COMPETITIVE FRONTIER LOVIN'
PART 2 - ROOT CELLAR SNARE
By Klrxo
Darrell's eyes were glued to his ma's bodacious rack the whole bumpy wagon ride over to Grandma Clara's ranch. He just couldn't tear his gaze away from the mesmerizing bounce and jiggle of those gigantic titties with every jolt of the wheels over the rutted dirt road. The thin calico of her dress stretched taut over the heavy, ripe globes, the fabric straining at the seams, looking like it might bust apart at any moment to unleash her overflowing milkers.
He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench, trying to discretely adjust the throbbing erection that tented his trousers something fierce. But it was no use - his cock was harder than a railroad spike, pulsing urgently as it strained towards his ma's heaving bosom like a divining rod seeking water.
Darrell's face burned hot as a blacksmith's forge, sure his sinful thoughts must be written plain as day across his features.
Mary Beth glanced over, a knowing gleam in her amber-flecked eyes as she took in her son's flushed cheeks and the impressive bulge jutting against his worn denim fly. A slow, wicked smile curved her cherry-red lips, revealing a flash of pearly teeth.
She leaned in close enough that he could smell the lavender water on her skin, her enormous pillowy breasts brushing against his trembling forearm like two warm, heavy clouds of flesh, making him suck in a sharp breath that whistled between his teeth.
"My, my, looks like someone's up and at 'em bright and early," she purred, her voice a throaty rasp that vibrated through the humid morning air and sent electric shivers racing down his spine like summer lightning. "You just keep that big fella primed and ready, sugar. Mama's fixin' to put him to real good use once we get to the ranch—gonna milk you dry as a desert well."
Darrell swallowed hard, his mouth gone bone dry at the sinful promise in her words. He didn't rightly know what she had in mind, but his cock lurched in his britches all the same, a pearly bead of pre-spend dampening his drawers. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get to his grandma's place.
As if reading his mind, Mary Beth gave a husky chuckle and patted his thigh, her hand resting just a hair's breadth from his straining erection. "Patience, darlin'," she shouted over the sound of the galloping horses. "Won't be much longer now. Then Mama's gonna learn you up real thorough, startin' with this hungry mouth."
The mother plucked a handful of plump, sun-warmed blackberries from the deep pocket of her gingham dress, the dark purple juice already staining her delicate fingertips. She tossed three of the ripest ones into her mouth at once, crushing them against the roof of her mouth with her tongue. The tart sweetness exploded across her taste buds, making her eyelids flutter and a throaty moan escape her glistening lips.
Her free hand drifted down to toy with the frayed hem of her skirt, pinching and rolling the faded calico between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly, deliberately, she inched the threadbare fabric up her shapely legs, revealing inch after tantalizing inch of alabaster skin. The flimsy skirt bunched around her milky upper thighs, exposing her bare flesh nearly to the forbidden paradise between her legs.
"Sweet Jesus in heaven!" the boy thought, his Adam's apple bobbing with a hard swallow as his ma splayed her legs wider on the rough wooden bench. Her thighs parted like the gates of heaven, creating a warm, welcoming saddle clearly designed for a boy to buck and rut against until he spent himself completely.
Darrell's eyes widened to the size of silver dollars as he looked up to see his ma watching him - her impossibly long, glistening pink tongue unfurling like a hungry serpent from between her plump, cherry-red lips. It wrapped sinuously around each slender finger, one by one, lapping up every last drop of deep purple blackberry juice with slow, deliberate strokes that made his throat go desert-dry.
The boy swore he could hear the wet, obscene sounds of her sucking over the galloping horses pulling their wagon. Mary Beth moaned softly, her heavy-lidded eyes never leaving his. His rock-hard manhood pulsed violently against his threadbare trousers, a damp patch spreading at the tip as he imagined that hot, velvet-soft tongue-muscle gliding over his throbbing shaft, circling the swollen crown, then plunging down to engulf him in the slick, molten heat of her mouth. Nothing in all creation could compare to the paradise of his mama's talented mouth wrapped around him like a second skin.
When they arrived at the ranch, Clara's shrewd eyes sparkled with mischief as she pulled Darrell into a bone-crushing hug, smothering his face between her massive, matronly breasts that spilled from her gingham dress like rising bread dough.
He flailed for a moment, overwhelmed by the warm, pillowy flesh enveloping him completely, cutting off his air supply and filling his nostrils with the sweet perfume that clung to her décolletage like a sugary film.
"Land sakes, boy, you done growed up right nice!" she declared as she held him at arm's length to give him an assessing once-over that lingered shamelessly on the prominent bulge in his threadbare denim trousers. "Bet you're just dyin' to put that big ol' throbbin' pecker of yours to good use, ain't ya? Got yourself a real stallion's pride there, I can tell."
Darrell ducked his head, cheeks flaming redder than a sunset over the mesa at his grandma's blunt appraisal. He shifted from one dusty boot to the other, hyperaware of his rock-hard cock throbbing like a second heartbeat between his trembling legs, the swollen length barely contained by the threadbare denim that strained at every seam. Beads of nervous sweat trickled down his sun-bronzed neck, dampening the collar of his faded cotton shirt. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled through parched lips. "I mean, no ma'am! I mean..."
He trailed off helplessly, his face hot as a blacksmith's forge at high noon, Adam's apple bobbing violently with each dry swallow.
Mary Beth giggled, a low, throaty sound that made Darrell's cock twitch violently against his straining fly. She thrust her jutting bosom out, wobbling
the massive globes back and forth beneath the paper-thin calico. "Well, Ma, the good Lord saw fit to bless me real good in the titty department, that's for dang sure. But seems he was even more generous with my boy here when he was handin' out peckers - gave him somethin' that'd make a prize bull hang his head in shame."
Mary Beth strode over and circled behind her son like a hungry mountain lion stalking prey, her amber eyes gleaming wickedly beneath coal-black lashes. She seized his wrists with surprising strength, her long crimson nails digging half-moons into his sun-bronzed skin as she yanked his arms back, forcing his hands away from where they'd been timidly trying to hide the obscene bulge jutting from his crotch like a fence post.
Darrell let out a startled yelp as she pinned his trembling arms behind his back, leaving him completely exposed and unable to cover himself.
"Now, now, sugar, don't you be hidin' that big juicy pecker," she purred in his ear, her hot cinnamon-scented breath making the fine golden hairs on his neck stand at attention. "Let your grandma get a good long look at the beast God done blessed you with. Bet she ain't never seen a slab a cock like yours."
