet that pussy tastes good." Absentmindedly, she began to stroke herself.
Kristine fantasized about being Sarah's sexual prisoner, trapped under her slim body while slurping greedily at the love juice that was pouring out of her open slit. "Eat it, bitch," Sarah would scream, as she grinded her hips into Kristine's unmade face, smearing her ember lipstick around her mouth. Struggling to restrain her, Sarah would pin Kristine's arms down above her head, shifting just enough of her weight to prevent the slutty whore from clawing her way out of submission.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three hard knocks on the door catapulted Kristine out of her special moment, startling her and throwing her off balance. She nearly toppled face first into the water.
"What's taking you so long?" Archer yelled impatiently. "We do have a time issue here."
"Yeah," another voice followed, "He's gotta get you stripped down and fucked loose before somebody shows up and ruins everything."
Listening to the guys antagonize Archer about doing her made her feel kind of bad about trying to get into his pants. Judging by his mature behavior, Kristine was certain that he was very honest and devoted – unlike herself – and it pained her to hear them taunt him so harshly. For the first time in her life, she felt a critical need to pull away from men instead of drawing herself towards them, so that she could spare someone special from being hurt.
That or she really was desperate.
She thrust the staff in and watched the diminutive pond drain out like a high-powered vacuum, until there was nothing left but the whiteness of her thongs. Plucking them out, twisting and squeezing them vigorously in the air, she excreted every last drop from the thin material, leaving behind a fresh yet mild dampness. Cupping her free hand under the faucet, she doused it in hot water, then applied it like a thin lubricant to her aching cunt. Slinging her purse over her shoulder and tearing out a small box of Kleenex, she dabbed the wet area with several tissues, tossed them in the nearby trash can, pulled her panties back on, and strolled casually out the bathroom.
Archer looked displeased, like he knew exactly what had transpired in the girl’s room, as if he had physically been there and had seen or taken part in the act. But he said nothing about it. Instead he just glared at her and walked away. "Let's get going," was all he said. Too ashamed to speak, she simply followed. And the group followed too.
For several long minutes, the two of them walked in silence. Kristine refused to make eye contact or even look at Archer, but she was always aware of him looking at her – looking not gawking – and his gaze always seemed unforgiving. She wished she could say something to him but she didn't know what. She'd never before felt so helpless or embarrassed in her life. His blue eyes were cold as ice, and his face was blank, expressionless, even after they'd left the confines of the school and turned towards the ice cream and sandwich shop.
"Sarah should be there by now." He spoke without compassion, as if implicating the amount of time wasted. Kristine couldn't even nod.
"Sarah too?" Someone close behind asked. "So you’re having a threesome, huh? Nice. Two bitches in the same bed with you. Who gets first ride?" The crowd laughed lightly.
A thought suddenly occurred to Kristine: If they show up at the store with all these guys following them, and Sarah hears the kind of stories they've been fabricating, she's liable to lash out at Kristine like a mad banshee. So if she has any chance of making a good impression, she'll have to disband them somehow; make them disappear the same way she did with her pussy juice. The answer came to her almost instantly.
Stopping abruptly and turning slowly around – the early summer breeze gently navigating through her long, luxurious, silky black hair, fanning it out so she looked like a supermodel doing a photo shoot, with her scanty dark clad skirt fluttering up just below her thighs – she paused with this impossibly sexy grin on her face. But those lucky few standing up front were too busy admiring the brief but beautiful thong shot. They all waited in perfect silence to hear what she would say.
"We're never gonna do it if you guys keep following us around," she explained, bluntly. "We enjoy our privacy." She let her tongue roll off each syllable in a flawless French accent. They applauded in unison.
"Guess we were wrong about you, Kristine," one of them said. "You didn't blow the teacher for that A+ on your oral exam." The group laughed at the pun, though in truth it made no sense. "OK fellas, let's leave these two alone so they can get on with their," switching to his own French accent, "business."
His tone was flat and the attempt was shameful. They booed him like an angry mob, swarmed up to and around him, picked him up high in the air, carried him over to a thick patch of uncut grass, and threw him face first into it. Afterwards, they all s**ttered in different directions, laughing at the poor guy and leaving him on the untrimmed lawn without any assistance. Springing up like a spider, seemingly unhurt, he took off after one of the larger masses.
