The Sweetest Fruit

An eBook By Robert Desmond.

"He deliberately gave me time to turn my face away.  I let him kiss me, his wet lips and tongue moistening my nose and chin.  More to excite him than to discourage him, I kept my mouth closed for a time, and my lips hard, but his hands, outside my clothes, were all over me.  At one moment each of my buttocks was in one of his squeezing hands which pressed me close to him while he made again the movements of his loins against mine, grinding his manhood against my groin.  Crazed, I opened my mouth, crushed my parted lips, my savage tongue and my teeth into his, and clung to him as he pushed globules of his saliva into my mouth.  How we entered his living room, I can scarcely describe.  He didn't carry me in, and he didn't drag me, nor did I walk in.  It was as if I was swept in by a force more powerful than myself.  He lowered me onto the sofa and stepped back to give me time to grasp what was going to happen.  Later he explained his technique to me and taunted me with my failure to resist.  I had a chance to look around me.  It was a clean, tidy room with old-fashioned, solid furniture which was obviously well cared-for.  He did everything himself, including cooking-serious cooking, not just eggs and bacon or sausages.  You can see the difference between his refusal to pay any attention to his appearance and his great care of his home.  When I eventually got to see the rest of the house, I discovered that it was all as clean and tidy as the living room.  Ben's neither stupid, nor lazy, nor careless, nor naturally scruffy.  He just likes to neglect his appearance so that his conquests of women can't be confused with the love of a decent girl for a decent boy.  He makes it difficult for himself so that he can be doubly proud of his success, and certainly that evening he had made every kind of effort to make himself repulsive.  It turned him on to think that as a 'slimy' urchin he could still win a virginal woman.

"He stood there looking down at me, as little like a romantic hero or a seducer as you could possibly imagine, and instead of getting up and chivvying him into sprucing himself up a little for our stroll, instead of insisting we leave that instant, I lay there, waiting for his lordship to deign to take me in his arms again.  He pushed his tousled hair out of his eyes and joined me on the sofa.  After two or three kisses, during which he repeated the business of pretending to possess me, I felt his hands stroking my stockinged legs and toying with the hem of my skirt.  Inside my skirts his fingers climbed to my stocking tops.  I don't know whether he expected me either to be annoyed or to pretend I was, but his kisses and caresses thrilled me so that I think nothing he did would have made me angry, and I saw no reason to postpone by feigned indignation something which was bound to happen eventually.  I didn't want him then; I mean I had no desire for sexual intercourse with him, but I enjoyed each of his acts as he committed them.  I'm almost sure I'd have been happy to go on kissing and cuddling, with his hand fondling my thighs.  My desire didn't anticipate his deeds, but was merely aroused by what he was doing to me at any particular moment.  His every move delighted me more than the previous one.  While one hand wandered up over my nylon-covered belly, the other unbuttoned the bodice of my frock in a fever of desire, unclipped my bra and set by breasts free.  His hands loved my torso; his tongue ran rings round the nipple of first one tit and then the other.  His lips formed a circle over one nipple as it swelled and hardened, and his fingers tortured the other.  His teeth threatened to draw blood, and I sighed, groaned and squirmed in sensuous agony.  He made me confess that I was thrilled.  Why make me confess it?  Weren't my body's movements and my labored breathing proof that I was his for the taking?

"My cunt was a fiery opening just waiting to have the flames quenched, and Trawler's touching, his licking, his teasing ignited me all the more.  I'd never felt so alive, so hot, so womanly as when the wet juice of my excitement began to drizzle down my leg, paving the way for a smooth sail into my cunt.  Trawler knew a hot pussy when he saw one, and he continued to tease and tantalize me by nibbling even harder on my tits and lightly smacking the nipples with the back of his hand to make them harder, bigger, even more at his disposal.

"He said he'd torture me with lust unless I told him how much I wanted it.  He hit my tittie even harder, more powerfully, and squeezed hard on each breast as a threat.  'Okay,' I finally said, my cunt swelling with desire so intense that I truly had to have him, could not go on another minute without it.  'You are thrilling me, you fucker,' I squealed.  'My cunt's so hot that it will take a big load of spunk to quench the fire and dull the flames.'  With that, my legs fell open and my cunt beckoned him to go further with his explorations."

Reliving her first visit to Ben Trawler's home excited Connie to such an extent that her throat was scorched and her groin was ignited.  She had to pause for a moment.  She needed a drink of cool, sparkling water to quench her thirst, but her exhilaration demanded sherry.  She handed her glass to Chadcroft, whose hand trembled as he reached for the bottle.  He was as flushed as she was, and she gloried in his inability to hide his emotions; she gloried in the fact that he was so turned on, hot, desirous of her.  Noticing he made no move to replenish his own glass, she picked it up and held it imperiously before him until he had filled it.  He sipped; she quaffed and cast in his direction a reproving regard which asked, "Is that the way a man drinks?"  Eager to please her, in order that she should feel inclined to continue her tale, he drank the content of his glass and uncorked another bottle while she settled herself more comfortably and more provocatively in her chair.  David served Connie with sherry, and she found the courage to continue:

"At my waist his exploring fingers rubbed at my panties, and I raised my bottom to ease their removal-down my thighs, past my knees, along my calves.  I kicked off my shoes and he guided my panties round my heels and beyond my toes.  He buried his nose in the scented nylon of my white knickers and kissed me through their fabric.  That was really the moment of no return.  He'd bared my loins, and I'd condoned his act by letting him kiss me through the thin material of my most intimate garment.  He stripped me, gazed upon my nakedness and made me tell him that all his greedy eyes beheld was his personal property.  I mouthed obscenities of my own composition.  I'd read no erotic literature, and my ears had been spared vulgar talk, but I begged him to believe that he was entitled to complete possession of the parcel he had unwrapped.  I threw myself into his arms and cried, 'All I ask is that you love me.'  I was thinking of the love between hearts, but his answer was, 'By the time I've finished loving you, gal, you'll howl for mercy.'  He undressed quickly and tore into me; his enormous phallus filled me, and he rode me with brutal vigor, trying to hurt me and make me hate him, so that my coming back for more would be a triumph of unabashed lust over love.  He did hurt me.  Oh, I can feel it now-like a hot, sharp knife cutting into the most sensitive of flesh.  I screamed, but I clung to him.  He fucked me, and I fucked him back.  My screams became filthy expletives.  He bashed away at my loins long after my second orgasm, and eventually we reached climax together.  Our bodies were slimy with hot sweat and the overflow of our mixed sexual juices.

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