Dave and Theresa and their three-year old daughter Kate have been staying in our guest bedroom for the last week and a half, while they look for a new house to rent. It has been kind of fun, although I could definitely see it getting old if the stay lasts too long. They are good friends, they are good guests, the kids play well together. And Dave is pretty easy on the eyes; I wouldn’t mind awfully walking in on him in the shower one day. Or him walking in on me. Or maybe Theresa, for that matter; she’s got kind of a nice body.
There is someone in the bedroom. Ordinarily this would concern me, but for some reason tonight it doesn’t. Jake, my husband, is slumbering next to me, snoring softly and steadily; Lela, our daughter, is asleep in her own bed in the adjoining room. The stranger closes the door quietly behind him, and quietly traverses the laundry-strewn floor, all the way over to the bed.
It is Dave, of course. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this happening: this, or something very much like it. He pauses at the foot of the bed, and I can see his tall, slender form in the mostly-dark. There is just enough starlight seeping in through the window for me to see that he is naked, and that his cock, while not yet fully erect, is fat and thick between his legs.
Silently, he lifts up the covers and gently slides into bed, sliding up right between my feet, and my legs part for him like an automatic door. I sleep naked, I always have, ever since I was a girl, and my nude pussy is suddenly sopping wet: hot, slick, and exposed. I feel his breath tickling my sensitive parts. Next to us, my husband stirs in his sleep and we both freeze.
Jake shifts his body and his breathing settles, falling into a deeper sleep. Dave and I both relax, and Dave shimmies up a little higher, nudging my thighs wider apart, until his face is right up in my kitty. His strong hands are on my inner thighs. He sticks out his tongue and starts licking.
I am in heaven! His tongue dances around, exploring, teasing, lavishing affection only to dart coyly away. How long has it been since I’ve had a good, honest-to-god pussy licking? Ages! Certainly since before Lela was born. Jake used to be pretty good at it. Dave is *amazing* at this, and not only that but he is really into it! I chew on my pillow, willing my hips not to buck too wildly, willing myself not to grab him by the hair and mash him into my crotch as his insistent tongue drives me closer and closer to the brink.
He is concentrating on my clit now, my poor long-neglected clitoris. It is almost too much; almost, but not quite. He is flicking that sensitive little button with the tip of his tongue, steady as a metronome, while fingers (how many, I honestly have no idea) plumb the depths of my drooling pussy. I feel a finger pressing against my asshole, and I start to slip over the edge. I raise my ass up off the mattress, offering myself to him, gnawing a ragged wet hole in the red flannel pillow case. When he is done licking, I want him to slither further up my body, and slip that big fat hard dick of his straight up my pussy, husband or no husband. I want to fuck him.
Just as I am about to slide past that glorious point of no return, I wake up. The house is quiet. Jake is snoring next to me. My pussy is wet, my hand is pressed between my legs. The orgasm that was building evaporates and slips away.
I might wake Jake up with a blowjob. I might reach over and fondle him until he’s hard, then climb on top and ride him until we both come. I’m not sure how he’d react if I were to do that. Would he be annoyed? Into it? Would he feel grudgingly obligated? Would he grunt and roll over and pretend not to wake up? I think about slipping downstairs and turning on some porn, but it seems like too much effort, and we do have house guests. I look at the clock. It is almost 3. I roll over and fall back asleep.
I can lick my own pussy. It’s a stretch, but I’m pretty limber, and I’ve been taking yoga for years. I can get my head just far enough down so that I can get the tip of my tongue on my clit. I can’t hold the position; I’m only good for two or three licks at a time, but that’s all I need. I curl up on the bed, like a cat grooming herself. My clitoris is pink and bulbous, straining out. The stretch doesn’t even hurt. My face is right down in my pussy, my swollen, wet pussy. I savor my own smell, my own taste, my sex. It is intoxicating. I lap at my clit, once, twice, three times, while my fingers explore the depths of my pussy. I relax, letting my back straighten up, and then go down again, licking myself, pushing myself closer and closer toward ecstasy. While I am down there, I luxuriate in watching my own fingers fuck myself. It is pornographic, in the very best sense of the word. I wish it were Dave’s cock I was watching slide wetly between my pink and puffy labia. Lick, lick, lick, relax. I take a deep breath and dive in again. I am close, so fucking close. Lick, lick, lick. I wish Dave’s cock was in my ass, and Jake’s in my cunt, and I was sandwiched between the two men; I wish Theresa were licking my pussy, I wish it were Dave, or Jake’s, or anyone’s tongue but mine dancing on my clitoris, bringing me inexorably closer and closer to orgasm. Lick, lick, relax. My fingers are buried to the knuckles in my cunt. I can’t quite get there. I can’t quite come. I could get up and grab my trusty vibrator from my underwear drawer, but that seems like so much trouble and so very far away, and then, fuck! The dream changes.
The shower is hot and steaming, and the spray of water cascading down my body feels delicious. I am just starting to wonder whether I have enough time and privacy to rub one out real quick-like, when Jake walks into the bathroom. Horny disappointment and frustration wash over me, and I feel like I might cry. What the fuck does *he* want in here? Can’t a girl get five minutes of quiet, alone time?
And then I see what he wants. Jake has taken off his sweatshirt, and his pants, and his cock juts straight out, the size and shape of a railroad spike. He pushes naked through the shower curtain, getting down on his knees in the warm, soapy water, and sticks his head in between my ass cheeks.
I sigh, pressing my hands against the plastic wall of the shower stall, the cheap, mildew-ridden one we’ve intended to replace and upgrade for years, but have yet to get around to. I arch my back, thrusting my ass out, offering myself to him.
His tongue parses up and down the cleft between my cheeks before zeroing in on my tight, crinkled, freshly washed little anus, which is suddenly screamingly sensitive and crying for the attention. The sensation is delightful, delicious, unspeakable hedonistic. Even back in the old days of hot-n-heavy sex, this is not something that he has ever done for me. To be fair, I never explicitly asked him to do it, but I have certainly whacked off to the idea more than once.
His tongue is probing deeper, deeper, worming its way up my rear end. The sensation is exquisite. His tongue feels like it is about a yard long, a wiggling, squirming, slippery eel, teasing and tormenting my asshole, sending shards of kinky, deviant, glorious pleasure up and down my spine, making my nipples stiffen and poke straight out, making my clit swell and throb with every perverted lick.
I reach down to play with my clit while Jake eats my asshole out, and discover that in place of a clitoris, I have grown myself a cock. What a delightful development! My hand wraps around my swollen, erect rod, jerking myself off, savoring the new sensations.
I push Jake away before he can make me come like this. He comes up, wet and grinning. I brandish my brand-new erection. I am going to skewer him. I am going to bend my husband over and fuck him up the ass, fuck him deep and hard, make him cry out, and then I am going to come deep inside him. And when I am done, he can get off however he wants. He can come in my mouth, or on my tits, or in my pussy, or in my ass for that matter, wherever he wants. He can even fuck Theresa while I watch, I really don’t give a shit, I am so turned on!
Pale morning light is streaming in through the bedroom window. Jake is already downstairs, making coffee. Is there a term for the female equivalent of morning wood? I have it, in spades. My pussy is slippery and swollen, my clit is irritatingly erect. I can hear Dave and Theresa making morning sounds in the guest bedroom. The kids will be up soon.
I *will* have an orgasm today, by hook or, as they say, by crook. I will.
God damn it.
It has been a long dry spell, and my whole body vaguely aches for it, from the heels of my feet to the root of my cock and beyond. It has been a very long dry spell, for complicated reasons that I won’t go into here, and that I don’t fully understand myself. So when my hot sort-of co-worker Leighla asked me to go to this party with her, I didn’t hesitate one moment. I said “Yes.” Not that I had anything else going on tonight anyway.
Leighla navigates me confidently through an Upper West Side neighborhood that could be in another state, in another country as far as I’m concerned. This is not my New York City, not by a thousand miles. Here, I am the foreigner. Leighla’s skirt swishes as she walks, concealing hidden pleasures within, and I become acutely aware of the balls and penis hanging thick between my legs. We stop at a bodega, and she picks out two pieces of fruit that I do not recognize. She hands me one, and we eat as we walk. It is cloyingly sweet, and the juice runs down my face and sloshes all over my hands and runs down my neck. It makes me think of eating pussy, which makes me think of *her* pussy, and I blush.
I don’t know Leighla well. I don’t, in fact, know much more about her than her name. She works on a different floor from me; sometimes I see her in meetings, or in the building lobby, or sitting on a bench in the atrium, eating lunch out of a battered old X-Men lunchbox, circa 1980. She is attractive in a not-my-type sort of way. Not that I’m entirely sure I even have a type. I suspect that she is out of my league in any case. She reminds me of a tree, maybe a mountain ash: tall and slender and lithe; rooted but always in motion, crowned with a canopy of burgundy curls.
It is not my kind of party, not that I have a particular party type. It’s not my scene, not at all. I lose Leighla almost immediately, and find myself tossed adrift on a stormy sea, full of social flotsam and jetsam. Graduate students and their professors, all talking shop, the dialect of a tribe I am not conversant in. A smug-looking 20-something kid with a epic sideburns, a flannel lumberjack shirt and a John Deere baseball cap is holding court on the couch, surrounded by professor’s wives, regaling them all with some utterly fictional story about hunting deer in the Catskills. Even I can see the size of the bulge in his crotch, and I’m not in the habit of checking out other dude’s packages. The kid is preening like a well-fed house cat, reveling gleefully in the attention, absolutely bubbling over with smug self-satisfaction. I go off in search of a drink.
I do obtain a drink for myself, and set off to do some prowling of my own. I overhear someone whisper that the punch has been spiked with MDMA. This does not unduly concern me.I wander into the kitchen and get cornered next to the refrigerator by a woman ten years older than me, twenty pounds heavier, with a big fat diamond ring weighing down her left hand. She has olive skin and sad, hungry brown eyes, and she is wearing tight black pleather leggings that it looks like she has been extruded into: some industrial process involving pistons and hydraulic rams. Her thighs are thick and soft; her sweater is deep and voluminous. She tells me that she is working on a project to decode the genome of the malayan tapir. While she is talking, she makes flirtatiously aggressive eye contact and fiddles the stir stick in her cocktail suggestively, and I am just starting to think that I may be getting somewhere with her, and that getting somewhere might not be an at all bad thing when Leighla swoops back in.
“Hey, I heard there’s roof access,” she says, deftly cutting me off from Mrs. Horny Geneticist and tugging me along behind her. “Let’s sneak up onto the top of the building and fool around!”
‘Fool around’? I’m not sure exactly what she means by that, but my dick has it’s won suspicions. I follow Leighla, abandoning my new friend to the tides.
This apartment is HUGE. Just enormous, almost an embarrassment. You could fit like 6 of my studios in here, and still have room left over to sublet. None of the rooms seem to have the rumored roof access. There is a fire escape behind the kitchen window, but the way out is obstructed by a jungle of potted plants and dangling Le Creuset pans that appear to have never been sullied by the crass act of actual cooking.
It is late, and the ecstasy likes to dilate time and space. I may have placed my hand on Leighla’s breast as we rounded a corner into another dead end; she may have gently but firmly removed it. Without bothering to knock, we barge straight through a closed door into the master bedroom, and that is when I see him. My young hipster nemesis, of recent couch fame. He has brought a friend along with him, and they are tangled up atop the sheets, sullying our host’s linen. His shirt is off, his chest smooth and pink, decorated with an obligatory tattoo. She is older than I am; tall and blonde and busty, with thick, pale thighs, and just a little bit of a poochy belly bulging over her Vicky’s Secret purple panties, extra high-cut up the sides and sporting a little pink bow front and center. Her tits are big, and if they were probably a little bit perkier fifteen years ago, they are still pretty damn nice. Nipples fat, stiff and pink; pearl earrings and a discrete little tattoo of pink and blue stars on her ankle. Ring on her finger. She is somebody else’s wife. There is a lot of that going around tonight.
Through his tight black hipster jeans, I can clearly see the outline of his cock. Damn, the kid is really hung. Leighla sees it too. She nudges me and grins. All wrapped up in their own thing, they haven’t noticed us yet.
Sweet mercy, it’s been a long time! My brain seethes with jealousy while my less judgmental cock sproings up into an unabashedly erect state. Leighla and I watch the two of them make out on the bed, getting hotter and heavier by the minute, hands and mouths roaming with frenzied urgency, a pair of over-aged horny teens making out on the sly. It is better than any porn video I’ve ever watched. He is slobbering all over her big, beautiful tits, and I am hating his guts.
