In the two previous volumes of case histories, novelized as Erotic Exploits of Older Women Who Seduce Teenage Boys, the success of first-person accounts, devoid of clinical "expertise", permitted readers to judge for themselves the motives that prompt the behavior delineated.
Although this edition is the last of three volumes planned at present, style was altered slightly to permit these individuals to make observations of the behavior of others', and although certainly unscientific and possibly even unperceptive, every single instance supports Freudian theses. So all of us know a lot more than we know we know, in spite of the following conclusions as reported in Newsweek Magazine: "Few of the psychoanalytic phenomena recorded by Sigmund Freud have been the subject of quite so much uninformed discussion among laymen over the years as the one Freud called penis envy. Briefly what Freud postulated was that all little girls are beset with feelings of acute deprivation and envy when they first perceive that the sexual equipment of little boys is much more interesting than their own. Later, the situation was eloquently summarized by the little girl who said of her brother: "How come he's so fancy and I'm so plain?" Freud held that in normal development, penis envy was eventually resolved by the compensations of conception and childbearing, and that adult women who retained their childish envy of the male organ were definitely neurotic.
"Less familiar to cocktail party Freudians is the male counterpart of penis envy, known alternately as "womb envy" or "woman envy." Described in 1926 by the German psychoanalyst Karen Horney, womb envy was seen as being less specific in its focus than penis envy. Male patients afflicted with it tended generally to envy females not only their ability to bear children but also the general attitude of protective-ness and deference that society accords the ladies. Traditionally, a man with acute womb envy was deemed as neurotic as a female with penis envy."
In short, a woman envies a prick, because if she had one, she could be fucking all the time; and a man envies a woman, because if he had a cunt, he would let himself be fucked all the time. Pleasure without conflict.
The phenomenon of the mutual envies is likely to grow rapidly for a while, present psychiatrists think. But eventually "there will come a day when an equilibrium between the sexes and their changing roles is finally reached, when we will see a healthy self-acceptance in both sexes." And that, it is said, will be the end of both penis envy and womb envy.
The time may have come sooner than we're willing to admit.
An excellent bibliography is collected at the end of this book for those readers concerned with the clinical support of the sexual manifestations described herein.
As before, these case histories are presented so that readers may better understand what the clinical discussions are all about.
To support our thesis, we repeat the preface to the previous two volumes: The traditional literary method used to present sexual case histories to the general public is for the "patient" to describe certain manifestations of behavior while an "observer" (1) notes the problem under a specific medical category, and (2) "explains" in pompous terms the effect upon society of such behavior.
The personality of the "patient" is described only to the degree that it satisfies a technical category. Literary emphasis is placed only on the "observer's" analysis and conclusion.
The Publisher of Erotic Exploits Of Older Women Who Seduce Teenage Boys submits that in this age of sophisticated literature people who read have the intellectual capacity to identify human motivations and the capability to draw their own conclusions as to the personal and social values of such behavior.
Significantly, those of you who have read such books as Truman Capote's In Cold Blood were introduced to a new writing style that related documentary data as fiction.
As more than one literary critic has said: "This story-telling technique allows a citizenry to get under the skin of actual persons and really learn how they tick. The advantage of this presentation, over a mere newspaper account where the concern is who did something and if they were punished for it, is that we are now told what they did (because it can happen to us too, not just to them) and see from their viewpoint why they did it.
"This lets us diagnose really why they did it, regardless of the rationalizations and excuses they present. And from this, we can project the eventual result of their behavior in the light of our own concept of what is right or wrong, good or bad, desirable or undesirable, necessary or extravagant."
This book, too, assumes a readership interested in descriptions of human behavior that (1) match a reader's personal experience or that (2) go beyond the limitations of his own life. In either case, the narrative pursues the fact that it is personal involvement that makes reading a pleasure and learning an enlightenment.
Therefore Erotic Exploits Of Older Women Who Seduce Teenage Boys avoids analysis on the part of any third person. It permits the reader to be the analyst of the "patients" who speak for themselves as characters in a drama they, themselves, create and live.
-The Editors
CHAPTER ONE
There was just enough light from the street-lamp overhead for me to see what she was doing with her legs. I was in a cold sweat, while at the same time I was as hot as a firecracker; only Miss Baker would have called that a cliche. She is - was - my sophomore-year English teacher, and it is - was - she who was here in the car with me.
She was pushing the insteps of her feet up against the dash board and pulling her dress up to her hips. Frantically.
You would think I wouldn't need it any better, only Miss Baker didn't know it was me here in the car with her.
Those long, curvy legs swelled into tapered white thighs that, in the light from the street-lamp, ended in a white triangle of bikini pants that guarded her bowl of schoolteacher honey.
I could hear her grunting, almost choking with anxiety, as she lifted her legs high; spreading them and bringing her cunt out of hiding with her fingertips; while I sat like a zombie behind the steering wheel.
Yet I had to help the old girl. Old? Thirty-four is old? We had heard she didn't get married, because she was one of the first chicks to join what they had then called, in the fifties, the beats. This was even before Women's Lib! The beat generation was way ahead of the hippies and the flower children. But all for the same reason. Free and easy fucking. So we had heard. All the other arguments were shit: the war (it wasn't even on then!), the economy, the ecology - all of it wraps up into a good piece of ass.
Of course Miss Baker, particularly, wasn't doing anything with - or for - us kids. We didn't expect it. We had to wait and see what our generation would come up with. In the meantime, we fucked each other, whenever one of the girls in our class finally saw the light. But they made it hard for you, man. I don't mean prick hard; that you could do by yourself. I mean they gave you a hard time before they gave away any pussy. They were just old enough to know they had something going for them, but still too young to turn it into anything worthwhile. Mostly they didn't give it away at all. Sometimes you just plain took it away from them and then sweated out to see what they would do about it. Generally, they just called you names, and you called them names back, and everybody concerned was temporarily unhappy about it. So you got your folks to move out of the neighborhood and away from that school. Then you started fresh, with nobody putting you on, but cashing in on your past experience. There was no telling how far us boys and girls could go that way.
But mostly you just opened the car door and jacked off" in the girls' faces. That was their initial experience. It got so that that seemed to be the big thing of the evening at the end of a date. They got you all hot and bothered and then helped you whip out your cock; and watched you jack it with fury. They loved to see those little, hard pricks shoot their geyser of white cum in every country lane. In every city block. Watching guys jack off is still a big kick for girls; and women; and old ladies, even. But that's fair enough; I like to watch ladies jackoff too. Only it's hard to tell when they're doing it.
Which brings us to Miss Baker, who turned us away from girls and onto women in the first place. That is, not personally. Except for me, of course; here and now. I mean, she introduced us to a guy named Stendahl, who wrote a book way back in 1820. They translated it into English in 1927, and it hasn't been heard of since.
But Miss Baker heard of it.
In this book, Stendahl says, first, stay away from girls under twenty-eight. He says it's much easier to work on the emotions of older women. He also says that the limited experience of younger females cuts down their power to imagine the delights of fucking. He says don't waste time on kids. They don't know what they're missing. But a woman who's been around thinks about fucking all the time.
So you see Miss Baker at thirty-four is just right. And she must have had a damn good reason for wanting us to know; us guys, I mean. She had no girl pets. Even the boys weren't responding fast enough, I guess, because whenever she was seen anywhere, it was with an older man, except when she started putting out to me.
And that's what happened this night.
I was downtown, and there was Miss Baker driving by in her 1938 Dodge. Then she came back the other way and she had this white-haired geezer with her. I think it was my barber. In fact, I was sure it was, and wondered about that, because he's been married three times already, has six kids, and the wife he's married to now is pasted to him like a postage stamp. Miss Baker must have picked him up right out of the shop.
Anyway, later I was walking by the Kit-Kat Club, and there was her car. I hung around, because I figured if something was really going on, boy, I sure could make points in class. I mean, she'd have to give me at least a B, wouldn't she? And if I saw enough, she'd have to give me an A.
Well, what I saw was Miss Baker marching out as if she were walking on pillows. She got into the Dodge on the passenger side, and waited. We both waited.
Then I saw the barber come out, and there was his wife with him. She was a mean bitch. The way she was pulling him, pinching his hand with tight fingers so that he almost yowled, I knew she was being exceptionally mean. I don't know if the barber knew what he was yowling about, because he was really crocked. They went the other way.
I ducked around to the Dodge, and Miss Baker's head was lolling back on the seat; and I guess she thought the barber was just taking a lot of time, like taking a piss or something. I noticed the keys in the ignition, and decided to drive Miss Baker home. That ought to get me a double A.
And now here I was, parked on the side street in front of her rooming house, and she was thinking it was time to fuck. Only she was thinking she had the barber to fuck, and I didn't know what to do about it.
That Stendahl book didn't help me at all. Books today might, but I can't get my hands on them. Stendahl had a lot of great ideas, I guess, but none of them had anything to do with Miss Baker waving her legs at me in the front seat of her car.
Stendahl advises saying what you feel with a look. Miss Baker was blind drunk, I thought so that way of communication wasn't worth a good damn. He said: "Anything can be said by a glance and yet one can always repudiate a glance because it cannot be quoted word for word."
Next, always keep the woman in doubt about your relationship with her. "Use any pretext to keep doubt going." Well, the doubt was all in me, here.
And Stendahl - that old campaigner - warns that "over-anxiety may lead to physiological failure once victory is assured." Now there I really had something to worry about, because I was as over anxious as hell.
He also had other advice, which didn't seem to apply here at all. He says to stay away from dancers and ballet girls. He says those girls are so tired out, they don't have enough energy left to be interested in men. They're sexless. He also said nothing about schoolteachers. He tells me to avoid hurting a woman's pride. I don't think Miss Baker knew which end was up and cared less. But then Miss Baker made me forget all about Stendahl. It's just as well, because I understand he revised his book three times; besides he never had the opportunity to sit in the front seat of a Dodge with a tanked-up Miss Baker who was ready to be fucked by a really older man, when I came along and took his place.
I reached out with my right arm and got her head on my shoulders. Then I put my left hand in her golden-thatched crotch. She already had her bikini panties down to her knees and was rubbing the calves of her legs together to get the garment down to her ankles so she could flick them off with the thrust of her toe.
