He stopped shooting as abruptly as he had begun.
One instant his cum was spurting out and the next his balls were drained. His cock-head stopped flaring and his cock-shaft stopped throbbing.
Crystal kept sucking, figuring that there was no point in leaving a job unfinished, but he had stopped humping now and his prick was already turning rubbery again. The prick-knob rolled limply over her lapper.
She ducked down, taking his cock balls-deep into her mouth, then pulled back up, sucking the spunk from his stalk, mopping up the dregs to keep it neat.
Gunderson grunted and stepped back. His prick came snaking from her lips and dropped down instantly, as limp as a noodle, dripping with her saliva.
Crystal tossed her head back and let the final mouthful of jism spill on down her throat. It was a pleasant sensation, having a bellyful of jizz, in spite of the balls that had delivered it.
She looked up at the landlord with an uncertain sort of smile on her cum-smeared mouth.
He could have at least said thanks.
But he was leering at her most ungallantly.
"I'll be back tomorrow morning, scum bucket," he rasped.
He simply didn't know the right things to say to girls, not to mention destitute tenants.
Then, tucking his spent cock back into his baggy pants, he left.
Crystal shrugged and went back, to reading the newspaper.
CHAPTER TWO
Crystal found two ads that sounded promising.
One was for a room in a private house, a sort of live-in arrangement offered by a divorcee who would take a very reasonable rent in exchange for sharing in the housework. It seemed just what Crystal was looking for – and no amount of housework could be more irritating than having to give blow-jobs to Al Gunderson.
But first she had to find a job, and the second ad was for a girl to work in a book store, which was just the sort of wholesome employment that would suit the innocent, small-town girl to a tee, especially when she wrote home to tell her narrow-minded parents what she was doing in the city where, as they knew, the ways were wicked.