"'Bout time," Archer exclaimed, his shoulders sagging like dead weight. Kristine had been unaware until now that they were hunched up like a football player preparing to throw a long ball, and that his fists were clenched white-knuckled in his pockets. Giving his hands a good flexing, his fingers spread outward like an eagle's tail, Kristine watched the blood slowly revamp his pale, aggravated body until his youth had been restored and his skin radiated a healthy, vibrant pink.
"I never knew people could be so annoying," he exasperated. "Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with those morons." He shook his head.
"Then why do you?" Kristine asked.
"Because of Sarah. Most of them are her friends not mine." For several long moments he was quiet. Then, "Speaking of which, there she is."
He pointed to the girl sitting all by herself at the front of the shop, happily enjoying a large, two-scoop strawberry ice cream, oblivious of their presence – even though she sat facing their direction – as she hurriedly slurped up the little bits that were melting down the sides of the cone.
Stepping around the small plastic table to her side, Archer placed his long arms around her slender waist and kissed her on the cheek.
"You're late," she stated matter-of-factly. "Now here, lick this." Switching the frozen treat to her other hand, she thrust her sticky, strawberry-covered palm up to his face. Slowly and deliberately, Archer licked each of Sarah's fingers off, one by one with his tongue and lips, making it look as sexual as possible. Kristine wished she could be those fingers. Sarah giggled uncontrollably, the sensations becoming too much to handle, until she was forced to pull away.
"That tickles," she said, still tittering.
Settling down in the chair next to her, he teased her, "You always said I was good with my tongue."
Kristine remained on the opposite end of the four-sided table, still upright, with a big smirk on her face. Because she was standing in plain view, she knew Sarah was purposely ignoring her. "You know what I want," her inner voice chimed.
Patiently waiting to be acknowledged, Kristine stood idly by as the happy couple continued tantalizing each other. First, Sarah would lick the top of the ice cream, then run it carefully along the edges of her mouth. After that, she'd take off a second, larger section, hold it at the base of her tongue and give Archer a cream-filled open-mouthed kiss, gently nibbling on his lower lip after each transition.
"Oops," Archer said, dipping his index finger into the treat and smearing it across the side of his own neck. "I got ice cream on my neck, how did that happen? Sarah, be a..." he paused, "a bad girl and take care of this for me, would ya?"
Taking another lick, she said, "Are you asking?"
"No," his voice deepened, assuming a more omnipotent tone. "I'm telling you to do it, bitch. You know I never ask."
Sarah squealed with delight, as if she'd just received a powerful orgasm. Drawing close to him, she kissed and romanced the fleshy hotness of his throat, covering every inch of skin, but leaving the main course until the end. Glancing towards Kristine, she let her tongue slide, intimately, up and down the soft, milky spot, finishing with a large, blood-sucked hickey right below his chin. This was obviously her way of making a statement.
"Ahem," Kristine interrupted, trying to be polite.
"You waiting for an invitation or something?" Sarah asked, inversely.
"Be nice," Archer warned.
"Why should I? We both know what she wants," she glared. "Don't we?" The fire in her eyes seemed almost alive, like a flaming serpent awakening from a 1,000 year old slumber.
"Sit down Kristine," Archer motioned at the seat across from him. Calmly and deliberately, she sat in the seat he directed at, with her purse curled up in her lap.
"Oh no," Sarah bawled, biting into the soft crust of her now empty ice cream cone. "I'm not sitting anywhere near her. No way!" She started to get up.
Reaching out and taking hold of her wrist, Archer said, "Your gonna have to if you want me to pay you back for that treat."
He said nothing more after that. He didn't even maintain his hold on her. He just stared intently into her hazel eyes for several long seconds, as if they were having a telepathic conversation.
"Alright, fine," she said, finally, and sat back down. Archer put an arm around her and watched noiselessly as she finished the cone.
The slow, rhythmic grinding-chomping-crunching sound combined with the awkward silence seemed almost like a doom clock to Kristine, as if Sarah was chewing not a crunchy, doughy, tasty summertime dessert, but was instead ruthlessly devouring a pit of bones belonging to all the sluts and whores who had ever tried to take away her man. Kristine waited what felt like an eternity in a vacuum for Sarah to finish eating, but the crackling only seemed to raise the tension level, and it became increasingly difficult to maintain her seating posture, especially with those vengeful cat-like eyes burning deep into her soul.