Mary Beth nudged the backs of his firm, apple-round ass with her knee, making Darrell's narrow hips jut forward like a marionette's. The sudden movement made his horse-thick erection bounce and tent his pants even more lewdly than before, stretching the worn denim to its absolute limit.
The fat mushroom head of his cock was clearly outlined against the faded fabric, visibly pulsing with each thunderous heartbeat, a silver-dollar sized wet spot darkening where sticky, pearlescent pre-come leaked from the slit like sap from a maple.
Darrell's face blazed with mortification, his heart slamming against his ribs like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil as both women stared openly at his straining crotch with undisguised hunger. It felt wrong, shameful, to be so wantonly displayed like a prize stallion at auction. But at the same time, a forbidden thrill zinged through him like lightning through a metal rod, pooling hot and heavy in his balls until they ached like overripe plums ready to burst.
Clara leaned in for a closer look, her watery blue eyes narrowed in concentration as she studied the prominent ridge tenting Darrell's dungarees, inspecting him like livestock at auction. "Mmm, I reckon you're right about that. The boy's packin' some serious heat in them britches. Liable to split a woman clean in two with a battering ram like that between his legs."
Darrell squirmed like a worm on a hook, his face beet red, sweat rolling down his temples in glistening rivulets that disappeared into the worn collar of his threadbare cotton shirt. His heart hammered against his ribcage like a wild mustang trying to break free as the two women casually discussed his manhood like he wasn't even there.
His mother stared down at the straining flesh, her tongue darting out to wet her plump lips as she recalled the hot, meaty feel of it in her hand the prior night—how it had pulsed and jumped like a living creature with a mind of its own. "The way I see it, Ma, it'd be downright criminal to let a prize stud like this waste his prime ruttin' years down in them mines. My boy was put on God's green earth to plow and seed fertile fields, not dig for coal in some dark, dusty hole."
"I concur," Clara agreed with a solemn nod, though her eyes sparkled with wicked glee. "That mighty cock oughta be out there splittin' coochies and stretchin' snatches, not shrivelin' up from neglect. We can educate this strapping young buck in all manner of carnal knowledge, show him exactly where to put that throbbing flesh-pole to make a woman howl like a coyote in heat."
"S-so, you're fixin' to learn me how to... to rut proper-like?" His voice cracked like a pubescent boy's on the last word, face flaming hot enough to fry an egg on the sun-baked Oklahoma clay.
Mary Beth chuckled indulgently, reaching out to chuck him under the chin with a gentle knuckle, her long crimson nail grazing the stubble he'd missed while shaving that morning. "Well, 'course we are, sugar. Ain't right, a buck like you wanderin' around with a loaded weapon in his britches and no earthly idea how to fire it."
Clara nodded sagely, folding her arms beneath her massive tits that resembled two overinflated weather balloons in a burlap sack. "A pecker the size God
gave you was meant for fuckin' - good, deep, thorough fuckin' that leaves a woman bowlegged and drownin' in spunk like a flash-flooded arroyo. And Lord knows, there's plenty of mamas in this town who'd give their gold-capped eyeteeth for a ride on that fence post 'tween your legs."
Darrell swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing like a cork in a whiskey barrel. His cock lurched in his britches at the very notion of plunging into a woman's slick, grasping depths, the purple-veined shaft straining against worn denim like a rattlesnake trying to escape a burlap bag.
He could scarcely wrap his head around such sinful activities, even as his body clamored for it with a ferocity that left him light-headed, vision swimming with black spots like flies on a windowpane.
Mary Beth stepped closer, her lush curves molding along his side like warm salt-water taffy fresh from the pull. She traced a teasing fingertip down the straining placket of his fly, her nail leaving a faint scratch on the denim, making him suck in a sharp, whistling breath.
"Bet you're achin' to sheathe this big fella in hot, juicy momma-pussy. Pump a needy cunt good n hard 'til it's spittin' hot juices back at ya."
Clara hummed in agreement, her shrewd gaze zeroing in on the wet spot darkening the denim at Darrell's tip, spreading like spilled molasses across the threadbare fabric. "And don't forget them titties, neither. A growing big-dicked boy oughta have his mouth latched on to a fat, milk-heavy nipple whenever it ain't busy suckin' clit or lickin' slit 'til your chin's dripping like a honeycomb in July."
Darrell made a choked, garbled sound in the back of his throat like a dying calf in a hailstorm, knees near to buckling at the scandalous images their words conjured. He could practically feel the phantom weight of a huge, warm breast filling his hands, the pebbled texture of a ripe nipple—pink as a spring rosebud—dragging over his parched tongue.
His cock throbbed like a raw nerve exposed to the desert air, balls drawn up tight as walnuts and aching for release.
"You head on down now and bring in them crates of preserves from the root cellar," Clara instructed, her finger pointing toward the weathered oak door set into the hillside behind the house.
Darrell nodded eagerly, then hurried off towards the back of the sprawling adobe ranch house. His throbbing manhood strained painfully against his threadbare denims, leading the way like a divining rod seeking water in parched earth.
The two mothers silently watched him go – cunts smoldering beneath their skirts - thick nipples almost painfully turgid on the peak of their jugs.
The root cellar was cool and dim, smelling of damp earth and fermented fruit, a welcome respite from the merciless desert sun that had scorched his neck to a painful crimson. Wooden shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of countless mason jars filled with every color of the rainbow.
Darrell grabbed an empty pine crate and began loading it up with dusty jars of sunset-orange peaches suspended in syrup and glistening blackberry jam dark as sin.
As he stretched his lean, muscular body to reach for a jar of pickled beets on a high shelf, the worn sole of his right boot snagged on a nearly invisible wire strung taut across the packed dirt floor.
The teenager yelped like a stepped-on coyote as his feet were violently yanked out from under him, his ankles snared by the hidden ropes that bit into his flesh through his thin cotton socks.
The heavy crate of preserves went flying from his grip as he was hoisted into the air and flailed helplessly like a hooked fish, dangling upside down with his long legs spread in an obscene V.
The blood rushed to his head like a flash flood through a desert arroyo as he swung gently back and forth, his broad shoulders and muscular back coming to rest on a suspiciously soft pallet of quilted gingham that seemed deliberately placed beneath the cruel hemp snare. What in the Sam Hill was going on in this dank, earthen-walled tomb of preserves?
"Darrell? You alright down there, sugar?" His mama's honey-sweet voice floated down with feigned concern.