Her panties come down. Her pussy is shaved bald, puffy lips pouting open, hints of moist pink treasures within. Four eager hands unbutton and remove the kid’s exceedingly tight hipster pants. A fat cock, large and rubbery, disturbingly realistic, held in place with straps and harness, flops free. Below the dildo, his own penis, not exactly tiny, but certainly not large by any stretch of the imagination, points straight out: bobbing up and down like an eager kid in the third-grade class who knows the answer. “Call on me! Call on me!”
She is unamused by his little deception, I can see it all over her face, a frown of reprobation: teacher caught the kid cheating. But she doesn’t say anything; she is also too far gone to stop now. Perhaps that was his gambit all along. They lay face-to-face atop the fancy white linens, naked but for his white socks and strap-on rig; his hands fondling her buttocks, her fingers busy with her own pussy. Leighla takes my hand and squeezes.
“The very least you could do,” she tells him huskily, “is lick my little kitty.”
Apparently, that is the very least he could do. I can almost hear him sigh with the annoyance of the chore. She sprawls on her back across the bed, legs splayed wide open, breasts pancaked. and he crawls in between her thighs and half-hearted laps at her pussy. This is when she sees us, Leighla and I, standing by the door. She raises an eyebrow and makes a wry face. ‘See what I’ve gotten myself into,’ she seems to be saying.
I would have spent a lot longer, and been way more enthusiastic about eating her out, but hey, that’s me and my appetites, and I’ve been deprived lately. Anyway, after a quick two minutes, he comes up with a smug air of completion on his face, apparently feeling like he’s done his duty and is ready for the next act.
She does not argue the point. They roll over and once again he is on the bottom. He still has not seen us. She straddles him, facing us, reverse-cowgirl style. She grins and winks in our direction, grabs his big fat strap-on dildo, and inserts it into her pussy. It slides easily up inside, and she sighs a deep, fat sigh of contentment. She starts riding him, bouncing up and down, grinding back and forth. Her pussy makes sexy slurping sounds as it devours the dildo. She plays with her clit, pinching it delicately between two ladylike fingers as she fucks. His real, undersized but flesh-and-blood penis bounces futilely as they fuck, oozing frustration and pre-come.
Leighla nudges me, then nudges me again. With her eyes, she tells me what she wants me to do. Not exactly my cup of tea, but I do not object.
I climb up on the bed with them, insinuate myself in between his legs, and proceed to suck his cock while she rides the dildo.
This is not the first time I’ve sucked a dick, but it has been a very, very long time; and I was never what you’d call an expert at it. In fact my experience was limited to a brief, mutually-embarrassed week-long fling, my freshman year of college. But, frankly, it isn’t that complicated. Especially with a fairly small and over-excited cock, there really ain’t that much to it.
Thank whatever god you want: my hipster practices good hygiene. He’s clean and freshly washed. His dick feels kind of nice in my mouth. I let it slide in between my lips, alternating swallowing him whole with just sucking on the tip while stroking the shaft with my hand. Her bald pussy is slurping up the dildo right next to my face. The scent of sex is deeply intoxicating, and has an additive effect with the MDMA that is either delightful or excruciating. She is still scrubbing away at her pink, inflated clit while she fucks the dildo. She grins down at me. I lift my mouth off his penis, grin back, press the flat of my tongue hard against the underside of his glans, and jerk him off, hard and fast.
He makes a little “I’m coming” noise, kind of a squeak honestly, and squirts off, right into my open mouth. It doesn’t take bad; it doesn’t taste particularly good either. I swallow it all, and pop my mouth back over his softening cock and suck out the remainder of his salty, bitter semen.
She is grimacing, brow furrowed, bouncing up and down on his dildo with a literal vengeance, scrubbing at her clit like she’s trying to erase a bad word. She needs to come, in the worst possible way. I wet one finger, reach around her backside and part her cheeks, and slip my fingertip just inside her asshole. That was all she needs. It sets her off, and she comes, tits shaking and blushing, abdomen heaving, hair flying everywhere, howling at the top of her lungs. It’s a beautiful sight to witness.
I let his soft little dick slide out from between my legs and crawl off the bed, disentangling myself before things get complicated. More so, that is, than they are already.
My own dick is throbbingly hard, protruding awkwardly from the front of my pants.
There is a little hatch in the ceiling, with its very own ship’s ladder, in the far corner of the bedroom. Leighla and I climb up the ladder, through the hatch, and out onto the roof.
The sun is not quite up yet. We stand at the parapet and look out over the magnificent twilight spectacle of lower Manhattan, ghostly towers rising in the morning mist before us, sunlight just now glinting off the very tallest spires.
Leighla stands behind me, wraps her arms around me, kisses the nape of my neck. Her soft breasts are pressed against my shoulder blades. I can feel her heat, and it makes me ache. A good kind of ache.
She deftly unbuttons my pants, tugs my paisley boxers down around my knees, my cock jutting out like a bowsprit, cooled by the soft morning breeze. She takes my dick in one hand, pumping fast and hard, and, hiking up her skirt, she grinds her pantied crotch against my bare asscheeks while she jerks me off. She rides me hard, kissing and biting the back of my neck, and we come at exactly the same moment, gasping and crying out loud as the sun rises over the East River. My semen jets out in a ballistic arc, spattering down onto the sidewalk five stories below.
We compose ourselves, and together we descend through the hatch, back into the rapidly dwindling party. There is no sign of the hipster kid or his bedmate; my olive-skinned geneticist is passed out on the couch in the arms of another woman. The ecstasy is wearing off now, a lingering tingle in my nose and toes and cock. We slip out the door and down the stairs, and out onto the streets of a city that is just now starting to wake up.
Leighla slips something into my hand just before we part ways at the subway station. Her panties, white cotton with the chemical symbols of the periodic table printed all over. The crotch is soaked through and through. “I think,” she says, looking at me seriously, weighing her words carefully, “I think that you just might be a keeper.”
Je Suis Charlie
Ok, I should elaborate…
First of all, I haven’t been writing much of anything lately, especially not sexy stuff. I haven’t had the time, energy, or inspiration. I have other things going on in my life. Mostly good things, but there you have it. I haven’t gone anywhere, and I am confident that I’ll be back at some point. Just not now.
Second of all, the Paris attacks on Charlie Hebdo really struck a cord with me. I am, after all, someone who writes some really offensive things (and tries to do it well). So yeah, in a way that could have been ME.
Hey, Big Men. Going after a bunch of unarmed cartoonist with AK-47s. Real brave. If they’d shot at US Marines or SEAL Team 6, that is something I could at least *respect*. These douchbags are essentially just bullies, picking on the class clown.
Ever notice that fundamentalists of every stripe and religion all seem to lack any sense of humor?
Hey, Larry Flynt (who’s balls I admire, but who’s pornography I don’t especially like) took a bullet too.
“If a believer demands that I, as a nonbeliever, observe his taboos in the public domain, he is not asking for my respect, but for my submission. And that is incompatible with a secular democracy.” –Flemming Rose
That’s all I got for now. Read the archives, there’s some pretty good stuff in there. If I do say so myself.
See you soon…
The ruined temple looms ahead, its ancient stone walls partly tumbled down and overgrown with moss. A few black birds startle at our approach, croaking harshly underneath the cloudy, leaden sky. A single entrance is visible, a gaping hole in the outer wall like a missing tooth smack dab in the middle of a wide salacious smile. Rubble partially obstructs the doorway. On either side of the entryway is a pair of statues, a man and a woman, nude and gesturing obscenely at each other. The path leads directly to the entrance.
The table is strewn with the detritus of an all-night session: coffee mugs and soda cans, empty bags of Doritos, graph paper, polyhedral dice, character sheets, meticulously painted miniature figures. Cinthia, until very recently my undefined other/fuckbuddy/mistress of pain, is sequestered behind a cardboard screen. She is the dungeon master, an irony not lost on her or me. I am sitting on her left. Jack (accountant by day, Thar, barbarian from the western steppes on Friday nights) is on her right. Then Dale and Amy; bookstore employees and cleric and sorcerer, respectively. It is an open secret that they are fucking. Then, to my right, is Ruby, elven magician/thief, the object of my latest crush, sexily straddling the line between curvy and plump, smart and awkward, bound for college in the fall, and significantly less than half my age.
We organize the little miniature figures into a marching order and cautiously approach the dark and forbidding entrance. The party is filled with an imminent sense of danger and foreboding. Mountain Dew is slurped and coffee is sipped. There are many hours between now and dawn.
The first time I was with Cinthia, she tied me to a straight-backed chair. “Try to relax,” she said. The rope she used was black and stiff, the kind mountain climbers or terrorists might use. She lashed my ankles and chest, and bound my wrists to the side of the chair. “Enjoy the ride,” she said, tipping the chair onto its back so that I was staring at the cracked plaster ceiling of her apartment. “I know I will.”
I was naked, she was fully dressed. I felt so vulnerable it gave me vertigo, like peering over the edge of a very tall cliff. I was totally exposed. I felt it in my toes, my stomach, my anus, my scrotum, my dick. It was kind of a rush, in a sick way.
Watching her get undressed was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I had to crane my neck to watch. She stripped out of her Simpsons Comic Book Store Guy t-shirt and grubby jeans. She was wearing a white bra and no panties. Her body was pale and taut and toned. She unsnapped her brassiere, setting her large, round breasts free. Her pussy was nearly shaved, just a tiny patch of hair, a Hitler Mustache as she called it, perched atop her puffy slit.
She knelt over my face and I strained and struggled to reach her pussy with my tongue. She pulled my hair and snarled at me to lick her asshole, which only made me hornier. Finally she relented, and lowered herself onto my tongue. Her pussy was hot as hellfire and sopping, drooling, dripping wet. I relished it, even as I struggled to breathe, even as she pinched and twisted my nipples mercilessly. I kept my tongue on her clit and she ground herself back and forth, finally orgasming all over my face with a sound like a jet airplane crashing into a skyscraper.
My cock was hard: rigid, throbbing, achingly hard. It flopped and twitched urgently as she climbed off my wet and sticky face. She laughed. “You’ll get yours, don’t worry. But first, I want to get some more of mine.”
She righted the chair and untied me, got me a glass of water while I shook the blood back into my hands and feet and my treacherous cock strained and twitched like an over-eager puppy.
“Hold out your hands,” she instructed. “Straight out, palms up, like this.” I did as I was told.
She picked up a wooden ruler, and smacked it hard against my upturned palm. “OUCH! MOTHERFUCKER!!” I howled. There was a livid red rectangle embossed right across the palm of my left hand.
She lazily ran a finger between her pouting labia. “I’ll stop if you tell me to,” she said. Whack! She smacked my other hand, just as hard as the first. “God, that’s hot! Tell me if it hurts too much.” Whack! Whack! Whack! She rubbed her pink and juicy pussy with her free hand while she beat the shit out of my palms. “Oh yeah,” she grinned, “I’m going to fucking come hard.”
My hands were a pair of fireballs, red and swollen and throbbing. I was in agony. Fat, salty tears, real tears ran down my cheeks as she masturbated herself to another violent orgasm.
“You’re so cute when you’re in pain!” Cinthia gushed. “Now you’re going to think of me every time when you jerk off this week!”
And then she got down on her knees and proceeded to give me a blowjob. Well, not exactly a blowjob. She certainly didn’t suck my dick. She didn’t actually touch it with her hands, and she didn’t take it into her mouth at all. She simply licked me, running her tongue languidly up and down the shaft, and flicking the underside of the head with the tip of her tongue, like a kitten drinking milk. I was in heaven. I don’t know how long it took: five, ten, fifteen minutes, an hour, I really don’t know. The throbbing pain in my poor hands only made the sensations more intense. When I finally did come, it was the most intense orgasm I could remember ever having.
Cinthia made me lap up my spilled semen, every last drop. Then she smiled sweetly, “See you next Friday”, and sent me on my way.
I drove home as the sky became pale with dawn, holding the steering wheel gingerly between my forearms, and promptly broke up with my girlfriend.
As the brave adventurers approach the temple entrance, there is a sudden movement from within. David Bowie and the Rolling Stones appear. The Stones carry spiked cudgels, Bowie is wielding an iron mace. Dale’s cleric turns undead, and most of the Stones disintegrate into cocaine-and-carcinogen-ridden dust, but David Bowie and Mick Jagger are unfazed.
