Rebecca slams the front door upon returning. Greg can hear her muttering to herself as she pounds up the steps. Her heels stab the wooden staircase repeatedly as she rises. Greg wonders if this will make the sex hotter. He wanted to taste her again. That unique flavor was his new favorite dish, and he would lick the bowl empty.
    Greg fell to his knees before her. She had gobbled down his baby gravy, and he meant to return the favor. Pulling up the skirt, Greg nuzzled her crotch, and licked against the cartoon tongue on her panties. The sensation made her legs wobbly. The smooth material was rippling with waves that continually found her clitoris. Greg was racking up pussy points with ease. Oral sex is a must if a woman is to stay satisfied in a long term relationship. Greg was just as happy as can be to munch on her carpet.
    Greg is out of control once again. He jerks his whole head forward, leading with his tongue. The sudden motion causes her to fall backward, thudding against the wall.
    "Slow down, Turbo!!" she exclaims, "settle yourself, will ya?"
Greg found it very hard to tear his gaze from the sensual camel toe that was inching in between her pussy lips. But he managed to look up into her face.
    "I'll lie down" he says, "c'mere. Sit on my face."
    She exits her dress, holding onto one of his shoulders for balance. Greg unsnaps her bra. Her over-shoulder boulder-holders fall free, revealing her sensuous titties. With her yellow underwear clinging to her bottom, she bends over on hands and knees and waits for him to disrobe. It is more tantalization on her part.     Rebecca reveled in undressing in front of him. The anticipation had built even more now, and when the dress hit the floor, she was bare and exposed. Her tits were as perky as ever, the nipples saying how do you do. Just fine, thank you, breasts.
    Once completely naked, Greg leans over her, once again brushing his manhood on her undies. It seemed Greg was developing something of a panty fetish. But every guy has a panty fetish, some are just more open to it. He pulls them down, exposing the aperture of her oriface.
    They make a good team, he the burly quarterback, she the kneeled center. Without instruction, they assume the 69 pose.  Greg tries to find her DEEP center, plunging his tongue into her vagina. She's already in the process of slobbin' his knob. He is fully erect, and has been for quite some time. The top posture allows her to take him down the throat even more so than last time. He hears barely any gacking or choking from her. Only the slurping and the wet packing sound as he slides partially down her esophagus again and again.
    Her booty was reared up on his chest like a feline in the throes of warmth. He pulled her labia apart, exploring that dripping crevice. Her wetness would occasionally drip onto his chin or into his open mouth. Every time, he would swallow her bodily fluid, and a strange thought occurs to him. There is a sweetish flavor to him that seems vaguely familiar.
    "Strawberries?" Greg says aloud. Rebecca removes his cock from her airway and peers over her shoulder at him.
    "What?" she asks, "something wrong?"
"Your pussy," Greg says, smiling dopily, "it smells and tastes like strawberries. Am I crazy?"
    "It's my new lotion," she says, "why, don't you like it?"
"Like it? I love it!!" Gregs voice booms.  He ate her pussy like it was a four course meal. After a time, her need for fulfillment grew insatiable. She rolled off of him and her legs opened like a steel-sprung trap.

    "Let's try doggy-style," Greg suggests. Rebecca complies, again kneeling on all fours in front of him and waits for Greg to penetrate her. Greg believed this position to be mutually beneficial. For him, it might allow a longer fuck, because he wouldn't be over-stimulated by her fantastic breasts or sexy face. He supposed it would help her get off easier as well, if she wasn't forced to look at his disgusting body.
    He couldn't be farther from the truth. Women were able to overlook physical appearance, as long as the actual sex itself was satisfactory. She, like most women, enjoyed having the sensation of losing control. Greg was initiating their physical love from behind, and it felt as though she was being taken. There was something animalistic about the canine-like coitus. Whether it was sex in the Serengeti, between beasts, or the kama sutristic acts between two humans, basic biology played a factor. Women were motivated to yield, and yield she did.
    Greg enters and begins thrusting immediately. At first, her tiny body is pushed forward near the edge of the bed. Greg's weight was inevitable, giving, and receiving at the same time. She wonders briefly how she will hold up. But then Greg grasps her hips, at the aptly named "love handles" and rocks her back and forth. With each slight withdrawal, and subsequent push, he forces her pelvis back against his, intermingling their genitals. She is in ecstasy. Her body goes limp as Greg rides her from the rear.
    "Pull my hair," she demands. Greg does so, wrapping her chestnut strands around his wrist and tugging. Her neck arches, and her breasts follow her backward. The motion increases the tension between their bodies and Rebecca is lost. The sensation of being abducted against her will is a powerful turn-on (unless it's an actual robbery, like that fateful day). The rhythmic breathing she has maintained descends into primal noises and wheezing. Her heart thuds uncontrollably.
    Her orgasm comes quickly. Greg's oral endeavors have put her on the fast track to pleasure-city. He's too enthralled to hear the hollow plunking sound her pussy has taken on. Her genitalia is fully effaced, wide open, and yet gripping. Still, neither of them notice the air pocket that bursts forth again and again, causing a pseudo flatulent sound. Pussy farts. Quiffs. Nothing to be ashamed of. It was actually a good sign the pussy was close to new. Plenty of mileage left on these lips.
    Steadily, she felt her insides balloon internally, congesting with blood and splendid warmth. Then the balloon pops, and she convulses somewhat as she climaxes. Greg can feel the sporadic flexing of her vaginal muscles and feels a burst of triumph. He has satisfied his woman. He keeps going, but her hand pushes against his belly, pleading.