Darrell's sun-bronzed cheeks flaming redder than the ripest tomatoes with embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position, spread-eagled and helpless as a newborn calf.
"Uh, I think I walked into one of Gramp's old traps," he answered.
Mary Beth's kohl-rimmed eyes widened to perfect circles as she took in the scene - her boy, trussed up like a prize hog at the county fair and laid out like a virgin sacrifice on a pagan altar.
Her shrewd, predatory gaze darted to his crotch, where his massive cock still strained against his fly with the force of a stallion in heat, the threadbare denim tented so obscenely it threatened to burst at the seams. A slow, knowing smile curved her plump, cherry-red lips, revealing a flash of pearly teeth.
Clara appeared at her daughter's shoulder, her wrinkled face not looking the least bit surprised by the situation. She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth - a wicked gleam in her rheumy, catlike eyes.
"Looks like the boy done stumbled into one of my specially designed traps," she drawled, folding her arms beneath her massive bust that strained against the threadbare gingham like two overfilled water balloons threatening to burst. "After that old goat of a husband kicked the bucket, I had me a whole mess of secret rooms and snares installed all over this here dusty property."
"Boy traps?" Mary Beth giggled.
"That's right. Never know when you might need to wrangle some young, virile buck, if you catch my drift." She punctuated the remark with a saucy wink that crinkled the deep crow's feet around her rheumy eyes.
Darrell gaped at her, his mind reeling like a tumbleweed caught in a dust devil. His pulse hammered in his temples, sending hot blood rushing to his already throbbing manhood. His grandma had sexual traps laid out? Specifically engineered to capture virile young men with their legs spread wide? He didn't
know whether to be flattered or terrified by the prospect as his cock twitched traitorously against his zipper.
Mary Beth giggled, a wicked gleam in her kohl-rimmed eye as she sized up her son's compromising position, her tongue darting out to moisten her plump, cherry-red lips. "Well now, I reckon you could do all manner of nasty, forbidden things to a boy strung up like that," she purred, her voice dripping with sinful promise like honey from a comb.
"Mm-hmm." The older woman nodded sagely, her gaze roving over Darrell's splayed form like a hungry coyote eyeing a trussed-up rabbit, her nostrils flaring slightly as if catching the musky scent of his arousal. "A prime buck in that position is just a tasty buffet of man-flesh, laid out and ready for feastin' on. Could spend hours samplin' all his hidden delights, lickin' and suckin' till he's beggin' for mercy."
Darrell's heart pounded against his ribs like a wild mustang kicking at a corral gate, each thunderous beat echoing in his ears as the two women shared a knowing look, their eyes locking in silent conspiracy. His throbbing manhood strained against the worn denim of his britches with such ferocity he feared the brass buttons might ping across the root cellar like bullets. Lord have mercy on his sinful soul, what carnal delights or torments did these she-devils have planned for his vulnerable, spread-eagled form?
Without so much as a whispered word, Clara reached upward, her fingers curling around the splintered oak of the cellar door. She pulled it firmly shut with a decisive thud that echoed through the earthen chamber, sealing out the harsh, unforgiving desert sunlight.
They were alone in the cool, musty dimness, where the air hung as thick and heavy as molasses in January, charged with a crackling sexual electricity that made the fine golden hairs on Darrell's sun-bronzed neck stand at attention like soldiers before a general. He craned his neck awkwardly to see what unholy mischief the women were plotting.
Stepping up near him, Clara and Mary Beth stood side by side like twin sirens of temptation, their nimble fingers working at the endless rows of pearl buttons that marched down the fronts of their calico dresses. Each button slipped free with agonizing slowness, revealing tantalizing slivers of flushed skin beneath.
With synchronized grace, they shrugged the faded fabric from their rounded shoulders, letting the dresses slither downward like shed snakeskins to pool around their ankles on the packed dirt floor with a whisper.
Darrell's mouth went bone dry at the sight of his mama and grandma in nothing but their skimpy cotton shifts and bloomers. The threadbare material clung to their ripe, voluptuous curves like a second skin. The peaked outline of their fat nipples pressed against the thin fabric like ripe cherries, and the shadowed junction of their thighs was clearly visible through the nearly transparent cotton.
His cock lurched violently in his sweat-dampened trousers, straining towards those tantalizing mounds and valleys like a dowsing rod seeking water in the parched desert.
Piece by piece, their undergarments joined the growing pile of clothing on the packed-earth floor until both women stood bare as the day they were born, illuminated by shafts of dusty light filtering through cracks in the cellar boards.
Darrell drank in the glorious sight - two generations of full-figured, sun-weathered frontier women, their flesh ripened by hard work and childbearing, shamelessly naked before his bulging eyes.
Clara's massive, pendulous breasts swung low on her barrel chest, blue veins mapping rivers beneath her paper-thin skin, areolas wide as Darrell's open hands and dusky nipples fat as overripe cherries, just begging to be suckled and squeezed.
Her sturdy thighs framed a sparse thatch of silver-streaked hair at the apex, unable to conceal the plump, glistening lips of her pussy that peeked through like a split peach.
And his mama - Lord have mercy. Mary Beth's body was a ripe Georgia peach, all creamy skin and succulent curves that made Darrell's fingers itch to grab and knead that tender flesh like biscuit dough. Her titanic tits rode high and proud despite their impossible weight, the pale globes capped by expansive, coral-pink areolas the size of flapjacks and nipples that were large and turgid as thimbles, pointing accusingly at her own son.
The teenager got the distinct impression that his grandma had planned this all along, that he'd walked right into her trap like a dumb jackrabbit stumbling into a hunter's snare. There was a wicked, hungry gleam in her rheumy eyes as she nodded to his mama.
"Best cut them britches right off his body, Mary Beth," Clara instructed. "Fixin' to get the boy naked as a jaybird. But don't you fret none, I got plenty of spare trousers 'round here to replace 'em—good sturdy ones with double-stitched seams that'll hold up better than these threadbare rags."
Mary Beth flashed her son a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her kohl-rimmed eyes as she stepped up between his splayed thighs. The cold metal of the scissors glinted in the dim light as she slid them against his inner thigh, the blade's chill seeping through the worn denim.
"Just you relax now, sugar," she soothed, her hot breath ghosting over his straining bulge as she sliced through the fabric, baring more and more of his teenage flesh. "Mama and Grandma Clara are gonna make this body of yours sing with pleasure like a church choir on Easter Sunday, just you wait and see."
