Archive for January, 2013

The Continuing Adventures of the Devirginator

The Devirginator makes her entrance through the second-story bedroom window. Perched on the sill, backlit by the rising moon, she must look like a full-page panel straight out of a graphic novel. Or at least that was the intention. Her purple cape billows and flaps dramatically in the night breeze. Her breasts are supported by a shocking-red strapless bra, the kind that works so much better in theory than in practice, and she is wearing a matching pair of skimpy, butt-floss style panties that her alter-ego wouldn’t be caught dead in. On her feet are sequined red rock-climbing slippers, with modified racecar rubber for soles, and her face is obscured by a red feathered masquerade ball mask.

In the soft moonlight, the sleeping boy on the bed looks like a cherub. If she hadn’t known his actual age—22—the Devirginator might have mistaken him for a prepubescent child. But then he rolls over onto his back, still mostly asleep, pushing the blankets away, and the illusion is shattered. Ben always sleeps in the nude.

The Devirginator sees a lot of naked young men in her line of work. Typically they are not the most conventionally attractive specimens. They tend to be overweight, underweight, and/or have grooming issues. Not that she is complaining. She isn’t. The Devirginator loves them all. But this one is an entirely different kind of Ken doll. He has the body of an athlete, the wholesome good looks of an Eagle Scout. As a matter of fact, the Devirginator knows that he played high school football, and that he was something of a sensation as a quarterback at his small Christian school. His body looks like it could have been chiseled out of marble by a classic Greek sculptor. A rather horny and perverted old goat of a sculptor: young Ben is sporting quite an impressive erection.

He half-sits up in bed. “I didn’t think you’d really come,” he whispers.

The Devirginator puts one finger to her lips, miming a ‘Shush’. Ben’s parents are watching TV downstairs. She shinned past them when she climbed the drain pipe. The Devirginator hops down from the window sill, and more-or-less elegantly slips out of her sequined red climbing shoes. The strapless brassiere has fallen down of its own accord, as it tends to in these situations. Her boobs are not particularly large, and appear somewhat asymmetrical when unrestrained.

She climbs up onto the bed and straddles him. His dick is rubbing delectably up against the front of her scarlet panties. She kisses his lips, and he kisses her right back, with an eagerness and candor that almost takes her breath away. Her pussy is drooling with anticipatory lust. This is going to be great. She takes his hand, a big strong soft paw, and guides it to her breast. His stomach is flat and hard, with a soft fuzzy treasure-trail leading south from his navel. His balls are thick and heavy. His cock is leaking slick fluid onto her thighs, agonizingly close to her crotch. Her clit is pounding like a big bass drum.

She reaches down between her legs, and takes him in hand. He feels even bigger than he looks. His cock is hot and hard and eager and alive. She pulls her panties to one side and guides him toward the target. Her cunt is wet and slippery and open and slaveringly hungry. Her clit is thumping along in time with her pounding heart. She is really going to enjoy plucking this one.

Ben jerks away from her, breaks off the kiss. “No,” he says. “Stop, please. No.”

“No?” She lifts herself up, poised to pounce, ready to engulf him in one fell swoop.

“No… I’m just not ready.”

The Devirginator fumbles her shoes back on, and leaves the same way she got in, though the window. Her stupid strapless bra is all askew and her panties are annoyingly wet and crawling up her butt something fierce. She slides down the drain pipe in a bit of a snit, past his parents watching reruns, and wraps herself in her purple cape once she reaches the ground. She climbs into her little grey Toyota and drives off into the night. She has other fish to fry.

She bangs on the door of Tony’s apartment. The Devirginator carries a lock pick kit in her car, but right now she just isn’t in the mood to diddle around with torsion wrenches and tumblers. Looking quizzical and sleep-deprived, Tony answers the door, an open bag of Doritos dangling from one hand. He is wearing a Dragon magazine t-shirt and grey sweat pants. She pushes past the threshold into his combined living room/bedroom, pressing her body up against him, nibbling and kissing his lips, ignoring his questions and protests. The half-eaten bag of chips falls onto the floor and the door swings shut behind them.

True to form, Tony was on his computer playing Dungeon Crawl or something of that sort. The boy has a possibly unhealthy addiction to obsolete D&D style video games from the 1980s. The Devirginator, or rather her alter-ego, found him leafing through diskettes in the back of a dingy gaming store at the mall. One glance and she knew he was just her type.

Her hand slips down the front of his grey sweat pants, past his tighty-whities. He is already hard. This is promising. He’s not hung like a python, but he’s no mini either, and anyway the Devirginator doesn’t put much stock in metrics like size. She’s in it for the whole experience.

He tastes like sour sweat, Diet Coke, and Doritos. “You,” she says in a voice that brooks no argument, “into the shower. Now.”

Never taking his wide, innocent, slightly bloodshot brown eyes off of her, Tony strips out of his clothes, and turns on the water. On another guy, the extra weight Tony carries wouldn’t be troublesome. It might even be fetching, in a cute-and-cuddly teddy bear sort of way. On Tony though, it just looks like flab. Lack of muscle tone and sketchy posture and a pale complexion don’t help, but the problem runs deeper. What Tony lacks is confidence. Boy should get out more often. If he ever wants to get laid.

The Devirginator has ditched her shoes, cape, and panties, as well as the retarded bra. He watches her all the time he is in the shower. He’s probably afraid that if he blinks she will disappear like a djinn, evaporating into whatever bottle she came out of. He doesn’t need to worry. The Devirginator is going nowhere. After he has rinsed the soap suds off, she reaches in and turns off the water. No sense in ruining her red feathered masquerade ball mask. Damn thing was expensive.

She climbs into the bathtub with him, sits her butt on the edge of the tub, and gets down to the business of sucking his dick. Now that he is soapy-clean, she savors it. He hasn’t had this pleasure, he once told her (or more correctly, this is what he told the plain-clothes daytime version of herself when they ate mozzarella sticks at the food court) since he was fourteen, at camp. And that was a botched job.

The Devirginator is very good at this, and she knows it. She plays Tony like a maestro conducting an orchestra, simultaneously pushing his buttons and his limits, bringing him micrometers from the edge and then deftly backing off. She pulls out her entire toolkit for this one, stimulating his cock, balls, perineum, and anus with lips, tongue, and fingers. Long before she is ready to move on to Act II, he is wailing and moaning, begging for release. It is deeply gratifying.

At last, it becomes clear that Tony cannot be toyed with any longer. He is a bottle of nitroglycerin that has been shaken as much as it can be shook. Somewhat regretfully, the Devirginator disengages. Her mouth is tired, but happy. They clamber out of the bathtub, partly in the interest of safety and comfort, and partly to give poor over-excited Tony a few moments of cooling-off time. He towels off, his engorged cock wagging proudly as he dries his body. They leave the bathroom and tumble onto his disreputable futon couch. When was the last time he changed those sheets? The Devirginator doesn’t even want to know.