Bowie is pelted with fireballs and arrows. He swings wildly, wounding the barbarian. Thar gives a furious roar, and dispatches him with a single blow of his two-handed sword. Meanwhile, my paladin is jousting with a slightly scorched Mick Jagger. The man just refuses to die. We trade hit points for a few rounds before he finally succumbs. The party heals its wounds, rummages through the pockets of the dead rockers for a few measly gold pieces, and then carries on, into the temple proper.
My fling with Cinthia started four weeks previously. We’d finished the adventure of the Disco Death March, defeating the evil Abba, and made it back to the Dew Drop Inn, where we spent our hard-earned gold pieces on wenches, ale, new equipment, and magical items. It was a convenient stopping point, and Dale and Amy quiet obviously wanted to be elsewhere for some quality time together, so we wrapped up early. It was barely 12:30.
Normally, Amy gives Cinthia a ride home, but Amy very clearly had other plans, so I offered to give her a lift. It was out of my way, but I didn’t really mind.
In my car, she tuned the radio to a classic rock station, and cranked the volume way up high. I cannot stand classic rock, but I didn’t say anything.
I can’t tell you exactly what passed between us in the car that night: a look, a touch, a feeling, I don’t know, but we both felt it. I stopped the car in front of her place, and she didn’t get out. In an uncharacteristically bold move, I put my hand on her thigh, and leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She kissed me back.
It was a good kiss. We seemed to sizzle. When it was over, she pulled back. “I’m not convinced this is a good idea at all. I’ve got a feeling I’m way too kinky for you.”
“I don’t mind,” I said blithely. “I’m up for anything.”
Cinthia smiled. “Anything?”
I had a girlfriend at the time, at least nominally. Sharon, who I’d been dating for nearly two years. We lived separately; me alone, her with roommates; we hung out more or less daily because that’s what you do when you are dating; and we still fucked on a fairly regular basis.
Sharon was a meat-and-potatoes gal: she liked no-frills sex, and plenty of it. She liked me to be on top, or upon occasion to screw her from behind. We had sex in the bedroom. And nowhere else. She liked my penis in her vagina. And nowhere else. She liked me to come inside her. And nowhere else. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that kind of sex. It was very vanilla, but it was high-quality vanilla. When we first got together, we were fucking two, three times a day. Our orgasms were almost always simultaneous. It’s just that I was bored. And I suspect that she was too, though she’d never admit it.
My dick led the way. I got out of the car and followed Cinthia’s jiggly, wiggly little blue jeans-covered ass up the steps into her house.
Inside the temple proper, we quickly dispatch a squad of tour rats and a giant spider. We light our torches, and venture on. The hallway leads to a staircase, descending down into darkness. At the bottom of the stairway, the passage branches. We choose the left-hand passage. We round a corner, and are promptly ambushed by a dagger-wielding ex-girlfriend. She is immediately hit with a barrage of arrows, sling bullets, magic missiles, and a spear courtesy of the barbarian. All that is left for me to do is finish her off.
Dawn was my first ever girlfriend. I was a sophomore in high school; she was a senior. We ran cross-country together, jostling for last place. We became friends, and then, quite out of the blue, she asked me to go steady with her.
She picked me up at my house in her dusty and dented Toyota Corolla. I thought we’d go see a movie or something. “Are you kidding me? Let’s make out!”
We parked at the end of an abandoned-looking logging road, and proceeded to kiss and grope. It was my first time doing either of those two things, and I loved it! She did her level best to shove her tongue down my throat and at the same time encouraged me to feel up her breasts, both through and underneath her t-shirt and bra. This having a girlfriend thing, I thought to myself, was the bomb!
And then she extracted my hyper-excited teenage cock from the claustrophobic confines of my pants, dropped her head onto my lap, opened her mouth wide, and gave me my first ever blowjob. She bobbed her head up and down, swirling her tongue all around, noisily and wetly sucking me like a fiend. It was pure bliss. She popped up for air. “Don’t hold back,” she told me. “Come in my mouth!” I was only too happy to oblige.
Up until that moment, all my orgasms had been self-inflicted. I humped back against her eager mouth, losing myself in pleasure, exploding with a strangled howl, pumping gobs and gobs of semen into her mouth, which she discreetly spat out the passenger-side window.
My dick wet, and briefly soft, Dawn instructed me on the fine art of finger-fucking. She showed me how to find and touch her clitoris, and very soon, I was giving her an orgasm of her own. Which was almost as pleasurable and exciting as being on the receiving end.
The next week, Dawn plucked my virginity like a ripe, low-hanging fruit. She went on the pill so we didn’t have to use condoms. We told our parents we were going to every movie that was in the theaters that summer, and spent our time parked in the car, fucking like weasels. She taught me to go down on her, how to lick her clit, and make her come with my tongue. She showed me the trick of slipping a wet fingertip into her asshole just before she came, a technique that worked like voodoo with nine out of ten subsequent ex-girlfriends. We looked at porn together; we shared fantasies about trying out bondage and threesomes; she dropped broad hints that she’d like to give anal sex a whirl.
And then I got claustrophobic. Dawn was graduating, and talking about getting an apartment and moving in together. I didn’t even have my driver’s license yet. It was all a bit much for me. And there was also the nagging thought in the back of my head: if Dawn was so into me, maybe other girls would be too. Maybe there were other girls out there who wanted to find out what hot and kinky sex was like with me. Shouldn’t I give them a chance to find out?
So I broke up with her. She cried a lot, which made me feel like a complete shit. When she was done crying, she told me, very calmly and in a matter-of-fact way, that I was an asshole, incapable of love or of being loved, that I had hurt her in a way that she would never get over, and that I would hurt everyone I ever touched, and that I would live a sad, pathetic, and lonely life and die alone.
So I entered into a long dry spell, and an apparently permanent state of self-doubt and loathing. It was three years before I got laid again.
We search the ex-girlfriend’s body, finding a few silver pieces, a bracelet that radiates magic, and a few other oddments, before venturing onward and downward. The passage slopes slightly but steadily downward. Strange scenes are carved in relief in the walls to either side: images of sex and violence, intermingled. Ersatz, Ruby’s elven thief, detects and disarms a trap, a nearly invisible tripwire that would have triggered an avalanche of stone penises on top of our heads.
I feel Cinthia’s foot brushing suggestively against my right leg, which shouldn’t be happening, because she broke it off with me last week, in no uncertain terms. At the same time, I feel a tentative brush of Ruby’s hand; plump, shy, delectably sexy Ruby brushing her hand softly up against my thigh. Interesting. There is chemistry there, for sure, but for the love of God. The girl is still in high school, for fuck’s sake.
The second time I went home with Cinthia, there was no discussion. After the game wrapped up, about 2:30 in the morning, she accompanied me to my car, and turned on the classic rock station, really fucking loud. There was no conversation as I drove the car to her house; the music was deafening. My dick was hard the whole drive. My hands had mostly recovered from out previous encounter: she was right, I had thought of her each time I’d jerked off that week.
The world had that fuzzy, dark grey pre-dawn quality to it: too much caffeine, not enough sleep. Now and then a car went by, headlights harpooning the gloom. There was a blanket of low clouds, and just a hint of pink on the eastern horizon. I followed Cinthia up the walk toward her front door, in thrall, a sacrificial lamb.
She sat down on the steps leading up to her apartment building, hoisting up her skirt and spreading her legs. As usual, she was wearing nothing underneath. Her pussy blossomed like a night flower. “I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she cooed. “Well go on, it ain’t gonna lick itself!”
I got down on my knees on the cool, hard cement, and got to it. She wasn’t lying; she was already very wet. She tasted musky, sweaty, pervasively seductive. I dove in like a pearl diver, immersing myself in her folds, losing myself in her wet and slippery vulva. It was easy figuring out what she liked: whenever I did something that didn’t work for her, she pulled on my hair, hard. I liked it. It was a kind of instant feedback I’d never gotten from a girl before. I had her coming in what seemed like no time whatsoever; two fingers in her asshole, my thumb in her pussy, my tongue drawing furious little circles around her clit. She came hard, snorting like a bull, squeezing my face between her surprisingly muscular thighs. I couldn’t breathe for a long moment, and I started to panic before she finally relaxed and I could take a breath. My face was covered with her slick wetness.
“Not half bad,” Cinthia pronounced. “I hope you’re thirsty.” She arched her back, put her hands on the step behind her, and proceeded to urinate on my face. I was able to catch most of it in my mouth. The taste didn’t bother me, particularly. Despite my best efforts though, my shirt got soaked with her piss. I had a feeling she liked that.
“Are you ready to get fucked?” I stood naked in front of her in her apartment living room, her body fluids still all over my face, my cock jutting out eagerly. She tied me securely to the chair she’d used last week, pulled out her trusty ruler, laughed when I flinched, and beat me liberally across the thighs and chest just for her own amusement. My dick was oozing precome, practically purple with horny anticipation.
“It’s a shame to have to wrap this rascal,” she sighed, rolling a condom down my engorged penis. “Enjoy the ride,” she said, straddling my lap, “but don’t you DARE come!”
She lowered herself onto my cock. It was glorious. Her pussy was scalding and droolingly open and utterly ready, engulfing my penis eagerly into her slick, hot wetness. It took everything I had not to explode right away. She smiled beatifically, savoring the moment, and then she started to ride me, her breasts bouncing like ripe fruit, inches from my face. She was gorgeous, and she was clearly enjoying every moment of this.
She rode me hard. She rode me fast, she rode me slow. She bounced up and down, she ground back and forth. If she ever thought I was on the verge of getting over-excited, she pinched and twisted my nipples until I screamed, tugging like she was trying to pull them right off my chest. She finally came, slamming herself up and down on my cock like a pile driver. It was beautiful to watch. I could more-or-less taste the semen welling up in the back of my throat.
When she was done, she stood up. My cock stood futily erect, a latex-wrapped, girlcome-covered totem pole of urgent desire. She carefully removed the condom. My balls ached. I needed to get off so badly I could literally taste it.
She turned around, spreading her angelic butt-cheeks, and captured my penis in between the two soft hemispheres of her ass. The cleft was quite wet and slippery from all the licking and fucking her pussy had received. I would have given everything I owned, and every penny I would ever earn, I would have cheerfully accepted a cancer diagnosis, if I only could have slipped my dick up Cinthia’s tight little asshole at that moment. But that was not to be.
My cock nestled between her ass-cheeks like a hot dog in a bun, she slowly rubbed herself up and down my shaft: once, twice, three, four times. That was all it took. With a howl, I exploded all over her ass and the small of her back. She chuckled gleefully, smearing my come up and down the crack of her ass.
She untied me, and kissed me on the lips, biting down until I tasted blood in my mouth. “You made a bit of a mess,” she said. “Better clean it up.”
Cinthia got down on all fours, and I eagerly came up behind here, licking up all my salty-bitter spilt semen from her ass until none was left. This, of course, led to me tonguing her asshole while she masturbated to another rock-n-roll orgasm. Then I got dressed and went home, sore, confused and horny, to masturbate to instant replay memories of the evening.
We are barely past the disarmed trap when the next two ex-girlfriends come screaming at us from behind, hurling insults and brandishing scimitars as the party turns to fight in close quarters. Fireballs and missile weapons are useless here; it is down-and-dirty hand-to-hand fighting, with the weakest party members suddenly thrust into the front lines. It is a battle of attrition, hit points for hit points, and in the end we finish them both off, but it is not pretty. D’hane, the cleric, uses up most of her healing magic bringing us all back up to strength.
Melissa had made it pretty clear what she wanted. Explicitly so. We were at a party, my second year of college, and she cornered me, literally backed me into a corner and made her proposition. Shortly thereafter, we discretely exited the party and headed back to her place, an off-campus apartment in a building with a perpetually empty pool next to an active set of railroad tracks.
Horny is not the word. We barely made it through her front door, never mind into the bedroom. We were all over each other, kissing, touching, fondling, undressing. Clothes were shed like autumn leaves in a windstorm. It was like getting hit by an express train; a very shapely, sexy, sassy, red-headed express train with pert little boobs and puffy nipples.
Next thing I knew, we were sprawled over her couch, locked in a 69. Her petite little pussy was right up in my face as she gargled my dick. She was wet as motherfucking Lake Pontchartrain! I licked her furiously, trying to keep up, running my tongue up and down the folds of her labia and all around her clitoris as she did tongue-acrobatics up and down my shaft and all around my extremely sensitive glans. It was sort of a seesaw effect: neither of us could quite achieve orgasm without neglecting our duties. We danced around the edge of climax for what seemed like forever, before exploding more-or-less simultaneously in each others faces. It was super hot, a much-needed re-introduction to sex. Sex with people other than my own two hands, that is.