That was the first time she actually looked at me, when she hiccupped something about getting off those damn pants. I reached for them and tugged, and felt them slimy-wet in the inseam. My pecker reminded me it was still locked in my jeans. By the time I inhaled and unzipped and felt the massive relief in the cool air, Miss Baker was holding my cock in her hand and looking into my eyes.
Oh, boy, I thought, she knows I'm not the barber!
If that street-light hadn't been there, she probably never would have known the difference. Maybe. But the light was there, and she saw my face, and I never saw eyes fill with tears so fast. Her mouth worked funny, and she said, "Oh, David? David! Please forgive me, David."
Forgive, for what?
She pressed her sweet-scented cheek to mine, and sort of shivered. I felt her groove flutter under the middle finger of my left hand. I let it slide into the slippery box, and all Miss Baker did was to push her ass a little lower in the seat so that her legs came up higher and her cunt opened wider. All my fingers went in and it was like grabbing a handful of heaven.
And she didn't let go my cock. She pumped it very, very slowly; expertly, without actually stroking it so that I would shoot off in her hand; like some of the girls are trying it now, instead of fucking.
That was with her left hand. She brought her right hand around to caress my balls and finger lightly between the cheeks of my puckered up ass. This twisted her lovely, lithe body - a grown up woman's body that I had never felt so close and had never smelled so sweet - and pulled her thighs together and locked my whole hand in her cunt.
I moved my face to find her lips. She helped me, bringing them up, open and tremulous, tasting salty-wet from her tears and soft as marshmallow to my mouth. Then her tongue pushed between her lips, and my lips too; came into my mouth and explored my teeth, my gums, my throat. Her clean, sweet, saliva-drenched cavity lowered my balls out of my belly and I felt her fingers respond to the lurch of my pelvis. My prick hardened beyond the length of her fist. Then she began moving it up and down the shaft, testing its length, feeling to see how long it would get. The sky was the limit.
Her hot-lipped mouth was eating me up. I caught on quick. I gorged myself; all the time her hand working my prick, my hand working her cunt, and the pneumatic pillows of her breast rolling up and down and across my chest to cut off my breath so sharply I thought my lungs would explode.
We both broke apart for air, our spit mixing and stringing between us, our faces flushed and hot as if we were plugged into an electric socket.
"Do you like kissing me, David?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Baker. You've got the sweetest mouth I've ever had my tongue inside of."
"Do you want to fuck me, David?"
And all the time her hand was going like a whip, and mine was going like a plunger. I could hear the swish and plop of her cuntjuice through my fingers, and the rhythm of her hand on my cock was like silk.
I should tell you, too, how else I know older ladies go for young cock, I mean, not just Miss Baker for me. I don't talk about it; I don't even reflect on it myself. It's one of those things you don't think about, you know; but it's also one of those things you don't forget.
I was maybe eleven, twelve; not too long ago. I came home in the middle of the morning, when I was supposed to be in school. I had my own key, because sometimes my ma goes shopping; so I went through the empty house, kind of disappointed Ma wasn't home, getting that lonely, lost feeling, you know? But knowing it was okay, because there was milk and cake in the refrigerator and there were color cartoons on TV. I know that's for kids who don't go to school, but I liked to hide inside these cartoons, and I still do.
It was so quiet I knew there was no one in the house. But when I got to the kitchen, there was my ma. Now Ma must have been about as old as Miss Baker is now, because she's about forty now, or forty-one. She's about five-five, with brunette hair and large, dark eyes, like mine, and what my father always called a "looker." Of course, that was before, because my old man is dead now. But I know he nicked that "looker" a lot, because they always talked about it when I was a kid. Ma used to try to put off the old man from talking about it around me, but he didn't want me to grow up to be a fruit, he said.
I sure didn't. Miss Baker can testify to that.
Anyway, there was my ma, with that sleek, white, dusty-freckled skin, with her ass flattening out on the sink top, and a kid, Georgie - he's maybe five, six years older than I am - between her knees with his face buried in her cunt, sucking away like mad.
I thought only cock-suckers sucked. I mean, they sucked pricks. They were fruits. I didn't know you could suck a woman's cunt.
His pants were down around his ankles and his shorts were stretched between his knees, his bare ass moving around and around in the air. Even now I remember every stripe and flower bud on those shorts. And I remember his thin ass too. But most of all I remember Mama, as the song used to say. Her face looked like she was dreaming about heaven and her hands tenderly massaged Georgie's scalp. Then he got his hands under her thighs, and lifted her. I remember reflecting on how he got the strength to lift her up like that, still in a sitting position. Her fingers laced around the back of Georgie's head, holding her upright, until he got her off the sink, and then slowly let her settle to the floor. She went down on her back, her legs high up in the air; and there was Georgie's cock, like a red hammer between her legs, and he was coming down on her, his prick going right for the creaming hole he had sopped wet and ready with his mouth.
They were sideways to me now, and wouldn't see me, if I stayed right there in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. Georgie, with his back to me, hadn't been able to see me at all, of course; and Mama, though she looked right at me from the sink when I almost walked in, didn't see me either. That is, she saw me, with her eyes, but not with her brain. That shine I saw over the dark pupils of her eyes was just a glazed reflection of something she was looking at way inside her. Whatever she saw there in her belly, she sure liked it. I heard her mewing and cooing and sucking with her mouth all the time Georgie was eating her, and now, with Georgie's ramrod stiff cock rolling inside the thick, padded walls of her juicy cunt, she had even more to mew and coo and suck her mouth around about.
Now he had one hand around each velvety cheek of her beautiful white ass. I could see his cock every time he pulled back; and watched with wonder at each lunge he made into her silk-framed hole. His balls slapped her ass with every stroke, and Mama kept rolling her head on the floor and whimpering like a puppy.
Georgie was grunting and spit was running out of his mouth. His face looked absolutely wild. Pretty soon he didn't look like Georgie at all. I knew Georgie. He was a little old for me, but lots of times we played catch, and sometimes he'd join us kids for a game of stop-light, where he'd let us all hide while he was it for us. Mama used to say he had a way with kids, even though he was a kid himself. He sure had a way with Mama. And he was out of his mind now.
Suddenly Mama yelped, and Georgie's eyes got as big and hard as ball bearings. She threw her legs around his hips and pulled him in and down on her, holding him tight with her thighs and hooking her feet around his ankles. I couldn't see his cock going in and out anymore, but his whole body was going up and down now, and Ma was going up and down with him. Her whole body was coming right up off the floor and her ass was shoving up in an inverted U and rolling around real fast before it bounced back on the kitchen floor, and up again. I guess that rolling around with her pelvis swished Georgie's cock to every part of her cunt and that's what made her yelp.
Now they were laying flat, no more up and down; both just hanging on tight and squirming like crazy. Georgie increased his tempo, sliding up and back on Mama's skin, while she just lay there and shuddered. Then she snorted and choked and Georgie hissed through locked teeth while Mama gasped she was coming . . . coming. "AAAAAIIIIIIIIIIgggggghhhhhhhh!"
Then they both just hung up there, shivering.
So that was fucking.
I turned around and went outside and kept throwing a sponge ball up against the wall and catching it, until Georgie came out later. He waved to me and said, "Hi, kid."
He looked like the old Georgie again. Calm, blue eyes. Sandy hair that fell across his forehead; now a little more mussed up than usual, but not much. His pants were up and buckled neatly. I wanted to ask him where he got the fancy shorts, because my ma only bought me plain white ones, but I guess it was none of my business.
I waved back, but continued throwing the ball against the wall. Georgie hung around for a minute as if he expected me to throw the ball to him. I kept my eyes fixed on the wall, and he just said, "So long, kid," and went off down the street, his hands shoved in his hip pockets, his lips puckered in a whistle.
"So long, you cock-sucker," I said under my breath, because I didn't know what else to call him.
Later I tried fucking with a little girl down the street, Sara Brown, who went to school only in the mornings and was home alone all afternoon.
I wouldn't have thought of it, maybe, but she said she wanted to play house. Such a nice I little girl, and she wouldn't know what I was doing, and she was too small to stop me, and besides later, maybe, she could tell me what it felt like and I'd know what my ma felt from Georgie's prick.
So I was the husband coming home from work, and she gave me a wet, slobbery kiss, and told me dinner wasn't ready yet.
I said, "We have to go to sleep real early, because I have a hard day tomorrow."
I led her into her mother's bedroom, and helped her get ready for bed. I pulled her little dress over her head, and then the little ribbed jersey she wore under it. Naturally she had no bra yet, but the flesh where her tits would grow were already puffing up, feeling soft and gooey to my hands. While I was doing that, she was getting out of her panties, saying her mother never let her sleep in her panties, that I should get her pajamas.
I looked at her little, bare cunt. Not a hair on it. I squatted down and looked at it intently. She saw what I was doing, and grew very quiet. Then she put her hands between her legs and pulled apart the little, thin lips. "You want to pee in me?" she said.
I shook my head. "I want to kiss it," I said. I bent my head down closer and pulled her to me, both balls of her ass fitting into the palm of one hand. She smelled of Johnson's baby powder. I put my mouth to her cunt, the way Georgie did to my ma. But it didn't feel like anything. It was more fun kissing her on the mouth, where her own tongue would come back and suck on mine.
It wasn't until I was a freshman in highschool, and Sara already had hair on her twat, that kissing her cunt was a delight. And she was so busy telling me how I was the first boy to suck her off, when she was still a little girl, that I got her blouse and bra off and her big cherry-tipped tits into my hands and into my mouth before she realized I was going to fuck her with my prick and not just suck her the way I did before.
I mouthed hungrily on her corpulent boobs - God, they'd be like basketballs by the time she grew up! - and helped her step out of her skirt and black nylon panties. I had to admit, for a young girl, she was a beautiful girl. Especially naked. She was all cream-colored and curvy, with those big jugs sticking straight out and touching me even when I wasn't pulling on them or rolling them around or burying my face between their deep softness.
Her mound was an auburn halo between her legs now, so different from that little-girl cunt of even such a short time ago. - But she was trembling as if she had a chill. "Hey, what gives!" I wanted to tumble her back on the waiting bed and bury my hard-on bone up to the hilt in that dark crotch without any further preliminaries.
"I'm a bad girl," she began to sob. "I know what you think of me!"
"It's me, Davey," I said, "remember?" I don't know what I wanted her to remember. That I kissed her snatch when she wasn't much more than a baby isn't what I wanted her to remember now. I put my arms around her quivering shoulders and brought my aching cock to her scratchy pubes. "I love you," I said. "I want to take care of you. You need taking care of now."