She straddles him. This is her preferred position for situations like this. She grasps his cock, points it directly at her aching, needy cunt. She didn’t even make him put on a condom. She will kick herself for this later, but this time the gamble pays off.

“Are you ready?” she asks. It is strictly a pro forma question. He grunts in ascent, nods eagerly, and she slowly, deliberately lowers herself onto him, giddily savoring every brief second of it.

Even with her on top, in control of pace and penetration, he won’t last long. Three, maybe four squishy, squelchy ins-and-outs, and then it is all over. This is all fine. She is enjoying herself immensely. Later on, she will masturbate to this scene, playing it all back in her head. Then she will get her orgasm. For now it is all about him.

She feels him slip past the point of no return, even as he croaks out “I’m coming!” She plunges down on him, rocking her hips and grinding herself into his fluffy pubes, his entire length and girth buried inside her as his cock swells, pulses, spasms, and ultimately explodes, pumping an immodest amount of semen straight into her pussy. The come leaks copiously out of her as she extracts herself—no post-coital cuddling for the Devirginator—and they are both left slightly stunned, sweaty, half-dazed and out of breath.

The Devirginator recovers first. Of course she does. She has infinitely more experience than Tony does. He is still blinking like an oversized Hobbit as she collects her things, wraps herself up in her purple cape, and exits the way she came in, through the door. Then it is into the Toyota and off to home base. It is late, and there is a hot shower, a cold beer, a dildo, and fresh AAs in her vibrator waiting for her. On the whole, it was a successful night, she tells herself. But it is only a half-truth, and she is irritated. The Devirginator hates to be rebuffed.


The Devirginator’s alter-ego spends a lot of time hanging out in gaming shops, off-label coffee houses, used book stores, and the like. She took an evening Calculus course at the local community college partly for professional development, and partly because it seemed like an ideal hunting ground.

Her looks are unremarkable. She is chunky without being overweight, friendly without being intimidating, neither quiet nor outspoken, and rather plain-looking. Or if you are feeling ungenerous, slightly homely. Over the years, she has gotten quite good at picking out her boys, and at steering the conversation toward the topic that most concerns her: their virginity. Call it her superpower. The Devirginator is, for better or for worse, me.

I never in a million years would have picked out Ben as a low-hanging fruit of the unplucked variety. He sat next to me in Calc, right up in front. He was simply too good looking, in a blonde and chiseled All American sort of way. I immediately assumed that he had a girlfriend, or girlfriends, and I figured he was probably lousy in bed anyway. I ignored him and spent my time in class sizing up the other prospects. Of which there were many.

I probably never even would have even spoken to him if he hadn’t spoken to me first. He asked me in class about a homework problem, and I jumped as if stung. I didn’t know the answer either. Calculus is hard, and it had been years and years since I had last had a math class. We agreed to make a study date, and if I didn’t exactly think nothing more of it, I certainly didn’t get my hopes up either.

We met up the next afternoon, an hour or so before class, in the sterile and depressingly stark school cafeteria. We worked on our homework together, and it actually helped. More out of habit than anything, I maneuvered the conversation towards sex. I was flabbergasted when he told me.

He actually blushed. It was cute. It was a problem, he said, and he had no idea how to go about getting rid of it.

“Why?” I asked. Why hadn’t he taken the plunge when he was a high school football star with his pick of the cheerleading squad?

“Religious convictions,” he said.

And what changed? Why did he suddenly want to ditch his V-card now that he was single, grown-up, and gainfully under-employed?

“Disillusionment,” he told me.

What makes a person a virgin, or not a virgin? It’s a slippery, thorny question, but Ben’s answer was straightforward. “A penis in a vagina,” he said. Oh, so he’d had other kinds of sex, anal or oral, but still considered himself a virgin? He blushed furiously. No, his high school girlfriend had had religious convictions too. The furthest they’d gone was some remarkably chaste necking and petting in the back seat of his Daddy’s minivan.

We settled back into homework. A big part of the art that I practice is in knowing when to back off, knowing when to not push too hard on a sensitive subject. But I was already scheming away like a mad scientist. I wanted to push Ben’s buttons in the worst kind of way.


The next time the Devirginator enters though Ben’s bedroom window, he is waiting for her.

“Are you ready this time?” she asks.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, and she is OK with that.

They lie down on his bed together. He is already naked, and she has shed everything but her mask and panties. They kiss for a long while, and touch. She lets him explore her body, though he is maddeningly tentative. The excitement is becoming unbearable.

The Devirginator wraps her hand around his penis. Once again, it feels even bigger than it looks.

“Can I jerk you off?” she asks, “Would that be OK?”

“Yes,” he says, lying back on the bed and folding his hands behind his head, “please do.”

The Devirginator loves giving a good handjob, though she doesn’t usually take it to its logical conclusion. She wishes she had a bottle of cool, slippery lube to pour over him, but she doesn’t, and he certainly isn’t complaining. He plays with her breasts, ungracefully but enthusiastically, like a kid with a brand new toy, while she masturbates him.

Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, her hand never stops. She pauses to fondle his balls, or to trace a fingertip up and down the swollen vein that runs along the underside of his cock. Her finger softly traces the outlines of the swollen, sensitive head, spreading around the joy juice that is leaking out of his tiny pink hole. She gently pets his testicles, and begins to traverse further down into the darker, unexplored regions between his taut buttocks, but he squirms away. Then it is back to business.

She senses the change, senses him slipping past the edge, and instead of backing off, she goes with it. She grips him firmly and jerks him off, kissing and nibbling at his crinkly little nipples as her arm moves with the regularity of a metronome. Allegro con brio.

He goes off almost without warning. The only sound he makes as he orgasms is a gasping inhalation: “Uuuuuh!” He squirts a perfect arc of pearlescent white semen halfway up his nearly hairless sternum. She stays with him, stroking him until he is completely finished and too sensitive too touch, though her shoulder aches with it. Then, not being the wasteful sort, she laps up the salty-bitter come that is splashed all over his flat tummy. Every last drop.

“Was that alright?” she asks, “Are you still a virgin?”

“Yeah,” he says, still a little dazed, “I think so.”

The Devirginator makes to leave. She has places to be, cherries to pop tonight, but he stops her.

“Can I reciprocate?” he asks.

The Devirginator does not normally linger. ‘Full speed ahead’ is her motto: fuck ‘em and forget ‘em.

“Sure thing,” she says, sitting back down on his bed. She slides her silly red panties off. He goggles at her pussy as if it is the first one he has ever seen. Maybe it is. Have a good look. The Devirginator is emphatically not the waxing type. She does keep things neatly trimmed down there, but her pussy is neither airbrushed, nor does it taste like peach ice cream. She hopes this doesn’t freak him out: inexperienced guys who have seen a lot of porn can have some strange ideas about what belongs between a girl’s legs. But Ben doesn’t seem phased.