We didn’t have any condoms, so we couldn’t fuck, but that didn’t stop us from fooling around all night long. I think we got a couple hours of sleep in there somewhere; but mostly we spent the night licking, sucking, fingering, and rubbing, with a healthy dose of sticky snuggling mixed in. I got to watch her masturbate, which was a first for me; and she encouraged me to jerk off onto her cute little boobies. I tried the finger-up-the-butt trick on her, and it worked beautifully; she did the same to me in return, and it was revelatory. All and all, it was one of the best nights of sex I’ve ever had.
I woke up the next morning, after a very brief sleep, in a strange bed; smiling and satisfied, and ready for more.
Here’s the problem: Melissa was hot, smart, sexy, nice; I fell head over heels in love with her. She, on the other hand, was only looking for a one night stand, some no-strings-attached fun; which she made gently but very firmly clear.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t take a hint. I mooned and pined and followed her around, behaving (in 20/20 hind site) like a creep and a stalker. She was very patient and tolerant for a few days, until she had had enough, at which point she told me off in a very direct and public way. I was devastated.
And then along came Minnie. Minnie was two years behind me in school, and had a body that was roughly beetle-shaped. I wasn’t especially attracted to her, and we didn’t have a lot in common. She was, however, really into me. She asked me out one day after class, and we proceeded to date for the next three months; at least two and a half months longer than I should have let it go on.
Minnie was not quite a virgin, but she wasn’t far off either. She was mortified by the idea of oral sex; either giving or receiving; and penis-in-vagina sex was something that guys did to girls. In bed, on top, in the dark with the lights off. It beat jerking off, at first, but got old quickly.
On top of that, her life was a constant series of crises and drama. She had a heart condition. Her dad was diagnosed with cancer. Her mother threatened suicide and got committed. Her dog died. I told myself I wasn’t breaking up with her because I didn’t want to hurt her, but that fact was that I was chicken. So I sucked it up and kept at it for nearly three whole months before finally throwing in the towel. I did it in the most chickenhearted way possible, by text message while she was home visiting her father in the hospital.
When she got back, she told me she was still in love with me. I said I was sorry. She asked if we could have breakup sex. I agreed.
We did it in my bed, with the lights on, a first. Minnie got down on all four, rump thrust up in the air, and asked me to please fuck her up the ass, to boldly go where no man had gone before.
She had brought along a bottle of lube, and I very gently applied it, rubbing it up and down the crack of her ass, making her butthole nice and slippery. I started with my finger, carefully penetrating her tiny crinkled anus, just the tip of my index finger, very slowly and gently. My cock was at least as hard as it had ever been before, and I couldn’t wait to slide it up that tight little hole.
I coated myself liberally in lube, spread her cheeks apart, and savoring the view, slowly and carefully eased the head of my cock into her butthole. She groaned something inaudible. She was super tight, grasping my cock like an undersized glove. I eased myself further in, deeper and deeper, reveling in the sensation and the raunchiness of it. Finally I was all the way in, balls deep, my pubes pressed up against her butt cheeks. Slowly I began to fuck her ass, moving in and out, straining the whole time to not shoot off prematurely, wanting to savor the experience a little.
I reached down and around to pet her pussy, and found her dry. Not just a little dry, but arid as the high desert sand dry. She was weeping into the pillow, chewing on my bed sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks. I was too far gone to stop, but I stopped holding myself back. Two more deep thrusts, and I came, emptying my balls deep inside her asshole.
I pulled out as gently as I was able and went to kiss her, but she pulled away. We both got dressed. I thanked her, and she said “It’s OK.” She left after that, and we never spoke again. I felt like a grade-A shit, and actively hated myself for weeks, even as I jerked off to the memory of fucking Minnie in the ass.
We are deep underground now. We sense the weight of the temple complex bearing down upon us. Ersatz, the elf, discovers a secret door: a clever mechanism by which swiveling the erect penis of a statue in one room causes the legs of a female statue in another room to part, revealing a door. We swing the door wide and enter into a short tunnel that soon opens up into an anteroom and we are immediately attacked by a furious ex-girlfriend swinging a battle ax with one hand and holding a long knife in the other.
After Minnie, I stayed single for a long time. My ego and self-esteem, not in the best shape to begin with, were reduced to a pile of rubble. I jerked off a lot, looked at a lot of porn, and wrote a bunch of really bad slash fiction. Then I met Jessica.
We met online, in a totally unrelated chat forum, started an email conversation, and really hit it off and became friends offline, and then started dating. Jess was nominally a lesbian, but she made an exception in my case.
Jessica was a lighting technician for theater and rock-n-roll, and she spent a lot of time on the road, and when she was in town she was often working crazy long hours. But when she was around and available, she was insatiable.
She liked sex a lot, and she liked it wild, hard, raucous, and often. She loved to get fucked in the ass; one of her favorite things was for me to fuck her up the butt (“Harder! Don’t hold back; come on, fuck my ass HARDER!”) while I pulled her hair and slapped her ass and a big fat purple dildo buzzed away inside her pussy.
She liked to play rough, she liked to play kinky. She liked me to fuck her mouth and come on her face; she liked to have sex in risky, public places (the walkway across the Williamsburg Bridge for instance). She expressed a desire to fuck me up the ass with a strap-on. I opted out of that, a chickenshit move that I still kick myself for today.
The only problem with Jessica was that she was batshit crazy. The girl had snakes in her head. She was tempestuous, unpredictable, moody, obsessive, and jealous. She was prone to fits of rage, crying jags, periods of black self-doubt, and episodes of bleak depression and manic activity. Interspersed, of course, with some of the hottest, wildest sex I’d ever had. It was exhausting, and I couldn’t keep up.
We were together nearly a year, though during a lot of that time she was out on tour and we had to get by with phone and/or webcam sex. Anyway, when I finally decided that I’d had enough of her craziness, I broke up with her in the lamest, most chicken-hearted way possible: I stopped answering her emails, phone calls, texts, and voice mails.
It really doesn’t get much more passive-aggressive than that.
The party crashes through an ornately carved gate into the central chamber of the temple. Flickering sconces on the walls give light to the room. Before an explicitly pornographic altar, stands the High Priestess, clad in leather armor, wielding a long, barbed whip. Between us and her are an even dozen tour rats, a couple hefty roadies, and the original line-up of the Ramones. The party is low on magic and hit points. Most of our healing potions and items have been used up. With a shout, we draw our weapons and charge into the fray.
I drove Cinthia home last week, the strains of “your rock-n-roll favorites from the ‘60s, the ‘70s, and to a lesser extent the ‘80s and ‘90s” blaring through my car. My dick was stiff with anticipation, though I was a little apprehensive. Getting it on with Cinthia tended to hurt.
We parked in front of her building, and I shut off the engine. She killed the volume on the radio with a click.
“Listen,” she said. “Listen. There’s really no good way to say this, so I’ll just say it. This isn’t working for me. I mean you’re nice and all… maybe too nice. It just doesn’t feel right. You’ve been really tolerant of my kinks, and I appreciate that, but I want to be with someone who is really into it. I want to whip someone black and blue, and have him kiss my feet and beg for more. You’re just not that guy. Sorry. I’m just not feeling it.”
Wow. I’d just been dumped.
“I’m sorry,” Cinthia went on. “Listen, I know you were expecting to get laid tonight. If you want, I’ll give you a blowjob before you go. I won’t even bite.” She smiled sheepishly at me.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I turned her down, and drove home alone. Pride, maybe it was pride. I beat off as soon as I got home, to confused, disjointed fantasies of ex-girlfriends and perverted sex acts.
I’d met Sharon, my latest ex-girlfriend (not counting Cinthia) in a very straightforward way: a dating website. We seemed reasonably compatible; she was attractive and attracted to me; the sex was energetic and frequent, if a bit white-bread. It seemed like an OK thing.
The ‘wet finger up the asshole just before she comes’ trick was a major fail with Sharon. She wrenched away, and told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever touched her anus again she’d break up with me. Which, now that I think of it, might have been a more graceful way to get out of the relationship.
When I told her that it was over, that I was seeing someone else, she turned her back on me. She told me that her mother had been right about me all along, that I really was a walking bag of douche. Then she told me to get the fuck out of her life and never come back.
So I went home and jerked off, with sore and swollen hands, thinking of kinky Cinthia. Who summarily dumped me two weeks later.
We fight our way through the minions, finally defeating a baseball bat wielding Joey Ramone. All that is left is the High Priestess. Our hit points are low, and our spell casters are out of magic. The barbarian is down, and the elf is binding his wounds. It is just me and her, single combat. She cracks her whip menacingly, and advances on me, a cold light of hate burning in her eyes.
I roll a 20, and score a critical hit. Double damage. My long sword pierces the High Priestess’ armor and she goes down. But she is not dead. Her body evaporates, changing into gaseous form, wafting out of the room, to some secret abode where she will heal her wounds and live to fight another day.
“You’ll never defeat her,” Cinthia tells me, somewhat to the befuddlement of the other players. “You’re just going to have to learn to live with her.”
It is late. Or early. Ruby asks if I could give her a ride home. I say ‘sure’. Cinthia winks broadly and lewdly at us as we leave.
“Well, that was an interesting adventure,” Ruby says from the passenger seat. “Ex-girlfriends. That’s a pretty good monster, if you ask me. Cinthia is the best dungeon master I’ve ever played with, but damn, that girl is weird.”
‘You don’t know the half of it my friend’, I think to myself.
“It’s not your fault, you know.”
“What isn’t?” I ask.
“All those ex-girlfriends. You’re not a dick or a douche or a scumbag loser or a sociopath, not as far as I can tell. It’s never any one person’s fault. It’s just a part of life. When you get together with someone, you’re accepting the possibility that you may end up getting hurt. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just life.”
We arrive at Ruby’s place, a suburban house on a suburban block. The sun is coming up. Presumable her parents will be waking up soon. Shit. I have a hard-on a yard long for a girl who is still in high school. Graduating next month, but still…!
“I really like you,” she says. “Can we get together? For a while. Maybe longer, I don’t know. I mean, you’re way too old for me, and I’ll be leaving for college in the fall, but can we just try it out and see what happens?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.” I reach over and kiss her on those plump, perfect lips. She kisses me back.
“Technically,” she says, “I’m still a virgin. I’d like that to change. But not now. My parents will be up soon and… you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to suck your dick. Right here, right now.”
I don’t mind. Not one little bit. I recline the driver seat and Ruby unzips me. After donking her head on the steering wheel, she drops her golden-blonde locks onto my lap and gives me the most amazing blowjob ever. Whatever Ruby lacks in experience, she more than makes up for with creativity and enthusiasm. She goes fast, she goes slow, she opens wide and tries to swallow me whole; when that doesn’t work out, she nibbles and strokes and pets and slurps and slobbers, pushing me straight to the brink and beyond. She already knows the wet-finger-up-the-butt trick, and applies it at exactly the climactic instant. Bucking my hips up, I come hard and she unhesitatingly takes it all in her mouth, swallowing hungrily. When I am finally done, she comes up for air, a big smile on her cherubic face, and gives me a big fat wet and salty kiss on the lips.
“You can get me back for that later on,” she says.
“Absolutely,” I gasp. “I can’t wait. What are you going to major in in college?”
“I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “Either physics or math. I think. Or possibly just kinky oral sex.”
“Are you kinky?” I ask dumbly.
Ruby flashes me a mischievous smile. “Mmm…You’ll just have to wait and find out.”
Not for the first time, I woke up with a strange man in my bed. This one I called Mr. Face, for the heavy-handed way that he’d Photoshopped his profile picture.
We had slow and sultry morning sex, which in my book is some of the best sex there is. When I first awoke, Mr. Face was still asleep. We were naked, snarled in my tangled bed sheets. He was lying on his back; I rolled over and threw my leg over him. Sitting up, I rocked back and forth, dragging my pussy up and down his penis until he was hard all over again. Face was awake now. He looked up at me. We made eye contact, and he smiled sleepily.
I grabbed a condom off the side table, and he fumbled the wrapper open and rolled it down his erection, almost, but not quite, breaking the spell. He hadn’t wanted to use one the night before, but I had insisted.
My pussy was drenched. Juicy-wet and hot and wide open. As slowly and as deliberately as I could stand to, I eased myself down onto his big fat cock. It felt glorious.