Popping the last piece into her mouth and wiping off the residue from her chin and hands with the supplied napkin, she presented Kristine with a professional businesswoman look – hands folded on top of the table, legs crossed under it, a carefully placed pen and a pad of paper at her side. "Let's get down to business," she said softly, taking the pen in her right hand and opening the notepad to the first page. "What do you have to offer us?"
"Well," Kristine stammered, her lips contorting to the side while she steadily tapped a finger against the corner of her mouth. "I could... I could give you-"
"Give 'us'," Sarah barked without provocation, slamming her fist into the table, creating a minor quake. Kristine jumped in her chair. "This is 'our' decision, not mine! Now try again! What are you willing to give us?!"
Too terrified to articulate her thoughts and certainly not used to this form of confrontation, Kristine instead asked, "W-what did you have in mind?"
Sarah's grim mask of fury rapidly dissolved at the boldness of the question, reforming as a bright, toothy, Full House grin.
"I know what I want out of this. But what about you sweetie?" She turned to Archer. They leaned in together. He whispered something to her. She whispered something back. After almost a full minute of secret deliberations, they were ready to give their verdict.
First a short giggle, then a deep, controlled breath. Clasping her hands together once more, Sarah said, "No sex, with anyone, until after we graduate." Kristine started to protest. "And," she interrupted, "No fucking yourself with any of your damn toys; in fact give them to us right now so you won't be tempted to use them."
Kristine was stunned. How could either of them possibly know what she owned? The numbers must have been at least 100:1. Even-more-so, how could they predict so perfectly that she would have it with her on that day at that particular moment? Those numbers would have been even higher, at least 1,000:1. The ratios were mind-numbingly improbable, yet neither Sarah nor Archer revealed the slightest hint that their guess might be a bluff.
Reluctant to hand over her most prized possessions, Kristine attempted to deceive the two into thinking that she did not own such things, convince them that they had wrongly accused her of said crime. But they were much too clever to fall for such a simple immaculate defense. Defeated, she withdrew her dildo and bullet-vibrator from her purse pocket and handed them over to Sarah, who dropped them into a clear, plastic Ziploc bag that she "happened" to be carrying.
Kristine sighed with obvious discontent. These inexorable conditions did not sit well with her. It was only a week's absence, but since she was used to being with someone regularly, it made it a big deal. She looked to Archer for support but he simply gave her a "This is for your own good" shrug. Kristine didn't know why she thought he would take her side.
"Alright, there," she muttered, almost unwillingly.
"And one more thing," Archer included. A loud gasp of frustration suddenly escaped from Kristine. Ignoring her, he continued, "You have to be our obedient little slave bitch until your deadline."
Kristine didn't understand.
"You do only what we say and when we say it; and you do it without delay!" he described with almost maddening excitement.
"Yeah," Sarah joined in, as if that were her cue to add in the chorus to their dark ritualistic chant. "So if I tell you to get down on your knees and eat my pussy out, then you better drop to the floor and do it. Or else we'll fill up your 'To Don't' list with even more shit until you can't even fuckin' shower in private without it being a violation of our terms of agreement." She was writing frantically in the notepad, a crazed look of lust and power now gleaming in her eyes.
"Here," she yelled, reaching over the table and taking a firm hold of Kristine's locks. She yelped in pain, but Sarah didn't let go. She was in total control and drunk with authority. Dragging Kristine halfway across the four-legged stand, Sarah shoved her face right up to the paper; she couldn't even read what was written on it. "Now sign it with your full name, your address and your phone number! And don't you pull any shit with me 'cuz I will fuck you up, you skank hoe!" Archer handed her the pen, and she hastily scrawled down her information without looking.
Releasing the back of her hair, Sarah forcefully shoved Kristine backwards into the fragile little chair, causing it to bend and collapse under her weight, as she toppled over and crashed painfully onto the cement ground. The insidious couple laughed at her with prominent delight. Tediously and with great affliction, Kristine staggered to her feet.