There is no shortage of wetness, that’s for sure. That is rarely a problem for the Devirginator. They experiment with a couple different positions, but what seems to work best is her sitting on his lap, legs splayed apart and leaning back against his solid, muscular chest.

His hands are aggravatingly clumsy at first. It takes a little hand-holding and instruction, but Ben proves to be a quick study, and he learns the terrain remarkably quickly. The Devirginator realizes that she is in serious danger of having an orgasm—a non-self inflicted orgasm, and Lord knows it’s been long enough! She would like to let go and scream out loud as the climax approaches, his hands drawing tiny circles up and down and all around her clit, but his parents are in the other room, so she stifles herself by kissing him hard and viciously on the lips. She is playing with her own nipples, pinching and pulling them harder than he would ever dare. Her spine ratchets and twists, and her toes curl as she comes. Not bad, not bad at all. Not even half-bad. She watches, smoldering, as he licks his fingers clean. It may not be peach ice cream, but he sure doesn’t seem to mind the taste.

Then the Devirginator makes her exit. She does, after all, have other fish to fry, other appointments to keep. She is smiling all the way down the drainpipe.


What makes a person a virgin? When I posed the question to Hami, he answered unequivocally.

“Sexual intercourse.”

“So a penis inside a vagina? That’s what defines virginity?”

He paused and mulled that over. “No, not necessarily. Any kind of sexual intercourse, really.”

“So if a scantily clad superhero broke into your bedroom and just gave you a handjob, that would count as losing your virginity?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I guess it would have to involve penetration of some kind or another.”

Hami’s problem wasn’t that he was bad-looking or ill-groomed. Far from it. His problem was that he was invisible. Tall, bespectacled, skinny as a shadow, quiet as a whisper, he was one of those anonymous, brown-skinned kids who sit in the front row of the classroom and always seem to get straight-As.

Actually, Hami was anything but another generic civil engineer to-be. Once I got past the shyness and the not-perfect English, he turned out to be pretty interesting, the kind of guy I’d like to be friends with. He was bright, philosophical, soft-spoken, liberal, irreverent, slightly perverted, and hilarious in an extraordinarily dry sort of way. And I was absolutely itching to pop his cherry. You want penetration Mr. Hami? You got it!


The Devirginator makes her entrance through the only window there is in his converted basement bedroom. In addition to her regular costume, she is wearing a black webbing harness, and attached to the harness is a large pink dildo that bobs and waves as she moves. Maneuvering herself through the tiny window without snagging her cape, pulling off her strapless bra, or getting the dildo caught is quite the Houdini act, and the Devirginator feels rather proud of herself.

Hami is sitting on the side of his bed. He is wearing white cotton pajamas. It’s pretty adorable.

“Are you who I think you are?”

“I think so.”

“Are you planning to do what I think you’re planning to do?” He looks pointedly at the brightly colored phallus projecting from the Devirginator’s crotch. “With that thing?”

“I sure am.”

The Devirginator hadn’t been at all sure what his reaction would be. It had been a gamble, based on a hunch. He might have run screaming. But no. Hami is smiling and pulling of his pajama tops. The gamble, so far, seems to be paying off.

She knows that his parents are watching TV in the room directly above them. That is half the problem with these boys, she reflects: they need to get their own apartments. He half-leans back on the bed, and she removes his pajama bottoms.

He has a very nice cock. Not too hairy, darker than she’s used to, uncircumcised. He is already halfway erect. It’s not huge, but it’s not small either, and she thinks it’s quite aesthetically pleasing.

She stands next to the bed and lets him suck her dick. She hadn’t thought this part would do anything for her—there aren’t any nerve endings in that pink dildo of hers—but in fact it is almost knee-bucklingly sexy. He is doing his damnedest to swallow her whole, and his hands are on her butt, and she is humping up against his hungry lips, and the base of the dildo keeps rubbing up against her clit, and she thinks that if he keeps this up, she might just be able to come.

The Devirginator pushes Hami away with both hands, sending him sprawling onto the bed. He lands on his back and pulls his knees up toward his chest. His balls are plump and ripe. His cock is definitely erect now, the purple crown peeking out from beneath the foreskin. His asshole is tiny and precious, pink compared to the brown of his skin. He smells slightly of exotic spices.

The Devirginator would very much like to spear him, impale him with one vicious thrust, bury her cock all the way up that tight little hole and fuck him like an x-rated Wonder Woman. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t stick her tongue up his asshole either, though she is deeply tempted. Instead, she pulls a small bottle of lube out of her utility belt, and dribbles it slowly onto his anus as if she is decorating a cookie. He whimpers, and bites down on his pillow. She pours more of the slippery stuff up and down her day-glo phallus.

She nudges the end of her dildo up against his tiny asshole. Her cock seems awfully big, and his opening is puckered tightly shut. It is possible that she has miscalculated.

She pushes a little harder. He grunts. His asshole yields, and she is inside.

Once in, the going is substantially easier. The Devirginator pushes in and pulls out and pushes back in again. Each time, she slides a little deeper. Each time she shoves it in, Hami grunts into the pillow, and his cock jumps and his balls shake.

The dildo is all the way up inside him. The bed squeaks every time the Devirginator thrusts with her hips. Hami is chowing down on that pillow of his. His dick jiggles and twitches pleasingly as she fucks his ass. It has gotten quite hard, quite hard indeed.

She really is going to come. She probably couldn’t stop right now, even if he wanted her to. Fortunately, he doesn’t appear to want any such thing.

The Devirginator wraps her hand around Hami’s penis. It feels delicious: hot and hard and smooth as silk. With her dildo buried all the way up to the flanged base in Hami’s tight little asshole, the Devirginator bucks her hips, grinding herself against the base of the dildo, relishing the expression on Hami’s face, and the stifled noises he keeps making as she sodomizes him. Her hand moves on his dick in precise sync with the motion of her pelvis. She feels herself slipping over the edge, and she is determined to take him with her.

Miraculously, they manage to come at the same time. Hami’s cock twitches and spurts at the exact same moment that the Devirginator’s orgasm washes over her. He splashes come all over his smooth, brown belly. She chews on her purple cape to keep from screaming out loud.

She gently withdraws from him, and cleans up his spilt semen with her tongue. Because she is not the kind of girl to let a good thing go to waste. Watching her lick up his come gets Hami hard all over again—he is, after all, only nineteen. He ends up jerking off onto her breasts, which she finds quite fetching, although he doesn’t produce nearly as much semen this time. The expression on his face as he comes though is truly priceless.

The Devirginator gets dressed again, removing the dildo from its harness and tucking it into her utility belt. Hami looks sleepy, and has a big goofy smile plastered across his face. The Devirginator asks him what it feels like to not be a virgin anymore.

“Nice,” he says, “it feels pretty nice.”

