High fructose corn syrup was probably an ingredient, she'd figured with genuine irritation. It was a substance she didn't approve of.
Anyway, the fucking machine was apparently completely drained of its version of cum, due to her incessant sexual demands. Unfortunately, that feature seemed realistic enough to her.
“No!” she sobbed, not believing this was happening. “Goddamn it!”
“It'll be fine,” her father's voice attempted to sooth the girl. “Sweetie, you need to let me rest and then refill…” and here a mechanical voice inserted the required substance, ”…Liquid #245.”
“Fine,” she sighed, but was still angry. “And then you'll keep fucking me?”
Her father's voice was strangely silent, and then a female voice, sounding very much like a voice-programmed secretary-type, announced, “Kendra, your father's in a very important meeting at the moment. He'll get back to you as quickly as he can. Goodbye, dear.”
And the sound of an office phone clicking dead confirmed her fears.
Her own dad, after fucking her long and hard to get all the sick pleasure he could out of her sweet little cunt for himself, had bailed on her.
It was just so unfair!
She sighed and slid limply off the soft leather seat onto the floor, her bare feet slipping out of the leather stirrups for the first time in over eleven hours. Her feet did seem sort of sore, she had to admit. And her bare ass was sort of numb, at least in a couple of spots.
Her pussy, on the other hand, was perfectly fine, swollen and soaking wet, but fine, her clitoris still tingling in that special way it had.
And then, in a gradual return to clarity as she lay there, naked and sweaty and dazed, full of robot-cum and staring up at the high ceiling of her penthouse, she realized what she'd been thinking-it was crazy!
The machine was just that, a machine, not her father at all.
A near-fantastic fucking machine, it was true, and one that she'd definitely speak to the techs about, regarding boosting the power and possibly adding a clitoral stimulator, but only a damn machine nonetheless.
And it simply needed maintenance, and a matter of refilling a vital liquid or two, before it could start fucking her again.
In other words, though, it had quit before she had.
Which caused a further realization to come to her: she'd actually out-fucked a fucking machine.
It seemed impossible, but it was true.
And what she'd always considered to be an exaggeration throughout her entire young life had finally proven to be the absolute truth all along. She smiled to herself, a flush of pride spreading warmly within her at the thought of it.
Kendra Wilson had a pussy that just wouldn't quit.
Student Sex Club
When I started the Student Sex Club with my little sister, Margie, a sweet-tempered blonde 4th-grader two years younger than me, I never expected so many students from our elementary school would join.
The idea came to me late one spring afternoon while I was fucking her in our basement laundry room. The washer and dryer were running loudly beside us, to cover the sounds of Margie's groaning cries of illicit pleasure.
Even though both of our parents were still at work, it was an early habit we'd formed- Margie was something of a loudmouth when it came to sex.
“Fuck me harder, Justin,” she was breathing into my ear. “ Harder! ”
My 12-year-old rigid dick was pounding into her slippery little cunt with a mind all its own. If not with an actual mind, it was very much alive, at least, all youthful nerve endings, throbbing veins and such. And every quick thrust of my bare hips between her skinny legs drove my kid sister into further urgings for: more fucking, harder fucking, deeper fucking and even still faster fucking!
For a little 10-year-old, she knew exactly what she wanted.
“Ohhh, it feels so good!” she kept moaning. “Make me come again, just one more time! Uhhh! More, more! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Oh, God, Justin, I love fucking so much! I could fuck all day and night!”
It was the perfect set-up down there.
Margie's bare little ass was squirming around in the large pile of laundry to be done next. We often screwed on the laundry pile so her juicy underage pussy, flowing like a tiny river, would empty itself into the dirty clothing to be soon washed.
Washed by us.
Even though every kid we knew hated doing laundry, or even picking up or throwing their dirty clothes into the hamper, we both helped out around the house any way we could.
And when I came, a small river in its own right, my narrow but thrumming dick usually spurted out more cum than Margie's bald cunt could accommodate. So doing it on the dirty laundry pile, we were assured that the backwash of my young semen-and the big sploogy mess it made when I pulled out-would also end up on the soon-to-be-washed clothes.