And I hadn't even read Stendahl yet.
She was silent, while her whole body went on trembling. But it was trembling against me; all up and down against me. And I knew she could feel my cock trembling right back. I put my hand between our legs and nuzzled it up into her furry thatch.
"Oh, David, David! I shouldn't let you do this!"
"Yes, you should," I said. "You must, otherwise you'll be doing a terrible thing to me!"
She stopped trembling. "What? What will I be doing to you?"
I didn't answer her right away; leaning her back so that the back of her knees touched the side of the mattress. I slowly pushed her shoulders back, those tits coming up like red-tipped headlights and making my cock reach up from my groin as if it had never been hard before. Never this goddam rock-hard. Oh, God, what a hard-on and what tits and what a cunt and what a pulsating belly and the sonofabitch is trying to talk her way out of it. That's a young girl for you. Get an older woman this far, and you've already been fucked, coming in for seconds.
But she lay back without too much trouble, but holding her thighs together so that her knees almost got lockjaw. I got my hip in between her ankles, and then just shoved forward. With a little cry, she opened her legs. "Oh, don't fuck me, David!" she panted. "Please don't fuck me!"
"Don't worry, honey. I won't hurt you. I promise."
Talking to her with one part of my mind while trying to keep my prick hard and lined up with the other part of my mind wasn't easy. And the young bitch knew it. She was getting a knee up now, bracing it across my thigh so my prick would land in her navel instead of her cunt.
So I did what I could to ease the situation. I came up with one knee on either side of her straddling her, instead of between her legs, so that my prick was brushing against her lips. She tried to turn her head, but I said, "I kissed yours. I've waited a long time for you to kiss me back."
She threw her head from left to right. "I'm not a cocksucker," she managed.
I didn't expect her to be one either, because I really didn't know what a cocksucker looked like. Someone hideous, I was sure. Yet Georgie didn't look hideous. But then maybe he wasn't really a cocksucker. And maybe I wasn't either, because I had hardly kissed her that time. All I tasted was pee. Maybe it was bad for her to kiss my cock.
But if cocksucking was something else, at lease it was established that fucking was all right. If not all right, exactly, at least that she fucked. We knew that, because she admitted she was a bad girl. And now here she was being bad again, and trying to make me think that I was a nice guy who wouldn't let her be bad with me.
"I like you too much, Davey," she said.
"Don't like me so much," I gritted back. "Hate me a little."
I was working on my prick to keep it hard. And although she wasn't fighting me, she wasn't doing anything to help either. Again, I'd be another guy who jacked off in front of her. These young girls are something else, as I'll show you when I get back with Miss Baker; but right then, I just took her hand and wrapped it around my cock and said, "Keep it hard!" while I cuddled down to nuzzle her boobs again. Just kissing and sucking those titties would have grown bones in a cream puff.
And having me all naked, too, instead of just pants-opened in a car, got her a little warm too; or at least gave her the excuse for acting warm. She had fires in her that really wouldn't be tapped until she was thirty; but I was willing to settle for a few hot sparks in her cunt.
When she had me up real good again, and had relaxed her legs figuring I was content with eating titty and getting jacked off, I lifted each leg slowly and settled back between her legs. She didn't mind my thighs up against her box. In fact, she liked it well enough to rub up and back on them while she continued to massage my prick.
I scurried down so she lost her hold on my cock, and I heard her murmur her disappointment. Her hand kept working in the air as if her life depended on the feel of that cock back in her palm. So I came back up fast, as if I were bringing her the prick again, but aimed it for the crotch hair that was split down the middle by her leaking cunt.
I hit one thigh; bounced across to the other thigh; slid up the mound and hammered at the small of her belly.
She giggled, and said, "You missed."
"Help me," I pleaded.
I finally found out what she wanted; not me to help her, but her to help me. It stood me in great stead when I get to Miss Baker.
She reached down and expertly guided the head to her slit. She held me back with her fist when I tried to lash it home. "No, no, easy," she breathed. "Easy, little boy, take it easy."
I wanted to hammer my fist into her beautiful mouth. Little boy! But I played it cool, took it easy, like she said, let her help, like she wanted. The bitches are schoolteachers from the day they're born.
She let my prick slide in, about a half-inch at a time. It had never been in a cunt before, but I hoped she didn't know that. Yet at the same time I knew she knew that; so I forgave her and wished back the fist in her beautiful mouth, and let her hand guide my cock in her beautiful cunt instead.
And then I was all the way down on her, in her, up her. It was like being immersed in one big vat of jelly.
"Now take it back, slow . . . slow . . . just an inch or two."
I did as I was bid, lifting on my knees and drawing out my prick, now wet and glistening along the sides. This was a hell of a lot better than hand-fucking. I had tried it with soap lather, but that dried and burned. Vaseline was pretty good, but then it stained my shorts and pants, reminding me all the rest of the day what a masturbating jerk I was when there were all these girls around and everybody was fucking them. Everybody except me. But now I was doing it too. I was fucking. Really fucking. Just like Georgie fucked my Ma. Only slow and easy, while Georgie rode my ma like a horse; and her begging for him to go faster and harder, give her more and go deeper, further, until she came, "AAaiiiiiiiiggggghhhh!"
It was a good time to remember.
I blasted her hand away with a thrust of my hips. My cock jabbed home, all the way. She was tight, but not rubber-tight the way I read girls were supposed to be. Not like my asshole tight. Her cunt was juicy-tight; wet, slurping tight. Good tight. I rammed in, again and again. She gave out with big, gasping sighs, and contorted her pretty face, as if in pain.
I stopped. "Did I hurt you?" I pleaded.
She shook her head from side to side. She didn't answer. She just shook her head no from side to side, and that was good enough for me. I guess it was good enough for her too. She kept acting as if she were being torn apart, but her scratching fingers and bucking ass told me she was loving every second of it.
What it did do was keep me from coming the instant the exploding bulb-head of my prick patted into the warm cavern of her cunt. For that I should have been grateful. But I wasn't smart enough then. It took Miss Baker to get me that smart.
"Oh, my, I'm going to come!" she said in my ear. "I'm going to come, Davey! I'm coming, Davey! Keep me coming, Davey! Don't stop, Davey! Come with me, Davey! OOOhhh, Davey! AAhhhh, Davey! AAAIIIGGGyyyyyyyaaaaaiiiii!" Just like my ma. Almost.
She came up against me tight and hard, and started twisting and squirming her ass, just like Ma had done. I hurried my strokes, felt this great, wonderful world burst inside me, felt me spurting with the good feeling all the way up from my toes; not just a tingle, like when you jack off, but a real blast that lasted all the time she was coming. Her cunt began gurgling like a brook, and her throbbing cunt drained me like a. suction pump. She kept coming all the time I was coming, and didn't stop until I stopped. And then reluctantly; much slower than me. All of a sudden, I collapsed, but she just kept winding down, every now and then a buck, a squeal, a pant, a gasp, a sudden jerk, a tightening of her legs; a loosening of her thighs, a relaxation of her legs.
I looked up into her face, and her eyes were wide open. There wasn't a trace of tears.
"Jesus Christ," she said, "you better get up. My mother will be home any minute!"
And now Miss Baker was rolling on top of me, her legs between my legs, her tits hanging down into my face, her mouth, above me, drooling spit down into my mouth. She settled her squishy ass comfortably on my knees and held my cock in her right hand, palm up, thumb pressing back on the fleshy head. It kept me nice and hard, but stilled the uncontrollable desire to come.
"My, my," she said. "How did this thing grow so big in so few years!"
"It gets lots of fucking," I said.
She giggled back. "My, my, you're going to tear up my cunt something awful. Don't you feel bad about what you're going to do to me?"
"Uh-uh," I said honestly.
"Are you sure you've done it before?"
"Lots of times," I said.
She nodded sagely, pondering this bit of intelligence. It suddenly struck me that she was no more drunk than I. Not now, anyway. Maybe before. And I would have fucked her while she thought I was somebody else. But now she knew it was me. And she was still going to fuck me. My prick swelled with pride. It swelled further, even though her thumb pressed on the glans holding me back.
She watched it puff out from behind her hand, like a balloon tied at the head with a piece of string.
"Who have you fucked?" she asked throatily.
"My ma."
"Really?"
That was wonderful excitement for her. She snapped her ass up straight and bounced her pubes a couple of times on my knees. The soft, silky feel of her pubic hair started my juices going, and I didn't think just the pressure of her thumb on the head of my prick was going to hold me back for too long.
"When?"
"A couple of years ago," I said, thinking quickly.
"Oh." She sounded disappointed.
"Well, listen," she said, "you wouldn't be the first boy who fucked his mother. Literature is full of it. You'll see."
"Stendahl doesn't say anything about it," I said.
She giggled again. "I wanted you boys to read Stendahl so you'll know how to satisfy me. How your mother gets her jollies is her business."
I felt a twinge of anger. I didn't want to be talking about my mother, and I didn't want to be talking about her this way. And not in this position. Not while fucking Miss Baker. Only I'm the one who brought it up, not Miss Baker. I wondered if that's why I was fucking Miss Baker.
"We better do it," I said.
"Do what?"
"Start fucking."
"What's your hurry? "
"I'm going to come."
"Not while I'm capping your prick." She patted her thumb against the head to show me she wasn't letting anything get out of hand.
Then she raised herself up and put my prick under her bottom as if she was wiping her ass with it. Only she wiped the lips of her cunt with it. Then she released the head and stuffed it just between the lips of her cunt. Then she sank down slowly with a sigh, the slick lips of her twat sliding down the long shaft like an elevator. When she struck bottom, I felt delicious tickles as her hairy mouth slid up and back on my thighs.
"Let's just groove," she said.
I kept my eyes open and tried to see her in the half-shadows above me. She was making little noises like a mink, and prodding her ass until my prick finally settled way up in the middle of her belly, where it was stopped by a thin, silken wall that kept undulating against my glans like warm oil.
"That'll hold you back too," she said, and giggled. "Groove, groove, baby," she intoned. "Groovy, groovy, baby." She rocked up and back. The roof of the Dodge was low, but her head was up in the sky.
