Ed McCaffrey’s Penile Lubricant
By Maximilian Cummings
Chapter 3 — Bathtime for Susan
Susan trudged home straight from Netball. She had not changed and was looking forward to a shower or bath. She would have the house to herself, which would be nice, as her parents had gone off on a mini break that very morning. No need to tell her mother about the day, no need to talk, just be by herself. She might luxuriate in the bath. Perhaps use some nice relaxing bath foam or bath salts. Pleasing thoughts: so it was not good at all to receive a text from her mother as she walked saying the boiler had packed up and the plumber would not be around for two days. No lovely hot bath and the house would not be warm at all.
Another text to say she should go around to Mr Canning’s and stay there the night. A hot bath after all. Susan was relieved, she hoped that had been agreed with their neighbour.
It had, Mr Canning met her at his front door, smiling at her muddy knees. She took her trainers off at the door and padded about in her socks. He had a cup of tea ready for her and she sat in his kitchen. She did not have to tell her mother about her day, but she had to tell Mr Canning when he asked. An obvious topic of conversation. He asked about her game. He said something about her seeming not to have showered afterwards. When he was a boy they always showered after rugby or football. Perhaps it was different for big girls ‘these days,’ he had said. He had smiled when he had talked of ‘all boys together in the showers.’ Susan thought he would have liked that—very much.
Tea finished, Susan asked if she might have a bath. She had not been upstairs in Mr Canning’s house before and found a rather fine modern bathroom. He chatted away as he turned on the taps. Downstairs the sound of the doorbell.
“That’ll be Mr Lovell,” called Mr Canning from below, “He’s staying the night too.”
Susan almost asked if his boiler had packed up too, but stopped herself. It was obvious why Mr Lovell was coming to stay the night. To sleep with Mr Canning and have whatever sort of sexual relations gay men have. She did not like to think what they might be. All boys together in the showers—indeed!
“Hallo Susan.” Mr Lovell popped his head around the door just as she was starting to undo her sports shirt. A few buttons already undone. Susan had not heard him coming up the stairs. And then he was pushed into the bathroom by Mr Canning coming in with a big fluffy bath towel. “I see you have your new brassiere on.” As if it was as normal as anything, he took over undoing Susan’s shirt. “Ah yes, it is fitting well.”
Susan did not think she could object, really. He was just checking on her brassiere after all. But there were two men in her bathroom.
“Would you like some bath salts in your bath, Susan? They are rather good. A sandalwood scent.”
“Mmmm, please.”
A packet upon a glass shelf. A colourful logo. Indeed an ‘Ed McCaffrey’ product with the stylised design. She had seen his products before. She frowned, yes, both that lotion hidden in her bedroom and the shaving cream. Oh, and the after-shave salve. There had been something about that… she blinked… hadn’t there? Was the logo really meant to be an ejaculating penis? Surely not; yet the ‘Y’ so looked like that with the semen spreading out from the stem—a massive ejaculation from the rounded shape below. Mr Canning rummaged in the box and unwrapped a green bath cube—only it was not a cube, not a bath ‘cube,’ more like a dog biscuit only green… only, whilst it was a sort of stylised bone shape, it was only a bit like that, for one end of the stylised ‘bone’ shape was missing. It looked more like an erect penis with two testicles. Susan barely had time to see it in Mr Canning’s hand before it was dropped in the water. As Mr Lovell felt her breasts through the cotton of her brassiere, no doubt checking its fit, she watched the green penis shape sink to the bath’s bottom and then its knob end rose up just like a penis erecting and began to fizz at the uppermost part, fizzing away with bubbles. So like an ejaculation. Susan frowned. Very peculiar the way the salts were dissolving. And, actually, what would an ejaculation look like underwater?
Mr Lovell had not stopped at her shirt, he was unclipping her sports skirt, pleated for easy movement. “Ah yes, your nice new knickers as well. They fit so well around your cheeks.” Without any self-consciousness Mr Lovell was patting her rump. “What grubby knees, Susan. We don’t want to get mud on your pristine white knickers, do we?”