"Pleasure doing business with you," the businesswoman said. "We look forward to seeing you again and observing your progress." She smiled sweetly. "Have a nice day!"
In an impetuous burst of speed, Kristine seized her purse from the table and took off running like panic-stricken prey in the opposite direction. The sounds of her humiliation slowly faded in the distance.


The walk home was both long and treacherous. After only a one-tenth mile run, Kristine was completely exhausted. Her lungs burned intensely with fatigue, and she could almost taste the lactic acid built up in her muscles; she tried to spit but couldn't produce any saliva. The blood pumping through her skull and ear drums was overwhelming. She could actually hear her own pulse beating in her temples, like the voice of a coordinator orchestrating a powerful and influential performance in a full-size theatre. Her hair and clothes had been tossed around, tangled and disheveled, splayed across her face and body by sweat and tears. She'd been unaware that she was crying.
She leaned up against a telephone pole, gasping desperately for air, as if she had just barely escaped a bathtub drowning and was being hunted down by the perpetrator who had tried to commit the deed. With her legs as wobbly as Jell-O and her mind in a suffocating haze, she allowed herself a few minutes rest. Crumbling to her knees and shutting her eyes, she tried with considerable effort to control her erratic breathing and bite back the tears of her embarrassment. It was much harder than she imagined.
What the hell did she get herself into?
Rising ever-so-slowly to her feet, grappling the metal pole for support, she forced herself to stand upright. It took a full minute to regain complete balance, in which time she'd noticed the cloudy sky hanging heavy above her, like locusts planning an unseen attack. She didn't think she would make it home before the lethal swarm commenced invasion.
As she was trying to fix herself, a loud, honking sound attracted her attention. She turned towards the source and spotted a black Jaguar with steel-plated rims approaching her from behind. The vehicle slowed to a halt and the passenger’s side window rolled down halfway. She stepped up to the door, being wary of the stranger’s actions, and examined the inside through the partial opening. To her surprise it was Archer.
"Hey there," he smiled sarcastically. She didn't smile back. "You look like shit. Surely Sarah's little attack couldn't have done this."
"And what of her?" Kristine asked in a scratchy, nonchalant voice.
Reaching over with his right hand, he pressed a large red button on the arm of the door, scrolling the window down the rest of the way. There was Sarah, leaning over with her head in Archer's lap – her hair tossed to the side, his pants down to his knees – drooling and slobbering greedily over his engorged member. Sitting up in her seat and eyeing Kristine, she licked the saliva and precum from her lips and fingertips.
"Mmmm," she moaned loudly. "Oh baby, it tastes so good."
Kristine stole a quick peek at Archer's dripping tool, now that half of it had been unsheathed from Sarah's mouth. It was huge; she estimated it to be about seven and one-half inches long. "Beautiful," she thought.
"You like it don't you?" Sarah asked, apparently catching her. "Impressive size, don't you think? And I get to ride it later, thanks to you." She stroked her boyfriend lovingly, massaging his balls and spreading the juice between her fingers. Ceasing caress, she reached her arm out, coming a couple feet short of Kristine, and held her palm face up. Wiggling it around uselessly in the air, her moist hand glistened in the dwindling patches of sunlight. "Come closer," she instructed with a mischievous grin. Kristine hesitated, looking around dubiously, fearful of what Sarah might do. "I said come closer," she ordered. Kristine gradually inched her way forward. "Now lap it up, you dog."
An unsettling moment passed between them. However, she bent over anyway and – with extreme caution – extended her tongue out, flicking it against the delicate, sticky flesh, mildly indulging in the sweet and salty ambrosia. It was good indeed.
"Suck it all up, you whore!" Sarah reached out with her free hand and took hold of Kristine's blouse. Yanking her to within an inch of the cold metal of the car, the crazy girlfriend held her in place and forced her to clean all the goo off. "Suck it like you suck cock." Kristine tried to draw back, more afraid now than she'd ever been in her life, but Sarah's one-handed grip was fierce, and she was unable to break free – figuratively or literally. Ultimately, she swallowed every last bit.