"I've got a belly full of you," she said. "A real bellyful of cock. Young cock. Stiff cock. New cock. Pricky cock. Cocky cock. Balls-up cock. Sweet cock. Good cock. All my cock. Your mother's cock, baby. Groove it."
She let out a big sigh and leaned forward and lay her cheek against mine. Her ass came up a little, and my cock slid back a little. She straightened up, until the prick, as if it belonged to someone else, settled back up her again; then she came down to my cheek again, and we both felt my cock slide inches free again. She straightened up.
"Your cock is throbbing, baby. Really throbbing. Groovy," she said. "Real groovy." She rode me quietly, intensely. I wished I knew what she was thinking about. I knew what I was thinking about.
"I'm coming, baby," she informed me. Calmly, casually, just like that. I thought I felt her melting and running down my prick and running down my thighs. But her tight groove held me in its glove-soft vise. She went into a series of short, fast, little strokes that I supposed was shooting off her nuts. And I stayed up there on top, not coming, but feeling like king of the hill.
"Oh, that one was good!" she said, coming down to lay her cheek against mine again, and kissing me on the earlobe. Her sharp, pointed tongue raced through the channels of my ear, and I had to jerk my head. It also jerked my cock now only half-up her twat as she lay bent forward, and she hastily sat up straight again, retarding the glans in the meatballs rolling around somewhere up her cunt; somewhere near her ass; somewhere where she knew where, and it was the biggest secret of all time.
She was breathing real deep now, as if she had been running for miles. She let her hands move around on my belly. Every so often she lifted her ass slightly and quickly lowered it, emitting a soft sigh each time. "Oh, those are good comes," she said.
"Can't I come with you?" I was getting scared. I had this real good feeling, and seeing her sitting up there on my prick was the best feeling of all, next to coming; but I wanted to top it off with a come of my own. My hair curled with fright that I might never come again; that somehow, with her thumb and that pulsing ball in her belly, she had locked me up from coming, forever.
"Sure, baby, you will. But right now we're grooving." She leaned down to my ear. "When my big come comes, you come with me; pump it real hard; hard as anything you've ever done in your life; hard as if I were your mama!"
She went back to grooving. This time each time she bent low, after a short, heart-skipping come, I nibbled on her tits, looking like dark buttons in the dim light, but hoping they were blood-engorged bags that would pop open when she had her big come; when I came with her in her big come.
When she leaned forward to suck my ears, suck her tongue around the tip of my nose, stick it down my throat with deep, huffy puffs, I felt the lips of her cunt open like a canyon. Time and again I sank my fingers between the cheeks of her ass so when she bounced back up they were locked into the slot, sliding up and down the sleek flesh, feeling it wet and slippery. "Groovy," she said.
I tried to get my hands between our bellies, searching the red slot to find her joy button, that she said, if I held it and squeezed on it while she bounced her vagina up and down the length of my penis, would bring her on to the biggest come of all.
I tried hard, because I wanted her to have the big come so that I could come with her. But all my prick did was get bigger and bigger and longer and longer and harder and harder, and I knew if I came now, the top of my head would come off too and my brains would splatter the roof of the Dodge while my jism splattered her cunt right out from between her legs.
At the end of one of those little shudders, she rose up full, leaving my stiff, wet prick to fan the air while her belly squeezed up into a ball. She was screaming and crying and throwing her ass around like crazy, cracking her nuts in a steady stream of orgasmic eruptions that she still insisted was not the big come.
"Groove it a little more," she implored.
And then I knew what she had going with young boys. She couldn't get an older man to ride her out like this. Or could she? Did that fucking, gray-haired barber have this going for him? Is there one guy here and there and somewhere else who makes a woman groove and doesn't just get his rocks off so he can say he fucked her, without having to spend too much time away from what he thinks is really important? Well, maybe. But a young stud knows that nothing else is more important, so he's an odds-on favorite, and a smart woman plays the odds.
I was so grateful for being young and for the opportunity to display my mouth, I just pulled her in by the hips and settled her cunt on my mouth. I ran my tongue the entire length of that groove, right from the soft part of her underbelly right back to her anus; and would have sucked out that shithole too if I had been able to reach around to it. So I took my thumb in instead and ate her pussy like a starving man.
But for the first time, I really had my tongue up a slit, in a cunt; like Georgie lapping Mama, and I knew what Georgie had going for him that Mama appreciated. I knew that even when I got to where my cock couldn't ride all day grooving the way Miss Baker was making it groove now, my tongue could do it for me.
She sat flat on my face, clutching my hair, gasping and sobbing; her body twitching and jerking with epileptic spasms; her cunt opening and closing on my tongue; her asshole opening and closing on my thumb. I knew up there somewhere was that ball of meat that was driving her out of her mind. Between my tongue and my thumb, I intended to find it, and when I found it, I'd give her back my cock for the big come.
"Help me," I pleaded. "Miss Baker, please help me!"
It was like being back with Sara, only better; mouth glued to mouth, our tongues battling. The pocket between her thighs was hot and slippery from my full-swelled cock and my gorging tongue and her relaxing bursts of orgasm.
"Oh, give it to me!" I was pleading with her. "Give it to me, Miss Baker."
Her milk white thighs were under me now, her legs spread, one calf hooked over the back of the seat. God, it was a movie-star calf. I could have come just looking at it, propped naked there, made wide open there for me to come inside and fuck her cunt.
"Fuck!" she was telling me now. She didn't have to tell me to be groovy now. We were groovy. We were groovy from head to toe. Now it was fuck time. Now it was come time.
The silky forest between her thighs clutched at my prick and held it, rubbed against it, frictioned me to a promised come that nothing was going to stop.
She rubbed herself on it, back and forth, spreading her juices all over her cuntlips and matting the hair and inflaming my cock. Everything at the tip of it was bottomless. The cunt stretched out forever, with nothing to stop it, nothing to hold it back.
I closed my eyes and pretended I went home and walked in on my ma in bed. She was fast asleep. I flipped the covers back and licked my lips at the sight of her naked body under the negligee she wore to just below her crotch. I tried tugging it up, but she squirmed fitfully in sleep. I went and got her pinking shears and sliced it from her knees to her throat. I then opened it up like stripping leaves from a head of lettuce. The head of lettuce between her legs was dark and soft.
I straddled my face with her thighs and lowered my head to the meaty trench. Her cunt smelled just like Miss Baker's. I pushed her thighs apart with my hands, and this time she didn't resist, just opened them. I didn't know whether she was still asleep or not; whether she thought I was Georgie or her dead husband or whoever it was she had fucked last. I opened her cleft with my fingers and whetted the lips. I ran my tongue up and down the crack and felt her back jerk up and heard her gasp. It must have been with pleasure, because her legs opened wider at the knees. Her toes pointed back together so she looked like a white-shelled frog. I buried my face in the hot oils of her cunt. She whimpered.
Then I felt her tongue running over the head of my prong. It traveled up and down the long shaft, all around, up and back, before she took the tumescent head in her mouth.
I began to lick her clit like a dog, and felt her suck back. I moved my tongue around and over the lobe of her clit and felt her ass buck up in little spasms. Mama was sucking my cock in an even, smooth rhythm; making squeaky noises and keening her pleasure while I wallowed in her gooey trough.
When her hot mouth increased its up and down speed, I followed, lapping furiously. I took the little kernel of her clit between my lips and squeezed as hard as I could.
The squeeze sent the jism boiling up from my ass, and I begged Mama to suck it all, eat it all, swallow it all.
I sobbed and moaned and begged her never to stop sucking on my prick, until my ass shot up, spurting my thick sperm into her throat.
At the same time, I kept my sticky face in her juice drenched slit so she could groove against my sucking mouth.
I knew I could never fuck like Georgie, but maybe I would never have to. "Help me, Ma," I said.
I still smelled her cunt from where my nose had been buried to my eyes, and it smelled like cunt should smell; like my cock wanted cunt to smell.
"Give it to me, honey!" Miss Baker begged. "Fuck me like crazy! Fuck like you've never fucked before! Fuck like you're going to fuck the rest of your life, baby!"
I plunged into her. I rammed into her. I drew back and rammed again and again. She began to writhe and twist, to call out my name. Only, it wasn't my name, but I didn't give a shit. I kept calling her Ma.
"I'm coming," she gurgled. "I'm coming this time, really coming!" She arched her back into a sharp bow and took my squirting body with her feet planted flat on the seat behind the steering wheel and her head almost upturned to the window opposite. The rest of her frame arched up in the air until I squeezed the last delicious drop of come from my balls.
"OOOhhhh! .. . OOOhhh!. . . AAiiiiii!"
She flopped to the leather, held her thighs around my hips while her twitching sheath milked my prick in fear that I would never come again.
As I fell back, her hot mouth engulfed my flaccid cock. Her eyes were smiling into mine. The edge was off, and she was calm now.
"I love to suck cock," she said. "Do you know your teacher is a cocksucker? "
I smiled weakly, dreamily, tiredly. "All teachers are cocksuckers," I said.
CHAPTER TWO
The first time, I guess - well, not the first time since I can't, or won't remember that far back - I mean even years after I had started playing with myself, and when I had already reached the age where I was horny all the time. I got so sensitive between the legs, I mean my clit got so sensitive I didn't dare touch it even to wipe myself after taking a pee. Then I'd stay moist and ready, all the time. I couldn't even wear panties because the friction kept me walking on a cloud and I didn't know where I was at. When I had to wear a kotex, I went nearly insane with panting excitement.
Now I didn't expect an older man to sit and play games with me. They only do that before they can get into your pants. Once the pants are off and they're in, fuck it, they're off. They've come and gone, if you know what I mean. So even the first time I began looking for younger fellows, as I called them then, the search was deliberate, not accidental.
There I sat in a short kimono, a moist fire dripping in my cunt, and this kid is giggling and blushing, and scared, I guess. If I had been one of his own raw-cunted, young girlfriends, he, too, would have fucked and gone, just like any lousy stud. But this way, his gawking youth held him off, and my age held him off, and I discovered that this is the best combination for fucking than all the philosophers ever dreamed of.
I said, "Have you ever fucked, Phillip?" His face flamed and he shifted his feet and I grunted off another rock between my legs.
"Do you know what a cunt is, Phillip?"
The ballet of his shifting feet and my rising and falling pelvis was repeated.