A strangled groan tore from the boy's throat as his rigid cock sprang free of its denim confines, slapping against his quivering belly with the force of a Louisville Slugger connecting with a fastball.
The bulbous purple head, glistening with pearlescent pre-spend like morning dew on a ripe plum, pulsed with each thunderous heartbeat mere inches from his mama's lush, crimson mouth.
Her tongue—pink as a cat's and twice as nimble—slithered across her bottom lip, leaving a glistening trail as her kohl-rimmed eyes remained riveted to his formidable manhood.
With a feral growl that rumbled from deep in her ample bosom, she ripped his sweat-stained jeans and threadbare cotton drawers the rest of the way off his trembling limbs, exposing inch after inch of his muscled thighs dusted with golden hair that caught the dim light filtering through the cellar boards.
Cool, musty air caressed Darrell's heated skin like the ghostly fingers of a phantom lover, raising goosebumps across his sun-bronzed flesh that rippled
over his taut muscles like wind across a wheat field. The coarse hemp snare bit into his raw ankles with the merciless grip of a rattlesnake's jaws as he dangled there, helpless as a newborn calf, his body completely exposed to the ravenous gazes of these depraved women whose eyes devoured every inch of his vulnerable form like starving coyotes eyeing a wounded jackrabbit.
The boy watched, hypnotized, as the rounded undersides of Gran's gigantic melonous tits shuddered like twin mounds of sun-ripened watermelons in an earthquake while she made quick work of his shirt, her fingers popping each pearl button with the efficiency of a farmhand shucking corn.
She anxiously yanked the sweat-dampened cotton over his head with the force of a mule team, baring his heaving chest to her rheumy yet ravenous eyes. She tossed the tattered garment aside with careless abandon, her palms immediately roaming over his straining muscles like a prospector discovering gold, tracing the corrugated ridges of his washboard abdomen with determined fingers.
"Mm, just look at this prime cut of grade-A beefcake," she growled appreciatively as her fingers plucked at his pebbled nipples, which stood at attention like soldiers before a general. "I'm fixin' to sink my teeth into this here flank steak, gnaw it right down to the bone like a starvin' coyote on a fresh kill."
Darrell's head spun faster than a twister in tornado season at his grandma's lewd words, his face flaming hotter than the devil's pitchfork fresh from stoking the eternal fires of damnation. This couldn't be happening in God's green earth. It had to be some sordid fever dream conjured up by his depraved mind after too many shots of moonshine. But the twinge in his rope-burned ankles and the insistent throb of his monumentally engorged cock told him it was all too real as a rattlesnake's bite.
"Oh, we're gonna feast on this boy alright," Mary Beth promised, her voice a sultry purr like a mountain lioness in heat. She trailed a crimson-lacquered fingertip along the angry purple throbbing vein that pulsed the impressive length of Darrell's shaft like the Mississippi River on a map of the promise land.
Darrell's voice cracked like a pubescent boy's as he asked with trepidation, "Wh-what do you mean, feastin' on me, ma?"
But his mama and grandma paid him no mind, lost in their own wicked machinations as they puttered about the root cellar.
Clara retrieved a mason jar from a high shelf, the amber glass glinting in the weak light. She unscrewed the lid with a deft twist of her strong fingers.
"Mary Beth, this here's a special oil I done cooked up," she explained, holding the jar out for Mary Beth's inspection. "Infused it with wild honey and cinnamon bark, to make our boy taste real sweet on the tongue."
Mary Beth dipped a finger into the viscous liquid, then popped it into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a throaty moan of approval. "Mm, that's downright sinful, Ma. He's gonna be more delicious than a sticky bun straight from the oven."
"Slicker than a greased pig too," Clara added with a wicked chuckle. "We'll have him shinin' like a new penny and smellin' good enough to eat right up."
The two women advanced on Darrell with a predatory glint in their eyes, the jar of flavored oil held aloft. His heart hammered against his ribs as they stood on either side of his splayed form, their combined body heat washing over his naked skin like a blast from a furnace.
Mary Beth dipped her fingers into the amber oil, letting it drizzle over his lean, heaving chest in glistening rivulets. The sweet scent of honey and spice filled his nostrils, making his head swim. Her slick hands glided over his pecs, smearing the oil into his sun-bronzed skin in sensual swirls.
"There now," she purred, her voice gone throaty with lust. "Don't you fret, sugar. We're gonna make you feel REAL good." Her fingers found his nipples, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs until he gasped.
Meanwhile, Clara worked the oil into his quivering abdomen, her strong fingers tracing every ridge and valley of his washboard muscles. She followed the thin trail of hair that started below his navel and disappeared into his wiry pubic thatch.
Darrell whimpered like a newborn pup separated from its mother's teat as his mama and grandma moved upward, hovering over his splayed legs, their nimble fingers dancing over his most sensitive flesh like spiders on a web.
They upended the mason jar of spiced oil, letting it pour in a honey-thick amber stream over his jutting cock—which twitched and bobbed like a divining rod seeking water—and his swollen balls, tight as overripe plums against his body.
The warm, slippery liquid dribbled down his taint and into the shadowed cleft of his ass, making him clench involuntarily, the puckered rosebud of his virgin hole contracting like a startled sea anemone.
"Ooh, just listen to him mewl," Clara cackled, her rheumy eyes glinting with wicked delight beneath drooping lids as she kneaded his heavy sack with surprising strength, rolling his plum-sized balls in her palm like Chinese meditation spheres. "Singin' so pretty for us already and we ain't barely gotten started with this fine specimen of manhood."
Mary Beth wrapped her oil-slicked fingers around his straining shaft, slowly squeezing him from root to bulbous purple tip with the practiced precision of a farmhand milking a prize bull.
Darrell gasped, his back arching like a drawn bow against the cushioned mat, muscles straining until cords stood out on his neck like taut fiddle strings.
Her grip was firm as iron but slippery as a greased piglet, bordering on too tight, as she worked the thick, veiny length of him that pulsed with each hammering heartbeat.
"Mm, this fat cock is damn near as big as my forearm and twice as hard as Georgia pine," she marveled, her voice thick as molasses, giving him a few slow, twisting strokes that made his eyes roll back like a man possessed by demons. "Gonna split me right in half like an axe through kindling, I reckon."
Their hands were everywhere at once—tugging like they were pulling taffy at the county fair, squeezing with the merciless pressure of a rattlesnake's embrace, scratching red welts across his golden skin, mapping every throbbing inch of his engorged prick and cum-heavy balls that hung like overripe plums ready to burst their seams.
