17

In the urgency of the stalled fuck she did not care. As Eric revved the car and swung out of the garage, as he drove the few short miles through town to the suburb where Daniella spent holidays living with her father, she lay on the back seat with her legs spread, fingering herself in hot expectation. If her partner-in-lust gave a damn about her pussy leaking all over the suede upholstering of his car he did not show it. He was all grimly intent demeanour and silent willing of traffic at busy junctions, as he homed in on the destination where he would complete his defilement.

Jonathan Blanchford's car was notably absent from the gravel drive that fronted the house when they arrived. 'You sure he's not going to make an appearance?' Eric asked, as he pulled Daniella briskly from her reclining position and out of the vehicle.

'Playing cricket. He won't be back for another hour,' she said, face flushed as he propelled her towards the front door of the plush Blanchford residence. 'Why, you scared?'

'Just get us inside.' He clapped his hand hard to her bum right on the base of the plug, with no thought as to what neighbours or passers-by might see. She shrieked, then almost quivering with renewed longing delved into her Sarah Bergman bag and rummaged till she found the keys. Then Eric was bustling her into the house where she had grown up, hardly allowing her time to switch off the security alarm, shoving her tee-clad form into the...

'Kitchen?' He was dragging open the big refrigerator door, still clutching her by the arm, before she'd registered what was going on.

'Forgot the lube,' he explained tersely, as he ransacked the fridge's contents. 'Need to improvise. Butter - too damn hard. Got to be something... Here we go, shit, this is fucking perfect. And it's full, too.' She was already palpitating when he slammed shut the stainless steel door and shoved her up against it, brandishing the can of squirt cream in front of her. 'Ever played with this?'

She shook her head mutely, awaiting his next move in a kind of joyous turmoil. Then he was grabbing her tee-shirt by the hem, ripping it upwards and dragging it over her head and off her arms to expose her fully once more, this time in her dad's kitchen. He wrenched the top off the can of compressed cream and pinned her to the fridge, pointing the long nozzle in her face. 'Now where first?' She watch him flip it downwards and hit the trigger hard, felt the cold splurge of refrigerated cream all over her tits. Felt him trail the nozzle down her stomach leaving a creamy trail, till he fitted it between her pussy lips and shot a brief blast into her recently fucked channel.

He was down on his knees next second grabbing her ass, his tongue thrusting inside her, feasting on the synthetic cream as it melted into her cunt juice. She could not help but picture her dad's expression were he to walk in now and find Eric tongue-fucking all the flavour out of her right there in the old family kitchen. Or her mother for that matter, were she to make one of her rare return-appearances - jealous perhaps to see her daughter being eaten out so thoroughly? Her hands pressed flat against the steel surface as she succumbed totally to Eric's ravenous enjoyment.

Delicious, so fucking delicious. The cream was just garnish to the gourmet delight that was Daniella. Having scooped the last of the sweetness from the hot receptacle of her cunt, he followed the trail he had left back up her body, till his tongue was slavering over her stickily-coated tits. He skated in broad circles over one gorgeous mound, lapping up every last trace of cream till he was focused on the sore nipple, sucking it hard. Then he repeated the process on her other breast, lavishing his tongue on her, homing in on the tender peak. She was still bleating in pained response to his sucking attentions when he rose, put his mouth on hers and engaged her in a creamy tongue-kiss.

The union of their mouths was long and luxurious and soon he felt his cock pressing bone-hard against his jeans once more. He let her hear the zipper's rasp and saw the flash of response in her eyes. 'Knees,' was all he said, and she slithered her naked back all the way down the fridge surface, till she was kneeling dutifully on the kitchen floor before his freshly exposed cock. He had already taken the canister and he sprayed generously from base to tip, leaving a great inviting blob dancing on the glans.

Daniella's eyes widened up at the treat proffered to her in Daddy's kitchen - a hard cock frosted like a great cream-doughnut for her delectation. So fucking naughty. She licked the great glob from the head with relish, then gobbled her way down the shaft, sucking and slurping the fondant mess from Eric's smooth, bulged length. She took him in again all the way, then relinquished him, creamy drool dangling between her lips and his dick, running down her chin. Then she skated above and below, covering all of his surface to the very balls, licking him clean. She even rubbed him, saliva-soaked all over her face and he just stood motionless and staring, letting her get on with it.

They were both off-script and improvising now, and Eric was somehow fine with that. In fact, he wouldn't have had it any other way. Maybe he could never bend this girl completely to his will. But the fun was in the trying. He hoisted her from under the armpits to her feet and locked her into another long, hard kiss. Then 'Bedroom, now,' he said, having broken their lip-lock, and her eyes blazed with fearful, needy anticipation. He had made a promise and they both knew he intended to keep it.

Daniella found herself dragged once more through the hallway, then stumbling up the stairs to the second storey, compelled by a madman with a dog leash and a can of compressed dessert cream. She was just as compelled from within herself, though. At least part of his dynamic lust was down to her, she knew that now, and with every move he made her heart and loins exulted. 'Which room?' he demanded, and she indicated with her head. He hauled her inside; she watched his eyes flick around for a moment to take in the sparsely-adorned walls of Jonathan Blanchford's divorcee bedroom. Then he threw her face-down and yelping onto the navy covers of the adequately-made bed.