Eight Legs For Three Ladies 14

Gwen took the swollen knob of Peter’s cock right to the back of her throat, still jerking him off furiously. Peter moaned at being mouthed where he was the most tender—pumping his hips back and forth slowly—until he’d pushed his erection into Gwen’s mouth as far as it would go. His breath pitched and railed, growing heavier and more erratic, until he could barely speak through his slurping of air.

“Oh shit!” he panted. “I—I’m gonna—“

That did it. Gwen pulled her mouth off his endowment at once and looked up at him peevishly.

“Don’t you dare!” she told him. “Don’t even think about it!”

“God, how can I help it? You’re sucking me so—“

“It’s your own fault,” Gwen informed him primly. “Now that I know how good you can f—screw, that’s what I want. To get screwed.”

“You cut it pretty close,” Peter groaned. “I just about shot!”

“Thanks for warning me. After we… do it… I’ll really suck you!”

“After? Holy shit…”

“And you can suck me too. You’ll love sucking my… sucking me. I just know you will!”

Gwen’s eyes crossed, staring at the cock in her face as it renewed its audacious throbbing. She couldn’t help herself with it practically fucking her face, just with its immense presence so close and so potent.

“One more little taste,” she muttered as though enthralled…

With her stiff nipples brushing against Peter’s thighs, she pressed herself up against his legs, arms going around his hips until she was vined around his lower body. Last of all she sucked eagerly on his standing erection, virtually impaling her mouth on all its length.

Peter threw his head back, letting out a hiss like escaping steam. Gwen just didn’t know how good this felt; there was no way to hold back, even with her express warnings about going off in her mouth. He had no choice.

He pushed her away from him, sprawling her on her back outside the shower, but it was too late. Cum flew from his cock, landing hot on her belly. Gwen sucked in her breath, feeling her excitement skyrocket at the same time that the realization of what was happening mortified her. She froze, trapped between how humiliating this was and how amazing it felt.

Peter’s burning cum settled on her stomach, painting her abs, then he jolted hard, his whole body shuddering, and came powerfully. Out of sheer lust for her. Gwen stared at his cockhead while it shuddered, sending its ropes of cum higher up her body, between her breasts.

Peter’s body shook again, wagging his cock as he launched, and his seed lashed over the soft satin flesh of Gwen’s chest, across her nipples. Gwen lowered her chin, watching the white-hot seed drench her round breasts. She panted softly: haplessly, as if in disbelief, she moved her hands to her breasts, running her fingers over their soaked roundness as Peter volleyed her again.

She had no choice but to coo as she rubbed his boiling semen into her cleavage, feeling it run down her neck and over her shoulders as well. Her eyes flew to Peter’s face as he singed her breasts, feeling aroused and ashamed and aroused. Her thighs pressed together on their own, the sudden pressure on her sex, her clit, getting a luscious moan out of Gwen.

She looked at his cock again. He’d stopped erupting, but he was still stiff, and now Peter stroked his cock, pumping it furiously, staring at her cum-strewn body as if it were both target and temptation. Gwen felt compelled to get away—get out of range, she thought hysterically—but she couldn’t move. She just licked her lips. He wasn’t going to come on her belly; not now that he’d already marked it. He was going to come in her face.

“Peter,” she said plaintively, not sure what she was begging for. To be embarrassed further? Humiliated more? To somehow get more of this sickeningly enjoyable feeling of something she’d never in a million years have subjected herself to?

She didn’t know if she wanted it or not. She couldn’t decide. Maybe because she knew, on some level, that if she chose, she’d decide against it—and she didn’t want to decide against it. She wanted to be marked.

“Take it,” Peter said simply, his voice so unlike himself—almost enraged. Like he hated what he’d done too. But he looked like he was enjoying himself so much; delighting in this thing as much as Gwen had been forced to. “Take it right in your fucking face!”

He came so hard, so unexpectedly, that Gwen didn’t see him spurt—just felt a jet of hot liquid land on her chin and burn. She turned her face away; the next shot landed on her cheek. Gwen closed her eyes, but he came on her lips next. They stung with heat and she moaned softly, letting the taste, the wafting scent of his excess inside to fill her senses. Her pussy throbbed swollenly… pulsing with something wicked deep inside her, something that Peter had brought out.

Peter laughed like a hyena—not so much hilarity as letting off a burst of tension. “I’m coming in your face, Gwen, and you love it. Look how hard your nipples are. Look how tense those thighs… unnnh! I can feel how hot it’s burning from here! Don’t tell me you don’t like it when I give you all the cum that hot little pussy… nnnghh... deserves!”

Her hair, soddenly slashed down the front and back of her torso, was now soaked in Peter’s cum. She was whitewashed from her ribs to her forehead. With a moan, Gwen sat up, her hips in endless passionate motion as she knelt in front of Peter again. She wanted to impale herself on his cock as she had losing her virginity (giving it to him).

But she needed…

With a gasping cry, she grabbed hold of his cock so fiercely that he let go of it to avoid her grasp. Then she pumped his next emission out of him, forcing it into her face. It splattered against her lips and cheeks and nose; she turned so that it utterly painted the side of her face Peter had missed the first time.