Clearly, he did not. Very carefully he was drawing her knickers down her legs, getting her ready for her bath, pulling at them so as not to touch her knees. Mr Canning too reached forward and was patting her now revealed mons veneris, commenting on the smoothness of the shave. His fingers slid over the plump skin, even riding a little up and down her exposed slit. It was remarkable how these two old men seemed to think it perfectly normal to come into a girl’s bathroom and examine and touch her; their hands upon her as they undressed her.
Mr Lovell reached down and slipped her socks off her feet and then they both stepped back and watched her get into her bath. It was very hot, and she had to pause, dipping her bottom into the water, and then lifting it out again before she finally settled in the sandalwood scented water.
“We’ll leave you to have a little soak.”
That was good. She did not really want a couple of men in her bathroom. Well, maybe young men like Michael or Jose, or Joe. Susan settled back and closed her eyes. She felt her muscles relaxing and being soothed by the water. It had been a vigorous netball game and it had tired her somewhat. She felt her mind wandering. It would not do to go to sleep. Not really. Into her mind came again thoughts of Michael and Jose. How good it would have been for her mother to have sent her to one of their houses and found herself being offered and sharing a bath with one. Her shoulders shrugged as she lay there in the hot water—why not both—of them? Her thighs fell open, a natural movement as she thought of young male friends. Into her mind swam Joe Maddison. In the bath with her? No, rather she watching him swimming in the school swimming pool, the water steaming like her bath and the scent of sandalwood rather than chlorine. She standing watching that young man, swimming naked with a strong front crawl, his tight black buttocks there for her to see and admire. Her hand touched her sex and a finger stroked. An aroused young woman in her bath, half asleep and half dreaming. Why was she thinking of Joe Maddison? Her brow wrinkled but she did not open her eyes. She had dreamt—though it had seemed sort of real—that Mr Canning had been shaving Joe the other day when he had shaved her, but the two old men had assured her Joe had not been there. Yet, yet, she had a very clear image in her mind of his swollen penis. It was not as if she had ever seen it for real—unfortunately.
She lay there in the soothing water, her thighs spread and her hand touching as she imagined the empty swimming pool, empty but for Joe and her. She imagined him tall and athletic reaching for the chrome ladder at the side of the pool; his strong arms, muscles tightening, as he pulled himself up and out of the water, it falling in droplets from his naked body. Lovely to see his shock at her being there and she seeing him like that; naked, wet and muscular. He had thought himself alone, free to swim naked but she was there, dressed in her school uniform with him completely undressed; him so conscious she was staring at his big, soft cock and balls—the hair shaved away around them. Her fingers moved rather more energetically in her sex as she imagined him helplessly erecting in front of her. His thoughts betrayed by his penis. What a sight. What a penis! Up and up, swelling as it rose big and, yes, she liked the word, ‘menacing.’ The strong young man helpless, unable to prevent his exposure, his big, black penis rearing up.
A noise and Susan snatched her hand from her sex, and she opened her eyes. She blinked at the light. Had she been asleep. The scent of the sandalwood had been—was—so soothing. It was Mr Canning popping his head around the door. Had he seen what she was doing?
“Just checking on you, Susan. You’ve been very quiet. Not fallen asleep, have you? More hot water?” He turned the tap and looked down at her. She had not closed her legs, her thighs still lolled apart revealing all her secrets. Behind him came Mr Lovell. He was looking at her too.
“You seem very open, Susan. Doesn’t she Mr Lovell? Have you been intimate with a young man? Are you still a virgin?”
Open? He must mean her vagina. The two old men should not be seeing her like that. She felt flustered and confused and blurted out, “No, no I’m not a virgin, Mr Lovell, but Mummy doesn’t know. Oh, you won’t tell her, will you?” Oh dear! What a thing to have revealed. Why had she told them that?
“Of course not, Susan. Of course not. I’m sure you have been a good girl. Will be a good girl. Who was the young man—I hope it was a young man—who did the deed. Right… well, here of course?”