Mr. Face, apparently, agreed. I could feel his hips bucking underneath me as he started to hump. He was straining, thrusting up into my pussy, spearing me with that delicious thick hard cock, building toward a crescendo.
I was having none of it. I grabbed him by the wrists, pinning him to the bed. I leaned over, letting my tits dangle in his face. I wanted to be in control. I worked my hips back and forth, up and down, riding him like a cowgirl atop a bucking bronco.
Face groaned something inaudible and struggled underneath me as I slowly, steadily fucked him. I wanted his hands on my butt, I wanted his finger inside my asshole, but I wasn’t about to release his wrists. He had almost made me come the previous night. Almost, but not quite.
I was close. Really close. I maintained a steady rhythm, savoring the sensation of the textures of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy. I was about to explode all over his gorgeous dick. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, bearing down on him… So very close!
He wrenched his hands free and reached around my back, pulling me close and burying his face in my tits. He thrusted wildly, completely screwing up my rhythm, and shot off deep inside me. There is nothing -nothing- I like better than the sensation of a naked cock exploding inside my satisfied pussy, filling and overfilling me with hot cream; but I’d know this dude less than 12 hours, and I wasn’t about to take his word for it that his junk was clean. Slutty, yes. Stupid, no.
My own orgasm startled like a skittish bird, and fluttered away out of reach as the last residual twitches wracked through his body. Oh well, the day was young. This was still salvageable. My clit throbbed hungrily. My ovaries fairly ached. It was high time to discover what Mr. Face could do with his tongue.
Mr. Face squirmed out from under my limp and non-skinny body, exiting my juicy hole with a pop. His dick was already soft. Not making eye contact, he sat up and tossed the slimy, spent rubber into my bedside trashcan. He got up, located his underpants, and started getting dressed. I knew at that moment with one hundred percent certainty that I would never see him again. This was not my first time around the block.
Oh well, his loss.
He was gone, and I was sweaty, sticky, horny, and running late for work. Time to kill three birds with one stone. I turned the shower on hot, grabbed Samuel out of his drawer, and stepped inside, relishing the sensation of warm water spraying on my skin. I was about ready to relish some other sensations too.
If I’ve learned one lesson in my 24 years of life, it is to never ever skimp on sex toys. Samuel was expensive, a week’s worth of retail-hell take home pay, but he’s never let me down. We’re old friends now. I moistened his suction-cup base and stuck him with a -squirk- to the injection molded plastic wall of the prefab shower stall.
Samuel protruded obscenely from the smooth white plastic surface of the shower wall. He looked even bigger than he really was, long and thick and black and ripped. I wondered if he bore even a passing resemblance to Mr. BiLingual, my date for the coming evening. One of the wonderful things about unwrapping a new boy is discovering the differences in his details: the equipment may be all basically the same, but the variations are endless and delightful.
I suppose this is the part where I should make my excuses. I was a slow starter, a late bloomer. I didn’t date at all in high school. And then when I did discover sex and drugs and punk rock music, I became for a time exclusively a pussy-licker. I played bass in a hardcore punk band and toured the US and Canada for a few years, making a lot of noise, and sleeping in the back of a van, and fucking a lot of girls. Then I got my shit together, went to college to be a nurse, discovered a long-suppressed interest in male anatomy, and simultaneously entered a long dry spell. And then I discovered the internet.
The internet is just chock-full of boys who will happily fuck you, even if you aren’t a ‘traditional beauty’, or a life-size Barbie doll; even if your body type is what the dating sites euphemistically refer to as “Rubenesque”. They may not want a second date, or ever call you back, or respond to your horny and salacious texts, but they’ll definitely fuck you on the first date. And that, by and large, is just fine by me.
I had high hopes for Mr. BiLingual though. ‘Bi’ because he’d already confided to me that he was sometimes attracted to guys, and loved to take it in the ass (two factoids that were a huge turn-on for me); and ‘Lingual’, because he claimed to love eating pussy. A fact that, if found to be true, would be another huge turn-on for yours truly. On top of all that, he seemed like a genuine nice guy; he took the time to spell out words like ‘see you tomorrow’ (as opposed to ‘C-U tmrw’); and he hadn’t yet sent me a dick-pic. This fine fellow might just be a keeper.
Am I the only girl in the city who keeps a bottle of lube next to the shampoo in her shower stall? My pussy was still swollen and pouting open; my clit was buzzing and erect. As hot water streamed down my shoulders and back, I pried my butt-cheeks apart and backed up, easing Samuel’s significant girth and length gently but relentlessly up my horny asshole.
I played with my clit, rocking back and forth, enjoying the full-up, stretched-out sensation of being impaled. In my mind’s eye, it was Mr. BiLingual who was fucking me in the ass, and then, in an improbable feat of contortionism, he was suddenly licking my pussy at the same time. I started to come, frigging my clit in tight little counter-clockwise circles and bucking spasmodically back and forth on the dildo in my ass, howling loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.
It was a good orgasm, well worth the wait. And then I quickly got clean and dry and into my scrubs, and got my ass out the door and uptown to the Children’s Hospital.
I arrived on the floor literally just in time for report, and was rewarded with a dirty look from my charge. Frigid old biddy that she is. I had two patients to care for that day: Hank, a 3-month old Down Syndrome baby recovering from a pneumothorax; and Female Child S__, a 32-week preemie who had been delivered by emergency c-section the previous night.
Hank and I were old friends. He was a sweet baby, and wouldn’t require a ton in terms of interventions. I looked over the stats for my new patient who did not yet have a name. Her mother had been in a car accident the night before, and was downstairs, recovering from surgery following a fractured pelvis. Her APGARs were 6/7; she weighed 1814 grams; all her vitals were within normal limits, she was getting O2 via nasal cannula, and the plan was to have her on room air by the end of the shift. She looked to be a ‘well-preemie’. It might not be such a bad day after all.
My asshole still tingled from Samuel’s invasion; my clit was pleasantly tender. I wondered what Mr. BiLingual was up to this morning; whether or not he had a big cock (which is nice, but not required), whether he’d jerked off yet, and whether he’d thought of me when he was doing it. Maybe after the main event later on, I’d put some gay porn on and we could watch each other jerk off. I love gay porn; I love watching guys masturbate; and I love the hungry look a guy gets when he watches me whack off. I’d love to watch how he touches himself, how he handles his cock, how it gets red and swollen and how his balls draw up tight when he gets really excited, and what he sounds like when he comes. He could shoot off all over my tits. Or into my mouth. Or, quite frankly, wherever he wanted to.
OK, this train of thought was getting me all hot and slippery and raring to go, and that was no good. I had work to do. I forced the sexy thoughts out of my mind, buckled down, and slipped into full-on Nurse Mode, and next thing I knew it was lunch.
Both my patients were looking nice and stable. I handed them off to Richard, who’d had a hot date of his own the night before, and since it was a nice day I went down to the park to get a bowl of soup, some fresh air, and some eye candy.
I sat on a bench and slurped my noodles, and watched the beautiful people walk by. If you know how to look, practically everybody is a beautiful person.
I wondered what it might be like to fuck Mr. BiLingual up the ass. Pretty hot, I bet. I own a strap-on, but I’d only ever used it on girls. I imagined getting down on my knees and sticking my face in between his taught little buns and licking his asshole, getting him all loose and wet and juicy, until he was just moaning for me to fuck him. Then I’d gird my loins, and his sweet blue eyes would get a little wide when he saw the size of the phallus projecting from my crotch. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” I’d say; and I would be.
He’d get down on his knees and suck my cock a little bit, which wouldn’t do much for my physically, but looks sexy as all hell. Then, when neither of us could stand to wait any longer, I’d lube up and slide my cock straight up his tight little asshole, savoring every whimper and whine, and then when I was all the way in, I’d start fucking him, grinding the base of the dildo against my clit with every shove, slowly at first, and then faster and faster and harder and harder, his hard dick flapping in the breeze, fucking the air in front of us with excruciating urgency, and then I’d reach around and grab his hard penis in my hand and jerk him off in time with my thrusting, and we’d both come at the same time, so fucking hard…
I was sopping wet, and more than a little tempted to finish myself off right there and then. I have a little pocket-rocket that is part of my kit, and I have used it at work before (a fact that might horrify some of my patient’s parents; but hey, would you rather have a stressed-out, sexually frustrated nurse, or a relaxed, satisfied, sated nurse caring for your sick baby?).
I didn’t use it though, for the possibly stupid reason that I wanted to be all revved up and ready to go for Mr. Bilingual. I wanted my first orgasm of the night to be the moment his bulbous crown penetrated my cunt; or when the tip of his tongue first found my clitoris. His choice.
When I came back from lunch, Richard handed back off to me. Hank had had a bowel movement and was sleeping quietly; baby S was running a slight fever and her respirations had increased. I thanked Richard, and put him on his own lunch break to go ogle hot guys, the pervert.
Little baby S was restless, and her O2 sat wasn’t where I wanted it to be. I called the resident and obtained an order to increase her oxygen rate. She wouldn’t be going on room air on my shift. ‘Where is your Mommy little one, where is your Dad?’ I wondered, ‘What will they name you?’ I had started thinking of her as Fiona, for my own baby sister, a habit that was not quite professional, but which was very hard to break.
An hour later, her alarm went off. In the NICU, alarms are constantly going off, but some are more alarming than others. Baby S’s respiratory rate was over 200, and her blood pressure was dropping like a stone. I called for the Attending.
Two seconds after I had hung up the phone, baby S went into cardiac arrest.
“Code Blue, Code Blue, Code Blue.” I stabbed the button on the wall behind the incubator. My teammates were already running, pushing the crash cart in front of them like a bobsled.
I started chest compressions, Richard was on the rebreather. The resident looked as if he might faint. “Epi,” I reminded him. Please don’t faint, kid.
“Uh yeah, 18 mg epinephrine, stat.” Betty was already on it, pushing down the plunger on the syringe even as he spoke the words. “Where the fuck is the mother?”
Baby S’s vitals stayed flat as a North Dakota highway. We shot her up with another dose of epi; nothing. Dr. Segel, the attending physician, finally showed up, and the resident fairly oozed relief at no longer being in charge.
“Mom’s on the way,” another nurse, I’m not sure who, reported, “They’re wheeling her up from the PACU right now.”
“36 mg epinephrine, now.” “Should we intubate?”
Dr. Segel took off his stethoscope and looked up with sad brown eyes. “You can stop the chest compressions,” he announced. “She’s gone.”
I lifted baby S out of her incubator, pads and sensors and wires and tubes falling away like autumn leaves in the wind, and held her to my chest. I felt her heart flutter a few times, she twitched once or twice, and then nothing. She was gone. I held the small, limp thing in my arms until her mother arrived, groggy and weeping on her hospital bed. I handed the little body over to her, and she clung to it, clutching it like a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea.
It was the first time a baby had died in my arms.
I cried a little bit myself, but I had work to do. Hank still needed me, and there was a ton of paperwork to do. Then a 26-weeker fresh out of Labor & Delivery came onto the floor, and I took him over. He was on CPAP, and needed constant fussing over. Soon enough I had lost myself into Nurse Mode again, and then next thing I remember, I was giving report to the night nurse.
One of the first things they teach you is that you can’t take the job home with you. Up to now, that hadn’t been a problem for me.
Mr. BiLingual was even hotter than his profile pictures, which happens sometimes, and is always a nice surprise. Way better than the opposite, which happens a lot more often. He was charming, a little shy, cute, and funny, and we hit it off pretty well over Vietnamese food.
I always put out on the first date; it’s kind of a tradition with me. Besides, there’s hardly ever an opportunity on the second date; because there rarely, if ever, is a second date.
I held up my end of the conversation, but I kept thinking back to the little girl who’d died with no name to call her own that afternoon, and I was feeling distinctly unsexy. So I found myself in the unusual position of liking Mr. Bilingual quite a bit, feeling very attracted to him, and having no desire to fuck his brains out. Just at the moment.
He walked me home, and then made so bold as to ask if he could come up, just for a bit. “Sure,” I told him, “but I wouldn’t count on getting any hanky or panky.”
So he came up to my apartment, and we hung out on my disreputable old couch and had a drink and talked for a while, and that turned into cuddling, which turned into kissing and a little making out. We started to get into some dry-humping, and I kind of loved the urgent way his cock strained through the fabric of his pants. If he’d been a little more aggressive and pushy and unzipped, I probably would have given him a monster blowjob despite myself. I do love sucking dick! But he was a gentleman, and eventually I told him that it was really getting late, and he agreed and said he had to be at work in the morning, and so we said our goodnights.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said, framed in my front door. “I’d like to go out with you again sometime soon.” His erection jutted out the front of his jeans, looking really quite fetching. And sizeable.