I shifted forward so our knees touched. The edge of the kimono was riding high on my thighs. His eyes were bugging out, but his whole body remained as stiff and stern as the little prick I knew was straining in his little-boy shorts.
"Say it," I said.
"Say what?" Face red, mouth wet, lips trying to smile.
"Say cunt."
His eyes traced the curves of my calves, the dimples in my knees, strained to raise the hem of my kimono so they could feast on the vision of a grown up cunt.
I pulled the kimono up to my hips and spread my thighs. Then I fingered apart the labia majora. "You're looking at my cunt now, Phillip."
"Cunt," he said.
The word was a gasp. The muscles of his throat were knotted like ropes.
"Good boy," I rewarded him. "Now you're talking the truth. Cunt is the truth. Say it."
"Cunt," he obliged. "Cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt."
He was savoring the word now, chewing it in his mouth like candy; the sweet juices running back down his throat and bubbling in his virgin asshole.
"Very, very good," I said, and clapped my hands. The ends of the kimono fell back across my thighs, hiding the glint of the red bush as it tucked away from sight. Phillip leaned forward, and with a scared hand, lifted the cloth and peeked, as if under a blanket.
I helped him by swinging my knees open and closed. The lobster of my cunt winked at him between flickers.
"Now say fuck, Phillip."
"Fuck Phillip."
"No, just fuck, fuck, fuck - you're Phillip."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he said.
I unbelted the kimono and opened the whole front. Up from my cunt, up from the gorgeous red bush, trailed a fine stream of hairs to my belly button. Above it my waist was smooth and firm. I took a deep breath so that my lovely titties stood up strong and proud for him.
Phillip sat as if mesmerized. I patted my breasts, tweaked the hardening nipples to make them pucker up for him, and then felt for my twat again and opened the humid lips to his eyes again. The tiny, red tongue of my clit made a wet sound that brought up Phillip's head. His own red tongue came out of his mouth and licked at his lips.
My fingertips were glistening with the soft fluid pumping through my cunt and bathing my thighs. My heart was pounding in my ears so hard I couldn't hear myself breathe. "Touch my cunt, Phillip; fuck me with your fingers."
His eyes remained fastened on my beckoning cunt. He reached out and lightly prodded my clit. I thought I'd go through the roof.
"Stick your finger in," I urged him.
He rubbed his finger over the clit, fascinated by the warm, spongy resiliency; then brought the finger under the clit and pushed it forward. It slid up to the first knuckle, and we both hung there, trembling.
"Move it around," I instructed (I wanted to beg). "Get the feel of it."
He gently moved his finger through the cluster of flesh in my cunt, his face a picture of awe and wonder. The feeling was delicious, but the glow on his face made me feel absolutely heavenly.
I could read his every feeling as his finger circled in my twat, as if he were stirring, wallowing around in, a vat of hot tapioca. Velvety smooth, though; and soothing; to him and to me. A comfortable place to be. A snug retreat. Cozy. A place to stay forever.
"Am I doing right?" he asked.
He couldn't be doing better.
"Is that where pricks go?" he whispered.
I nodded, half-closing my eyes; my lids heavy-lidded, drugged.
"Can I put my prick in there?" His finger kept circling; now two, three, four fingers. He began to pump. He was half standing up, crouched in front of me, his head almost between my trembling knees.
"Yes," I whispered back. "But first, kiss it."
I could almost hear his stomach flip.
"It's a cunt," I said. "If you want this cunt of mine, if you want it to belong to you, you have to love it." No response. "Do you want it to belong to you?"
"Y-yes."
"Do you love it?"
"Yes."
"Do you want my cunt to love you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Then kiss it."
He dropped on his knees in front of me. I opened my thighs even further, and slouched back in my chair. Phillip's eyes closed and his nose wrinkled and he pecked a quick kiss on top of the red bush. It was as if he kissed my cheek. Yet even that robbed me of breath.
He had leaned back, and was watching my face. I smiled at him. "Very good, Phillip," I said. "But one kiss isn't really love, is it?"
He bowed his head once more. He repeated the facial contortions. This time when his chin touched the crinkly hair of my mound, I brought my hands behind his head and held him there. His tongue went in - in spite of himself, his tongue went in. When it flicked back, it couldn't wait to get in again. Without my having to hold his head now, he swooped forward so his lips could hug my cunt. It robbed me of my breath for a fitful second, and I had to grip the top of his head just to keep my balance. The initial sensation was like an electric shock. Then it was as if an organ was humming in my cunt. His lips were circled around my clit and the sensation was almost unbearable.
I felt the slippery friction of his tongue stabbing my clit; delightful for him, because he didn't have to go in deep for it, and perfect for me, because this was the itch I could never scratch away.
I thought it could never feel any better, and then it began to feel better. It lacerated my nerves. I could feel myself coming from every pore. The pleasure was suffocating.
He pulled his head back suddenly, to breathe. He gulped quick mouthfuls, his shoulders trembling under my gripping hands. There was a picture of utter bliss on his face.
I started to pull him forward again, feeling his body shudder in my hands; but I couldn't wait any longer. I needed his mouth on my cunt. Now. He sucked up my guts. I heard him moan contentedly, observed the copulative thrust of his little ass as his prick tried to fuck in harmony with his tongue. The hunched muscles in his shoulders and back warned me of his coming ejaculation, and I slowly slid down to join him on the floor, my hands reaching for his fly. Meanwhile he was bringing me up to a pitch of pleasure that was more than ecstasy. His sucking wasn't so hard I broke; and it wasn't so soft and loose that I could climb back down. It was just up there. There. On the crest. A joy I could endure forever. But his head was struggling now between my thighs, beginning to thrash while he threw his whole body wildly.
I guess he was responding to the ecstatic feel of his prick in my hands. It was small and slim but hard as a bar of steel. It was a short, but an unbreakable prick. I fought to get it in my mouth. Then I just held it. I knew if he blew, the good suck between my legs would stop. And I wanted my climax first. I needed that climax to satisfy the excruciating yearning in my cunt. I rutted my ass with feverish expectancy. Phillip's mouth picked up speed. His tongue was positively frantic. His whole face slobbered in my cunt. The wet, slapping sounds mingled with thrusts and pulls, and I felt myself completely overpowered. I sucked his little cock as if my life depended on it. It did. I began to work harder, my whole body swaying like a thin-trunked tree. Phillip was desperately disemboweling my cunt.
And suddenly I felt the tickling palpitations of true orgasm.
His cock lengthened in my mouth; widened, thickened; became a grown man's wondrous prick in my mouth, and I nearly died with the double ecstasy.
His wet fingers were up my ass, sliding desperately up and down in my ass; the thumbs hooking in the lips of my cunt to give him freeway to his whole face gobbling up my cunt. And in the middle of it, that little tongue of his going around and around and up and down.
Moaning deliriously, I tightened my thighs around that delicious head, clamped them tightly against his taut cheeks and munching jaw. He bleated into my cunt, sounding like a trumpet, and a thin stream of come shot along my tongue. Then another. And another. His hips lurched into my face, his tight ass fanning the air in the unmistakable hump of orgasm. I did my part. My clit began to burn like fire as my own come began. His mouth had slowed simultaneously with his spasm, and I had to hurry to get my rocks off before his prick hung limp and flaccid in my mouth.
The throbbing warmth spread down my legs and came up on the back of my ass and settled all over my pelvis. The exquisite pleasure began to expand in wider and wider waves. I squealed in startled surprise as Phillip whipped his mouth awake. I felt his cock lurch against my tongue, hammer into my cheek. My God, he was going to come again! He was going to try to come again. It uncoiled, snapped open. My God, he was going to come again. Thank You God for little boys!
A flag-like fluttering shuddered my rectum, and my anus squirmed. I felt sheer pelvic bliss. Never was a prick so long and hard in my mouth; never was a tongue so delirious in my cunt. My climax stretched for incredible miles; and even the last, gentle twitching were so exquisite that I kept my tongue in time with them along the bottom of Phillip's delicious shaft; until the second come squirted; not much, but enough, not much, but all he had to have to make his ass ripple and make him squeal his contentment deep down in the pit of his belly.
He wasn't up to a real fuck then, although we tried. I wished Mrs. Frazier, who lived downstairs, was home, because then Phillip could have gotten hard again, and fucked. All he needed was a second cunt to work him up, but there was no one else around so the best I could do was make him promise to visit me again tomorrow.
He couldn't. His school class had to go on a field trip, and he had to go right home afterward. The next day? Well. Friday? Gee. Saturday? Oh, please, Saturday? And he could meet Mrs. Frazier too; and she was a lot younger, I told him. About the age of his teacher. He dug his teacher. He had fucked his teacher with his mind lots of times. He could pretend Mrs. Frazier was his teacher.
But I was going to be his teacher.
Saturday then? Please?
"This is Phillip, Beth," I said to Mrs. Frazier. "Phillip, Mrs. Frazier. She's been dying to meet you," I told Phillip.
Phillip grinned sheepishly and dug a circular path with the point of his shoe in Beth's deeply carpeted living room. He was all eyes for Beth, but I didn't mind. I'd get my piece. But I could understand his excitement at the sight of Beth, a doll-faced little blonde with small, pouting tits that bounced joyfully behind the net of a bra-less blouse.
Phillip stammered something, and Beth patted him on the head. While she patted his head, I patted his little, round ass, stretched tight by his blue denims. And although he lifted his eyes appraisingly to her breasts, his butt leaned against my hand, and I knew he hadn't forgotten me.
"So you're Phillip," Beth said, her dulcet voice as doll-like as her face. She brought her innocent-looking body up against him and kissed him on the tip of the nose. There was something school-teacherish about her, which quickly evaporated as she unbuckled the wide belt wrapped around the waist of his denims and tugged the pants down over his knees.
I held one of Phillip's hands as he awkwardly stepped out of the pants. His white jockey shorts didn't bulge, but pointed cone-like between his legs. Beth cooed at the sight to set Phillip at ease, as she pushed down on the front of his knit shorts and sucked up his half-stiff cock in the palm of her little hand. The end-tips of her two fingers stroked his retracted balls. She kept kissing the tip of his nose while the balls lowered into her fist. The cock was now struggling along her wrist.
"Some wacker, huh?" I confided to Beth. She winked at me across his shoulder. Then her blue eyes batted and grew moist.
"You want mommy to get it hard for you, baby?" she whispered in his ear.
