Lana, gymnastically

Lana McCool is next. Unlike the others, she’s sitting in a large, heavy, well-padded armchair that must have been a pain to drag into position. It was an old chair the first time I ever laid eyes on it, but Heather’s parents have it reupholstered whenever it starts looking old and worn because it’s a) comfortable and b) nearly indestructible. I move to kneel down in front of the chair, thinking vaguely about past visits to Heather’s house, but Lana stops me with a hand.

“Andrew, Alyssa and I talk often,” she says with a saucy grin. “When you made your . . . business proposition, I was almost the first person she told about it.” Something about that “almost” makes me think there might be something important here. Later. “She’s been keeping me abreast of your adventures.” The pun draws giggles from the other girls; I have to admit, it makes me smile, too. “What’s more,” Lana adds, “I’m good friends with Keri Seaver, too—we competed against her school a lot, and I got to know her pretty well. That girl loves to gossip. After her first session with you, she messaged me, figuring I might know you; when I told her you’re a good friend, she just had to dish. She’s been giving me all the details ever since.”

As hot as my face feels by this point, I must be glowing like a stoplight. My blushes clearly amuse Lana, because she has to pause to stifle a giggle of her own before continuing, “She told me about one thing in particular that I really want to try.” She stands up, grabbing the towel and whipping it around, and waves me into the chair. “It’s why I insisted on dragging this chair over here, as heavy as it is: I need something that heavy.”

Lana shimmies out of her skirt, dropping it on the floor and leaving herself completely naked from the waist down. She steps up onto the chair’s wide, flat arms—I shift my hands into my lap to make room for her—and arranges the towel around my neck and shoulders, then swings one strong, slender leg up across my shoulder and the chair back. She grabs the back with both hands and swings the other leg up, enclosing my head and filling my face with her wet, fragrant slit, then shifts her hands to grip my head. I grab her sexy ass with both hands and pull her even closer, fastening my lips across hers and avidly drinking her girl-honey. She tastes as good as she smells, tangy and sweetly spicy, and moans even more sweetly at the touch of my lips and tongue. “Ooooh, baby, yeah, baby, fuck that’s good,” she croons. “Eat my pussy, sexy man, eat my pussy and make me cum.” Sexy man? I’ve heard that sort of language from clients, but hearing one of my high school friends call me that hits me in a whole new way.

Lana starts moving slowly against me, flexing her ass in my hands and rubbing her twat up and down my face. When she shifts far enough to let me stick my tongue in her honeypot, I take quick advantage, plumping it up and plunging it in as deep as I can. “Ohhhhh, fuck, yes, yes, yes, yes, more, more, more,” she moans. “Mmmmm, fuck me with that big fat tongue . . . it feels so good in my hot, wet cunt . . . Andrew, baby, this is so hot . . . I’m so horny, you’ve got me so fucking wet . . . Taste how wet I am, sexy man, feel how hot I am, taste how horny you’ve made me . . . Squeeze my tight little ass, stick your tongue in my cunt, taste me, feel me, make me cum . . .”

I flex and wriggle my tongue, trying to lick out as much of Lana’s honeypot as I can. Her moans get higher and louder, and her fingers move spasmodically in my hair. “More—more—more—” she begs. “So good—so hot—so horny—so close—don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop—so close—make me cum, Andrew, please, make me cum on your face don’t stop don’t stop so close don’t fucking stop—”

I don’t think Lana really needs me holding her up—she can hold herself in position; I just like the excuse to grab her ass—so I reach up and around her thigh and slip a few fingers into her slit. I swipe them across her lovebud and she blows like Old Faithful. She screams my name at the top of her lungs and her cunt squeezes my tongue in a velvet vise as her climax seizes her body. She writhes and undulates, rubbing her sex hard against my face; my nose hurts and breathing is out of the question—there’s nothing to breathe but girl-cum—but I’ve done this more than a few times before. I keep rubbing her clit and flexing my tongue as deep in her cunt as I can reach (which is even deeper now than it was) while she goes wild on my face.

At last, Lana’s body slumps, and she shifts away from my face a little. I think she probably figures once is all she gets in this position, but I have other ideas. The angle would make it hard to push two fingers into her fucktunnel, but I think one will work . . .

It does. Lana stiffens like she’s being electrocuted when she feels me pierce her sex and find her G-spot with my index finger. I stretch my head a little and slurp her pearl into my mouth, and she trembles. “Ohhhhhhh, fuuuuuuuuuck . . .” she wails. I massage her G-spot slowly, which is the most I can do, and slowly suckle her clit; from her high, broken, frantic cries, you’d think I was pounding her hard. I start humming a slow, bluesy bassline in counterpoint to my efforts (I don’t remember which one this is—something from one of Marvin Gaye’s songs, I think), and her squirming gets wilder. I pleasure her button avidly but gently, enjoying licking and suckling it, enjoying how crazy it’s making her. I keep expecting her to cum, but she keeps going higher and higher and higher.

Finally, I give her clit a very light scrape with my teeth, and Lana breaks. She shrieks, impossibly loud and high, and arches her back enough that I have to pull back with my head to keep some sort of balance. Her cunt goes into paroxysms around my finger, her thighs clamp tightly around my head, and she shakes violently. I suck her clit hard into my mouth—as much to give myself a bit of room around my nose as anything—and her shriek shifts into a full-throated howl.

By the time Lana relaxes and carefully gets herself down, the towel is about soaked through. Alyssa comes up and grabs it before it gets girl-cum all over my shirt, then goes off to dispose of it somewhere. I stand up and Lana collapses into the chair, breathing hard. She looks up at me and pants, “That—was—intense . . .”