Then, her knees hugging the carpet and my hips (I heard the toes of her heels clatter on the tile), she rose up; she positioned my cock straight up, and wiggled it between the lips of her pussy (she gasped; it made her stomach jiggle; her breasts, too) and sank down.
We both groaned as my shaft plunged in, in to her naked flesh. “Ah,” she said, as if in pain. She was wet, but not dripping. She stopped about halfway and pushed her right hand down into the carpet. “You like that?” she hissed.
She sank her hips down, forward. My cock slid along her uterine wall. Then, to my pleasure and utter shock, she bucked her hips forward, dragging my cock in and out of her, gyrating on top of me. “I hate you,” she said. “Your fucking cock… inside me… forcing me.” Her eyes burned down into mine.
“I didn’t force you,” I said.
Her pussy was so tight. For some reason I’d imagined that her big hips and big breasts and big ass would only make room for a big, loose pussy. But Tara’s younger sister had a tight, wet snatch. It was like a trap, and I could feel it squeeze more precum out of me, to mix with the saliva she’d forced me to lubricate her with, to mix with the juice of her own, voluptuous body. “You think I wanted you?” she hissed. She clearly had an agenda, and she took to it with forceful fervor, but it was impossible for my dick to elicit no effect that deep inside of her. I realized she was trying to work me in and out of her methodically, almost mechanically. “You think you’re such hot shit,” she said. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“If you cum before I do, I’ll cut you.” The knife at my throat. “And tell my father you raped me. And then Tara will know what a piece of shit you are… If you cum inside me, no one will say I’m a liar.”
Courtney wasn’t going to cum, that’s what she was saying…
“If you cum before I do,” I said, “you won’t cut me?”
She sneered. I suddenly thrust my hips up, and she had to grab at the floor. I pushed my feet into the ground and thrust again. The knife could cut me while I tried but I realized now that might be inevitable.
“If you cum before I do,” I said again, “you won’t cut me?”
“You can’t make me cum,” she said.
I raised my hands up and placed them on her hips. I forced her to go down, deep down, until her vagina was opened over the thick base of my cock, her ass practically riding my balls.
“Anh,” she gasped.
“Do you want me to make you cum?”
“Fuck you,” she said. “Tell me how badly you wanted this pussy?”
“Badly,” I said. My fingers bit into her hips. I ran the fabric of her blouse up against her ribs until I was grasping her tight skin. I made her hips swivel against me. I pushed inside her. “What about the money?”
She leaned back. She had to keep the knife on my throat but she leaned back, very business-like, her back almost straight, while I made love to her vagina like she wasn’t even a part of it. “You wanna give it to me now?” she said. “If you give it to me right now, pull out and do it. Pull out of this pussy.” She flexed her ass on top of me.
“But then you wouldn’t get a good fucking at your grandmother’s funeral,” I said.
“If I wanted a good fucking I wouldn’t be fucking you.”
“You just want to make me cum?”
She sneered again, the coldness in her eyes dire contrast to the heat below her waist, and the movements, almost gymnastic and snake-like, of her writhing, curvaceous body. It was her body that was built for sex; every undulation, every inch of soft, tan skin, was meant to attract attention, meant to draw the eye, meant to force lewd fantasies. Did Courtney know the men in her wake were left with no recourse but to stroke themselves to ejaculation at the thought of her wide hips under their palms, her bulbous buttocks clutching their cocks, her fearsome eyes hating them as they squeezed their manhood between her tight, moist crevices? Of course she knew. She got off to it.
“You’re going to cum,” she said. “You’re going to cum inside me. I’m going to squeeze your f-fucking cock until you can’t take it anymore… and, then, you’ll do it. You want to do it.”
“Yes,” I said, My hands forced her hips deeper down.
“Better slow down,” she gasped.
“I’m just getting started.”
“Oh yeah?” She reached up to her blouse. No, I thought, it’s too cruel. Her fingers slid over the slopes of her upper breasts. Her finger dipped into her cleavage. “You want these tits?” she whispered breathlessly. “You want to see these fucking titties?”
I didn’t say anything, but I did slow my strokes.
“That’s what I thought. You can’t handle me.”
That would not stand. I grabbed her ass and plunged my cock deep, thrusting my hips hard towards her pelvis. She bumped forward; her hand fell beside my head. Her breasts swung over my face.
“Does that make you mad?” she hissed. She leaned down until her nipple, under the black fabric, grazed the skin of my lip. I couldn’t stand it. I stretched my mouth forward, trying to catch it through the shirt. Courtney leaned up, laughing. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You can’t handle it.”