Phillip stammered and shifted his feet. I was already down on my knees, in back of his ass. My tongue flattened out against the cheeks and I licked the tiny hairs wet. "This is going to be a real man," I said to Beth from between his legs.
Beth giggled. "Just look at it!" she said in her sweet-toned voice. "Look how it's coming up! Feel how it's coming up!"
Phillip glanced down at me with embarrassed eyes. "I'm a real expert on pricks," Beth continued. "You're going to be a real stud, fellah!"
She was very impressed.
Beth was breathing in a deep contralto. She let go his cock and stepped away from him. Her eyes traveled down his chest. She marveled at the way his cock stretched upward to the middle of that belly. "Mmmmm, I bet that tastes good," she said.
I brought my arm up between Phillip's legs, stretching out my hand so that I held his shaft like a fishing pole. My elbow forced him to spread his legs, and his brown anus opened to my eye. I quickly inserted my tongue in his ass and felt him lurch against my arm.
"You're getting it all," Beth pouted.
"He's got a mouth, honey," I murmured between his fluttering cheeks, my eyes closed to absorb the delicious aroma of his ass. "He eats pussy with golden lips."
"I want to fuck," Phillip said.
"Oh, you will baby, you will," Beth trilled. "You're going to fuck me, little boy, I promise you that!"
She was shucking her mini-skirt, leaving her blouse to flutter halfway down her ass and horizontally divide her cunt. It made it smaller, more enticing, more provocative; a ball of yellow fur that curled enticingly between her thighs. The mat clung to the inside of her legs as if it never wanted to let that soft skin go.
His ass left my tongue as he bounded forward. Beth immediately parted her thighs to accommodate him; and there he was, knees bent on his haunches, one hand to support him hanging on to one thigh just back of Beth's left knee; the other slicing upward, buffeting between the legs to close on a fistful of hair and cunt and ass.
The sucking in of his breath was a sharp hiss. It mingled with my "ooofjf' and Beth's "Ahhh ..."
His fingers found the vaginal cleft and probed into the slippery hole. His forefinger flicked up and found her clit; Beth giggled. "Oh, you taught him a lot!"
I let myself sink to the carpet, chin in hand, to watch. Patience, patience, lady! It would be only a matter of minutes before we both sucked him limb from limb, before we ate him dry; before we both got fucked by this almost virginal kid. I wondered if he had been a virgin the first time. It was the first time he had eaten pussy, I knew that. And the first time he'd ever been blown. I knew that for sure. And I don't think he ever really had his cock in a cunt; I mean in an all-the-way-up-the-cunt-fuck. He might have been jacked off by his girlfriends, though; maybe behind the steering wheel of a car, where his amorous attentions were nipped in the bud so to speak. Or maybe he had whacked himself plenty under the bedcovers or with both knees on the seat of the John, watching the white sperm arc end over end, some of it missing the toilet bowl and splattering on the tiles; or dripping down the back of the seat; or clinging to the wall.
He had that much.
Later, when he was a little older, it would be all feeling and little sperm. Come and go. One of those. Right now he was in his prime. For me. For us.
"It won't bite you, dear," Beth was saying. "Go ahead and feel it up good."
I had to give Beth credit. There was no stud around, no one, who knew she dug cock like I knew she dug cock. You know, the kind of girl who wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful.
Prim. Proper. In public. Wherever she met with guys who were ready to fuck at the pucker of a whistle. They played word games with her, and then were sent away with their pricks crawling between their legs.
She like castrated them. Cut them off at the balls.
But with kids she was divine.
She taught me everything I practiced.
It still pains me to think how many delivery boys, service boys, newsboys, everybody's boys I overlooked in my ignorance. It wasn't until one day, when I thought, "Boy, I wish you were just a little older!" that I realized the boy didn't have to be any older. Beth helped me realize it. But more of that later. Right now Phillip's cock was ruby red as he watched Beth's clit slither up and down her crack like the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. The head of his prick swelled and fanned like a toadstool. His adoring eyes were as round as silver dollars, the irises agate-hard, protruding like marbles. Beth's high breasts were swishing behind her blouse. Shit, I was getting almost as horny watching her as I was watching him.
The sweet, girlish curves of her calves and thighs made his cock stutter and it began to jerk in rhythm with his heartbeat. I could hardly keep my hands off of it. And mouth. And cunt. I wanted my cunt to sink down on it, slowly, smoothly, tightly, hurtfully, painfully, delightfully, oh, god!
I suddenly realized I was still dressed. Still watching, I undid my slacks and peeled out of them. The blue sweater that clung to my ample curves came off in one tear. My fingers fumbled with anxiety as I unhooked my bra; the sudden freedom from constraint popping up my tits, one by one, like basketballs to the surface of a swimming pool. I wore no panties to take off. The inside seam of my slacks was slick with sparkling mucous. I hugged one hand between my thighs and waited; the wetness dried, and the itch soothed, by the rubbing heel of my hand.
I watched Beth's hand run up his smooth leg, almost as smooth as her own, until she cupped his balls. They hung low this time, nestled together like two fat-covered walnuts in the palm of her hand. She weighed them as Phillip brought up one free hand to weigh her tits in turn; then she held the wrinkled sac with thumb and forefinger and swung the bag fore and aft.
I came in on hands and knees. I slowly ran my tongue from the slim hilt of his penis to the flaring, flat head. He groaned. He was all man now; that prick standing up like a lighthouse and beckoning with its single, all-encompassing eye. I tunneled my tongue and felt the increasing rigidity that signaled his coming climax.
I backed off, breathing deeply. Beth had stars in her eyes. She hadn't done anything yet; was just waving his balls in the breeze and feeling his hand massage her clit and his tongue racing from one breast to the other. She released him to pull stupidly at the interfering blouse. Then she got it up on her shoulders, while Phillip laved the pulsations of her bust and the valley that trembled between the twin hills. He was lifting up both breasts together, pulling them forward, elongating their shape into two giant bananas, red-tipped at the stems, ready to squirt milk into his choking throat.
"Let's do it," he was croaking. "Let's do it now!"
I was way ahead of him. My hand was up my cunt to the wrist. My arches were braced against the arm of a chair, my knees bent back almost to my shoulders, my lips puckered as if I were sucking on his prick; that delicious prick I could see still upthrust and tough.
I watched the smooth-cheeked, clean-limbed young man hold Beth's tits to either cheek and wash his face with them. Beth had abandoned his balls and now had his slim-girthed cock gripped hard, guiding the blood-engorged head to her golden-petaled cunt.
She was up on tiptoes, positioning the center of her thighs directly above the advancing head of his penis. She ran it lightly up and down the seam; let him feel the electric curls of her hair; let him feel the moist sponginess of her crack; let him feel the delightful insertion of the bulbous crown between the expanding lips.
"It's hard to do it standing up that way," I wanted to shout, with my own hand doing figure eights in my own slit. But not for a young, athletic boy like Phillip, it wasn't.
As Beth used one hand to open the lips of her cunt, and the other to shove his cock forward, Phillip bent at the knees, his balls swaying just above the tufts of carpeting; and then rising as his legs straightened, he impaled Beth on the head of his shaft.
She squealed.
I expected to see the juicy oils of her cunt squirt out on either side like a torn hose. But the head made its entrance, and just stood there and shook. Phillip's ass shook too. His knees stammered. He was rocking back on his heels and Beth was dancing forward on her toes. I used my feet that were on one arm of the chair to skid it behind Beth's legs. She plopped into it, her legs swinging high, as Phillip's body came crashing forward, his cock sinking to the slim hilt in one, greased thrust.
With eyes shocked closed, Beth grasped her ankles and lifted her feet to the front edge of each arm of the chair. With her knees up that high and her legs parted that wide and her cunt open that full, Phillip was using everything he had to fill up the hole.
I watched entranced as the cock slid quickly in and out. Training he didn't have. This was primitive energy. Primitive cock. Primitive fuck. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.
An older buzzard would have come with the first thrust. At least with the second. Without a doubt on the third. Phillip was just getting warmed up. Beth's head was rocking on her shoulders, her breasts flattening with each bone-crushing thrust; ballooning out with each reprieve. Then Phillip started in a way that would be his style forever. Inadvertently, he lost rhythm; pulled when he should have pushed. He parried for a moment; wandered around, scraping his stiff prick along the tender walls of Beth's ecstatic cunt; searching for a solid place that would fulcrum his cock and get him going in and out again.
I watched Beth's clit flatten against the top of the shaft; then saw it shoved down and in, as the shaft hump-backed up against it; then it popped back out only to be mashed upward against the swell of her pubes where it was splayed out like bubble gum; only to be quickly depressed and sucked under in a gurgle of fucking that had Beth writhing in a circle of ecstasy.
And now when Phillip shoved his groin forward, his torso went backward, relieving Beth's breast. Then to pull out, he lifted his ass and bent forward, crushing the resilient mammaries to his chin and causing Beth to keen in rapture.
He was going to go like that all day. I could tell. I scrambled to hand and knees and hurried to his side. His face was squinched up, his eyes rolling back in his head, mouth open, tongue lolling between his grimacing lips, wet and dripping. I held him back of the head, as his hips rolled in Beth's crotch, and brought his unseeing face to my cunt. As soon as the pubic hair brushed his cheeks and chin, he mouth began lapping like a blanket wrapped infant searching for its mother's nipple.
"Suck my pussy," I hummed in Phillip's ear.
Beth opened one shock-strained eye, hazarded a wink, closed both eyes, gritted her teeth, grunted, groaned, groveled, and hung on.
Phillip's whole head swooped up into my cunt. He just licked at first, like on an ice-cream cone, flattening the muff and exposing the pink tissue that was dripping for his lips. I lifted my arms, threw back my head to howl, and saw the back of me in the mirror opposite. In that spread-assed position I was the sexiest woman I had ever seen. I really howled. The muscles in my back-thighs strained for prick. The little, soft muscles behind my knees, bulged with cum. I turned myself on and burrowed my pussy deeper into Phillip's face. He sucked me madly and fucked Beth like a dervish.
I pulled on his ears, lifted his cunt-soaked face to my lips and kissed him with my tongue rammed deep in his throat. Then I placed his mouth back on my clit.