Clever fingers dipped low to press against his taint, massaging the sensitive strip of skin behind his sack with circular motions that sent lightning through his loins.
"Lord have mercy!" the boy gasped as his body twitched and bucked like a wild bronco under their ministrations, electric pleasure zinging up his spine.
Clara burrowed her oil-slicked fingers into his cleft, unerringly finding his virgin hole. She traced the clenching rim, her touch maddeningly light as a butterfly's wing.
"This boy's got himself a fine little asshole," she declared gleefully, making him blush to his roots, the crimson flush spreading down his neck like wildfire through dry brush. "Pinker than a sow's teat and tighter than a tick's twat, I'll wager. Puckered up like a rosebud after the first frost."
Shame and desperate arousal warred within Darrell as her skillful fingertip pressed insistently against the furled muscle, sending electric jolts up his spine that made his toes curl against the dirt floor. He'd never been touched there before, didn't know it could feel good to have someone play with his dirtiest place. But his traitorous body responded, hole twitching and fluttering beneath her bold caress like a hummingbird's wings.
Mary Beth's long fingers danced over his swollen, aching balls, hefting the hefty sack in her palm, the weight of them stretching his wrinkled skin taut.
"Lordy, this boy's balls are fuller than a rain barrel in monsoon season," she purred, giving them a gentle squeeze that made Darrell see stars exploding behind his eyelids like Fourth of July fireworks. "Filled right back up to burstin' overnight after I drained 'em dry. Like a pair of ripe tangerines just beggin' to be peeled and sucked, all heavy and swollen with sweet juice."
Clara leaned in so close her hot breath fanned across his throbbing member, getting a closer look at her grandson's impressive package. She let out a low whistle of appreciation that echoed in the dank cellar. "Good lord, the boy's hung like a prize stud! Them balls are big as duck eggs and churning with so much spunk, I reckon he could breed half the county and still have enough left to paint the barn door white."
"Sure could," Mary Beth giggled, rolling the plum-sized globes between her nimble fingers like Chinese meditation balls. "Feel how heavy and full they are? Hard as river stones but delicate as robin's eggs. Bet we could milk these fat nuts for hours and he'd still have enough pearly baby batter left to flood my oven till it overflows down my thighs."
Darrell squirmed against the rough hemp ropes at their lewd appraisal, his sun-bronzed face burning crimson from hairline to collar bone, shame and desperate arousal mingling in his gut like oil and vinegar.
They marveled over his angry-purple cock—veins standing out like tributaries on a relief map—and his cum-swollen balls like farmers at the county livestock auction, commenting on his virility and the quality of his seed as if he were a blue-ribbon breeding bull instead of their own flesh and blood. It was so dirty and wrong, forbidden as original sin, but it only made his cock jerk urgently in his mama's calloused grip, dribbling slick, translucent pre-spend over her fingers like morning dew on spider webs.
"Ooh, he's drippin' like a leaky faucet after the spring thaw," Clara cackled, her rheumy eyes glinting like polished copper pennies. "Gettin' all wet and slippery as a newborn calf, just beggin' for a tight, velvet hole to stuff full of that thick country cream till it bubbles out like sourdough starter."
Mary Beth hummed in agreement, still pumping Darrell's slick cock with long, twisting strokes that had his eyes rolling back in his head like a man possessed by unholy spirits.
Her own pussy clenched hungrily, slick walls fluttering and gripping at nothing, aching to be split open and seeded by her son's magnificent manhood. She could hardly wait to mount him and ride that bucking pony till he flooded her womb with his potent young spunk, thick as churned butter and plentiful as spring rain.
Darrell gasped and writhed against his bonds, the rough hemp fibers biting into his sweat-slicked ankles as electric pleasure zinged through him at his mama's expert touch.
His cock throbbed violet-purple like a bruised plum, the fat mushroom head shiny as wet river stone and taut as a drum skin about to burst, while her
fingers—strong from years of scrubbing laundry on the washboard—glided over his most sensitive spots with devastating precision.
He'd never been touched there by anyone else, not even himself some nights when the devil's whispers grew too tempting, and the sensation was overwhelming, his untried body on sensory overload like a lightning rod in a summer storm.
He could scarcely believe this was happening—his own mama and grandma running their hands all over him as they admired his manhood like it was a prize cut of meat at the county fair, working him into a frenzy with their filthy talk that would make even the roughest coal miners blush crimson as sunset.
This had to be a sin blacker than Satan's soul, darker than the pitch-tar depths of the abandoned mineshaft where Old Man Jenkins had met his maker, but lord help him, he never wanted it to stop.
Darrell's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he watched his mama and grandma start oiling up their own bountiful curves, clearly in preparation for the main event. They each dipped their hands into the mason jar of spiced honey oil, letting it drizzle between their massive, swaying tits and over the plump mounds of their bellies. The sweet amber liquid trickled into their deep navels and ran the plump lips at the junctions of their thighs.
Clara massaged the oil into her heavy, low-hanging udders, kneading the doughy flesh until it glistened. Her fingers tweaked and tugged at the thimble-sized nipples until they poked out stiff and puckered, like hard pebbles crowning the vast expanse of her breasts.
She hefted the giant pale globes in her hands, lifting them to her chin and burying her face between them, rubbing the slippery, fragrant skin all over her pretty cheeks.
"Nothin' like a good glazin' to get a body all primed and ready," she cackled.
Her hands drifted down to the small thatch of silver-streaked pubes between her legs, fingers delving to coat the puffy folds of her pussy, which peeked out from between her thighs like the meat of a split-open peach.
Mary Beth followed suit, pouring a liberal amount of the honey-scented oil over her own magnificent rack.
Her son watched as she rolled her cherry-red nipples between slick fingers until they jutted out, flushed and fat. The oil dripped down the pale slopes to pool in the deep valley of her cleavage. Her hands roamed lower, massaging the viscous liquid into the fertile swell of her belly and the tops of her plush thighs.
Darrell's eyes went wide as harvest moons as his mama and grandma hovered over him, their massive udders swaying pendulously above his upturned face like overfilled water balloons ready to burst. Rivulets of amber honey-scented oil dribbled from their rock-hard nipples—splattering his flushed cheeks and sweat-beaded forehead in a sticky constellation. He flinched at the warm liquid raining down on him, his nostrils flaring at the cloying sweetness.