Susan’s eyes went wide. Mr Lovell’s finger had gone inside her. She stared down at his hand between her thighs, not just touching her but with a finger half inside her. That was not what an old man should do. Should she ask him to take his finger out?
“It was…” His finger was there, really inside her sex, slowly going further in. “It was Jose, my friend Jose. One night we… it got a little out of hand and…”
“If you’re not a virgin then it hardly matters if another two penises pay a visit.”
A visit? “No, no… perhaps it wouldn’t, but I…” A visit where? She was having trouble thinking straight.
“No buts, Susan, you don’t want a spanking, do you?”
“Perhaps she does,” said Mr Canning from behind him.
Mr Lovell nodded sagely, “perhaps she does indeed.”
Despite the presence of the two old men in her bathroom, Susan felt her head swimming again. A spanking? Perhaps it was the sandalwood scent, but her focus seemed to come and go. She was not going to faint, was she?
“Have you washed?”
“No, not yet Mr Canning.”
He began to roll up his sleeves.
“I’ll do it, Mr Canning.” Susan said, trying to keep her eyes open, trying to retain a sense of normality. She reached around, trying to find the bar. “Soap?”
“No, I’ll wash you Susan. Those so grubby knees. I’ve had a busy day on the golf course. Didn’t shower. I’ll join you if I may.”
Between half open lids Susan watched the old man loosen his tie. She was about to be joined in her bath by a man more than three times her age. She wanted to protest it was not right. And what had they said about penises and visiting?
Down came Mr Canning’s trousers.
“You’ve got an erection.”
“Susan! Really!” said Mr Lovell withdrawing his finger. “I should jolly well hope he has! Susan, an attractive young woman like yourself, in her bath with all those suds over you and your nicely shaved mons veneris being lapped by the bath water. If Mr Canning did not have an erection it would be a very disappointing thing! Very rude not to be pointing at you. You surely don’t mind, do you? My penis is similarly swollen. It’s a compliment, really. You should take it.” The emphasis was on the ‘take.’
For a moment, her eyes fully opened as Mr Canning climbed into the bath. His cock hard and pointing, she seeing it from the underside looming over her, his balls hanging. She put her feet together as he settled into the water, his legs spread either side of her and his feet touching her hips. It meant her toes were touching his penis.
“Here’s the soap, Mr Canning.”
“Thank you, Mr Lovell.”
She knew it would be so. Knew what the logo on the soap would be. Again, the smell of sandalwood and the suds tingled upon her skin. He started on her knees. Still grubby from the playing field, his hands firm and thorough. They were well soaped and cleaned.
Susan tried to keep her feet still but with Mr Canning’s hands moving they kept rubbing against his hard cock. It would not help it go down. Not one little bit.
Her head fell forward. She was really sleepy.
“You are being a trifle slow at the job, Mr Canning. Let me help.”
Susan turned her head and looked up at Mr Lovell. Her eyes saw. It seemed as if he, too, was undressing. Was that his erect penis or what? She tried to think. Momentarily she came back to herself as Mr Canning washed under her arms. It tickled and made her giggle like a little girl.
“Don’t do that!” But he did it the more and she found she had four hands upon her tickling here there and everywhere. She thrashed about a little in the water spilling it over the sides. It was lucky Mr Lovell had taken his clothes off or he would have got soaked.
The energy expended in the giggling and protesting seemed to drain her. She found herself rather squashed in the bath, what with two men in there with her; both washing her and being so thorough. It was her knees not her breasts that had got muddy. She had not been playing netball naked; had not fallen ‘splat’ into a muddy puddle and risen with mud dripping from her nipples. Half-conscious Susan felt herself being lifted from the bath. The two old men wrapped her in a fluffy and warm white towel and patted her dry. She knew that at least. She was not too sure of much else. Was she then being carried? To a bed to rest? She heard vague fragments but when she awoke, she found herself dressed in her school clothes, though without brassiere and knickers. “They’re in the wash,” Mr Canning told her when she came downstairs and found cooking underway in the kitchen.