Beth's cunt was no less sodden. Phillip was lifting his cock like a club, the head whipping the portals into a pulpy passion and then going like greased lightning up and down through the tunnel of her vagina. The faster he fucked, the harder he fucked; the faster he sucked, the harder he sucked. When he slowed on Beth, he slowed on me. When he dug deeper into Beth, he dug deeper into me. He grunted. Beth grunted with him. I grunted with them both.
I knew she was feeling what I was feeling, from the same boy at the same time. There was the voluptuous feeling of stretching and compression as he plunged tongue and cock.
I suddenly had my first ecstatic twinge, that twinge of impending relief you get when you're about to let loose a hot piss or suddenly evacuate your bowels in a glorious shit.
The face between my legs was smug with a mouth-stretching smile. Beth's face was a glory to behold. I saw mine in the mirror: prideful, superior, triumphant. I watched my eyelids flutter as each spasm rocketed through my cunt.
Phillip was pumping hard now; all rhythm gone, desperation in every thrust and jab. I fingered my clit deep into his mouth to help him climax; felt him latch onto it with lips and tongue; squeeze, hold on; bite, hold on . . . pull... pull ... pull.....
Beth's voice said, "I'm coming . . . I'm coming, you darling boy ... I'm coming ..."
I bent my head to Phillip's ear, the hot lava boiling up in my cunt. "You can come now," I said. "Fuck a come, dear. Piss your hot cream into that delicious cunt!"
He came. She came. I came.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Beth cried.
"Cunt, cunt, cunt!" Phillip cried.
I just grinned proudly through the groans and grimaces beneath me. My only regret when coming is all the time I waste before coming.
"My goodness, dear," Beth said later, "you looked as if you were coming right out of your skin."
"No throwing stones," I countered. "And, remember, he belongs to me. You only share."
"But I'm closer to his age," Beth said tentatively.
I said, "Look, you're twenty-six - the boy's sixteen. That doesn't make you his classmate."
"Why don't you pick on someone your size?" she said impishly.
"Come on, Beth. You're envious because he's mine. Now we never had the problem before, why cause complications now?"
Beth was bitchy about it, but I couldn't blame her. Sure, I had set Phillip up for her, for us, but I had to remember that it was Beth who had introduced me to this windfall of young studs in the first place.
She enumerated all the complications of getting fucked by older men - the involvement. First, they talked. Especially if they were married men. Marrieds had been my kick for avoiding involvement and social problems generated by bachelors who crowed like cocks about their conquests. Married men, I felt, always kept their mouths shut. But, boy was I wrong. In the first place, things have changed in the world. Obviously, or I wouldn't be having the wonderful time I'm having now. But I don't mean with the sex revolution alone; I mean with the male attitude. If a guy balled a gal before, and bragged about it, it was to make him a big man. Other men dig guys with machismo. (With balls, sonny.) And if they took her out in public, as his date, as his "lay broad", he still expected some sort of "respect" to be displayed; not necessarily in the girl's name, but in his own; i.e. the girl was a dumb broad, maybe, but it was his prowess that laid her low.
The other guys were supposed to be envious of him, or giving him credit where obviously due.
So he didn't pass on the sweet little quirks that good fucking is made up of. Like getting reamed in the old asshole with her tongue. Like getting a long, drawn-out blow job. ("She sucks your prick, Harold? Gee, what are you showing off, Harold?") Like sucking her cunt for hours at a time. By god who the hell was going to admit to his friends he sucked a cunt? He ate pussy. And the biggest reason he was circumspect was that he might, just might, wind up marrying her.
All of us fuck broads marry somebody, you know. And at that stage in life we rarely married guys who hadn't already balled us. And the day of balling everybody except the guy you get married to is long gone. No argument.
But now single guys brag more about the proficiencies of their tongue than they do of their prick. First of all, it's fairly well known that the size of pricks doesn't matter too much. The ability to keep it up hard is the big thing. But as guys get older, past their teens - no matter what the hell they tell you - they just ain't what they used to be. They know it, and they know you know it. They ride on the decreasing waves through their twenties; and on memory through their thirties. But in their forties and fifties, well - That doesn't mean you don't fuck guys in their fifties. They're the best. They know what their tongue is for. Oh, yes, they're the best. And they know how to treat a girl. They don't mind spending a few bucks. They're downright generous, no matter how slim their financial edge. Or they won't fuck around to begin with. Smart. And appreciated. And I appreciate them. But the good ones are married. That's why I usually balled married men, plus the reasons I've already identified.
Well, I've got that out of the way, but I didn't clear up the problem of talking, did I? It's that these guys, married too, the guys you would expect to keep their mouths shut and their wives quiet, who now talk the most.
The circle has been made complete, and they're not bragging to other guys anymore - no, they're bragging to their wives. Because their wives want to hear it, they want to know about it. It revitalizes them in bed. He isn't such an old fuck after all. Other women dig him. The jealousies of the kid years are laughed at. But if you only fuck, you ain't much. "How does she suck, dear? Has she ever asked you to shit on her? Do you piss on her? In her hair? In her eyes? In her mouth? Oh, sweets, how precious. Well, you just lay down here, jocko, I'm going to piss all over you!"
Before these women used to resent you for "breaking up their home." You "stole their husband," etc. Now that doesn't mean shit. They kind of wish you would, but the economies of the whole thing is burdensome. No, they resent you now if you won't do at least the things they do. Mad at you, because you won't eat shit out of her husband's precious ass. Mad at you, because you won't do a demonstration for her. And if you do, she puts you down easily, because she has him and you haven't. Either way it's a hassle.
But I expected the hassle, because there was no other way; except to masturbate. And don't knock that, because it's the most uninvolved thing I know. And I do it all the time. Sometimes it's even better, because your own hand reacts to your mind instantly; whereas with some cunt-lappers, you have to draw pictures before he gets the message. By that time the edge is off the yearning. And by the time you can build it up again, he's long gone. Especially those guys in the fifties. They're smart. They fuck and run, fast.
Beth got me out of that dilemma.
I told you she looks like a schoolteacher. (Not that schoolteachers don't fuck. I got it on good authority that they're the easiest fucks in town. Easier than nurses, even, and you know how they fuck.) But they give that appearance of system and control and establishment; standards and traditions and loyalties. That's their stock-in-trade. That's their front. And although they ball it up with some kids in the class, it's generally too risky. So they fuck around with the other teachers, a principal or two, and the local superintendent. At least that way they get into better schools and take home a little more money. But they also fall in love too easily, because they're so intent upon keeping up the schoolteacher role that when they latch on to another teacher or principal or superintendent, they play house seriously; not going out with anyone else, afraid to use a four letter word for fear they will be identified, and all other crap like that. In fact, the more they fuck, fuck, fuck, the more prim and proper their behavior in public. And pretty soon they're acting the same way with the guy they're fucking because they want to demonstrate their professional qualifications as a teacher. That's when they lose their guy and they have to start all over.
Shit, I don't know how I got into schoolteachers, because Beth isn't a schoolteacher. I just said she acts like one. Looks like one, too; if you've seen sexy, beautifully titted, heavy-cunted, schoolteachers in your area. That's all.
But she avoided the hassle I found myself in by fucking the school kids who couldn't fuck their teachers, for reasons already mentioned. And these kids shut their traps like clams. And if they did talk it was far from the environment in which Beth moved. So she had no sweat. She just had lots of cock. Young, stiff, new-born cock. She told me it was the greatest.
She introduced me to one boy who delivered the thick, Sunday papers in the neighborhood. He was a little older than the boys who delivered the daily papers; but not old enough to take him out of the teens into the "young man" category.
"Mrs. Frazier tells me you're hot-cunted stiff," he said to me.
He was well broken-in. But then I can't blame Beth for not giving away first-timers. I was the first one guilty of that; and, believe me, next time I'll know better.
"Not exactly," I answered, "but anyway, look at that doll you already have. What do you want with me? "
"I dig older women," he said.
Beth, though twenty-six, looked even a year younger than he. But then, carrying those heavy newspapers has a tendency to develope your forearms. And your thighs. And your cock. I guess.
"She says you're tired of fucking your finger."
From the shine in his eyes and the nervous twitching of his lips, I could tell that's what really sent him. On looks, I'm no Sophia Loren, but as a fucker, buster, you've never had better.
Anyway, this was a tough little shit, but a kid; like taking candy from a baby. He could act as tough as he wanted; it was no contest.
Of course, what he didn't know, is that before dating a guy, I got into condition by taking two or three baths, masturbating frequently to heighten my sense of participation, and then teasing my clit unmercifully for at least one hour before dressing and meeting him.
And although that guy was meeting a thirty-six-year-old woman he was meeting a doll with glistening eyes, shining hair, skin like butter, and a vivacity that was overpowering. Even when I held it in low gear and just hummed through the cocktails and dinner, he wouldn't have traded me for Elizabeth Taylor. But then she's past forty herself. See what I mean?
"His name is Clarence," Beth said. And before I could question her generosity, she added, "No, he doesn't have me all fucked out - it's just that he likes to play too many games, and I don't have the patience."
That's one advantage of being older. You learn patience.
I looked at Clarence looking at me, unzipping his pants while he looked, and disclosing his uncircumcised penis, which really was a hand full.
"Very nice, Clarence," I said, refusing to display my eagerness and readiness and willingness, even though I might have if Beth hadn't already lauded my more mature patience. "But you'll have to play my games."
He looked crestfallen, turning to Beth with his pecker stiffening.
"I mean," I said hastily, "they'll be your games, but played through me."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You will," I assured him. I had already been informed that he was intrigued with the fact that I masturbated. Hell, I pulled my prick just like him. We had a great deal in common.
"Sit down, Clarence," I said, "and watch. Hold on to your prick and watch me fuck myself."
I let him help me undress. It gave me a thrill to see each personal reaction to each bit of flesh exposed to his view. Skin is skin, but it all depends on where it's at. He was quickly getting the idea as to where it's at.
Then, nice and naked, I sat in front of Beth's dressing mirror and closely observed myself getting ready to fuck myself. Clarence, I could see, was going to be an excellent audience; but, I have to admit, I was surprised as Beth's interest. Something buzzed under my scalp. A delectable goodie like she, with that lovely clit of hers, could be an interesting companion on lonely nights when I got even older and boys weren't as easily available.
I opened my thighs, heard Beth sigh, heard Clarence gasp, and began to lightly finger my clit. Then I just stroked it, high on the head of the nub, and watched it begin to swell. It started to blow like a small piece of bubble gum in the mouth of a child. At the same time, my nipples jerked erect, and a thin trickle of warm fluid began to ooze from my lower labia.