The Devirginator wouldn’t mind having that cock inside her sometime, no not at all. Perhaps another night. There is, after all, more than one kind of virginity.

The Devirginator slips out by the back door. The basement window would be too challenging and awkward to squeeze out through, so she takes the less dramatic route, quietly up the stairs and out into the night, past Hami’s parents who are sitting in the living room watching Baliwood on VHS with the volume turned up high.

When she gets home, the Devirginator masturbates herself to another orgasm, still wearing her costume. This time, though, it isn’t Hami she is fucking in her mind’s eye. It is Ben, and it isn’t a silicone dildo she is wearing either, strapped onto a cumbersome harness, but an actual flesh-and-blood penis. Anatomically impossible, but hot nonetheless.


The end of the semester was coming up, and my adventures as the Devirginator’s alter-ego and talent scout became curtailed by the very real necessity of studying for the final. Locating and seducing virgins suddenly became a much lower priority. I wanted to pass this test, and I wanted to ace it. I was studying my ass off, studying as hard as I had ever studied in my life. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that math is easy, because it ain’t.

I didn’t even realize she was flirting with me, not until long after the conversation was over. I’ve never been especially good at talking with girls. It always makes me feel gauche and awkward and unsure of myself. I’m never sure what to say.

Sally wasn’t even in my calc class. She was just a girl that I kept running into on campus. She was a pretty girl, younger than me, with round bouncy boobs, a pony tail, a pleasant smile, and a gorgeous wide ass that always seemed to be perfectly framed in a pair of tight, faded blue jeans.

I watched that ass hungrily as she walked away down the hall after one of our conversations. She had stopped and chatted, and I had set aside the heavy textbook and she sat down next to me, and next thing I knew we were talking about boys, crushes, sex, pornographic fantasies, superheroes, and virginity. As she walked away down the hall, her generous butt wiggling saucily, I realized in a self-conscious flash that she’d been flirting with me. And that I’d been flirting back, pretty shamelessly. Next time we met, she asked for my phone number, and I wrote it down for her, my ears blazing hotly and my hand trembling as I printed the digits.


The Devirginator picks Sally up in her little grey Toyota in front of her apartment building. Rarely has she been so nervous about a mission, and she’s not even sure why. She checks her costume one last time as Sally jogs up to the car.

Sally grins as she climbs in. “Holy shit,” she says, “I didn’t know you were being serious!”

Sally puts her hand on the Devirginator’s naked thigh, and the Devirginator breaks out in goosebumps and her stomach does a back flip. “I could kill my roommates for staying in tonight,” Sally goes on, not moving her hand from its position, perilously close to the crotch of the Devirginator’s fancy panties. “Let’s find somewhere to park, OK? I’m fucking dying of horny.”

The Devirginator parks her car in a cul-de-sac in an abandoned subdivision full of ghostly, unfinished McMansions. She really should be at home, working on her calculus, but math is about the furthest thing from her mind at this moment.

Sally starts it. Sally has more experience with this than the Devirginator does, though by her own admission she’s never taken it much further than ‘kissing and a little furtive touching’.

The kissing is very nice. And the touching is rapidly becomes less and less furtive and more and more overt. Pretty soon it is going to be downright pornographic.

If someone were to drive up right now, they would be treated to a show indeed. But no one does drive up, and the two girls quickly steam up the windows anyway.

Sally is a very good kisser. And Sally has very nice breasts. Once the Devirginator removes them from the confines of their brassiere, she can hardly bear to leave them alone. They are larger than the Devirginator’s (who’s own strapless bra is now down around her waist), and, she thinks, more shapely. Sally, although she appreciates the attention being paid to her own boobs, and enjoys nibbling and tweaking the Devirginator’s pink erect nipples, is eager to move onward and downward.

The front seat is just impossible. The steering wheel and gear shift are in the way, and the Devirginator’s cape keeps getting tangled. They move into the back seat, which is still cramped, awkward and uncomfortable, but better.

It is fun to kiss a girl, and it’s sexy, and it is a lot of fun to play with her boobs, but this is uncharted territory. The Devirginator isn’t sure exactly what is supposed to happen next.

Sally is all over that. She unbuttons her jeans, and gently pries the Devirginator’s hands away from her large, bare breasts, and guides them inside her pretty pink panties.

She is startlingly wet down there. It is hot and slippery. The Devirginator feels slightly lost. She isn’t exactly sure what to do with her hand, which strikes her as odd because she does this to herself on a daily basis. But still, it is different with someone else. Sally guides her finger, holding the Devirginator’s hand in her own, running laps up and down the length of her vulva. The Devirginator can feel a bump near the top that she is almost certain is Sally’s clit. Every time her fingers brush that bump, Sally jumps as if she has been shocked.

They are kissing the entire time. The action is making the Devirginator almost unbearably horny. She feels like she could finger-bang Sally all night long. Sally squirms impatiently away from her, pulling the Devirginator’s hand out of her panties.

“I want to fuck you now,” Sally says.

“I have a dildo in the trunk.” The Devirginator is actually blushing.

“Not like that,” Sally smiles. “Like this.”

The Devirginator lies down across back seat, hooking one leg behind a headrest. Sally pulls off the Devirginator’s bright red thong, and proceeds to fuck her hard and deep with her long, slender fingers, mashing her palm hard against the Devirginator’s clit. She presses one finger up against the Devirginator’s asshole. The Devirginator comes hard, and Sally kisses her all the way through the exquisite, languid, drawn-out orgasm.

When Sally pulls out her fingers—three of them!—the Devirginator’s pussy makes a slurping sound that sounds a lot like a fart, and the Devirginator is momentarily mortified. But Sally is doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Look how wet I made you!” Sally says, holding up her fingers to demonstrate. They are thoroughly coated in come, glued together and slick with the Devirginator’s juices. Sally is beaming with pride. The Devirginator licks the proffered fingers clean. She is just that kind of a girl.

The Devirginator drives Sally home. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to come.”

“I don’t mind,” Sally says. “It’s pretty hard to get me off. It was fun though. Maybe next time.”

“Will there be a next time?”

“Yeah, definitely. If you want there to be a next time?”

“Oh absolutely,” the Devirginator says, “I sure do.”

“Me too,” Sally says. “And maybe next time we could do it without the superhero costume.”


The Devirginator really should be studying. Tomorrow is the final exam. Instead, she scales the drainpipe, and slips into Ben’s bedroom through the open window.

She is hungry for him, viscerally, ravenously hungry. She is going to devour him, eat him alive, suck his dick until he comes in her mouth. Then she will go home and masturbate and do a little studying.

Ben is waiting for her. He is naked, but not in bed. He is standing in the corner, just out of sight, and when the Devirginator slips through the open window, he tackles her, throwing her onto the bed.

The Devirginator’s cape billows and flaps, just like a full-page panel out of a graphic novel. Her mask is knocked askew and almost comes off, and while she is straightening it out so she doesn’t reveal her face, he pulls her panties off.