"Excellent job," Archer congratulated his girlfriend. "You should become a professional slave trainer. You could teach sluts like her how and when to accept these kinds of gifts into their bodies." He laughed lightly, his piece bobbing back and forth. "Now let her go so we can be on our way." Sarah did as he said. Kristine jumped away from the Jaguar.
"Your catching on, dear Krissy, but not quite good enough," Sarah ridiculed. "Improve your obedience and in a week or so I'll let you fuck him all you want," she pointed at Archer. "Who knows, maybe I'll even join in the fun." She winked. Several raindrops spattered against the windshield. The long, thin, black wipers came on, gently brushing them aside. "Well, we better go now, 'cuz I'm getting horny playing games with you, and I know my love over here is getting impatient that he's not receiving any attention." She kissed Archer's lips then leaned over the seat back into his lap. Unseen by his girlfriend, he blew Kristine a kiss then waved goodbye. There was nothing romantic about it.
The vehicle was just pulling away when the skies opened up and a loud thunderclap streamed the massive downpour upon the virtually empty streets. The few unlucky pedestrians that still remained on the drive dashed chaotically from place to place, seeking shelter within the relative safety of convenience stores, under porch's and balcony's, newsstands, outdoor mini-mart umbrella's, door frames, trees, even hugging along the side of residential homes under gutters. And by the time Archer had driven one hundred feet in his Jag, Kristine could no longer make out either the eerie monster-eyed glow of his headlights nor any of the people who had cowered so deep in the shadows of the merciless rain-swept day.
She continued her long, solitary walk home along the secluded sidewalk in the turbulent thunderstorm. Her hair was plastered to her forehead making visibility a major issue; she stumbled a few times and once fell into a mud puddle. Her now messy clothes were practically glued to her skin, exposing her perky nipples along with the contours of her body, but making it difficult to maintain a steady pace. Her purse was full to the brim with water, drowning all her belongings, despite being zipped shut. The elegant taste of precum saturated her taste buds, and for most of the trip she could think of nothing else.
"That bitch," she cursed quietly to herself.
Turning onto the muddy, lightless road, the ascending dusk pressed in on her more fearlessly, shying away only when a bolt of lightning startled the blackness. The trees swayed back and forth on both sides of her, as if performing an incantation, a ceremonial worship to the approaching night sky, and their dark shadows danced along the mud-banks like the flame of a candle in an unlit room, creating the illusion that something unforeseen lurked behind its elusive dementia. The wind carried a ghostly, anguished wail of forbearance that seemed to whistle from the very treetops and spread across miles of open terrain, inflicting terror upon every living creature bold enough to stalk the gloomy eve.
Its eerie presence chilled Kristine to the bone.
She quickly trampled her way towards the front door of the trailer, her shoes making thick, sucking sounds as she inadvertently dredged up holes in the soft earth. The dirty water wasted no time receding over the freshly made channels. Up ahead, the unhindered screen door banged furiously against the wooden frame in response to the heavy gusts blowing everything around. Kristine watched in bewilderment, through the slips of her hair, as the dangling side gutter was forcefully ripped off by an angry, unseen apparition, raised like a whirlwind into the air, and propelled like an arrow high up in the trees, where it seemed to vanish almost immediately. She wouldn't have been surprised if a tornado suddenly formed right in front of her, grasped her in its spinning clutches, and whisked her off to OZ.
As she pressed on courageously through the blustering hurricane – trying to keep her head low – the dreary, paint-chipped mobile home no longer seemed like a home, or even a place of comfort. Instead it appeared as a large, frightening b**st crouching silently in the darkness, anxiously waiting for her to step up to it's gaping jaws so that it could sink it's venom-dripping fangs into her soft, palely skin and gobble her up in one bite.
Reaching the decrepit wooden steps of the front porch, she extended a shaky hand towards the maw of the voracious monster, as if trying to calm it with a gentle, loving touch, but the large behemoth refused to be conned into submission. It lashed out with a ferocious appetite, augmenting its shrieks with deafening intensity, until it resembled the howling of the most fearsome demons found lurking only in the fiery pits of hell.
