Free The Devil's Sperm Is Cold by Marco Vassi Page A

movement only brought another part of her to exposure. She was turned over on her back again, her legs pressed to her chest, leaving her cunt gaping. She wanted terribly to cover herself, but there was nothing she could do, except to gasp as the first cock she had ever known in her life fucked her mouth, and the second began to press against the never-before-penetrated pussy lips.
    “To her undying amazement, Laura began to enjoy herself.”
    “Well, far out,” Joan said out loud. She leaned back in her chair and lit another cigarette. “It’s amazing the fantasies people have,” she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene she had just been reading about, only instead of Laura tied to the cot, she placed herself. All at once, the ambience changed. Far from being an absurd exercise in sexual hyperbole, the thing became feasible and desirable. Joan let out a mouthful of smoke and let herself sink into the scene. To be tied, to be overwhelmed with brute male energy, to know the smell of it, the power of it, the deep penetrating sensations. Yes, she could understand the logic of that kind of rape. To be nothing but a hole, a hot wet pussy, a lapping mouth, a twitching ass. She had known what that was like being with just one man, and not being bound by ropes. To make the leap to a gang-bang concept was just to project the reality a bit further.
    She let her free hand fall to her thighs, and smiling to herself, she let her fingers walk to her crotch. Then, as though her hand were a man jumping off a cliff, she leaped from her leg to her cunt, landing with a long slow glide. The pressure felt good through the cloth of her dress, and she lazily nibbed herself, up and down. Little jolts of electricity shot from her clitoris deeper into her vagina, and she pressed her thighs together with pleasure. She could smell the first secretions, and she tightened her ass to heighten the sensations. She put her cigarette out and with her other hand she began to play with her breasts, reaching down the top of her dress and slipping under her brassiere, to caress the thick flesh and tweak the taut nipples. Joan’s eyes closed and her mouth fell open. She began to work in earnest, going from a light masturbation to a steady effort to bring herself off. All the while she stroked and pinched her tits and dug her fingers into the soft heat of her cunt, she maintained the fantasy of the chapter she had just been reading. Her pussy was mushy under the fabric, and she was hungry for it to be bare and spread, open to the eyes of the men surrounding her.
    “She lay on the dirty cot and the men began to climb over her. Her tight asshole was nudged by a thick cock, and she groaned out loud as she pictured her buttocks spreading, and the tiny hole grasping the giant engine as it slid haltingly into her. Another man straddled her shoulders and masturbated over her. She opened her mouth wide, yearning upward, waiting for the thick creamy sperm to come splashing down on her tongue and into her throat.” Joan’s toes curled as the Hell’s Angels of her dreamworld fucked her again and again, making her cunt sloppy and sore, and she rotated her fingers faster and faster, pumping toward climax.
    “Oh fuck me,” she cried out, “you big thick cock, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
    The sentences spilled out from her as she clenched her ass, bunched one breast in her hand, and humped the air. She rolled from side to side in an anguish of expectation. And in her mind she thought, “’an anguish of expectation,’ that’s not a bad phrase.” And she laughed as she came, the deep sound breaking from her chest, and the juices seeping from her pulsating pussy into her panties, through her dress, making her fingers damp and fragrant.
    “Oh, yes,” she moaned as her climax sang through her. She arched her back one last time and fell quiet into the deep chair, breathing heavily. She lay there for several minutes, letting herself return to