For a fleeting moment, she thinks he is going to fuck her, and that would be just fine. But instead he dives face-first in between her legs.

The Devirginator has never been entirely sure she likes being eaten out. It hasn’t actually happened all that much, and the few times when it wasn’t weird or uncomfortable or awkward or over before it even started, it just didn’t seem to do that much for her. All the books say cunnilingus is the bomb and then some, but in general the Devirginator would rather suck and fuck.

This time, however, seems to be different. For one thing, it is apparent that Ben is in it for the long haul, not just a few tentative licks and come up for air. For another thing, and she isn’t entirely sure why this would be the case, the Devirginator doesn’t feel at all self-conscious about having him down there between her legs. She isn’t worried about whether the taste bothers him or whether he’s getting bored. She finds herself relaxing into what he is doing, and admiring his taut little football player’s butt while he’s doing it. And for another thing, she is beginning to realize that he is really very good at this. It’s partly technical (he’ll tell her later that he did quite a bit of reading up on the subject), and partly the intuitive sense of a skilled performer.

Ben laps incessantly at her clit, just flicking the end of his tongue up against it, like a kitten lapping at a saucer of milk. Every so often, he slurps up and down her vulva, spreading the slickness around, and now and then he slurps her clit in between his lips and sucks on it like a tiny rock candy. This makes the Devirginator squirm and squeal. She wishes he would stick one or two fingers up her asshole, but she can’t quite bring herself to ask him to. He licks enthusiastically, glancing up for approval now and then, which she gives in moans and groans and by tugging his hair. What he is doing is driving her crazy, building up a massive orgasm, a supernova, a Death Star explosion. He slips a finger, or maybe more than one inside her pussy, and the Devirginator writhes, balanced teetering right on the edge. What pushes her over is when she looks down at him and sees that he is jerking off while he eats her out. She comes and she comes hard, screaming into a pillow while her body shivers and shakes and she grinds her cunt up and down Ben’s eager licking face. He gets himself off while she is still reveling in the aftershocks, squirting his hot come all over the Devirginator’s wide-spread inner thighs, which only extends her orgasm.


The calculus final went far better than I had any right to expect. I got an A, by a comfortable margin. Ben was happy with his B+. And then he threw me for a loop when he asked if I wanted to get together with him Thursday night. Our studying days were over, and I figured I’d seen the last of him. No, he wanted to take me to a movie.

I can’t tell you much about the movie. I sat through the whole film, obnoxiously moist between my legs, busily second-guessing myself. This guy was way out of my league. He was a football star, a Boy Scouts poster child. He could be a male model, for God’s sake. And, echoing through the back of my head: he’s a virgin.

After the movie, Ben asked if I would like to hang out for a while, get some food or a cup of coffee or whatever. I told him I could think of something I’d rather do. That threw him for a bit of a loop. He asked if I’d like to come back to his house. I thought about his parents, watching TV in the living room, or reading in bed. I suggested that we go over to my apartment.

My place was a mess in an epic sort of way—I hadn’t anticipated having anyone over—and my bedroom floor was covered in a thick layer of comic books, math notes, dirty laundry, and superhero costume components that we had to wade through like fallen leaves. Ben didn’t seem to mind, though. I kicked a dildo under the bed, hopefully before Ben could see it. He was already busy, kissing and undressing me. I liked it when he was a little bit shy and unsure of himself, but I also adored it when he got aggressive and assertive. It turned a crank for me that I hadn’t even known I possessed. His erection was bulging nicely in the front of his jeans.

We landed in a heap on my bed. Thank goodness the sheets were at least reasonably clean. I think I mentioned before that size isn’t particularly important to me. That said, I think Ben has the perfect-sized dick. It is impressively big, big enough to be a bit of a challenge, but no so big as to be painful and/or scary. It is nice and thick, and has a beautifully shaped head. I got to try my hand at sucking it for the first time that night, on my bed, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. On another occasion, I would happily have made a whole production of it, sucking his cock until he whined and whimpered, until his balls twitched and he squirted off between my hungry lips, but this wasn’t the night for it. We both knew that.

There was some debate about whether or not he should wear a condom. He was a virgin, and I was on the pill. In the end we decided that safe was better than sorry. He put one on, and I lay back on the sheets with my legs spread wide.

He slipped right in. Wetness was not a problem.

I almost never have sex missionary-style. There is something pedestrian about it that usually makes me avoid it. Not that I have a favorite position or anything. I pretty much like it any way I can get it. But I discovered that I really enjoyed fucking Ben face-to-face. I liked that we could kiss while we were doing it, and I really liked that I got to watch his face as he got more and more excited and then screwed his eyes shut and twisted his mouth into a grimace as he came inside me.

He didn’t last long. Virgins almost never do, and that’s fine with me. It’s part of their charm. I enjoyed every second of it while he lasted, and after he had extracted his softening penis and disposed of the condom, I whacked off while he watched, shamelessly rubbing my clit for him until I came, gasping and red-faced. It was a first for me, being watched like that.

Then Ben asked me if he could spend the night, and I heard myself saying “Sure.” Another first for me, but really, why not?

I slept poorly with another real live human being lying in bed next to me. I was half-turned on and half-claustrophobic all night, until we woke up before dawn and had delicious morning sex, missionary style all over again. This time Ben lasted longer, bringing me tantalizingly close to orgasm before shooting off inside the condom. I’ve never been able to come from penis-in-vagina sex. But I got the distinct feeling that maybe that could change.

I masturbated for him again, and this time he put a finger up inside me, and I came really fucking hard, and I was loud about it too. Fuck the neighbors, I really didn’t care.

“Wow,” Ben said, as we lay together on my bed, still basking in post-orgasmic glow. “Well, I guess I’m not a virgin any more.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “There’s a lot of ways to define virginity. You’ve never done anal. You’ve never been in a threesome. That’s every guy’s fantasy, isn’t it?”

Ben blushed. It was cute.

Later on, after more kissing and cuddling, and an improvised half-naked breakfast, Ben got dressed and regretfully left. He had to go to work. I promised him we’d get together again soon. Then I looked at my phone and saw that Lucy had texted me overnight, asking if I was free to hang out. “Maybe this weekend,” I told him.

Still wearing nothing but panties—plain old boring blue ones—I straightened out my bedroom. I changed the sheets, savoring the sex smell and the wet spots, and dug my dildo out from the dusty confines of under the bed. Then I hung my superhero costume up at the very back of the closet. The Devirginator was retired. At least for now.


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The Open Marriage Conundrum


It was the first night that our marriage was officially open for business, and I just couldn’t seem to stop making an ass of myself. We were at a party–our friends Ted and Jackie’s house–and we had given each other permission to go home with whomever we pleased. I had been hitting on everything with tits; and every time I opened my mouth, I stuck my size 10 ½ foot right in.