Navigating her way up and over the stairs, she grasped the reins of the creature with an iron grip, subduing it in its wake, like an a****l trainer taming a lion with a flaming whip. Holding back the rusty screen with her left hand, she pushed open the thick oak door with her right and descended into the dismal depths of the house; she half expected plumes of mist to issue forth from the empty hallway. As she stepped inside, relaxing her hold on the door while she entered, the wind swiftly whisked it away from her and smacked her brutally in the rear. She jumped with mild surprise at the unexpected welcome, eliciting an involuntary "oh."
The corridor was dim, obscure, hidden – even after her eyes had adjusted – with only the menacing shocks of lightning to illuminate the path ahead. The rain drummed heavily on the roof above her, and the leaky ceiling had given way from the intense water penetration, dripping steadily through the underlying cracks and absorbing into the rotting floorboards. Kristine took the nearby bucket and placed it in the forming puddle, using it as a catcher, then stepped around the weak spot and proceeded into the den.
Her father was passed out on the sofa – as always – with his legs open and his mouth a jar. Drool had dribbled down his chin onto the breast of his flannel shirt, and his blue jeans were darkly stained, reeking of urine and spilt booze. Cans of Budweiser and Old Milwaukee littered the small, three-legged table in front of him, with a full, unopened case stationed under the forth leg for support, whereas bottles of Smirnoff and Corona occupied the spaces surrounding it. He was a hard drinker; not even an earthquake could wake this man. Kristine knew. She'd tried many times to rouse him for supper. She was convinced that she could undo his pants, pull them down to his ankles, blow him until he came in her mouth, slip on a condom, ride him as hard as she could, moaning and groaning loudly in his ear, and still wouldn't wake him up – if she were in to that kind of thing of, course.
He was peacefully and completely oblivious to how drastically the weather had changed.
She listened to the interior of the house for several long seconds, trying to detect any indication of her mother’s presence. Perfect silence. "Hello?" Kristine called out, her voice reverberating into the adjacent room before being drowned out by the storm. She wasn't home; probably still out providing a valuable service to her fellow man. Kristine would know how it went in the morning. Her mother was very open about these kinds of things, so long as Kristine asked, which she usually did. The only thing that could rival her lust for cock was her thirst for sexual knowledge. She was always looking for new positions to do it in, different levels and angles of penetration, even different types of pain, whatever she could do to help herself get off. And no matter how uncomfortable or degrading the position was, she was willing to try it. If it didn't work out, then she would still have the satisfaction of being mounted like a bitch.
The two of them often worked out together. Kristine wanted to be fit and toned and in shape. She wanted to be irresistibly sexy when she fucked. Her mother, however, had to be sexy, or else no one was going to pay to slam her. "Half of the negotiations are based on your looks alone. If you don't look good then no man is going to approach you and ask you out," her mother explained. "The other half is decided by all other remaining factors. Don't ever forget that. 'Cuz the right looks will only get his attention, but with the right amount of charm and a little persuasion you can close almost any deal, and you can bang five or six guys a night, separately, and rake in a couple thousand dollars. And if you're tight enough and exhilarating enough and are an exceptional love toy, they'll even give you a special bonus."
Kristine could only speculate as to what that "special bonus" entailed, but it certainly sounded like a job she would enjoy having and going to in the evenings. Even being a porn star seemed enough to satisfy her carnal desires. But both parents had forbid her from being a part of either profession; at least until she graduated high school, that way she would always have her diploma to fall back on if she ever decided to take that important step and follow up on something else.
With the whole place to herself – her father too intoxicated to be included – Kristine stripped off her clothes right there in the living room, so as not to track any more sludge into the house than she already had. She began with the constricting blouse, each arm crossing the other, grabbing at the base of the fabric and relentlessly tugging it upward until she'd gotten it just over her head before snagging it on her sopping hair. Pulling it back down a bit, she fought her arms through both of the sleeves then disentangled the neckpiece from her head and yanked it off. Droplets were sent flinging across the room in a beautiful crescent-shaped arc. Dropping the shirt on the hardwood floor at her feet, she then undid her equally uncooperative bra. She fumbled with the snap piece for nearly a minute before finally giving up and ripping the whole thing off in frustration. Not surprisingly the brassiere didn't tear and the piece unclipped itself.
"Asshole," she cursed it through her teeth.
