The Further Adventures of Cora Lee
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Renee Alexis
Word Count :23750
Publication Date :2010-11-18
Series : #
Heat Level :
Category : Erotic Romance
- Product Code: 978-1-55487-683-9
Cora Lee Jennings, innovative creator of artistic skin-flicks in the 1920s and beyond has passed away at the age of 96 in her Sunset Boulevard mansion. But she still lives, thanks to Cannes film directors who have found her movies tucked safely away in her mansion. Cora took Hollywood by storm, causing controversy in filmmaking, but she did it well and often. Now, these directors want her to live on in a new movie about the life of the famed starlet. But is Hollywood ready to revamp such movie names as Dora Do-Me, Gwendolyn Get-Me, and Harlot Hott? Of course they are because you see, Core Lee will continue to live on in the minds of all--despite the odds.
“Let me take you away, Ricky, to a land where everything is natural and simple, sex beyond the imagination is but a dream away. Are you still ready?” She looked down at his stiff shaft and knew the answer. Latta started at his temples, gently massaging them with soft, well-oiled fingers.
“Umm, that feels good, Latta.”
“You think this is something? Wait.”
Latta worked her way down his neck, rubbing the stiffness away. She watched as his head acted like it were filled with ball bearings, rolling around on his now loose neck. Yes, her magic was again working, as she knew it would. There was never a question of that.
Becoming a little excited herself she quickly blew out the remaining candle and then joined him on the bed. Her knees were on either side of his torso now, and she poured more oil onto this hot, raging body. She listened as he tried to speak and sound like he wasn’t about to explode.
“Latta! What’s going on now?”
“The best of the best. Just relax and let temptation and the unknown control your mind while I control your body.” She bent to his ear, whispering. “Don’t you dare worry, Latta would never do anything but good things to you. Do you trust me?”
“It’s just that we’ve never done anything in complete darkness, and I--”
Her slippery hands grazed down his chest, stopping at each taut nipple. She said it again while delicately pinching the extended discs. “Do you trust me, Ricky?”
The words rushed out, fueled with anticipation about her next move. “I trust you, Latta.”
“Good boy. Now, let me do what you pay me for.” Her nails raked across the hardened tips of his nipples, making his back arch. Latta rode the wave with him, then settled him back down to a quiet roar. The nails continued their trek south, massaging his ribcage, stomach, navel, and then stopped cold at the tuft of hair just above his erection.
All action in the room ceased for seconds. She wanted to hear him say those famous words, the words that got her mojo in an uproar, Lick me, Latta. Nothing was going to happen to him that night until she got what she wanted.
Within a matter of seconds, poor Ricky could take no more. With his cock now flushed against the crack of her derriere, the words tumbled out, sobbing practically, drenched with pain, anticipation and dire need. “Latta! Lick me!”
They didn’t call her Latta Lick-ems for nothing. The magic words kicked her into gear, and she slid down, resting on his chins. Though she couldn’t see the hulking mass of sexual perfection wavering in the air at the very hint of her tongue, she had seen it before. And by memory, Latta could see it, remembered every pulsating vein, the ridge around the tip, the fabulous slit in the center--and she was hungry beyond distraction! She was famished and wanted Ricky that night more so than any other night. She didn’t know why, maybe it was the wine, maybe Arturo’s concoction playing mind games on her--maybe it was Arturo himself. No, Latta figured it out, it was Professor Bedroom. The man did things to her. He was sexy, tall, smart…and hadn’t called for an appointment. Was he her first rejection? No way. He would call. He would call.
Ricky’s handsome, college football player face turned into the older, well-defined face of the Boudoir man. Her tongue snaked out to cover the slit, tasting the saltiness of it. With the Boudoir face still etched into her subconscious, she kept licking. Ricky’s howls only served to let her know she was on her job. Within seconds, Ricky’s plump mass was down her throat and waiting for the slow withdrawal. Over and over her mouth went to his base, and then to the top. The man was trembling, so was Latta for the first, and hopefully not the last time. Her hand movements pulled at the turgid erection, gripping, twisting, making his juices jump to the top of the heap and boil. Both he and Latta were waiting for combustion, and with one more swift lick, she knew she’d have him.