Malinda Straus, formerly Ted and Jackie’s babysitter, now honors college student, was showing off about a mile of cleavage. I had her backed into a corner, and I was flirting shamelessly. My dick was hard in my pants. I placed my hand on her curvaceous hip. She didn’t flinch or pull away.

“Shall we get out of here?” I asked. “Wanna go for a drive?” Malinda was almost exactly half my age.

“Um, isn’t that your wife over there?”

“Yes, but…” I started to explain, but the moment was gone. With all the skill and agility of an NFL running back, she twisted and squirmed past me, and was gone. I felt like a douche, and my cock advertised that fact to the room, projecting obnoxiously out from the front of my pants. I got myself another drink, and tried to pretend that I didn’t care.

My wife, Lorraine, ended up going home with Chip and Skip, two gay friends of ours. I don’t know if they’re actually married, but if not, they might as well be. Lorraine asked me if I wanted to tag along, and I said ‘Sure’. I certainly didn’t have anything better to do. The three of them took their minivan; I followed them in our car. Alone.

Chip and Skip couldn’t possibly have been more mild-mannered and middle-of-the-road if they tried. Chip was an accountant and Skip worked in marketing. Or the other way around. They looked like they belonged in a Land’s End catalogue. And Chip, at least, was bisexual.

Chip wasn’t especially buff, but he had a pretty big dick, and he waxed off all his body hair, so it looked even bigger. He had a bellybutton ring. Lorraine, still fully dressed in her brown slacks and beige blouse, got down on her knees and started sucking his cock with a gusto and enthusiasm that made me, just an instant, a little bit jealous.

“I could do that for you too,” Skip said. The gay boys’ living room might have been decorated by PeeWee Herman. Skip and I were seated on what looked very much like the flayed hide of Fozzie Bear.

“No, thanks.” I told him.

“OK,” he said.

We watched as Chip undressed my wife, carefully and painstakingly removing each and every article of clothing and folding it neatly and stacking it on a chair before moving on to the next one. It was a strangely, powerfully erotic scene, and hypnotic to watch. By the time she stood nude in front of him, and they started to kiss and make out and touch each other, I was uncomfortably hard.

Chip’s dick just seemed to keep getting longer and harder, the more they fooled around. I wondered just how wet Lorraine was by now. Sopping wet, I was willing to bet.

“You can jerk off if you feel like it,” Skip told me. “I’m going to.”

He was already peeling off his clothes: casual-Friday blue jeans and a button-down shirt, with happy-face boxers underneath. His gear was more reasonable; about the size of my own, with a pronounced upward curve and a tidy patch of closely-trimmed pubic hair.

I was the only one left in the room with clothes on. Feeling more than a little bit self-conscious, I stripped down. My poor long-confined dick gratefully flopped free of my boxer-briefs. Skip waggled his eyebrows, possibly seductively.

Lorraine was on her hands and knees on their black leather couch, her rump thrust up, her tits hanging down. “You can put it anywhere you like baby,” she told Chip.

“I want to fuck that pretty little pussy,” Chip said, rolling on a condom.

“Oh goody,” Lorraine said, wiggling her ass. “Lucky me!”

I heard the squelch as he entered her. It was really pretty hot to watch them fuck. Skip was already jerking off, reclining next to me on the brown faux-bearskin rug, so I quickly got over my lingering vestiges of homophobia and joined him. He reached over and started playing with one of my nipples, gently rolling it around between his thumb and forefinger. It felt pretty nice, so I returned the favor, pinching and tweaking his hard little nipple while I masturbated.

Things were getting pretty hot and heavy on the couch. Lorraine and Chip were fucking hard and fast. He had a thumb planted up inside her butthole. “I’m gonna fucking come!” he grunted through clenched teeth.

“Oh yeah baby,” Lorraine moaned back, “come in my fucking cunt baby, fill me up!”

With a series of grunts like he was power-lifting, Chip came. I actually saw his balls twitch as he shot off. That did it for Lorraine. Hunched over, scrubbing desperately at her clit, she came to a whining, whimpering orgasm as he continued fucking her.

It was really sexy. And then Skip turned his head so his face was close to mine, and I could feel his breath on my lips, and then he kissed me, and I totally surprised myself by kissing him back. We jerked off side by side like that, kissing open-mouthed with tongues and all, and playing with each other’s nipples while we masturbated and our partners watched. It felt weird to be kissing a guy, but I didn’t really mind at all, and my cock was super-excited.

“Oh Dude, please come in my mouth!” Skip begged, and I obliged him, scooting up onto my knees and jerking myself off onto his extended tongue. Lorraine clapped her hands, and Chip looked on complacently as Skip licked the last few drops of semen from the tip of my cock. I thought it would bother me, but it didn’t, not at all.

Then Lorraine and I cuddled up on the big soft fake bear skin while Skip fucked Chip in the ass. He didn’t last long, he was way too excited, but it was pretty intense to watch. Chip could take just as well as he could give, and he sure seemed to enjoy being penetrated like that. Lorraine masturbated while they fucked; I slipped a finger up inside her warm, wet, freshly-fucked pussy while she played with her clit. She and Skip came at the same time.

Later on, in the car, Lorraine asked me what I’d made of it all.

“Meh,” I said, “it was OK.”

“This was your idea,” she reminded me.

“I know, I know”.


We were at Emma and Joe’s, a couple we’d met off the internet. They looked mismatched to me: she was a big girl, and he was a string bean. They seemed nice enough anyway.

“He’s very well-trained,” Emma told us. “Joe: strip!”

With a meek “Yes, ma’am,” Joe stripped naked. His nipples were pierced with thick steel rings, and his cock hung down fat and semi-hard between his legs.

“Joey is a world-champion pussy eater,” Emma informed us. “Want to try him out?”

“But of course,” Lorraine said, hiking up her skirt and kicking her panties aside. Joe crawled in between her spread thighs, and started nuzzling and licking. I wished I had a better view of what was going on down there.

“Oh baby,” Lorraine told me, “it feels so good! I wish you could feel what he’s doing to my clit!”

“He’ll suck your husband’s cock too, if you want him to,” Emma said.

“What do you think, babe?” Lorraine asked me. “Do you want him to?”

“No thanks,” I said.

Emma had her own breasts out, which were almost disturbingly big, and she was playing with the large, pink nipples. “I can get three fingers up his ass,” she bragged, “with just spit for lube.”

She then proceeded to prove it to us, sticking her fingers into her mouth, and then roughly cramming them right up Joe’s anus. “Look how hard he’s getting!” she gloated.

Joe kept on licking under Lorraine’s skirt while Emma finger-banged his asshole. His cock was really hard. He was really getting off on this.

“Oh shit, I’m going to come!” Lorraine was chewing hard on her bottom lip. “He’s going to make me fucking come!”

She did too, and I felt that little twinge of jealousy again as she wiggled and whinnied and shook, squeezing Joe’s head between her thighs. He stayed with her the whole way through.

