Sins of the Cities of the Plain by Jack Saul

to have each other in the most fanciful ways we could imagine.
         Indeed, while the others rose to set about taking up their sucking and their fucking, I happened to allow my gaze to fall upon Menotti, the Italian member of our young-boy trio of guests as he continued to replenish his strengths at the cookie platter, unmolested for the first time that evening. I watched him feeding there, like a brawny, half-starved beast, and in my dizzy, half-drunken state I found that he was arousing a different kind of appetite within myself.
         In those moments I mused about what it truly might feel like to be the type of lady so taken with this sort of man, who indulged in his ill-mannered lusts so freely and with such vigor. I watched the crumbs fall from his juicy and sensuous lips as he chewed, and then as he swallowed great gulps of wine. And though I knew he was not my usual style, I felt I had to have him all the same.
         “Here, my dear,” said I as I moved to sit upon the cushion next to him. “Allow me to feed you this next biscuit, so that you might recline and feel more comfortable as you eat your fill.”
         He grinned, and without a word did so, exposing his expanse of shirtless chest and torso as he leaned back, allowing me to fill his mouth with a crumpet while thrilling to the sight of his thick and beefy body.
         “I have not had the pleasure of hearing your first name, my love,” said I, even as I pushed another cracker into his mouth, and fluttered to the feel of his lips as they wetly caressed my fingertips.
         “Antony,” said he, his mouth once again filled with crumbs. “I know your name; it is Eveline, is it not?”
         “It is indeed,” I smiled, even as I began toying with the ample flesh about his navel. “But I must stop feeding you these biscuits, lest you become fat and fall out of fashion with the boys at the square.”
         “I could care less about those boys, dear Eveline,” said Antony, even as his piercing black eyes seemed to bore into my tipsy soul. “I am a good Italian boy of the country, and I would sooner choose a pretty girl like you, who knows the way into a man’s trousers is often through his belly.”
         With those words, he brought me to his face and kissed me long and hard with his lips and his tongue, as I slipped my arms ‘round his waist and all but leapt upon him.
         Before long I was riding his great, teenaged Italian sausage, my legs splayed to either side of his muscular hips and my hungry arsehole shimmying up and down his leaning tower. All the while I stuffed him with the last of the cookies, crackers and crumpets, forcing still more wine down his throat. Before too long I brought him to a glorious spend, and he gasped and moaned rudely, though his mouth was quite full. By the time I was through with him, I mused, it would be a wonder that he could squeeze back into the snug breeches in which he was first presented to us!
         Last I fed him my own fat prick, and in my dreamy haze I imagined my cock a long and tasty pastry as it was devoured by this heated and beastly Italian boy. Soon enough, my thick spend would squirt forth, custard-like into his insatiable mouth as his own spendings flowed back down the hole of my arse under the continuing force of his renewed thrusts.
         I then, with what seemed my last ounces of strength that night, made Leon lay over me the reverse way, so that I could take his fine pego in my mouth and postillion him with my fingers; all of which he was nothing loathe to return with the greatest of ardour, ‘till we both came in the other’s mouth and racked off each other’s spunk to the last drop. Then I made him turn ‘round facing me as I still lay on my back, and so gradually bring his bottom down on my prick ‘till I got it all in, and had him ride me a delicious St. George. We kissed and tipped each other the velvet with our tongues,