    "P-please, pull out," she stammers, whisked away by her out of control body. Greg does so, and the sudden emptiness within her canal somehow increases her gratification. Her hair slips through his fingers like a soft rope as he releases the hold. Greg watches amusedly as she collapses onto her stomach, making hushed caterwauling noises. Her inner thighs gleam wetly with her own juices. That supple ass of her quivers minutely.
    "Are you okay?" Greg asks softly.
    "Holy shit," is all Rebecca can muster. It takes about a minute for her to calm down. She tries to rise to her hands and knees again, but unsteady legs do not allow her to prostrate herself once more. WIth a touch of glee, Greg grabs hold of her arm and rolls her onto her back. Her breasts flop briefly with the rollover. Rebecca's flushed face is weak and overwhelmed. Her blue eyes are rolled back into her head, and a rash-like redness covers her body here and there with blotches. Her body was pushed into overdrive, the capillaries under her skin reacting to her sensory overload.
    "you ready to give it another go?" Greg asks impatiently. He strokes his dick to maintain his erection, which has begun to peter out. The condom is lubricated generously with her pussy excretions. History doesn't always repeat itself. Events have diverged onto a different path this time. Greg's skill has surpassed his earlier foibles and he beams in the afterglow of his accomplishment.
    "I don't think I can take much more," Rebecca says unsurely. But just the same, she spreads her legs and allows him to climb on board. He pivots his rod up and down against her vag; using his penis like a pleasure-lever, he gains  influence against her protests. Probing against her lips, and especially against her clitoris, sends her into divergent depths. Pressing the head of his cock into the alcove where her clit dwells wracks her body with shudders again.
    "Oh god, Greg," she croons, "just do it already,"
    He indulges her desires and reenters. No longer feeling the need to pace himself, Greg goes at her with abandon. While jamming his renewed hardness into her, she feels the sensation threatening to swell again in those delicate innards of hers.  She's already came, now it was his turn. It didn't last long in those waning minutes, but neither complained. As he approached that pleasurable pinnacle, he leaned forward and licked the region between her breasts, tasting her salty sweat. She utters a shaky laugh at this tickling sensation. He gazes into her eyes, as his osculating motions pick up in intensity.
    "Who's your daddy?" Greg says unsteadily, "Tell me,"
"You're my daddy," Rebecca whimpers "Fuck me daddy. Cum inside me."
    This time, her paternal announcement has the intended result. Greg plunges into her one last time and loses it. His cock stiffens and swells as he blows his load. Through the thin barrier of latex, Rebecca feels him expel reflexively. Afterward, he collapses onto her. Greg has steadily lost much weight over the last few weeks, but still Rebecca is smothered by his girth. As he lays on top of her, still partially mounted, Rebecca feels claustrophobia begging to settle in. She taps his back reassuringly.
    "Good job, stud," She says chokingly, "can you get off me now please?"
    The condom was disposed of, a sopping sock in the bottom of her wastebasket. Two more condoms were used that night. The second time, Rebecca got fancy with her lovemaking and instructed him on a peculiar position. Greg was on his knees, pressing Rebecca up against the headboard of the bed. Only Rebecca's upper back was supported by the board. Her hips were bridged against him, giving the full force of gravity dominion over their sexual organs. With each thrust, Rebecca's body would hop ever so slightly, then drop back against Greg with dizzying force. The wet clapping sounds intensified as they galloped towards another mutual orgasm. At the end, he almost dropped her because of the slick layer of perspiration covering her thighs. With Rebecca continually calling him daddy throughout their exploits, it was over quickly.
    Rebecca was the one to initiate  their third amorous time. By then, Greg wasn't so much exhausted, but rather he felt as though he were in the midst of a pleasure coma. But Rebecca's dainty hand insisted they continue. She fondled and played with his frank and beans until he was raring to go again. She sensed his tiredness and opted to ride him cowgirl style. Men's arousal was much like a roller coaster: ups and downs, with frequent stops and starts. Women accumulated their arousal in a steady arc, building upon everything until it elevated them to elation.
    Greg's own roller coaster seemed derailed, but Rebecca had constantly peaked the stratosphere of her limits. She rode him desperately, pumping her hips frantically until her lower body was nearly a blur. Greg was about spent by that time, and could withstand her unending effrontery on his junk. He had cum 3 times in one day. His penis was getting pampered.
    She cupped her breast, angling it towards her mouth and suckled her own nipple like a deviant. She came again, grinding against Greg and screaming his name. He felt her butt-cheeks clench and tremble against his groin as she and the mouth of her pussy had an involved conversation. As Greg watched fascinated, a white glob was issuing from Rebbeca's heaving beaver. Girl cum. Greg was a little less enthused, and had to default to standard missionary again to spit out his last few trickles of semen in a perfunctory manner.
    Neither really remembered passing out. When they awoke the next morning, the smell of their body odor seeped into the sheets, along with the various wet spots where they bumped fuzzies. The bedside fan panned back and forth, hitting their sweaty bodies, then gazing away, like an embarrassed onlooker. Greg felt as though he had just run the Boston Marathon, and was famished. He showered while Rebecca put on a bathrobe and put the sheets in the hamper. The blankets were beyond soiled, covered in the intimate secretions of their relationship. So much for that 700 thread count, Greg thought. Dead spermies and tuna juice tended to be difficult stains to remove.
    Once finished bathing, Rebecca stepped up to rinse the after-love from her body as well. Greg caught her by the arm and pulled her towards him. He kissed her passionately, morning breath or no.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you, too," she says.

LINK TO PART 86: http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/82643853/