“He’s such a nasty little slut,” Emma told me as Lorraine lolled and stretched in post-orgasmic ecstasy. “You can spank his ass if you want.” She withdrew her fingers from Joe’s asshole and he grunted softly.

I did want to spank his ass. His head was still hidden under my wife’s skirt. From the sound of things, he was going to be giving her a second orgasm pretty soon. I slapped him hard across the butt. It made a sharp smack and left a nice red handprint on his pale butt cheek. I hit him again and again, as hard as I could, until my shoulder ached and my hand was swollen and sore. Emma looked on approvingly. She had somehow managed to strip down to her panties without me even noticing. She was wearing a tiny purple thong that looked faintly ridiculous on her bulky body.

Lorraine came again, louder and more abruptly than the first time. She pushed Joe away. His face was pink with the effort, and totally covered in her wetness.

“Why don’t you try this on for size?” Emma asked Lorraine. She was dangling a convoluted black harness in front of us, complete with a bright red translucent dildo.

It took a couple minutes for Lorraine to get the harness all sorted out. Emma passed the time by playing with Joe’s cock and balls. She traced her fingers all over his scrotum, up and down the shaft of his cock, round about the bulbous rim of the crown. Whenever he appeared to be getting the tiniest bit over-excited, she’d give his nipple rings a sharp tug. I watched, utterly fascinated, and not the least bit turned-on. My dick wasn’t even hard.

Finally, Lorraine had the strap-on adjusted correctly. Emma grinned wickedly, and poured what seemed like half a bottle of lube down Joe’s butt-crack. “Have at,” she said.

Lorraine had at, with a gusto and sense of urgency that lurked halfway between scary and deeply erotic. With her hands gripping his skinny hips, she fucked poor Joe’s ass hard, fast, and deep. Her lips were twisted into a grimace and her face was all red with the effort. Her tits bounced and jiggled, and Joe grunted raspily with each thrust. Emma held his erection balanced on her outstretched hand, so that as he got fucked, his cock rubbed lightly against her palm.

With a noise like a deflating balloon, Joe suddenly came, squirting pearlescent semen in a magnificent arc all over the hardwood floor. Slowly and reluctantly, with a wicked smirk plastered all over her face, Lorraine withdrew her cherry-red phallus.

“You could take a piss on him,” Emma told me, “if you want to.”

I fished out my penis and took aim, but nothing would come out. Apparently my bladder was feeling shy. So we all got dressed and thanked each other for a good time, and then we left. I felt like I had just attended a Tupperware party.

“So what’d you think of that?”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Would you like to try that at home sometime? Just you and me?”

“Which part? The golden shower?”

“No, silly. The strap-on sex.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”


Gabby and Susan were a good ten years older than us, cowgirl lesbians of the dirty dungarees and rusty pickup truck variety. We were over at their house, we had smoked a lot of pot together, and that was when Gabby proposed that we all get in the hot tub, and we had all gotten naked, but somehow we hadn’t made it any closer to the Jacuzzi.

Neither one of them shaved at all, and they both had bodies more reminiscent of construction workers than ballerinas, so I was moderately surprised to discover that didn’t make it one iota less sexy as they ganged up on Lorraine and started molesting my wife right in front of me. My cock swelled and stood up. Susan leered over at me.

The women were splayed out all over the flagstone floor of the sun-porch. I lounged on the wicker couch, stroked myself, and watched.

They had Lorraine sandwiched in between their bodies, a mouth on each one of her breasts, suckling her nipples. Each woman had one hand between Lorraine’s legs, playing with her pussy.

She cooed, giggled, squirmed. Her pale, slender body contrasted nicely with Gabby and Susan, who were thick and sunburned, with utilitarian breasts and generous patches of hair between their legs and under their armpits.

The two older women slid down Lorraine’s body like a pair of serpents. Gabby landed square in Lorraine’s wide-open, pink and drooling pussy; Susan planted herself between Lorraine’s ass cheeks. Both women started licking. I stretched out across the couch and watched and masturbated.

Lorraine was biting down hard on her lower lip. Her hair was mussed up, her chest was blotchy and red, and she was playing with her own nipples as the women ate her out fore and aft. I knew she was really close to orgasm. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I knew. We would both come at the exact same moment.

Gabby and Susan must have known too. As if upon a prearranged signal, they suddenly broke off, pulling away from Lorraine and leaving her writhing like a tall tree in a windstorm.

Her pussy was drooling wet and wide open. I could see her fat pink clit from where I lay on the couch. She moaned softly, a plaintive mewing sound like a baby owl.

Gabby pulled on an elbow-length yellow rubber glove, the kind a plumber might don to explore the inner reaches of a clogged-up toilet. Susan slathered the glove and Lorraine’s pussy with what look like an entire container of lube.

“Sister,” Susan said, “you’d better get ready, because my girlfriend is going to fuck you up.”

Lorraine whimpered in response. Her legs were spread wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Gabby snickered.

Slowly and methodically, like a freight train starting up, one of those hundred boxcar jobs that thunder across the Midwest, Gabby began fucking Lorraine with her glove-covered fingers. First just one finger probed up inside, then two, then three. Susan dribbled on more lube; Lorraine’s moans became a constant keening whine; Gabby worked a fourth finger up inside my wife’s juicy, distended cunt.

“Come on baby, come on!” Gabby’s back was dripping rivulets of sweat. She was fucking Lorraine like a powerful hydraulic piston: slow, rhythmic, and utterly unstoppable.

“Take it, bitch!” Susan had Lorraine’s wrists pinned down. The muscles in her thick forearms bulged, and the veins stood out.

I swear I heard the slurp as the widest part of Gabby’s fist slid up inside Lorraine’s cunt, and her hand disappeared up to the wrist in my wife’s pussy.

Lorraine arched her back, and every muscle in her body tensed. “Holy shit!” she cried aloud, “Holy fucking shit!” Gabby leaned in and flicked Lorraine’s clit with the tip of her tongue. That was all it took. Lorraine came, shaking and wailing, sobbing like a baby.

When it was all over, the three women lay tangled together, covered in sweat and panting with exhaustion.

My dick was painfully hard, red and swollen, drooling with pent-up lust.

Gabby glanced over my way. “Oh you poor thing,” she said. “You really need to get off, don’t you? Susan would give you a blowjob if she wasn’t such a big fat prude.”

Susan made a face. “He could fuck Petunia. She’s rutting anyway.”

As if she’d been waiting to hear her name, Petunia came trotting into the room. Petunia was Gabby and Susan’s pet warthog; 300 pounds of hairy, bristly porcine flesh. She had wicked sharp tusks that she liked to sharpen in the front yard, digging unsightly gashes through the lawn, and she wore a little pink collar with bells dangling from the front. She seemed to size me up, looking me up and down with her little bloodshot red eyes. Sure enough, her requisite bits, under the stubby little tail, were swollen and pink.

