Sexually explicit, read at your own risk
Borrowing one of the brother’s rooms, this would not be lovemaking but compulsion. For a year I had visions of Charlotte naked. Her forbidden green eyes now laced with passion (and alcohol), glanced up as she pulled down her panties. Every pore tingled when she came forward and cradled my head in her hands, guiding my face to the thin wisps of pubic hair and the taste of her wetness. Instinctively I knew that this was completely out of character for her, but Giggy came all over the bed. Then twice again inside her when she mounted me. First she was Janie Weissberger, desperately seeking something lost in the darkness, then Jed’s silhouette on a midnight ride, one hand whipping the air while clutching her own breast with the other, yelling “Fuck Me! Fuck Me Harder!” There were thin blue veins barely noticeable near the surface of her breast as she leaned forward to force her nipple into my mouth. Her eyes were lasers as she grabbed my cock to violently shove it back inside, jumping and slapping my chest. Each successive orgasm became more ferocious until finally she was flailing wildly and screaming. I pulled out and held her with both arms. “Don’t Stop! I Want More!” she begged in my ear as I held on and felt her legs clamp around my waist. The pulsating pleading gradually diminished to a whisper. Then, for a terrible instant, everything ceased. Her arms fell limply to the mattress, legs still wrapped around me. I prayed she wasn’t dead and held on hoping for some sign. The answer came with a rumbling belch as breathtaking, green-eyed Charlotte Hamilton threw up all over the bed, then turned to the wall and began to cry. I curled up behind her cupping her breasts with my hands.