I didn’t like being told what I couldn’t handle. I dropped her hips suddenly, and reached for her chest. She let out a stunned “What-?” before I grabbed the blouse between my fingers and tore, like I’d torn the panties.
Her round breasts bulged from the rent fabric. At first they just rolled forward, freed from the pressure but too full, too squished to leave the shirt. Still stunned, Courtney was pinned by my dick plunging into her behind and her hand bound to stay at my throat, so she couldn’t stop me from grabbing the torn shirt and ripping it the rest of the way. Her gorgeous breasts were freed from her clothing, plump and swollen, the bottoms still tightly trapped but the nipples, the soft skin at their sides, exposed, even held so that each bounce of her ass on my thighs, at every increasingly wet thrust and gyration, they jiggled forward, liquidly, maybe even painfully.
“Bastard,” she said.
“Do they hurt, Courtney?” I said.
“Yes,” she gasped. My thrusts were merciless now. She tried to right herself, to get more rigidly on top, but I angled my hips so that she was forced to lean forward, forced to keep her one hand planted in the tile (I hoped her knife hand was getting tired). Her breasts were beautiful, and I adored them, but on top of me like this, without support, they flopped out, heavy on her chest. She shut her eyes tight.
“Do you want me to hold them?” I said.
“N-no…” she groaned.
I squeezed my prostate to keep my dick rigid and to keep from cumming, and thrust harder, faster. “You bastard…” she rasped. “Don’t…”
It was beautiful. Her big breasts swung over me, forced to bounce with every push of my cock. It hurt her, but there was an open, hungry pout to her mouth that proved that some tangle of nerves caught in the strain forced her to like it. I couldn’t bear to see her like that any longer.
I reached up and held her breasts. Their thickness filled my hands. The hard nipples practically carved her initials into my palms. I squeezed her, and she let out a deep moan.
I reached down and tore the rest of the shirt. Her breasts flopped out all the way and I scooped them hungrily between my fingers. Sweat had built up between our waists; I could feel it trickling down from where her skirt bunched up against her hips. One hand slid behind her back, the other pulled her in to me. I took one dark, puffy nipple between my lips and sucked on it.
“Suck on it…” she whispered. “Is that what you want? You want to suck my titties?”
I just groaned assent to her dirty mouth. I slowed my strokes to savor the taste of her breasts. My tongue dragged over the slopes of one, licking deep between them to the space in the middle of her chest. I felt her right hand on my shoulder, maybe pushing me, maybe trying to stay steady, as I scooped the left breast towards my mouth and suckled on it, bit it lightly, tried to get as much of it in my mouth as I could fit. I sucked harder on it, loving the taste of her, the hot, angry taste of her, and the wondrous texture of her bumpy areolas. It occurred to me, only then, at the height of my arousal and hunger for her, that I had stopped thrusting, that her vagina was slipping and gliding over me, that her left hand had gone limp – had not dropped the knife – that her stomach was quaking over my hairy one.
“That what you needed?” she said huskily. “Needed these big tits in your mouth? I know you did.”
I let her nipple slip from my mouth and reached up. I took her face in both hands and pulled her mouth to me.
“Fuck you,” she spat into my mouth. She actually spat. I wet my lips and cupped them over her own. Her tongue slithered out and tippled over mine. I thrust. She pushed. Her breasts squashed against my chest. I reached down and gripped her ass fiercely, forcing it up and down on my cock. Our spit mingled while she acted like her tongue in my mouth was there by protest. I, for my part, sucked on it, kissed her mouth, and reached for her hair. “Cum,” she whispered when our lips peeled away from each other.
“You wanna make me cum?” I said.
“I make you cum,” she said, her face still inches from mine. She rested her breasts on top of me. “You came inside my ass. … I had to… push it out…”
“You didn’t like that?” I groaned. “You didn’t like shitting out my cum?”
“You’re sick,” she gasped. “Ahn. You’re vile. You fucked me. Your big dick. In my ass.”
“Are you going to cum?” I said.
“You can’t make me cum!” she whispered violently.
“You’re wet.”
“You want to jack off between my tits? I’ll cut your balls off.”
I got a good grip on her ass cheek. My right arm braced against her side. “You want to cum, Courtney? You want it good? You want it rough?”
“Don’t-” she said. She could feel my arms’ tensed strength. “I’ll… cut…”
“Do it,” I said.