“Go ahead,” Susan said, “Mount up. Come on, you know she wants it.”

At that moment, I just wanted to come. More than anything in the world, I wanted my cock to be someplace hot and wet and slippery, and to empty my poor aching balls right into that someplace. Petunia flicked her tail and tossed her head, making the bells on her collar tinkle. Her tusks gleamed white as bone. I looked to Lorraine for guidance, and got an unreadable expression in return.

Fuck it. With six eyes riveted to me, I nuzzled up behind Petunia, stroking her coarse, hairy flanks. I nudged my erection against her puffy warthog labia. She was wet. I nudged forward, slipping inside.

It was a tight fit, but Petunia didn’t seem to mind. She grunted agreeably as I started fucking her. I reached around her belly, feeling her girth and her warmth, and humped away, oblivious to my audience.

“Stick a finger up her ass!” Susan advised, and Gabby hooted. I ignored them. It felt too good, and I wasn’t about to stop. Petunia flattened her ears against her head as I squelched in and out of her. She took it stolidly, like a hairy, four-legged Fleshlight.

It didn’t take me very long. With an orgasmic rush of pleasure that curled my toes, I emptied my balls into her patient warthog vagina. It felt absolutely amazing. I filled her to overflowing, and kept on humping. When I was all done, and my soft, slippery cock slid out of her passage with a pop, Petunia tossed her head again, snorted, and amiably ambled away. I hoped it had been good for her too.

On the drive home, I asked Lorraine how she felt.

“A little sore,” she said. “How about you?”

“I feel like a pig fucker.”

“That was wild,” she said, and squeezed my hand.


I ran into Malinda again while I was out on a run, early in the morning before the heat of the day came rolling in like the high tide. Or, to be more accurate, she ran into me. She caught up with me struggling up the long, slow grade of Heartbreak Hill, and she fell into step with me as we crossed over the apex and began the sweet relief of the descent.

“Is it true that you’re in an open marriage?” she asked.

I was completely out of breath. It was all I could do to gulp “Yeah”.

“So she lets you sleep with other women?”


“And you don’t mind if she sleeps with other men?”

“Yeah.” My eloquence-o-meter had dropped off the bottom of the chart.

“Weird,” Malinda said, jogging matter-of-factly along beside me, “Weird. But cool.”

She didn’t look like much of a runner. She was plump and soft and curvy. But she was also kicking my ass, and not even breathing hard. I liked the way she looked as she floated along effortlessly beside me, in short-short pink shorts and a black jog-bra. Her breasts bounced along like cartoons, and one little rivulet of sweat ran down between her collar bones and disappeared into her cleavage. I puffed and huffed and clomped along, trying to keep up without looking like it was killing me. I’m not sure how successful I was.

I’d thought I was following her, but Malinda was following me. All the way home. When we breezed in the door, sweaty and winded and already grateful for the air conditioning, Lorraine was sitting in front of the computer, cup of coffee close at hand, playing Hack and Slash. She waved a hand distractedly in our direction, “Have fun!”

We went into the bathroom and closed the door behind us. Malinda sat down on the toilet and watched me undress. I already had a jutting hard-on. I felt oddly self-conscious under her half-amused gaze. I kept picturing myself fucking the warthog in front of two-and-a-half lesbians. What on earth had I been thinking? Why hadn’t I just let Skip suck my dick at the beginning of this debacle; a mouth is just a mouth, and he was probably really good at it. I had a bad feeling that I’d been behaving like a douche from the very beginning. Malinda caught me blushing, and smiled.

I turned on the shower. My dick was standing straight up, bobbing eagerly at a 45 degree angle. Malinda stood up and peeled off her running clothes. Now it was her turn to blush.

“You’re sure your wife doesn’t mind?”

“I’m sure.”

Naked, she looked even younger than she did dressed. Her skin was soft and flushed pink with exercise and excitement. Her boobs seemed impossibly big. There was a fluffy tuft of blondish pubic hair nestled between her legs, which were thick and curvaceous. She stepped hesitantly into the shower with me.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” she said.

“It’s OK,” I told her.

We kissed for a while, rubbing our soapy wet bodies up against each other. It had been a long, long time since I had kissed like that. It felt fantastic. So did the way my cock kept rubbing up against her belly.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of bliss, Malinda dropped down onto her knees in front of me, and eagerly started sucking my dick.

Malinda may not have had a lot of experience—she couldn’t seem to get a good rhythm going, and kept switching around between techniques in a way that threatened my sanity—but she had enthusiasm by the boatload. She licked and kissed her way up and down my cock and balls, even straying down my perineum and perilously close to my asshole before chickening out. She tried—and failed—to swallow me whole. She rubbed her big soft tits up and down my erection. One hand kept straying down between her own thighs to stroke her own kitty. She bobbed her head up and down on my cock, her teeth grazing against my glans, then looked up at me, like a puppy-dog searching for approval.

“I’ve gotta come,” I told her. My whole being ached with the need.

“Masturbate for me,” she said. Her own hand was busy down between her legs.

I wrapped my own familiar hand around my dick, pointing my cock at her like a loaded gun. “Can I come on your tits?”

“Go for it,” she said, her finger darting up and down her furry pussy like a sewing machine needle. She arched her back, presenting her sizeable rack to me.

God I came hard! My calf cramped up just as I came, and my orgasm was a shrill battle cry of equal parts ecstasy and agonizing pain. Gob after gob of pearly white semen splattered all over Malinda’s proffered breasts.

She scooped some of my ejaculate tentatively up with one finger and brought it up to her lips. “It’s not bad,” she pronounced after she had licked her finger clean. “I was afraid it would be gross, but it’s really not too bad.”

“It takes a little getting used to,” Lorraine said. She was standing in the open bathroom doorway. “I happen to like it quite a lot, but I guess it’s an acquired taste.”

A little while later, when Malinda had gotten dried off and dress and jogged off in the direction of her house, Lorraine wrapped her arms around my naked body, batting at my soft penis like a cat with a toy.

“That was hot,” she told me. “It was really hot watching that.”


“Oh yeah. Better than watching you make out with make out with Skip. Better than watching you spank that Joey kid. Even better than watching you fuck a wild pig. God, that was raunchy! So… do you think Malinda does girls?”

I could feel an insistent nagging in my dick that told me it wouldn’t be soft too much longer. “You’ll just have to ask her,” I said.

“Mmm,” Lorraine said, squeezing my now not-especially flaccid cock and pressing herself up against my backside, “You know what I’d like even better than just fucking her?”

“What?” I asked. My dick was definitely erect now. I hadn’t had that kind of turn-around time since I was in my twenties.

“Making a Malinda sandwich: me fucking her while you fuck her at the same time. That would be hot!”

Yes it would.

“I want to feel you inside me,” Lorraine said. “Let’s go back to bed. Right now.”

And we did.


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