"Gonna get this boy's face shined up real good," Clara chortled, her white teeth gleaming in the dim light as she massaged the oil into his sun-bronzed skin. "Rub it in like saddle polish till he gleams slicker than a greased pig at the county fair. Make a right fine seat for ridin'."
"Wh-what do you mean, ridin'?" Darrell stammered, his voice cracking like thin ice on the first winter freeze.
A fat bead of oil trickled into the corner of his mouth, tasting of clover honey and forbidden sin, and he sputtered.
But the women ignored his question, lost in their own wicked machinations, their eyes glazed with lust like frost on morning windows.
Moving into position first, Mary Beth swung a sexy leg over his head and straddled his face, her knees sinking into the soft pallet on either side of him like fence posts in spring mud.
Darrell found himself staring straight up at his mama's freshly shaved mound, pink as a newborn piglet and glistening like morning dew, the plump lips of her pussy gleaming with arousal, swollen and parted like overripe fruit split in the middle.
The sweet, musky scent of her filled his nostrils, making him dizzy with forbidden hunger. He'd never been this close to a woman's privates before, let alone his own mama's sacred garden.
Her puffy outer lips were flushed crimson as summer berries and dewy as dawn-kissed clover, the delicate coral-pink inner folds peeking out from between them like the glistening meat of a ripe Georgia peach split down the middle.
Darrell's mouth watered despite himself at the tantalizing sight, his tongue involuntarily darting out to wet his cracked, trembling lips.
Mary Beth reached between her sturdy thighs with her fingers and spread herself open like a farmer displaying prize produce, revealing the moist, pulsing entrance to her body, dark as a wet cave mouth and quivering with each rapid heartbeat.
Thick, clear honey dripped from her in viscous rivulets as she lowered herself onto Darrell's oil-slicked face, smearing her essence across his parted lips in a glistening trail like slug tracks on morning leaves.
At the same time, the teenager felt his cockhead engulfed in the searing wet heat of his ma's mouth, hotter than fresh-baked bread and slicker than creek mud.
She swallowed him down to the root in one practiced gulp, her button nose nestling in his wiry pubic thatch like a hog rooting for truffles, her throat muscles rippling around him like a milking machine.
Darrell let out a garbled groan, muffled by his mama's dripping cunny pressed against his face like a warm, wet mask.
It was too much sensation all at once - the rich, earthy taste of her arousal flooding his mouth like moonshine, tangy as sourdough starter and sweet as sorghum syrup, the tight velvet clutch of her throat around his dick squeezing him like a python wringing a rabbit. His hips bucked up instinctively, trying to drive himself deeper into that forbidden paradise.
Just then, he felt his grandma's hot breath on his puckered asshole as she situated herself between his splayed legs from behind. The wet rasp of her long, strong tongue against his virgin rosebud sent an electric jolt straight to his core.
Darrell yelped into his mama's slit as Clara lapped at him with obscene slurping sounds, the pointed tip of her tongue plowing against his tightly furled ring.
Darrell's entire body lit up like a live wire dipped in gasoline, his every nerve ending singing with electric ecstasy that crackled from his curling toes to his sweat-soaked scalp as he was sandwiched between the two ravenous women.
They devoured his most intimate flesh like starving she-wolves falling upon a fresh kill after a month-long famine, their hungry mouths and clever tongues stoking the fires of his arousal to a fever pitch that threatened to consume him whole.
Mary Beth rode his face like a wild bronco at the county rodeo, grinding her sopping, honey-sweet cunny against his oil-slicked lips and stubbled chin, the coarse hairs leaving red marks on her tender flesh as she slurped and suckled on his throbbing cock.
Her guttural moans vibrated around his veiny shaft, the needy sounds muffled by his thick girth stretching her throat until her eyes watered like spring rain on a tin roof.
Darrell lapped at her syrupy slit with sloppy abandon, his cheeks and chin glistening with her fragrant juices—tangy as homemade sourdough and sweet as molasses—as his tongue delved deep as a well digger to taste her essence straight from the source, her inner walls clenching around him like a vise grip on a rusty bolt.
The teen's head spun as he was pressed between the two women, their massive, oil-slicked titties sandwiching him like the meat in a big sloppy burger fresh off the fire.
Clara's gigantic udders—each one heavy as a ten-pound pail of fresh-squeezed milk and bigger than his sweat-drenched head—cushioned his lower back, her
thimble-sized nipples hard as buckshot and digging into his quivering flesh like river pebbles worn smooth by decades of rushing water.
Up above, Mary Beth's equally impressive rack—firm as green melons despite having nursed three young'uns—completely engulfed his heaving chest and trembling stomach, smothering him in pillowy softness that yielded just enough to cradle his face without suffocating him completely.
Her fat, turgid nipples, pink as the inside of a catfish's mouth and standing proud as a rooster's comb, scraped against his flushed skin.
Their hungry mouths were sealed to his crotch, slurping and suckling like newborn calves fighting for a teat. Mary Beth deep-throated his straining cock with single-minded determination, her luscious lips stretched around his purple-veined shaft.
She gulped him down to the root again and again until her button nose nestled in his wiry pubes, inhaling his musky scent like smelling salts. Her muscular throat squeezed him like a velvet glove, each swallow rippling up and down his length with the rhythmic precision of a butter churner.
The vibration of her son's whimpering against her throbbing clit was exquisite, causing her to suck his cock-flesh even harder.
Clara's nimble tongue wriggled against Darrell's clenching asshole like a worm after a spring rain, her fingers sinking into the meat of his hips as she held him open, splayed out like a stuffed hog on the Thanksgiving table.
Obscene slurping noises filled the cellar as she feasted on his most forbidden orifice with the gusto of a hound dog lapping water from a trough after chasin' rabbits all day.
Her long nails dug into his tender flesh like talons as she pried his cheeks apart, burrowing her pretty face deeper into the shadowed cleft, huffing his virile musk. She licked and chewed at the puckered rosebud with abandon stimulating the sensitive nerve endings.
Darrell whimpered into his mama's dripping cunny, writhing against his bonds as he was overwhelmed by the lewd sensations - the velvet caress of Clara's
strong tongue against his twitching hole in tandem with his mom's throat muscles rippling around his straining cock like a silk glove.
He felt like a pig on a spit roast, skewered at both ends by the women's ravenous mouths, their wicked tongues stoking the fire in his loins until he was sure his very marrow would boil.
His muffled groans were smothered by Mary Beth's sopping mound sealed over his lips like a second skin, her tangy cream flooding his mouth and spilling down his chin. She rode his face with renewed vigor, grinding her hips in frantic circles as his tongue slithered against her throbbing clit, the swollen bud peeking out from its hood like a fat ripe berry begging to be plucked.