She sat quietly doing her homework. It felt a little odd not having knickers on under her skirt. She thought back. Had she really been in the bath with Mr Lovell? She turned and there he was still in his jacket and tie reading ‘The Times.’ It did not seem possible. She had, though, definitely gone to sleep in the bath. What could she remember after that or was it all dreams? She struggled with her memory.
“Open her, let’s see her lovely little pussy again.” Had she really heard that?
“So sweet, like a flower. Perfumed, almost edible!” Susan frowned. Had Mr Lovell said that? Could she remember his lips upon her sex? Surely not. She looked again at Mr Lovell as he turned a page. He looked at her and nodded over his gold reading glasses. It did not seem possible, yet… No, could not have been.
“We’ll have to spank her. We must!”
“Spank her or spunk her!”
“Mr Lovell! Both!”
Had she really felt the weight of one man—not only one but then another. Had the two old men had their way with her. She tried to think. Could she remember. Yes, yes! Mr Lovell gasping as he came in her and then Mr Canning saying, “Come on. Get off and out. My turn, Mr Lovell!”
“So smooth, so tight.”
“Sorry it’s a bit spunky.”
“No matter, no matter. My turn first next time.”
Her hand crept under her skirt, hidden under the table, but there was not a trace of any semen between her legs. Had she dreamt it all? What peculiar dreams—so sexual. It could not have happened. Her mother had assured her they were not that way inclined.
“Supper time, Susan!” Mr Canning’s beaming smile. His apron looked so incongruous upon him. Such a sweet old man. Such sweet old men. A pair of sweet old queers—that’s what her mother said. Surely, they could not have used her whilst unconscious. They would not want to, surely? No semen—no proof. Was it just her imagination? Must have been. The mind plays funny tricks. Dreams can seem so real.
More homework after supper and then a little television watching before it was time for bed. Susan did not like to be too late. She liked to read in bed.
“Come down and see us before you go to sleep.”
“I… I haven’t any pyjamas or a nightie.”
“Don’t worry about that. Mr Lovell and I have seen you without anything on! In the bath, being shaved and fitted for your brassiere. You can’t even wear your knickers. Hopefully, though, they will all be dry by the morning—unless you want to run around next door?
Susan did not. Susan read happily in bed. It was warm and cosy. Her eyes closed and the next thing she knew the book was lying across her face. She was about to switch off the light and go to sleep when she remembered she had promised to go and say goodnight.
They seemed pleased to see her as she looked around the door, keeping her breasts and body out of sight. The two old boys were watching the news. Mr Canning insisted on a good night kiss and so she had to walk into the room with nothing on and give each of the dear old men a peck on the cheek. They seemed very pleased with that. She tried not to be too self-conscious about her nakedness.
“Would you like a mug of cocoa or something else hot before bed?
“I’d like some hot semen please,” her hand flew to her mouth. What had she just said? “I mean...”
“Cup or mug, Susan?”
She knew she was going as red as a beetroot.
“You wouldn’t have enough. Just from your co…” Her hand flew to her mouth. It was as if the words she was speaking were not her own. “I mean…” She tried to say, ‘mug please’ but instead, “would you two gentlemen like your cocks sucked before bed?”
Mr Canning looked at Mr Lovell and Mr Lovell looked at Mr Canning in seeming surprise.
“Well, I for one… if you are offering. It would be very relaxing.” Mr Canning said adjusting his tie.
“Indeed, yes please Susan. I’d very much like you to suck my penis and drink my warm ejaculate. What man wouldn’t? I would indeed. But I really do not think those are the sort of words or ideas girls should use or have. What would your mother think? Come here.”
Susan walked across to Mr Canning, feeling just so confused. Why had she said those things?
“Open your legs.” It was a command. And Susan obeyed as if it was her father or a teacher. Mr Canning looked stern.
He reached upwards with his hand, right up between her legs. His touch made her gasp.
“I thought as much. Young girl wetness, Mr Lovell. The idea seems to be that it is young men, boys who are obsessed with sex, bad boys with ever hard penises. Yet, it is so much more girls anxious to feel a stiff penis inside them, or their mouth stretched around one. Their wet little snatches dripping. So obsessed, so wanting a firm cock.”
