Uschi! Read Online Free Page B

palming a basketball, the tit so sizeable in contrast with his hand. In the beginning, Uschi was the effort behind his hand kneading her breast flesh, but eventually he caught on to what it was she desired and in little time flat he managed doing it very well all on his lonesome. He teased and pinched the nipple. The condition of her skin was room temperature and a hint mushy. Quite pleasant to Denny’s way of thinking.
    Uschi was having a good time. These piggish grunts of delight came from her drooling like a Mongoloid’s mouth. Eyes were now half-lidded in an erotic passion.
    Next came the kissing. Almost teenagery stuff at the start, awkward and tentative. But it promptly graduated to a wildly passionate business, sloppy and primal, really digging in with the tongue and the lip actions, lost in enjoying the taste of one another. Denny sent a hand wandering to Uschi’s clitoris. It was a hard and withered beef jerky protuberance of flesh. He aimed to manipulate it to the best of his stunted abilities. This was foreign territory for Denny, striving to make the experience as good for his partner as it was for him. This was so much more than any of his other sexual encounters. Who cares if the hooker gets off? But here, for the first time ever, he was getting it on hot and heavy with an individual he had feelings for. His lady deserved a skilled and sharing lover.
    There was no need for worry. Uschi never made a complaint one over Denny’s fingering. Her voluptuous hips rolled in a Charo “Cuchi-cuchi!” manner at the ecstasy this brought her. Silty and thick and sticky like sand mixed together with Kayro syrup vaginal moisture dribbled from her sex and ran between his busy fingers. The female musk from it taking dominance of the kitchen space’s air, a stench strongly similar to vomit and burning tires.
    They finally separated at Uschi’s urging. She stepped back a few steps and whipped the hair out of her face with a smart toss of her head. Meanwhile, Denny sank down off the counter, at last back solidly on two feet and the strained muscles in his calves and thighs on fire; legs were shaky but managing to keep him erect. His aching erection was the purplish shade of a glowing neon tube on low wattage. Her lipstick had left a slutty red smear along his mouth. A residue of some sour, unsanitary substance was liberally filming his teeth and tongue, the aftertaste of a zombie’s kiss. It put him in mind of taking a big swig from a toilet bowl that had a number of cigarette butts floating in its soiled water.
    Denny held his ground, didn’t make a move one on her. This was Uschi’s show, he decided without once ever consciously realizing he’d slipped over to a submissive state in this young relationship. Let her lead him into what she wanted next.
    In a liquid smooth series of motions she was stepping past Denny and opening the refrigerator. Her barbed wire stitching shined in the bulb’s light that blinked on as she pulled the door back wide. She got the jar of Miracle Whip sandwich spread. She knew right where to go in the fridge to get it—second shelf, behind the jug of milk and past the plate of last night’s Popeye’s fried chicken leftovers. No hesitation, no sign of having to search the jar out, like she’d been living here for a long while now and had been putting it in and taking it out countless times before whenever she wanted to mix up tunafish or add a spoonful to her bowl of red beans.
    As Denny watched, Uschi unscrewed the lid and tossed it in the sink, where it clattered like an old man’s denture plate dropped to the bottom of an empty drinking glass. She plunged her hand in the jar up to the wrist and then brought it back out slimed and dripping in greasy, congealed white mayonnaise substitute. Now she returned to him, leaving the Miracle Whip jar behind on the counter, her figure backlit by the refrigerator’s door light behind her.
    Denny gulped like a sidekick from an old B western