The miniskirt, on the other hand, slipped off her waist with little difficulty, and the cotton panties followed unquestioningly. Bending over, keeping both legs at a flawless 180 degrees, she wiggled the first piece down her thighs, popping her hips from side to side, feeling her gluteus and hamstring muscles tightening up. Continuing its smooth descent, Kristine released it once it was at knee level, letting it plop messily over her boots.
She removed the thong slightly differently, though. She continued to push past her knees down to her now tense calves, spreading her legs a bit so she could guide them on their way. Her firm buttocks and open slit greeted the doorway happily as she worked both garments over the first heel, then the second, always maintaining her composure, keeping her lower body perfectly symmetrical. She picked up the skirt, blouse and bra in one hand then rose steadily to stand fully erect. Hooking her underwear around the toe of her right foot, she effortlessly kicked them up, watching them spin in slow motion, almost side-wind, before catching them in mid-air. She grinned with self-satisfaction.
Carrying her drizzling wet attire in her arms, Kristine made her way from room to room, dodging and weaving her way around strewn out cans and bottles, side-stepping furniture and unsteady boards in the dankness, until she had reached their tiny bathroom. She d****d each article over the horizontal shower curtain pole, allowing them to trickle into the tub. Still able to feel the full volume of moisture on her naked body, she retrieved her bath towel from the nearby rack and scrubbed her hair dry, digging her fingertips into her skull, massaging the scalp and drawing out the dampness. Satisfied with the highly generated heat caused by friction, she pulled the cloth from her head, and polished off the rest of her perfect figure. She teased every part of her body; pulling the fabric close and gently brushing it up against herself in small, controlled circles; then cruelly tearing it away just as she was getting used to how soft and good it felt; finally, punching it back into her skin and flouncing viciously, rubbing the flesh raw, and breaking a few blood vessels resulting in a deep scarlet, mostly around her nipples, inner thighs and buttocks.
Standing completely exposed in the middle of the room, with her feet still submerged in her footwear, Kristine swung the towel over her neck in a horseshoe shape, so that both ends dangled down to cover up her bruised breasts. She bent down for a third and final time to undo the lacing on her heels. As she pulled the strings apart from the center of the tongue, the sidepieces sprung open, issuing forth a gush of running water, like an unstoppable river smashing through an unfinished dam, flooding the panels around the sink and toilet and seeping through its surface. She sat down on the edge of the lid and wrestled her boots off of her soggy feet, then peeled her socks back from the band to the toe, turning the pair inside out before hanging them up. Her ankles were covered in mud, small leaves and broken twigs, while the skin itself contained creases, small furrows, and a pale discoloration that revealed more and more of itself the further down her feet it went.
She pulled the cloth from around her neck and wiped her legs down, absorbing the water and cleaning off the dirt. Then she dropped it onto the soppy floor and mopped up the muddy substance in a large circular motion before discharging it into the tub. She repeated this action for five minutes until she was sure she had it as dry as it could be.
With the towel now sodden all the way down to the fibers, Kristine tossed it up alongside her wet clothes, then approached the mirror to check her hair and makeup. Her lipstick and eye shadow had neither been wiped off nor run, at the very least. She remained as made and ready as she did this morning before she left for school. The reason for this was probably an easy one: because she didn't require much to enhance her appearance, since she was already the epitome of perfection, so there wasn't much for the rain to work its way into and remove. "God must've just gotten laid when he created me."
Her hair, however, was a different story. Earlier, it had been brushed back with a wooden handled, wide-faced wire brush and a metallic fine tooth comb, which combined to make it super silky, extra shiny and very luxurious, the kind of hair you only see in the Avon commercials. But now it was straggled about, overlapping itself across her face and behind her ears, dangling down in front of her eyes, splitting her vision into multitudes of different perspectives, like looking through the eyes of a fly or a piece of cut diamond. Staring in disbelief at her own reflection, she found it hard to accept that her visage could be altered so drastically by a little bit of water. It was the first time she'd ever seen her hair after being dried off, since the mirror was always steamed up after she got out of the shower. She looked dark and menacing, evil and vengeful, alert but pitiless. All she needed to do now was buy some black nail polish, switch her rouge lipstick to ebony, and wear lackluster clothes to school every day – maybe buy some fingerless gloves to go with the outfit as well – and she could easily turn goth.