“Or two, Mr Canning, or two!”
“I think it is no cocoa for you Miss Settle, but a good spanking and bed!”
“Yes, sir.”
It had not happened to her for years, not since she was a little girl over her father’s knee, but Susan found herself over Mr Canning’s cavalry twill covered knees, her bottom uppermost and her cheeks clenched awaiting the fall of his hand.
“This is for your own good, Susan.”
Mr Canning’s hand came down with a loud slap. It was not play acting. It hurt. Not once, but several times, the hand descended. The sound of flesh upon flesh; a hard and strong male hand, a soft and ample pair of young female buttocks.
“I can’t say I am a connoisseur of female chastisement, Mr Canning, but the way Susan’s bottom quivers at the impact of your hand has a certain artistic merit!”
A chuckle from Mr Canning. You see the exquisite and poetic in so many things Mr Lovell. An aesthete indeed.” His hand was poised ready to strike again. “He paints, you know, Susan, and rather good he is too. Quite the artist. Appreciates and creates. Whereas…”
The hand descended with force. The slap loud. Susan whimpered and gritted her teeth. Would her mother approve of her being punished like this? Would her father? But her words had been bad.
Mr Canning was breathing hard, no doubt from the exertion. “Whereas I am perhaps of a more practical than artistic bent.”
“Hence being a barber. Good with your hands.”
“Oh? Oh, yes, yes indeed. Mr Lovell, could you take over. My hand is getting sore!”
Not as sore as the young girl’s bottom. She straightened herself and walked over to Mr Lovell. She dropped to her knees and bent over his knees, wriggling herself into the right position, raising her buttocks high. A hand though came to her thighs, sliding up the so soft inner skin, encouraging her to part her legs.
“Apart, Susan. I think the punishment will be more efficacious if you cannot clamp your legs together with every slap as you were doing when Mr Canning was spanking you.”
It had been not quite comforting, more instinctive, a readying herself for the slap; a tightening of her body, but now that was to be denied her. The hand journeyed upwards.
“Still very wet Mr Canning. These young girls.”
It was that wet hand that descended upon her bottom. It was no less firm than Mr Canning’s hand had been. Awfully Susan wondered if she was liking it. It hurt, yet as Mr Lovell had said her wetness was flowing. Unbidden into her mind came thoughts of Joe Maddison. The thought of him coming through the door behind her and without her seeing, naked and as erect as when—had she only imagined that—when he had been shaved. Coming right up behind her. Standing and watching her being spanked and then Mr Lovell saying, ‘Now, Joe, now!’ and Joe’s penis plunging between her cheeks and into her. One smooth and fluid movement so he lay across her, pressing her down and pumping. Perhaps Mr Lovell might keep spanking—but upon Joe’s bare bottom.
She looked up, across at Mr Canning. Why had she said those words? Why had she asked for semen not cocoa? It puzzled her. Yet, the thought, the thought of a meaty cock in her mouth, big warm and pulsing. Perhaps Joe’s cock, or Jose’s, or Michael’s or, of course, Mr Canning and Mr Lovell’s—two cocks to drink from… err… five! A mug full. Her brow furrowed. Why these thoughts? They were a little strange.
“Last one, Susan.” Down came Mr Lovell’s hand. Her mouth opened in shock and surprise, her mouth wide enough for Joe’s cock. The last slap had been the worse.
Her bottom smarted. Released and without the imagined Joe pressing her down. Susan stood. In the mirror on the wall she could see her bottom cheeks were each rather red. The tears that ran down her face were real. The tears were genuine, and it seemed the two stern men relented.
“Very well, Susan, no cocoa but you shall have your warm semen.”
The smile on her face a delight to them both. She sniffed and tried brushing away the tears with the backs of her hands, “Oh, may I?”