“Sure,” I said. “That would be awesome.” And then I closed the door and went to bed. It was the first time I’d gone out on a date with a man and not had sex with him. My loss, I guess. I suppose there’s a first time for everything.
I slept hard, and I slept long, and I was finally woken up by the chirping of my cell phone. I figured it was the charge nurse calling to see if I could cover an extra shift. I could and would; I certainly needed the money.
Actually, it was Mr. BiLingual on the phone. “Is it too early,” he said, “to ask you out on a second date?”
No, it was not too early. Definitely not.
What do you know, there really is a first time for everything.
It was early spring, and the morning sky was the color of a robin’s egg. It was going to be a beautiful day. Hot, even. Not a cloud in the sky, and the leaves were not yet unfurled. Up on the cliffs there would be no shade. If I were a different, younger man, I’d already be out rock climbing. But I wasn’t, and this morning I was up early, in the back yard of the old upstate farmhouse we’d bought a couple years before, splitting wood under the bare branches of the old willow tree.
Sweat was already running down my chest and tickling my shoulder blades. I took off my shirt. The young sun felt good on my naked skin. I’d probably burn.
As always, it felt wrong to be splitting firewood while the sun shone. We wouldn’t be burning this wood until the winter after next, but I’d be glad of it when the time came. I found an easy rhythm with the heavy ax, and let my mind wander.
It so happened that I’d gotten laid the night before. These things happen, from time to time when one is married; once ever six weeks, couple of months these days. Matilda and I have been together north of twenty years now; in the early days we used to go at it like rabbits. Lately, we barely go at it at all. “Slow,” I thought, “Like old people fucking.”
It had been nice sex. Who wants nice sex though? It had been ages and ages since I’d put my dick anywhere other than in Matilda’s pussy. It just seemed like too much effort these days. Still and all, I could feel my cock swelling at the memory.
It was about then that I looked up and noticed her. A young girl, a wisp of a thing, with strawberry-blonde hair down to the middle of her back. She was lying in the short grass under the willow tree, and she looked like she’d been there a while. Her eyes were gold, the color of fallen leaves, and they were fixed directly on me. She was wearing some kind of sheer top which showed off her breasts, such as they were, quite clearly. I could see the dark of her nipples. She was wearing a short green leather skirt, which rode up high on her skinny pale thighs. By the looks of her, the girl couldn’t have been much older then twelve. I felt a pang of guilt for looking at her like that. But that didn’t keep me from looking.
“Well don’t stop on my account,” she said. Her voice was soft and musical. “I was enjoying the show.”
Her hand darted between her legs and her leather skirt slipped up higher. I caught a glimpse of soft, sparse, curly hair, the exact color of the hair on her head. I was going straight to hell and I knew it. But I did not look away.
She got up from where she had been lounging in the grass. Not a blade was bent to show she’d been there. The girl might have weighed eighty pounds, soaking wet. There was something slightly unearthly about the way she walked. Her bare feet didn’t seem to actually touch the ground.
When she was so close that I could feel her body heat, she stopped. “I’ve been watching you,” she said, kneeling down. “For a long time now.”
Long, clever fingers were already undoing my zipper. My cock was straining inside my jeans. I hadn’t been this hard since my fucking wedding.
She deftly extracted my dick from my pants. My hardness ached, straining out toward her, the head purple and swollen, drooling pre-come. Her fingers encircled the shaft. I hadn’t been touched by hands other than mine or Matilda’s in… decades. She looked up at me, smiled, opened her mouth wide, and swallowed me whole.
Her pale, pink little-girl lips closed fast around my erection. It was then, I suppose, that I noticed her ears: long and pointy Mr. Spock ears. Not that I had much time or inclination to think about it. Despite myself, I was already humping her, fucking her wet little mouth with my hard cock.
She leapt up, leaving my wet cock bouncing in the bright morning sunlight. “Oh no you don’t,” she laughed merrily. “I’ll suck you dry another day. This time you’re all mine.”
She took a step back, shedding her clothes like a chrysalis. She was short, barely reaching past my navel, and slender as a willow wand. Her budding little breasts stuck out, proud and firm. A fluffy triangular patch of reddish hair crowned her puffy little pussy, like the poof of a dandelion.
Four iridescent dragonfly wings sprouted from between her shoulder blades. They quivered with excitement, catching the morning sun, shimmering and glinting. Very gracefully and deliberately, she raised her left leg high above her head, resting the ankle on my shoulder. Then she lowered her pouting pink pussy onto my engorged cock.
I didn’t think it would fit, I honestly didn’t. She was so tiny. I slid right in though. Her pussy was scalding hot and slick and soaking wet, and it seemed to grasp my dick like a fist.
“Oooh,” she cooed, “I love mortal cock!” Her face was right at the level of my sternum. She grasped me by the shoulders, and wrapped both legs around my back. We fucked like that, her small titties bouncing up and down, her wings vibrating like a hummingbird. It was glorious.
“Pinch my nipples!” she cried, “Pinch them hard!”
I did just that, pulling and twisting her pink nipples like my hands were a pair of vice-grips. I could feel the semen bubbling up in my balls, urgent for release. I wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer. My pixie was bouncing up and down on my cock, her strong legs squeezing me tight, her pussy making happy squooshing sounds as we fucked.
“I’m going to come!” I managed to choke out.
“Me too!” she giggled. “Stick a finger in my asshole!”
I obliged her, releasing her cute little nipples, which were now hard as pencil erasers, spreading her buttocks, and jamming one finger against her tiny little rosebud.
She threw back her neck and came, singing like a morning songbird, her small breasts jiggling and blushing mottled red. I came right along with her, pumping what felt like gallons of cream into her convulsing juicy pussy.
Finally we disentangled from each other. I tucked my wet and tired penis away, and she gathered up her clothes without the slightest hint of modesty.
“See you soon,” she grinned and winked.
“What’s your name?” I managed to ask.
“Ah,” she laughed, “now that would be telling!”
I made love to Matilda that night. Partly it was because I felt guilty about what I’d done that morning; but mostly it was because thinking back on the strange encounter and playing the details over and over again in my head made me incredibly horny.
Matilda was pleased, if surprised. We hadn’t done it two nights in a row in I don’t know how many years. She rubbed her clit while I fucked her. I love watching her touch herself. She isn’t a skinny woman, not by a long stretch, but damn is she sexy!
Instead of coming inside her, the way I normally do, I pulled out at the last second and shot off all over her large round breasts. She liked that. I put a finger inside her while she masturbated again, and then we cleaned up and went to sleep, sleeping like spoons.
I was repairing the fence around Matilda’s garden. Damn rabbits are always finding a way in. Matilda was at the grocery store. It was mid-morning, and I was just starting to think about lunch.
She was perched atop a fence post, legs crossed at the ankle, knees apart, watching me work with an amused little smile on her face.
“You look just delicious,” she said. “Good enough to eat.” She lifted up her skirt, revealing the blossoming petals of her pussy. I could see the moisture, and the little pink pea of her clit from where I knelt with my staple gun and pliers.
She grinned, fluttering her wings, and plunged two fingers deep into her juicy little pussy. “Guess what I’m having for lunch?” she asked.
She hopped down from her perch, landing on the grass next to me. My cock was already hard as a rock. “Take off those silly clothes, and I’ll do the rest.”
Quick as a bunny, I pulled off my jeans and underwear, letting my cock flap free in the warm sunlight. “And the shirt too,” she said.
I pulled off my t-shirt and lay naked in the grass. She grinned broadly, golden eyes sparkling, and peeled off her own skirt and top. Her small breasts bounced proudly. She straddled me, parting her puffy outer labia, and dragged her pussy up and down the length of my cock. She was very wet.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said, “ever since the first time I saw you. I’m so glad you bought this house.” Her hot and slippery pussy traversed the length of my dick, hesitated at the very tip, and then started the return journey back down toward my balls. “The last owners were a pair of spinster sisters with no sex drive at all.” We’d purchased the house two years before, moving away from the city after Matilda’s book deal came through. “I haven’t had any mortal action in years.”
She hopped up, leaving my penis twitching and damp with her juice. With a wicked grin, she again inserted two long fingers into her pretty little pussy, pulled them out, and licked them off with a satisfied smirk. “I am going to suck you dry!” she declared.
Matilda used to give a fairly competent blowjob, but it had been years.
She then proceeded to do exactly that, though she certainly took her time about it. She started out by encircling the shaft of my cock with both her little hands, and just flicking at the plum head with the tip of her tongue. When I couldn’t stand that anymore, she opened up her mouth and captured the swollen, throbbing head of my cock while moving her hands more rapidly up and down. I raised my hips up off the grass and started humping back against her. Her timing was exquisite. Just as I started to get over-excited, approaching the point of no return, she stopped.
Grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear, she slurped the underside of my cock, from my swollen balls all the way up to the little crease before the crown. I winced as she took one testicle into her mouth, swirling her tongue all around the sensitive little gland. It was an incredibly erotic feeling, though a little scary.
“Don’t worry,” she said, spitting my tender ball out of her mouth, “I won’t hurt you… unless you want me to.”
She had two fingers in her pussy again. She was certainly enjoying herself. “Come in my mouth mortal,” she said. “Don’t hold back. I want you to.”
Her mouth engulfed the top of my cock once more, and one hand busily stroking up and down the shaft. Her other hand went exploring, probing down behind my ball sac, back between my ass cheeks. This was new territory for me. Her finger found my asshole, which was suddenly super-sensitive, and brushed against it, circling all around my anus. Then, very gently and carefully, she inserted the tip of her finger into my virgin hole.
It was just too much for me. Howling, I humped at her face hard, desperate to get off. She stayed right with me, never losing her rhythm, while her probing finger delved deeper and deeper up inside me.
I came, and came hard, squirting my semen into her mouth. She hungrily devoured it, milking me for all I was worth, not spilling one drop. Reluctantly, she let my softening cock slip out from between her lips, and extracted her long finger from my butt. I was still gasping.
“That,” she said with satisfaction, “was delicious. Now you owe me one!”
And, gathering up her clothes, she lifted up into the air and disappeared.
I had every intention of pouncing on Matilda when she got home, seducing her for some lovely afternoon sex like we used to have. But she was busy with chores and writing, and kind of crabby, and then it was dinner, and by the time we went to bed we were both too tired.
The next morning though, I slipped into the shower with her. She was surprised, but not in a bad way.
We fucked under the warm falling water, and it was pretty glorious. Then she surprised me by lifting off my aching cock, getting down on her knees in the shower stall, and taking my dick in her mouth.
Sucking me was never really her forte, but it did feel really good, though she wasn’t going to get me off. She looked really pretty like that, hair wet and stringy, tits hanging down, lips wrapped around my cock. Soon enough, she came up for air.
“My pussy’s a little sore,” she explained, “from all the attention it’s been getting lately. Not that I’m complaining…”
She stood up and turned around, capturing me between soft and pillowy butt cheeks, and I grasped her big fat breasts and kissed the back of her neck and slid my penis up and down the warm, soapy cleft of her ass until I came with a shout.
“That,” she said, “was the nicest shower I’ve had in years. Thank you. We should do that more often!”
I was mowing the lawn when I saw her next. She was lounging, naked, on a low branch in the big old willow tree over by the woodpile. Her golden eyes glittered with mischief, and the little triangle of pubic hair looked soft and inviting in the warm sun. She kicked her legs playfully.
“Come her mortal,” she called, “It’s time to pay the piper!”
I shut down the mower and jogged over. She smiled and spread her legs. Her pussy was already moist and excited. My own cock was firm too.
“I want you to eat my pussy… I want to feel your tongue… I want you to make me come.”
I’d always enjoyed going down on Matilda, but she’d always been rather shy about asking for it, and I never felt like I was doing it right. I’d never made her come that way.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, parting her lips and exposing her pink clit. “Come on! Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do.”
She was right at head level on her branch, which made things easy for me. I dove in and started licking, aiming my tongue at the button of her clitoris.
She tasted like clover honey.
“No, too fast!” she tugged on my hair. “Start slowly. Run your tongue up and down my pussy, get me really wet, and then go to work on my clit.”
I did that, dragging the flat of my tongue across her vulva, studiously avoiding her clit, and that seemed to do the trick nicely. I couldn’t believe how wet she was getting.
