But the girl surprised and delighted him this time. She reached down of her own accord and folded her hand around his thick root. His pecker, jumped like a bucking bronco. She began to stroke it up and down.

They sat flank to flank, kissing again; he was finger fucking her and she wad pulling his cock. They moved slowly, neither in any haste to terminate the scene by orgasm.

Her hand had become much more nimble and talented than when she had first started jerking Duke off. She massaged his rod, and on the upstroke her thumb swept across the surface of his meaty cockhead. That head flared like a hooded cobra, the cleft gaping open as if ready to spit venom..

Duke writhed in passion. His mind was as hot is his cock. She hadn't demanded his handkerchief! That was a good sign. The first few times she'd pulled him off, she had insisted that he get his hanky out first and shoot directly into it, so that none of his spunk got on her. Later, she was willing to wait and mop her hand and forearm-and his belly-after his juicy climax. But now she said nothing about a handkerchief at all, and it elevated his hopes that at last he might be putting his cum in a place where no post ejaculatory clean up was necessary-namely, her steamy, swampy, juicy pussy!

Her fist skimmed down to his hilt, the heel of her hand pressed to his spunk laden balls, then skimmed up and pulled at the slab of his crown. Her grip tightened. She skinned him back so that his peckerhead flared tautly out.

Duke pushed her down onto the couch.

She didn't struggle!

He hovered over her, his cock looming above her belly and his hand frantically shoving three fingers in and out of her gash while she continued to stroke his prick.

"Let me put it in," he rasped.

"No," she said.

"Just for a second?"