“You may,” Mr Canning settled himself back in his armchair. Susan came forward and knelt, busying herself with his fly. As she had found with Jose, extracting an erect penis is not an easy task—if a pleasurable one—and it certainly was erect, she was delighted to find. She ended up, undoing his belt and trousers, and getting the whole assembly out. It lolled to one side, erect but not standing. The male sexual organs exposed. So very different from her own sex. Susan found herself wetting her lips in anticipation.
Gone the thought that sucking an old man’s penis just before bed in order to drink his semen—rather than cocoa—was just a bit unusual, just a bit odd. Certainly, no thought at all that someone not so very far from her was playing with her mind. That just did not occur to her.
She reached and lifted it up. Quite firm along its length if a bit ‘wobbly’ where it joined his body. It did not have that rigid firmness Jose’s had. Perhaps he was not excited enough, perhaps it was age, perhaps he had already come that day. Would it produce? She so hoped so. She really wanted to drink—a hot drink—a hot bedtime drink for girls.
Holding it in her hand she pointed it towards her lips and let her head descend. It was firmer when she raised her head again. What a funny thing, really. But weren’t they nice in the mouth as well as…? She bent forward again and in her mind the thought of Joe behind her. She raised her bottom into the air forgetting both Mr Lovell and Mr Canning could see and waggled it. An animalistic ‘come on,’ movement. An invitation to the male to engage in copulation. How good it would feel to have Joe or perhaps Jose, her boyfriend, behind her with his cock at the ready. She was so wet. Her mouth slid further down Mr Canning’s penis at the thought. One man in her mouth, the other in her vagina. What would that be like?
There did not seem to be much semen with Mr Canning when he came. With Jose it had not seemed to stop when she had ‘blown’ him. He had kept coming for quite a time. It had leaked out of her mouth, as he had ejaculated, and dribbled from it down onto her breasts. Perhaps as men got older less came out. It was a strange disappointment. She had hoped for more.
She stood up and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her face was rather flushed and there was spittle around her mouth. She was sure it was not semen, there had not been enough, but she licked, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. For a moment she stood looking at herself, not quite sure where she was and then remembered. “Oh, Mr Lovell. Could I… as well. Mr Canning… he…”
“Not enough, Susan?”
She shook her head as she watched Mr Lovell reach down and unbutton his fly. |He pulled out his cock, exposing himself to the naked girl. He looked at it, and then back up at Susan; slowly he retracted his foreskin, peeling it as if he were preparing an orange—or banana—for the girl. Already Mr Canning’s penis was wilting. Should she tuck it away before… tucking into Mr Lovell’s?
Back on her knees but now before Mr Lovell’s chair, Susan bent her head forward.
“I am sure, Susan, if your father and mother don’t mind, you could slip around to Mr Canning’s house for a nightcap pretty much most nights; and, if I’m here too… well, there’d be all the more for you.”
Susan reached and held. She looked up at Mr Lovell’s face. He was smiling at her. His eyes twinkling through his spectacles. “If you don’t mind,” she said. She was not sure she would really want to do that but did not want to seem impolite. Worse, to be thought greedy. Her eyes dropped again to his penis and she moved her hand, moving the free skin, encouraging it, stimulating it.
“That’s right, Susan, nice regular strokes, gentle and slow. Regular not jerking.”
“Jose talks about me ‘jerking’ him off.”
Mr Lovell’s smile broadened, and he nodded. “I’m sure that is the sort of word young people might use but I expect he will still like it done gently and with an even beat—not in spasmodic jerks.”
“He says ‘beating’ off too.”
“Well, yes, Susan. That’s a term. Take it from me with fifty-seven years of practice. Nice and regular.”
His hand reached out and rested upon her head and down her mouth went, opening and readying herself to take in his knob, as she had taken Jose’s and, minutes before Mr Canning’s. Her lips slipped over the so smooth skin and she took it in. Nice regular stroking with her hand and a gentle stroking with her mouth.
She raised her head a little, “I think…”
“Shoosh, Susan, there’s a good girl, no talking,” his hand gently pushed her head down, “there’s a good girl, finish your drink and then it’s off to bed.”