When she turned back to face his eruptions, her mouth was open. Gwen hadn’t thought to do it. Maybe her jaw had dropped. But the next time Peter launched, she tasted his hot cum. A spasm ran through her. She stuck out her tongue and Peter dutifully spurted onto it. The taste of cum flooded her mouth, already soaking in cum, so it felt like she was absolutely drowning in the stuff.

“Ahh, Gwen!” Peter gasped, staring at her open mouth and cum-drooling tongue. “This is what you should wear, what you should look like… wearing nothing but my cum…”

The pool of semen in her gaping lips was surrounded by more cum strewn all over her pretty face like multiple attempts at a missed target. But he didn’t feel like he’d missed; the only mistake was in not absolutely masking Gwen with every drop of his pungent sperm.

Opening her eyes, looking through cum-drizzled lashes, Gwen began to swallow. Gulping wetly, the little motions sending Peter’s cum trailing down her face. Her cunt exploded into the pressure her vise-tight thighs put on it and she came in a mewling heat. Shudders swept through her.

Peter exhaled softly as his cock jerked out some more of his load, feebly landing onto her breasts and trickling down to all sides. Gwen pushed her mouth onto his endowment just as the emissions were slowing, losing strength. His cum dribbled out and she hungered for it all the more when she tasted it fresh, moaning as she sucked, swallowed, sending it down to join the jizz scattered over her body, being smeared under her caressing hands.

All of her was his, inside and out. She felt like she was glowing, her body radiant, the glistening wetness somehow purer than all that clean water could ever be.

“Gwen… shit… shit… I didn’t know you were a cum dumpster.” Peter chuckled weakly. “God, you look like you’re wearing pearls… millions in pearls…”

Coming back to herself, Gwen looked up at him, wondering what she’d just done. Why had she done this after so many years… after being so good… she’d been the good girl, the perfect girl, and he’d chosen her over Mary Jane, or been about to choose her… and now she was a cum dumpster.

She didn’t know at all what had happened. She wasn’t sure she wanted answers. But Gwen already knew how it begun: how Peter had pushed her down and come on her, all over her, starting her down the path that minutes later had her laden down with all this sickly liquid heat, feeling like a whore, like she was worse than Mary Jane had ever been.

Hell, this must be how that Black Cat slut spent her nights…

“How could you do that?” she asked Peter, picking herself up and seizing a towel to dry herself off—wipe her body clean of so much cum and so much Peter.

He’d said she was his—she’d thought she’d wanted that—but this was what he wanted to do with her! He didn’t want a girlfriend, he wanted a cum dumpster! She wasn’t a cum dumpster! She wasn’t!

“I—“ Peter began. “You didn’t want me to come in your mouth…”

Gwen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “There’s cum in my mouth, Peter! There’s cum all over me!”

“You did open your mouth,” Peter pointed out.

“So you thought you’d fuck my mouth with your jizz?” Gwen demanded. Then something drew her eye—motion down below his waist.

His half-hard cock was stirring.

Gwen held the towel in front of her as if hiding behind it. “You’re still—!”

“You keep talking about jizz and fucking and your mouth,” Peter said defensively. “It’s kinda hot.”

“I’m still covered in liquid smut here!”

“Maybe you should wash off in the shower,” Peter suggested helpfully. “There’s still a little hot water left… and I only have two towels…”

Gwen threw the towel at him. He dodged out of the way.

“You should’ve… come against the wall!” Gwen told him shrilly. “Let it wash down the drain!”

“Mary Jane doesn’t like when I do that.”

“Mary Jane…?”

“She doesn’t like for me to waste it.”

“I’m not Mary Jane!” Gwen cried. “And I don’t like having cum all over my breasts and in my mouth and in my face…”

“Your hair too,” Peter pointed out. “If we’re being totally—“

Gwen snatched a hand towel from beside the sink and rubbed through her hair with it.

“The shower’s right here.”

“I’m not getting back in the shower with you… being your whore… you blew it, mister, you really did it this time! And I was going to try anal with you!”

Gwen stormed off, barely pausing to scoop up her clothes. Not bothering with her merry widow, her nylons, her heels. She stopped in front of his front door, flung on her street clothes more or less in the proper layers, then pitched herself out of his walk-up.

Peter sighed, looked out the window. And it was raining. Maybe that would cool her off. Or at least clean off some of the cum that a thrift store beach towel had been unable to defeat.

He might as well go ahead and throw it out; break down and get fancy Egyptian towels or whatever was nice. It’d been one thing to be Mary Jane’s on-again, off-again, on-again… fuckbuddy… but with Gwen, even a routinely incensed Gwen, also in the mix… well, the bachelor thing had to be compromised.

Would it be presumptuous to get them their own toothbrushes?

Different colors, so they’d know which one was which?

Peter had a feeling that this was one time his thoughtfulness wouldn’t be appreciated. Never mind that it wasn’t like it’d been his idea to be in some kind of casual ménage à trois. Well, it had, but only during his alone time—he hadn’t brought it up with any of them…

Sighing, he went back to the shower, rinsed himself one last time, then picked up the rug to scrub himself at least semi-dry. He was probably doing no favors to his sheets by going to sleep on them next, but hell… he’d buy some more when he went to get new towels. Give his place a whole makeover to get it ready for his new life as an occasional gigolo.