The mother lifted her dripping cunny from Darrell's face just long enough to let him suck in a few desperate lungfuls of air, his chest heaving like a blacksmith's bellows. But before he could fully catch his breath, she slammed her sopping mound back down onto his mouth with the force of a spring-loaded trap, grinding even harder against his lips and chin.
Her powerful thighs, corded with muscle from years of farmwork, clamped around Darrell's head like a bear trap, the soft inner flesh slick with sweat and arousal as they trapped him in place, his ears crushed painfully against his skull. She used his face like her own personal scratching post, rubbing her aching, needy cunt back and forth across his features with wild abandon, her coarse pubic hair scraping his nostrils raw while her engorged clitoris, swollen to the size of a marble, dragged across his upper lip.
The slick, swollen lips of her pussy, pink as the inside of a fresh-gutted catfish and twice as wet, scraped against his stubbled cheeks and chin, leaving a glistening trail of her fragrant juices smeared across his sun-bronzed skin.
Darrell's muffled grunts and groans vibrated against his mom's most sensitive flesh as she rode him hard, the coarse hairs of his upper lip rasping deliciously along her throbbing clit with each pass.
His tongue slithered out like a pink garden snake to lap clumsily at her weeping slit, delving between the slippery folds—plump as overripe peach halves and glistening with dew—to taste her tangy essence straight from the source.
His mother reached back to fist her fingers in his sweat-dampened hair, tugging almost painfully as she used the grip to direct his movements, angling his head just right so the tip of his nose nudged against her aching pearl. Sparks of electric bliss shot through her loins at the exquisite pressure, making her hips buck and grind faster, her thick thighs quivering like gelatin.
Darrell's brain short-circuited, utterly incapable of processing the overwhelming pleasure radiating from his throbbing cock and puckered asshole, the searing ecstasy setting his every nerve ending ablaze like a parched cornfield catching fire.
He bucked and thrashed against the snare as much as the hemp ropes allowed, his desperate movements only driving his grandmother's tongue deeper into his fluttering channel and his mother's hungry throat, slick as a freshly-buttered corn cob, further down his pulsing shaft.
He felt like a fat june bug caught in a black widow's web, trussed up tighter than a Christmas turkey and helpless as the women took their pleasure from his body, using his most intimate flesh for their wicked delights like farmhands working a butter churn. The intense sensations bordered on too much, painful in their knife-sharp intensity, yet he craved more like a starving hound at the dinner table, greedy for every electrifying caress that lit up his insides brighter than a kerosene lamp on a moonless night.
Clara growled into his crack like a rabid coon dog, her hot breath dampening the fine hairs around his hole as she shook her head back and forth, hair whipping his thighs like corn silk in the wind, as if trying to burrow through his asshole. Her teeth grazed his taut rim, nipping at the tender skin—pink as a newborn piglet—before soothing the sting with broad swipes of her tongue.
"HHHNNGGFF!" the boy whimpered wetly, his torso arching, but his mother held him tight—his trim body practically sinking between her massive tits.
Mary Beth's thighs trembled violently, the muscles quivering like leaves in a gale as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. Her swollen clit pulsed against Darrell's lips, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing in time with her thundering heartbeat.
Her urethral slit gaped wide, the tiny hole stretching obscenely as a gush of clear girl-fluid erupted from deep within her convulsing sheath.
Darrell sputtered and gasped as a geyser of liquid ecstasy erupted from his mama's cunny, the clear fem-squirt splattering against his face in a torrential downpour. The tangy, musky fluid flooded his mouth and nostrils, choking off his air supply as it poured down his chin and neck in sticky rivulets.
The boy craned his neck desperately, trying to catch his breath, his flushed face peeking out from behind Mary Beth's quivering ass cheeks for one blessed instant. But she quickly slammed her dripping mound back down onto his features, grinding against him with renewed vigor as her orgasm crested.
Her swollen urethral slit gaped wide, the tiny mouth opening and closing like a baby bird begging for food as it spewed hot jets of girl-cum with the force of a busted hydrant.
The viscous liquid sprayed Darrell full in the face, splattering his cheeks and forehead, clinging to his lashes and brows. It jetted straight into his mouth, filling it faster than he could swallow, the overflow dribbling from the corners of his stretched lips.
Mary Beth undulated wildly on top of him, her buxom figure jiggling and shaking like a wild bronco as she rode out her toe-curling climax.
Her iron-hard clit pulsed against Darrell's tongue, the engorged bud throbbing in time with the rhythmic clenching of her vaginal walls. She rubbed herself back and forth across his face, smearing her copious juices into his skin like war paint, marking him as her territory.
"That's it, sugar, drink it all down," she growled, her voice gone ragged and deep. "Ain't nothin' sweeter than your mama's honeypot cream."
Darrell had no choice but to guzzle the seemingly endless flood, his throat working convulsively as he gulped it down like a man lost in the desert. The salty-sweet taste coated his tongue and teeth, the heady musk filling his head like poppy smoke.
His cock jerked and throbbed in his mama's mouth, painfully hard, his balls drawn up tight to his body. Clara's wicked tongue stroked his prostate from the outside, sending bolts of lightning zinging up his spine.
"Oh, Lord in heaven!" the boy gasped, female ejaculate still spewing from his lips.
The intense stimulation quickly pushed Darrell to the brink. His body went taut as a bowstring, every muscle straining, his back arching as far as his bonds would allow. A hoarse, garbled groan tore from his throat, muffled by his mama's quivering cunny. His cock pulsed once, twice, then erupted like a geyser, painting Mary Beth's tonsils with a thick deluge of seed.
She swallowed it down greedily, like the skilled cocksucker she was, milking his shaft with her powerful throat muscles, determined to wrench every last drop from his aching sack until he was completely drained.
Her throat contracted rhythmically around him, the velvet-soft walls rippling up and down his length like a farmer's skilled hand milking a prize heifer.
Darrell's entire body convulsed as he shot what felt like a gallon of hot, viscous spunk straight down his mama's gulping throat. The thick ropes of cum erupted from his slit with the force of a geyser, pumping into her stomach in seemingly endless spurts. His cock kicked and pulsed wildly between her stretched lips, painting her tonsils white.
Mary Beth swallowed it all down greedily, her throat working overtime to guzzle every creamy drop. She moaned around his throbbing shaft, the obscene sounds muffled and vibrating deliciously along his over-sensitive flesh.