“Now lick my clit,” she told me. “But gentle!”
I flicked her little pink button with the tip of my tongue, and she sighed, leaning back like a kid on a swing. “Put a finger inside!”
Following her instructions, I slid a finger up inside her pussy. She was very hot, and very wet. I kept on licking at her clit, finding a rhythm she seemed to like.
“Play with my asshole…!” she gasped, and I did, running another finger up and down her butt crack, toying with her anus. This made her even wetter. Her feet were flying high in the air. Her pussy and ass were totally exposed and beautiful.
On impulse, I released her swollen clit and stuck my face between her petite ass cheeks. I stuck out my tongue and tentatively licked her anus.
“Oooh, yes! Do that!” I attacked her asshole with my tongue, burrowing it up inside her like a tunneling worm while I finger-fucked her pussy. She came like that, kicking her legs and singing like a robin. It was beautiful.
When she’d calmed down a little, she slipped down off her branch and kissed me. “You could fuck my ass,” she said with a smile, “If you want to.”
She turned around, spreading her cheeks, offering herself up to me. There was no way, I thought, that I was going to fit. Her asshole was tiny and glistening wet, a miniature rosebud, crinkled tight. You couldn’t slip a pencil up that, I thought, never mind my erection which, I have to say, is not small.
Nonetheless, I was willing to give it a go. Dropping my trousers, I pressed the purple crown of my erection against her butt hole. I was liberally leaking slick clear precome. She giggled and pressed back against me.
We stayed like that for a while, locked together, my horny cock grinding against her tiny little anus, rocking back and forth. I cupped her small breasts with my hands, squeezing them hard. She made a little sighing, grunting noise, bent over, and bore down hard against me.
I felt her open up and yield, and the head of my cock slipped inside. She was vice-tight. “Slow, slow…” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Oh, it feels good.”
Slowly, carefully, I worked my way inside her, her anus stretched tight around my dick. We were both excited beyond belief now. Finally, my cock was all the way inside, her girly butt cheeks pressed against my hips. “Fuck me,” she growled, and I did, slow and deep, working my dick in and out as her asshole clenched at me. She reached down and stroked her clit, and she fucked right back at me. I was going to come.
“You horny old goat, just what ARE you doing?”
It was Matilda, in a floral summer dress, two tall glasses of lemonade in her hands. I looked guiltily down. My pants were around my ankles, and my hard cock was stuffed into a small knothole in the trunk of the old willow tree.
“Come over her and fuck me properly, right here in the grass,” Matilda said. She licked her lips. “God, you’re a randy old thing. I like that. On second thought, why don’t you fuck me on the front porch… where the neighbors can see.”
I never saw her again after that.
Matilda and my sex life has taken off like a rocket though. We used to get it on once every month or two; now we are doing it two or three times a week. Sometimes more. We’ve both been boning up on our oral sex skills, and I’ve caught her looking at pornography on the computer when she’s supposed to be writing. Lately she’s even dropped some pretty broad hints about wanting to try anal sex out for size.
One night in October, I woke up to find the bed empty next to me. It was after midnight.
I went downstairs to take a piss and have a drink of water. A harvest moon was on the rise, hanging fat and low over the hills, casting long, weird, blue shadows among the half-naked trees and across the leaf-strewn grass of the yard.
Some movement caught my eye. I grabbed the binoculars we kept by the kitchen window for bird watching.
There she was, under the old willow tree. Matilda was stark naked, riding a twisted old root like a cowgirl. Her back was arched, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. Her breasts shook like piñatas. She was tangled in a thicket of willow branches, wrapped head to toe, long slender branches curling around her buttocks, caressing her neck, rubbing up against her wide, dark nipples, and circled around her waist with the intimate embrace of a lover. I zoomed in on her pussy. She was sliding back and forth, up and down on the outstretched root. I could almost see the wetness on the root as she ground herself back and forth on a woody knob.
My own erection jutted out from my pajama bottoms. She looked beautiful like that. I let her be, left her to her own pleasure, and went back to bed, falling asleep to weird, horny, disjointed dreams. The next morning, we had slow, sultry, lazy, sweet morning sex, some of the best sex we’ve ever had.
The days are short in December where we live, and this day was the shortest of the year. Not even four, and it was already dark outside.
We were sitting in the living room, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Matilda was reading her book, and I was working the crossword. We’d already fucked once that day, on the floor in front of the wood stove, her on all fours and me taking her from behind with a finger up her asshole. Our bellies were full from dinner, we were sleepy from drinking wine, and we were contemplating going to bed early.
There was a knock-knocking at the door. We weren’t expecting any visitors. I got up to answer it.
Sitting on the matt, just outside the front door, someone had left a tiny, swaddled newborn baby. The little thing was wrapped in blankets, snug against the cold night air inside a wicker basket. He had Matilda’s nose and my chin, and golden eyes the color of fallen leaves. We named him Willow.
I can’t think of many fates more frustrating than growing up a smart, horny, deeply closeted lesbian in a small town in upstate New York. I took all the hard classes, banged out homework, and remained studiously indifferent whenever anybody brought up the subject of boys or dating. Meanwhile I whacked off furiously to all the girls at school, but Tara Franks in particular. She was in my AP English class: a strawberry-blonde volleyball star, honors society president, presumptive valedictorian, straight as an arrow and totally out of my league.
In retrospect, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t fooling anyone, my parents in particular.
The house across the street from us finally sold. It was one of those awful McMansions, immense and generic, and in immensely poor taste, and it had stood empty for years, a monolithic testament to the recession and the financial crisis.
The people who bought the place were from New York City. Yuppies. Weekenders.
They were a gay couple (which I thought was cool, though I don’t think that has anything to do with this story) and they had kids — two girls, identical twins actually — who were almost exactly my own age. They were cute, in a wholesome Life Magazine sort of way, but they were from an utterly different world. They went to school at some fancy private school down in the city. I rarely ever even saw them, but they seemed nice enough. At least Faith did; Grace struck me as a bit of a twat. Actually, I had trouble telling them apart. But that didn’t stop me from whacking off to them.
Like I said, I didn’t see them very often. But one fine Saturday morning in September, when my parents were at the god-damned farmer’s market and I was home alone in my bedroom, horny and kind of bored as usual, I happened to look out the window and saw one of the twins sitting alone on her white plastic front porch, reading a book. Some combination of boredom, lust, and curiosity impelled me to cross the street and go say ‘hi’ to her.
She closed her book and watched me approach, making me feel self-conscious in the extreme as I plodded across their neatly manicured lawn.
“Hi,” she said, “I’m glad you came over! I’m Faith by the way. It’s OK, people get us mixed up all the time. Do you want to do something? Do you want to go for a hike?”
Did I ever!
“Cool, it’ll be a hoot. Come on upstairs with me while I change.”
I didn’t know why she needed to change clothes – she was wearing jeans and a light sweater – but I didn’t mind. I followed her inside and up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her twin.
The place was sterile, operating-room clean, far cleaner than our house had been, ever. I felt schlubby and corn-fed in those austere surroundings. We went into a bedroom that looked like a page out of the Ikea catalogue. The door closed behind me, and Faith pulled her sweater off over her head.
Her boobs weren’t all that big, but she was wearing an expensive-looking lacy and frilly scarlet bra, the kind that I didn’t own and probably never would. It looked damn good on her. She flashed me a smile – didn’t even try to hide it – and slithered out of her jeans. Her panties – what there were of them – matched the bra.
“Do you like them?” Faith asked, “Do you want to see what’s inside?”
I just stammered and gaped.
“I’ve been following your eyes,” she said, “Go ahead, you know you want to. It’s no big deal.” She tossed her blonde hair fetchingly. “Practically everyone at our school does it.”
I emitted an unsexy squeak that must have sounded close enough to a ‘yes’. Faith peeled off her skimpy, sassy panties. Her tan lines were starkly defined, and her pussy was shaved just as bare as in the pornos. She looked beautiful.
My own panties were sopping wet, and my clit was at rigid attention. I wanted to lick her cunt in the worst sort of way.
Faith sat down on the edge of her bed and spread her legs apart. Petite lips pouted slightly open. Her labia glistened wetly, and a strand of drool hung tantalizingly suspended in space. She was excited too.
“Go ahead, have a lick,” she told me, biting her lips flirtatiously, just like a magazine model. “I want you to.”
I got down on my knees with my face so close to her pussy I could feel the heat radiating off it. She sighed softly and ran her fingers through my hair. “Lick me,” she whispered. Her clit was fat and pink, and seemed to strain out toward me.
I’d tasted plenty of pussy before: my own. This was an entirely different kettle of fish. I shivered with anticipatory delight. I stuck my tongue out and gently traced the opening of her slit, all the way from the fold of her butt-cheeks to her hooded clit. She was salty and musky and I was immediately addicted.
Faith moaned out loud and gripped my hair tighter as I licked her pussy. I didn’t know what I was doing; I made it up as I went along, probing the depths of her pussy and circling her clit. Whatever I was doing, it sure seemed to be working: she was soaking wet and huffing and puffing like a steam train. Of course, the more excited she got, the wetter that made me.
I slid a finger, then two, up inside her pussy. She was hot and tight inside, and her pussy seemed to gobble me up. She was flat on her back on the bed now, moaning and groaning in a most gratifying way. Her wetness was all over my face as I tickled her bulging clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Put a finger in my ass!” she begged/commanded. Her butthole was tiny and crinkled and sexy. I withdrew one of the fingers from her pussy, slick with her juice, and pressed it against her winking anus. It slid right up inside, captured by the little ring of muscle.
“Oh fuck me!” Faith wailed. Her legs were kicking wildly in the air, her hips were bucking hard, mashing her wet pussy against my face. I kept my tongue glued to her clit as I fucked her pussy and her ass with my long fingers.
“I’m going to fucking come! …You’re going to make me come! Holy shit, I’m coming! I’M FUCKING COMING!!”
I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t much care. I stayed with her all the way through her flailing, thrashing orgasm. When she finally settled down, I came up for air, grinning like a fiend. I felt like Queen of Fucking Everything.
“Well let the whole block know, why don’t you?” Faith’s sister Grace was leaning in the doorway, applauding sarcastically. “Nicely done,” she said to me. “Now are we going to the fucking mall, or what?”
Faith got dressed without a sideways glance at me. I followed them downstairs. They got into their sporty little red convertible, and since they didn’t seem inclined to invite me along, I plodded back across the road to my own house, feeling like a fall leaf tossed and tumbled in the wind.
It was the next Saturday morning, and I was raking leaves. It seemed like a pretty pointless activity to me; they just blew back down again, and they’d all be covered with snow soon anyway; but my Dad insisted, and he paid my allowance.
I was lost in meandering thought, playing back in my head the events of the previous weekend while the rake rasped, when I happened to look up. There she was, standing not six feet away from me, watching me work with an appraising look on her face.
Despite myself, I broke out into a huge, idiotic grin.
“You’re really good at it,” she said. “Or that’s what my sister says.”
Oh fuck. It was her.
Grace stuck her tongue out at me. “You looked really good at it too,” she said. “Only one way to be sure though. Come on over.”
I let the rake fall, the handle burying itself in grass and brown leaves. I’d spend half an hour searching for it later on. I followed Grace blindly across the street, dodging an SUV that was doing at least twice the speed limit.
Inside the house, Faith was sitting by the coffee table with their two dads and some grown up guests. She flashed me a sweet smile as I followed her sister meekly up the stairs.
In the bedroom, the door closed behind me with a click. Good thing. I’m not sure I would have had the presence of mind to close it myself.
Grace turned to face me. She shrugged and brushed the hair out of her face. “You want me? Go ahead and undress me.”
I could hear muffled conversation downstairs. Feeling clumsy and slightly ridiculous, I lifted her pink sweater up and pulled it off over her head. Grace stood passively, barely raising her arms to help.
She stood in front of me in a black lace bra and jeans. I got down on my knees and unlaced her tennis shoes, pulling them off one at a time. When I pulled her socks off, she raised her legs, one at a time, offering me the soles of her feet to kiss. My panties were sticky and drenched, my clit throbbing.
I fumbled with the fly of her jeans while she smirked down at me. I could feel the heat of her pussy even through the denim. Finally I got them unbuttoned and tugged them down around her ankles. She was wearing black panties that matched her bra. My own underwear hardly ever matched.
She sighed dramatically, reached around her back, and unsnapped her own bra, letting it fall on the floor beside me. I gazed up at her tits as she pulled and pinched her own nipples.