Kristine found herself unable to turn away from what she was witnessing on the other side of the looking glass. This new look was a first for her. And she liked it. She really liked it. She liked it so much, that if it were possible she would've reached through the glass, taken hold of her counter-part and pulled her through into this realm, escorted the other her to their bedroom, tied her arms to the headboard, played with her for a while, then gone down on her as hard as she could, making her squeal loudly with excitement all night long, until they either reached the peak of their sexual satisfaction and could go no further or someone barged into the room and made the both of them shut their traps – which wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.
There was absolutely no denying that Kristine was hot – even she loved her own body – and she was becoming increasingly horny for herself.
Reluctant to tear herself away from the mirror, she leaned in, cocking her head to the side, and placed a sultry, wet kiss on the mirror – her doppelganger kissing her back – before making her way towards her room. She immediately threw herself onto the bed, leaving the door wide open. Reaching for one of the three pillows – selecting one of the larger ones – she stuffed it down between her knees then rolled over, with herself on top, mounting it like she had been mounted so many times before. Fixing the pad securely in place under herself, she began to move her hips into it, grinding her twat up against the soft, velvety, head rest, sending bolts of pleasure through her sensitive clit.
She moved slowly at first, teasing herself a little, taking long strides back and forth, not allowing herself too much enjoyment. Occasionally she would trick her body and increase intensity without warning, getting a nice rhythm going, then, just when she was about to cum, she would drop off completely and ignore herself for an extensive amount of time. Her body hated her for it, but Kristine loved it. This was the kind of torture she subjected herself to daily. She hated being tantalized, but knew there was always something special to be achieved from doing so. And she found the prospect of being tempted so exotic that she felt compelled to explore it. It made her richly horny.
Gripping the headboard of her bed with a single hand and clutching the cushion with the firmness of the other, she started to move once more, slowly again. She shifted her body around in a circular motion, allowing her hips to feel the burn from the workout. It was a good feeling. In short controlled bursts she would circumnavigate the pillow, allowing her juices to stain some areas more than others, and spreading itself all over her inner thighs and ass. She pushed her hips forward unexpectedly, hasting her movements with rapid succession, bringing herself closer to climax, then again without notice, leisurely strafed the pillow, lowering the sensations in her extremities.
It made her body crazy. When the fuck are you gonna cum? It moaned.
Deciding that she’d had enough and to adhere to her body’s complaints for relief, she clenched the edges of the soft bolster with the strength of both hands and tossed her head back. Her hair unstuck from her face and flung up with it. She dug her knees into the sheets of the bed, bracing herself for what was to come. Lowering herself down to the pillow even more, she maneuvered herself into a more stable position, giving her a better hold. She cleared her throat; licked her lips; arched her back; closed her eyes. Now she was ready.
A bolt of lightning sliced through the dimness, illuminating the room in an unearthly pale-white, while a rolling earthquake followed very close behind. Though she could feel the tiny trailer tremble from the roar of the thunderclap, Kristine missed the aforementioned light. That loud rumble was her cue to begin, like the bell-toll of a clock in a gunfight or the crack of a flaming whip in a circus act.
She started off slowly and methodically, humping the pillow with fervor, steadily boosting her tempo with short, concise thrusts. Her whole body ached with pleasure as her open slit welcomed the lithe fabric into her tight hole. She moaned loudly, allowing the silk to penetrate her part way and drive her to orgasm. It didn’t feel as good or as hard as a cock but it would get the job done. In fact it felt more like the soft, sponginess of a tongue – perhaps a female tongue – and the more she popped her hips around the more it lapped at her most private of areas.
Kristine couldn’t help putting a face to the tongue: Sarah’s. She wanted Sarah there to eat her out. She wanted to be licked up and down by that tongue of hers and feel Sarah’s hot mouth cup her nipples, gently nibbling and pulling at them while she flicked her tongue across the heads repeatedly, dribbling saliva between her tits all the way down to her throbbing clit. Kristine wanted Sarah to spread her pussy lips apart and spit into the inferno inside of her, then drive her tongue in and out like a fire poker, lashing brutally at her insides with the oil of her saliva, kindling a raging firestorm rooted deep within her abdomen.
Dear God, she was horny!