Trolley No. 1852 by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

Many was the night I’d gaze at the ceiling
contemplating Poe, Machen, and Blackwood whilst she hopped
ludicrously up and down on me, enfrenzied akin to a mare in heat.)
But as for this highly spirited and deliciously naked Ammi,
erecting my manhood seemed to be her most steadfast desire. It
didn’t take long before its girth actually stretched her lips. She
nearly gagged sliding it out. “Jesus Christ , mister! It’s so big I can’t
even get it all in my mouth!”
    “I—I… don’t know what to say…”
    She checked my hands,
examining them, evidently, for traces of a wedding band. “So
you’re not married?”
    “Oh, no, not anymore.”
    “Well, it’s an awful shame
that some happy woman isn’t getting this stuck in her every
night!”
    I felt foolish presuming
to converse whilst my nearly erect privates wobbled up and down,
and that was not to mention the preposterous entails of our
discourse. “I was married once but I’m afraid the halls of academe
proved far more my forte than the pastures of domesticity and
wedlock.”
    She glared at me.
“Shut up! ” and
then she yanked me to the bed and nearly threw me down on it. “Now…
I’ve just got to
know!”
    I peered toward where she now rummaged
through a drawer in the spectacular armoire. “Know what, if I may
ask?”
    “Just how big this monster is!”
she replied, returning with a tin ruler. Her frenzied hand pumped
the penile shaft in utter awe, until full erection had been
achieved, whereupon she aligned the rule to it…
    “Holy shit! ” she profaned.
    My penis, now fully invigorated, slightly
exceeded the rule’s maximum length.
    It was a twelve-inch rule.
    Ammi went all in a frenzy
now, retrieving something else from the armoire and then returning
to the bed to boldly straddle me with her bare hips. “No more
fooling around,” she determined, opening a modest foil package.
“For every minute that this gorgeous cock isn’t buried in my bush,
that’s a minute of horrible waste!”
    “What’s that… you’ve got there?” I asked, my
eyes asquint.
    “Don’t want to put a bun in little Ammi’s
oven, do you?”
    The frail, flavescent
object in her hands was a barrier prophylactic, one of the newer
Latex versions by its look. I could hardly object to its
non-prescriptive and, hence, illegal utility here, as
prostitution was no less illegal.
    Ammi’s face turned
flustered, and, again, she profaned, “Shit, your cock’s so big, I
hope it doesn’t bust the goddamn thing!”
    My frown was all-too
quick. “Ammi, if I may? Profanity does your demeanour precious little justice.”
    She squinted at me.
“The fuck? ” and
then she carefully rolled the prophylactic all the way down my
penile shaft.
    “ Now we’re talkin’,” she gasped with
a smile after essentially sitting on my erection and licensing it
full entry into her womanly channel. “God—yeah, oh, fuck that’s good… All the way in,
yeah! All the way
in!”
    The sensations were
admittedly quite pleasing but I’m afraid Ammi’s vandalism of the
English language and her crude, splayed-legged pelvic locomotions
left much to be desired. At one point she reached behind herself
and cosseted my scrotal sack, only to further profane, “For fuck’s
sake, mister. Even your balls are huge! They feel like something in the
goddamned hen house! ”
    Indeed.
    Her copulative motions
accelerated, hands on knees as she continued to pound her loins upon my phallus. As
she tended to the act, I, instead, surveyed more of the room’s
splendid features. The elaborate wainscoting was absolutely
fabulous (more of the Georgian Period) while the wall-coverings
couldn’t have pleased me more: herringbone patterns of gold and
vermillion. When I craned my neck to examine a considerable oil
landscape on the wall, I had to request, “Pardon me, Ammi, but
would you know if that formidable painting there is an original
Turner? It seems to be.”
    Her lust-pinkened face
smoldered. “Shut up!