“Go on,” she said impatiently. “While we’re still young here.”
I pulled her panties down. They slid down her smooth legs and settled in a small heap around her ankles. Grace’s pussy was bare as a baby’s. Not a single stray hair, no hint of stubble. She was drooling wet, and her clit bulged expectantly out. Even that up close and personal, I couldn’t tell her apart from her sister.
“Lick,” Grace said, squeezing her fat labia with two fingers, making her clit bulge out even more. I licked, flicking my tongue like a kitten drinking from a bowl of milk. She tasted like sex; that is to say salty and tangy, and if not actually delicious then absolutely intoxicating. She seemed to like what I was doing: my lips were covered in her wetness and her juices were dribbling down my chin.
“You look fucking horny like that,” Grace told me. I grinned into her pussy and redoubled my efforts, lapping until my tongue ached.
“I want to feel inside you,” I told her, running my fingers up and down her juicy, swollen vulva, teasing in between the lips.
“Oh no you don’t,” Grace said, grabbing my hand and moving it out of the way. “Not unless you’re rich. I’m a virgin. Bonafide. And I intend to stay that way until I get a suitable offer. Now keep licking.”
I kept licking.
It didn’t take her very long. When Grace came, she grabbed me by the hair and mashed my face into her pussy, grinding my outstretched tongue against her clitoris. She sucked air in through her teeth with a hiss, stood up on her tip-toes, and her whole body quivered. I felt like God. My cunt had never been wetter.
When she was done, she took a step back, pushing me away. I had soaked straight through my jeans.
“You are good,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Now that you’ve had lunch, are you ready for dessert?”
She turned around, bent over the bed, presenting her gorgeous pale ass to me. I swear, it was like she could read my filthy mind. I dove in, sticking my face right between her cheeks and lapping eagerly at her dainty little asshole while she masturbated. It was fucking hot.
Grace came again, with that same quivering hiss, and I almost came right along with her, just from the raunchiness of the situation. My face was slick with her come, and there was a massive dark wet spot in the crotch of my jeans.
She finally pulled away from me, and I fell to the floor, panting. Grace turned around to face me, and ran one lazy finger in between her puffy labia, slowly and deliberately licking her juices off of it. Her sister cleared her throat, directly behind me.
“I came up to see if you guys wanted any cookies,” Faith said. “But I see you’ve already eaten.”
“Honey, your friends are here.”
I’d been upstairs, slogging away at homework, and thinking seriously about ditching it and whacking off instead. Faith and Grace had become my favorite masturbatory subjects of late, though Tana was still a close second.
There they were, framed in the doorway, their sporty little red convertible parked in our driveway.
“You should go out with them,” my mom said. “You’re always so diligent about schoolwork. Go out and have some fun for once!”
Two minutes later I was wedged into the back of that red convertible while the twins exceeded the speed limit by an order of magnitude.
We went to the Blue Stone Tavern, a bar my parents went to sometimes. Nobody seemed to look twice at us as we sat down at a table and ordered drinks. I asked for a whiskey sour. It felt cool and exciting to be masquerading as an adult.
The twins took pills with their vodka tonics; a handful of multi-colored capsules apiece. They didn’t offer me any. The place was dark and musty and the music was loud. Grace deftly unbuttoned my pants.
Faith was on my left, and Grace was on my right. “Pull your panties down,” Grace whispered in my ear.
I did as I was told, feeling wild and totally out of control. I was, of course, soaking wet and slick already.
Grace and Faith were wearing matching cute little schoolgirl skirts. I slid a hand under both their skirts and found out that they weren’t wearing panties. Both of them were slick and wet. They reached across my lap and started touching me under the table, running their fingers up and down my clit, darting inside my pussy, circling my clit. I could feel their thighs pressed against my own. Above the table, we maintained a façade of normal conversation. They were bitching about the allowance they got from their dads, which was about ninety dollars a week more than I got.
A redneck with a denim jacket, a skanky beard, and a faded blue denim jacket sat nonchalantly down at our table. The girls, their fingers buried to the hilt in my crotch, smiled like they’d been expecting him.
There was a transaction. Between the cocktail and the fingers that never stopped molesting my cunt, I was fuzzy as to the details; but Dude handed Grace a rolled-up wad of cash, a lot of twenties rubber-banded together; and Faith discretely passed him a ziplock bag.
“Who’s your friend?” the redneck leered. “She’s awful quiet.”
“She’d love to suck your dick,” Grace said.
“But it’ll cost you double,” Faith put in.
Dude laughed like he was in on the joke, and disappeared into the crowded bar. I squirmed, squelching in a puddle of my own making, aching to come.
“I’ve got to pee,” Grace announced.
“Care to join us in the ladies?” Faith asked.
I hurriedly pulled up my panties and buttoned my pants, and followed the twins to the bathroom.
Thank God it was clean. Faith and Grace snorted lines of what I assume was coke off the sink. Then Faith sat down on the toilet and spread her legs, and I got down on my knees and licked her wet pussy until she came, while Grace filmed us with her iPhone.
They traded places. I took the opportunity to pull down my pants again. “That’s right babe,” Grace said, “Masturbate for us.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” Faith called, as she slipped the tip of one wet finger up my asshole. I lapped furiously at Grace’s pussy.
Grace came hard, kicking her legs and hissing like a cat. I was just about there myself. Faith’s finger was insinuating itself deeper and deeper up my butt.
“Don’t move,” Grace growled, and I didn’t. My face was coated in her tangy, slick juice, my tongue pressed against her slick swollen cunt.
The knock at the door again, more insistent this time. “Just a minute,” Faith repeated, extracting her finger from my gasping butt hole.
Grace urinated right into my mouth. It took me by surprise, so some if it splashed onto my face and shirt, but mostly the warm, salty liquid just filled my mouth like some weird kind of sports drink. I swallowed thirstily. It didn’t taste gross or anything; I didn’t think it was nasty, just super hot. When she was done, I licked her clean, we all three got dressed, and left the bathroom, parading smugly past a line of impatient women.
In the back seat, on the way home, I spread my legs and whacked off furiously while Grace and Faith watched in the rear-view mirror.
“We’re having a party at the house next weekend,” Grace said.
“Our dads are staying down in the city, so it’ll be just us,” Faith put in. “Will you be our guest?”
“You’ll be the piñata,” Grace said.
Of course I would come.
Everyone was there. All the jocks, all the rich and popular kids; everyone I would never hang out with. It was a party I would never ever have been invited to.
Tara Franks was there, looking gorgeous and effervescent in a fluffy pink sweater. Her boyfriend was there too, Cliff Something-Or-Other, the quarterback of the football team and class president.
The music was blastingly loud, Lady Gaga or some shit that I don’t listen to. Everyone was drinking, and the whole house reeked of pot.
They led me upstairs, into the bedroom. They’d shoved the bed to one side and set up the big, class-topped coffee table in the middle of the floor.
I stripped while the twins watched me objectively. There was only one bed in the bedroom, I noticed for the first time. They must sleep in it together at night. The implications of that made me a little weak in the knees.
When I was naked, they had me kneel atop the coffee table. Faith produced a pair of shiny steel chrome handcuffs and secured my hands behind my back. The window panes rattled in time with the bass line.
Grace had a large and expensive-looking bottle in her hand. “Have you ever had a champagne enema?” Faith asked me.
I’d never had an enema of any sort.
“You’ll love it,” Grace told me, and gave her sister’s boob an affectionate squeeze through her shirt. “Bend over.”
I lay my head down on the glass tabletop, with my naked rump thrust up in the air. After a bit of a struggle the sisters got the cork out with a satisfying *pop*, and foamy liquid came bubbling out. Grace proceeded to shove the neck of the bottle up my ass.
It felt distinctly strange. First of all, getting it in kind of hurt, and Grace wasn’t gentle about it. Once the neck of the bottle was in past my anus though, it mostly just felt weird. I felt vulnerable and kind and ridiculous, but my clit was definitely singing. The bubbly liquid stung and cramped as it infiltrated my bowels. I moaned, and Grace giggled. I wished I could touch my clit, but my hands were cuffed behind my back. The position I was in was deeply humiliating, and I felt totally out of control. Grace was right, I did love it.
Without any warning, she yanked the bottle out, leaving my asshole gasping. I went off like a geyser, spraying champagne across the bedroom. Both girls squealed with hysterical laughter.
It was about then that it hit me, like a framing hammer right in the forehead, that I was drunk. Fucked-up, shattered, shitfaced drunk.
Faith opened the door to the bedroom, and kids came in and started milling around. It should have freaked me out to be naked and on display in front of all the popular kids from school, but between the alcohol and my libido, I don’t remember it bothering me at all.
“Everything is free tonight,” announced Grace, “Everything is on the house. You want something to take home, just talk to Faith.”
You know how some people black out when they get too drunk, and can’t remember a thing? Well I remember it all, in glorious living Technicolor, though it has a disjointed quality to it, like someone’s vacation slides where the sequence got all mixed up.
I remember random people squeezing my butt and my boobs. I remember seeing a bunch of kids doing lines off the top of the dresser. I remember seeing Cliff Something-Or-Other, with Faith’s help, shoving a big needle into his muscular forearm. I remember Tara screaming at him, calling him an asshole, and a bunch of people laughing.
Then Cliff got naked and climbed onto the bed, and Faith and Grace stripped down to their underwear and snorted fat lines of cocaine off his erect cock.
I’d never seen an actual erection before, and I remember thinking it looked strangely biological. I didn’t find it disgusting or anything, just odd. What a weird design. I don’t know how anyone kind finds the things attractive. But to each their own…
The lights got turned down, and it got quieter, and I think the mood and focus of the party shifted. I saw Grace and Faith in bed together, tangled up in a 69, while Cliff masturbated.
Then someone tried to stick his dick in my pussy, but came before he could get it inside. Someone else was trying to stuff his cock into my mouth, but it wouldn’t seem to get hard, and he was yelling furiously at me and slapping me across the face like it was all my fault or something.
And then Tara grabbed me and pulled me away and helped me get down the stairs, and we ended up in another bedroom, the Dads I guess, and we were kissing in the dark, and then her clothes came off and I was eating her pussy out like a starving woman.
She had soft fur down there, and she was very wet, and she tasted like some spice I can’t think of, and she came so long and hard and loud that it was kind of scary.
Then I started to feel a little sick, then a lot sick, and then I was dry-heaving, and struggling my way out of the house and across the lawn and across the street and into my own front yard. I crawled the last little way into the house, gagging and sobbing.
My mom, to whom I am forever grateful, didn’t ask any questions beyond “Are you OK?”. She cleaned me up, used a bobby pin to unlock the handcuffs, got some pajamas on me, and put me to bed. I slept long and hard, and felt like shit the next day.
American History was my worst class. It was the only class I had that wasn’t A.P. or honors, and it was painfully boring. I still felt shaky and fragile, and I knew that half the school had seen me naked, and it was only Monday morning and I already wanted the day to be over. Mr. Crowfoot, the teacher, was droning on and on about the Reconstruction, and I was more or less wishing I was dead, when Cliff What’s-His-Name collapsed.
I’d never paid much attention to Cliff: he sat in the back of the class and was kind of a loudmouth joker. The only reason I’d even been aware of him was that he was my primary crush’s boyfriend. Anyway, he fell out of his seat like a big bag of potatoes, and the whole class kind of gasped simultaneously, and then things started happening really fast. Mr. Crowfoot walked over and checked his pulse, and then yelled “Someone call 911!” and started doing CPR, and suddenly there were sirens everywhere and people were sobbing and parents were showing up and grabbing their kids and no-one seemed to know what was going on.
In the end, eight kids died that day, and another thirteen were in critical condition. The word was someone had been selling bad heroin from down in the city. Later that day, every cop car in the world converged on the house across the street. By that weekend, a For Sale sign had gone up. I never saw or heard from Faith and Grace again.
Tara Franks caught up with me in the hall.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m OK,” I said cautiously, “How is your boyfriend?”
“Cliff,” she said. “Ex-boyfriend. He’s still in the hospital. They say he might have brain damage. I’m not sure how they could tell.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. Listen,” Tara said, and suddenly she was very close to me, and my heart was pounding in my chest. “Listen, you made me feel really good the other night at the party. I’d like to make you feel good too. Do you think you could teach me?”
I took her hand, and she squeezed my fingers. My clit jumped and my pussy drooled. She did not let go of my hand. “I’d be happy,” I said, “to teach you anything you want to learn.”