It was not like drinking cocoa, not just sipping from a mug. Susan had to work for her drink. Not like freshly made cocoa, too hot to drink; a risk of burning your lips on the mug; but certainly, it was not like leaving the mug too long for the cocoa to get cold. The spurting semen was thick, like cocoa, and hot as it came out of Mr Lovell’s penis into her mouth. It was not sipping either. There was more than from Mr Canning.
“There’s a good girl.” Mr Lovell patted her head like a dog who had done a good deed.
Susan rose smiling and licking her lips. “Thank you both, Mr Canning, Mr Lovell, goodnight!”
“Goodnight, Susan, sweet dreams.”
Maybe, but not yet. As Susan made her way up the stairs her thoughts were certainly imaginative, but she was not dreaming—quite. Her thoughts were sexual. The sexual thoughts of a teenage girl and like other teenage girls she was going to play with herself before sleep.
Upon her bedside table a bottle had appeared. A bottle of ‘Ed McCaffrey’s penile lubricant—looks, tastes and smells just like the real thing. You won’t find better. 99% of housewives can’t tell it from semen.’ Perhaps it had been there before.
She hardly needed that squirting between her legs. She was more than wet enough for her fingers to stroke pleasurably but the thought perhaps of a boy coming upon her breasts pleased her. Joe perhaps. Susan giggled to herself. She had imagined him when she had dropped off to sleep when being shaved. Was his cock really like that? Would Jose mind if she wanked Joe over her breasts whilst Jose fucked her? Perhaps sucked it a little. A squeeze from the bottle and out spurted the lubricant over her nipples. A more generous spurting than either Mr Canning or Mr Lovell had managed in her mouth. Not hot like a real penis’ outpouring but it felt the same as she trailed it over her hard nipples and teased them.
“Come on, Joe, you can do it again!” And he could—or at least the bottle could. A long spurt over her breasts once more, as if Joe’s penis had managed a second spurting. She rubbed smearing and fully coating her breasts, making them slippery and sticky to the touch. “One last time Joe, and you’re done.” It was not to be over her breasts but, rather, she pushed the long stem of the bottle into her mouth, the upper part, without the lid so like the knob of a penis, and, as she had done to Mr Canning and Mr Lovell, Susan sucked imagining it was Joe’s big cock. And like Joe’s cock, if it had just come twice over her breasts, it was wet with semen: mock semen but it tasted ‘just like the real thing,’ like Mr Canning and Mr Lovell had tasted. She knew Joe could not come a third time so quickly for real, but the fantasy was good. Susan squeezed imagining. How nice if boys could do that. It was so much more generous than the two old men downstairs had been. Would Jennifer mind if Susan sucked Joe? Of course she would, but did Susan care?
The bottle still in her mouth, one hand stroking her breasts, the other deep between her legs, Susan must have looked quite a sight. Jennifer or no Jennifer, it was unlikely the real Joe Maddison would not have relished the sight. Would not have resisted wanking and most certainly would have wanted to replace the bottle with his own knob or pushed his large and hard cock into her vagina and done the ‘Ed McCaffrey’ thing.
In her mind thoughts of Jose. What would he think? Joe’s semen all over her chest, his semen in her mouth, indeed his seemingly unwilted cock still in there. Susan took it out. It would now represent Jose’s cock. In her mind the thought of her reaching and grasping the naked Jose’s upright penis, drawing him towards her, pulling him down to lie upon her and insert.
The Ed McCaffrey bottle slid easily into her. And as with Mr Lovell’s advice, it was done with nice regular strokes, to and fro, that Susan pleasured herself. “That’s right Jose, like that.” Her eyes closed and she imagined his weight upon her, his penis stroking her, but the movement pulling his nipples across her own, their bodies sliding not on Ed McCaffrey’s artificial lubricant but Joe Maddison’s very real semen.
A regular rhythm but a gradually speeding one. until Susan was really pumping herself, taking herself right over the edge into a lovely, strong orgasm complete, of course, with an artificial and, certainly, copious ejaculation within her from the bottle.
Susan reached for the light switch and was asleep within seconds. Lucky Ed McCaffrey—or at least his bottle—still within her.