Her fingers dug into the meat of his trembling thighs, blunt nails leaving angry red crescents as she held him still for her hungry mouth.
After what felt like an eternity, Darrell slumped against his bonds, completely spent. His cock softened only slightly between his mama's lips, slipping from her mouth with a wet pop.
Thick, pearly seed dribbled down her chin as she gasped for air, her tits heaving. She licked her lips, savoring his pungent taste.
"Mm, nothing better than a belly full of my baby boy's fresh-churned cream," Mary Beth purred, her voice a low, satisfied rumble. She patted her stomach, looking as smug and sated as a barn cat after a bowl of cream.
Clara released Darrell's sensitive hole with one last lascivious slurp, causing him to shudder and twitch with aftershocks. She wiped her mouth with the back of a hand, grinning wickedly up at him between his splayed legs.
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, if that wasn't a right tasty treat!" she cackled, looking mighty pleased with herself. "Nothin' more satisfyin' than tonguin' a tight young rosebud till it blooms real purty-like."
Darrell's heart raced like a spooked stallion as the realization dawned on him that the depraved women—his own flesh and blood—were far from finished with their unholy carnal delights.
His stomach flipped like a flapjack on a hot griddle as they switched positions with ease, their limbs moving with the practiced synchronicity of farmhands at harvest time, as if they'd choreographed this forbidden dance a hundred times before on countless moonless nights.
Clara let out a low whistle that cut through the musky air as she drank in the sight of his upturned face, flushed crimson as a summer tomato and shiny as a freshly glazed Easter ham, completely drenched in his mama's fragrant honey-thick juices that clung to his stubbled chin in viscous strings.
"Land sakes, Mary Beth, you done near drowned the boy in your honeypot!" she cackled gleefully, her teeth gleaming in the dim light. "He's wetter than a preacher's lips at a free chicken dinner after a month-long fast. Well, I reckon it's my turn to baptize him proper-like. Gonna soak his head so good with my woman-waters, he'll think he's been caught in a flash flood down at Miller's Creek!"
Before Darrell could utter a word of protest (not that he would), Clara swung her sturdy leg over his head and settled her generous rump right onto his sticky face. His muffled grunt of surprise vibrated against her sopping mound as her swollen cunny lips, plump and slick as a pair of glazed doughnuts fresh from the county fair fryer, engulfed his features completely.
Her grape-sized clit, purple-red and throbbing like an angry hornet, nestled insistently against his trembling lips, demanding attention.
His nostrils flared desperately for air, flooding instead with the heady aroma of her arousal. The wiry silver thatch of her pubic hair, coarse as a hog-bristle scrub brush worn down from years of scouring cast iron, scraped his cheeks raw as she ground down onto him with the circular motion of a flour mill stone. Her fragrant essence—tangy as wild persimmons and salty as cured ham—smeared across his skin like a child's finger painting, marking every inch of his face with her territorial claim.
Darrell's cock twitched weakly against his belly like a half-crushed earthworm after a spring rain, the purple-veined shaft trying valiantly to rouse for another round despite being milked drier than Widow Johnson's well in the drought of '53.
His heart hammered behind his ribs like a blacksmith gone feverish with heatstroke as he felt his mama shift between his quivering, sweat-slicked thighs, her talons skimming up the tender flesh, leaving angry red trails as she smeared the honey-scented oil—thick as molasses in January—into his sun-bronzed skin mottled with goosebumps.
Mary Beth let out a pleased hum like a possum in a persimmon tree as she cupped his sack, hefting the wrinkled pouch in her palm, strong from years of kneading bread dough. "Mm, heavy as a sack of wet sand after the creek floods," she purred appreciatively, giving his balls a firm squeeze that made him yelp into Clara's slick folds like a coonhound caught in a steel trap. "Reckon I didn't drain him dry as I thought. He's already fillin' back up, ready to shoot another big batch of baby batter thicker than Aunt Myrtle's prize-winning corn chowder."
Darrell's eyes widened to the size of silver dollars as his mama ducked her head and ran the flat of her tongue along his taint, the searing wet heat of it sending sparks shooting up his spine.
She lapped at the sensitive patch of skin behind his balls like a calf at its mama's teat, swirling the tip around his wrinkled sack.
Clara grinned wickedly as she wrapped her fingers around Darrell's softened cock, her grip firm and sure. She stroked him from root to tip with an expert twist of her wrist, coaxing the blood to surge back into his shaft. "There now, no need to get discouraged, boy," she cooed. "Gran knows just how to get a young buck's pecker standin' tall again. You just lay back and enjoy while us ladies chew on these fat nuts of yours like a pair of squirrels after a crop of acorns."
Darrell groaned into his grandmother's sopping mound as his cock began to stiffen and swell in her grip, the sensitive flesh pulsing against her palm. He could feel himself hardening to full mast again despite the aching, wrung-out throb in his balls, his body responding helplessly to the lewd dual stimulation.
Mary Beth's eyes lit up with wicked glee as she pointed a finger at the seam of skin bisecting Darrell's wrinkled sack, tracing the slightly darker line that ran from his taint up to just below the purple, throbbing root of his cock.
"Ooh, lookie there! Ain't that just the prettiest little bulls-eye a gal ever did see?" she crooned, her voice dripping with lewd hunger. "I'm fixin' to tongue that sweet spot till he's buckin' and bellerin' louder than a calf at brandin' time!"
Darrell's stomach lurched like a bucking bronco as both women descended on his balls, their heads bobbing between his trembling thighs like ravenous coyotes fighting over a fresh rabbit carcass.
Their hot, wet mouths latched onto either side of his wrinkled sack, their soft, plump lips nuzzling into his most delicate flesh.
He let out a strangled yelp that echoed off the underground walls as their pretty white teeth grazed his goose-pimpled skin, nipping and gnawing with the shocking boldness of church ladies at an all-you-can-eat pie social.
Their wicked tongues traced along the purplish crease with devastating accuracy, the wet heat searing his nerve endings like a July branding iron on a spring calf.
He thrashed helplessly between them, his neglected cock bobbing angrily against his belly button like a divining rod seeking water, as they licked and
kissed and nibbled that secret seam with the merciless precision of seasoned butter churners, stoking the smoldering embers in his loins.
Clara suckled one swollen testicle into her greedy mouth, rolling it around on her tongue like a sun-warmed peach pit as she slurped and drooled all over it, her saliva thick as maple syrup dripping down the wrinkled skin.