A Girl's Adventure - full length erotic novel by Chloe Thurlow Page A

roof tiles and the golden dust that hung in the air was the microscopic scales of dinosaurs.
    Bill had finished his examination. ‘Down,’ he now instructed.
    He reached up to take a clump of hair and forced her down on her knees. He unzipped his trousers, pulled his cock from his pants and pushed it unceremoniously between her lips. ‘Start slow and easy, you know what I mean, then build up to a climax,’ he told her like he was giving a violin lesson.
    Greta bowed her mouth up and down the stretched rubbery skin, her taste buds assaulted by unwashed towels, the tip of her tongue flicking and tickling his cock, pressing down with her lips and teeth, slow and easy, just as he said, teasing the thing like a cat with a mouse. She thought with practice she could be really good at this.
    Greta was aware of her own scent as vaginal fluids oozed from her, dewing her thighs. Sweat ran down her back and chest, her bottom was wet, her nipples throbbed and tingled. The ring of her anus popped gratuitously and she took the smelly cock deeper into her mouth, wrapping the meaty shaft in her curled tongue. She bobbed backwards and forwards, eyes pressed shut, oblivious to everything except that fleeting moment and it occurred to her that she was completely and hopelessly addicted. It was a drug. One fix and you’re hooked. I’m a sex addict. A nymphomaniac. How astonishing. How marvellous.
    If the nuns could only see me now.
    She smiled at the thought, and it wasn’t easy smiling in that position, and at that same moment she felt a tiny drop of liquid touch the roof of her mouth, just a speck, and he withdrew his throbbing cock, spraying her face with a thick frothy squirt of come, over her eyes and nose, back into her open mouth, the gooey stuff coursing down her chin to drop in globs on to her breasts. He was panting for breath.
    ‘Don’t move. Don’t move,’ he gasped.
    He shook the last drop of semen from the end of his cock and it landed on the curve of her tummy.
    ‘Don’t you dare move,’ he said again.
    He tapped his cock on her chin and cheeks as if he were playing a drum and she remembered the drummers in the street with their curling dreadlocks and lusty rhythms. He pushed out a pall of smoky breath and took a fresh gasp of air with a sigh. He then leaned back, legs apart, and an arc of hot beery urine splashed into her cleavage.
    Greta remained motionless, unable to move, shocked and sickened and strangely thrilled, gripped by the very repugnance of what he was doing.
    He changed the angle, the flow rising up across her chin, into her surprised mouth, in her ears and nose, across her hair and it ran in trickles over her shoulders and down her back, an endless cascade of steamy bitter-tasting piss that soaked her bra, seeped into her knickers and mixed a cocktail with her own flowing juices. This was disgusting, outrageous. She was beyond redemption and she adored her own sense of complete and utter abandon.
    Bill shook off the last drips and stuck his shrinking cock back in her mouth. ‘Lick the tip,’ he said, and she ran her tongue scrupulously over the dimpled groove with its vinegary taste of stale lemons. When she had finished, he pulled out and stood back with a furious expression.
    ‘Look at the mess you’ve made here,’ he said. ‘You’d better get it cleaned up, then clean yourself, you dirty bitch.’
    He kicked a filthy towel across the room and she patiently crawled over the hard floor on her hands and knees to wipe away the puddles of pee. She wrung out the towel in the loo, and when she went back to start again it felt as if she were in a play yet to be written but she could visualise the scene clearly on stage at the National. When she had done a thorough job she stepped into the bath. There was no hook for the shower and she sat under the meagre trickle of water holding the shower head. Bill put the lavatory lid down and scratched his grizzled chest as he sat.
    ‘I’ll tell you what I’m