I felt my eyelids grow heavy, as if a hypnotist had snapped his fingers at them. My mouth opened so I could draw in heavy lungfuls of air. It's like when you're on a roller-coaster - you should open your mouth and breathe with your belly, to increase speed and pressure.
Then there was that faint plop-plop sound of wetness between my thighs and I could feel my anus flutter. I smelled myself, a fish-like whiff, as I began to ooze copiously. We were all watching the froth at the lips of my cunt, like beaten egg-white.
I couldn't hold myself back. Patience, shit. I began beating faster and harder. My clit was tumescent now, and the leg-muscles between my thighs started to ripple.
And then I hit the plateau I wanted to demonstrate. I was there now, holding it; completely in control again, feeling marvelous. Just marvelous. Men will never understand how marvelous. I've been told about the exquisite sensation of male ejaculation. Well, just take that sensation and hold it. Not coming, really; because the idea in coming is that it's going away too. Like the whine of jet engines in stereo: here it comes in from the left, there it goes out to the right. Hello and goodbye. Not so, a female orgasm. It's there, or it isn't there. You're on it, riding it, doing everything mental and physical you can to stay in the saddle. When it stops, it stops; it's as if it never happened. So you've got to work on it, and be worked on. The best way to sustain it is to hang on to the pre-climax pleasure, otherwise you slip over the edge; you climax and are gone; or, even worse, you don't climax. You're just gone.
With my own fingers, I was in perfect control. I could give myself short, bucking orgasms with only a few, tense flicks of my finger whenever the need to refrain became uncontrollable. That took the edge off and brought me back to a land of pleasure. My personal land of milk and honey. Keep pot, baby. Save your acid, baby. Fuck the booze, baby. This is it, baby. This is what everything else is trying to get for you. Everything else - art, music, warm sunshine, ocean swims, tennis, bridge, name it, baby - is an imitation, a substitute, a sublimation of the only thing that really counts. Clothes, house, cars, travel, fuck them all, fuck them all, fuck them all. I just want to stay here. Right here. Come baby, come baby, come baby . . . come....
My clit is palpitating now. Deep inside me, above and behind my cunt, my ovaries, my bowels, are tickling me to death. In the mirror I see my face burst loose, jaw slack, mouth hanging to one side, my eyes batting in slow motion; my cunt peeks up into the scene as I raise my hips from the chair in a delicious strain; and behind the clit, the cuntlips hang open like my mouth; the juice running out, powerful and pungent; thick as flour paste. The bottom of my belly is pooching; puffing out like I was going to have a baby; then sucking in like a dish. And my fingers going so loud and fast now it sounds like handfuls of gravel hitting a rushing stream.
I catch the grinding rhythm, and lead it by turning my finger in ever widening and widening circles; like the stream makes when those stones splash.
In the mirror my face looks as if it's being hit by a thousand felt-covered hammers. My finger is a blur and flecks of my cum juice are flying in all directions. My clit now slithers through my fingers; lost, caught, captured; the lower lip of my cunt like the mouth of an old man looking for his pipe. My rectum is opening and closing like a camera shutter, and at the peak of my orgasm, a wave of hot fluid washes through my belly. And then I coast, on and on forever, sliding down the far side, my fingers in perfect rhythm with each diminishing palpitation. In the mirror, my face smiles at its own expression of supreme satisfaction.
Clarence's cock watching, was like a doorknob. Beth's doll-faced loveliness and innocence was bending to him. His doorknob swelled to look like a toadstool. As in slow motion, I saw Beth's hand come up, open, grasp the skinny shaft at the base; the skinniness of it blowing out into an enormous prick. I heard myself saying, "Wait for me!"
I saw the cock thicken and lengthen with its own heartbeats. No longer a doorknob, a toadstool; now a cobra, hooded and vicious, and ready to fuck and come in any cunt that got there first.
It wasn't that Beth got there first; it's what she had to get there first with. Her nakedness made her look as if she'd been put together with volley-balls. Her nascent nipples and golden pubic pelt were colorful contrasts to the alabaster whiteness of her skin.
The poor boy was so pussy hungry and that mound was so neat and refined in comparison with my jacked-out vagina, that his mouth was eating it up before I ever got out of my chair.
Her shoulder blades were flattened to the carpet, and Clarence had his hands under her thighs, lifting the cunt with handfuls of ass puffing behind it, inhaling its pungency as if he were never going to breathe again.
Over his shoulder, I could see the firm, tender lips of Beth's cunt part open; just the tips of a myriad of inner tongues, peeking out and waiting. Her clit was conjesting. It began to pulse like a vein. The bottom of her cleft began to drain a stream of glistening mucous that had evidently been bottled up all the time I jacked off.
And suddenly Clarence was as calm as an accountant. His eye inventoried every pore of her crotch; cataloged each wrinkle and whorl and trigger of cunt hair. The flowing mucous was sticking to the fuck-seam like glue. He protruded his tongue just enough to uncoat the mucous, survey the flesh palpitating beneath. With the inhalation of the mucous, the cunt lips cracked open from stem to stern.
"Oh, Jesus, you're beautiful!" Clarence intoned, and let his mouth suction up the slipper lips and hold them suspended, before he let his tongue wind through the inner clusters of folds, the inner flesh of her bouncing cunt, the warmth of her mother-fucking vagina ....
Well, that's what I'm getting to - the way that boy worshipped her cunt made me really appreciate Beth's invitation and her cunt too. And I let her keep Clarence, except to share him between us; sometimes fucking up my cunt while I ate out Beth; and sometimes blowing him while Beth taught me what a delight it was to be sucked off by another woman.
Anyway, that was our style with ourselves and with young boys so you can see why I was a little pissed off at her bitchiness. She wanted Phillip and she wanted him alone.
I took to hanging around schoolyards and promising the boys a mouth watering cunt. Just telling them about it and watching their reactions was almost as good as getting fucked. Almost. Sometimes I led them into a niche in the courtyard of one of the school buildings and just let them feel me up. That was good too. I could feel my clit swell with just the idea. I could feel my cuntlips open like flower petals. I could feel my nipples, like hard, red erasers, scratch against my sweater and try to crawl out between the nubby threads. A lilting gladness welled up in my belly, and I laughed aloud with joy. A whole crop of young bulls who were mine alone!
The boys laughed too, or giggled, and slithered a hand into my bag of tits, or got their fingertips under my dress. I liked to whisper in their ear and tell them what they were feeling.
"You're holding a plump and healthy cunt," I would gurgle. "You got yourself a juicy cunt," I would tell them.
When their stabbing fingers found the vibrant vagina and sank in, I would tighten my abdomen and feel their fingers locked in the rubbery vise. Then I would feel their fingers slither along my clit like in doeskin gloves. I flexed my ass; relaxed; flexed; relaxed . . . and my cunt made a wet-kiss sound on their hand and discharged a clot of cunt phlegm that they spread all over my belly; but that they would take home with them, braised on the skin of their palm. Forever.
I liked jacking off against those hands, ever so gently moving my clit with feather-touch flicks against their fingernails. Invariably, then, they tried to get two hands into my cunt; and invariably, they succeeded. I grunted with pleasure. It felt wonderful.
It was a little awkward to reach down to the little-boy zippers to unfetter their young cocks, while both of their hands were in front of them, digging into my pussy. But I managed. They always helped me manage. Not one ever complained that I was doing anything to him that he didn't want done.
At first the piss-penis was worm-like in my fingers. Then it squeezed itself oblong and constricted. The tiny testicles were like almonds, tucked up tight and high, almost in the ass. I tickled the head with my finger, circumcised and uncircumcised alike. I could almost feel the cock turn a bluish-red. I could feel the veins distend along the shaft. I could feel the shaft distend along my palm. I could hear the little boy breaths raspy and shrill. Their fingers dug through my cunt, harder and faster.
"Yes, keep doing that," I told them. "Don't stop doing that. I'll make you come too!"
And I obliged. Within seconds the prick was no longer constricted. It stuck far away from their thighs, far out of their pants. I stroked it with all my fingers, feeling my own self lubricating around their, hands. They spread their legs as wide-stanced as mine.
"Beautiful," I told them all. "Beautiful, little boy!" And felt their pride demonstrated in their prick; felt their appreciation transmitted to their fingers; felt their fingers fuck my cunt into a flame; and jacked them back to show them I felt everything.
Their tiny pricks must have been like tomatoes now; round and pulpy; the skin stretched across the glans so tightly that it was like stroking a silk-covered baseball. My secretions were like melting butter now. I could feel the wet warmth trickle down my inner thighs. I could hear the mouths breathing hard in my ears, the pricks beginning to tremble in my hand, as I stroked faster and more firmly. They groaned, they grunted, they growled.
"Oh, shit, what are you doing!"
"Oh, shit, I'm gonna come!"
"Oh, shit, my god!"
"Oh, lady . .. oh ..."
"Please .. ."
"AAAgggggggggg.... !"
A hot, soupy gush of semen sprayed my palm and I caught its flow, felt it fill my hand, like holding a fist of thick cream. I lifted the puddle of sperm to my nose and sniffed it.
The hands were now lax in my cunt. Only my scissored-together thighs kept wrists locked in my pulsing, jumping cunt. I immersed my mouth in the young spunk. Like alum to my lips. Siphoning it up, and swallowing it; tonguing my palm dry and smacking my lips; watching the entranced, if half-somnolent reaction; but diverting them from forcibly withdrawing their hands until they had their fill of cunt and I had my last, controlled tremor before releasing their wrists.
Some just wandered away like zombies. Most wanted to know when they could do it again. If they were too frightened to come to my apartment, alone, we met again in the schoolyard. If they weren't, they came to the apartment, one by one.
But Phillip was something special; or he only got special because Beth wanted him. And maybe that's really what makes anything special, because somebody else wants it. For people who can't trust their own judgment, anyway. But in this case it wasn't because I didn't trust my judgment and wanted Phillip only because Beth dug him. No, I resented her comparative youth. And I knew this boy needed an older lady. Me. It was Phillip's pleasure I had at heart.
But a nagging doubt about myself, who I was and what I wanted, worried me. When some women are unsettled, they pick out new hats, or buy new wigs. My thing was to go to a new doctor.
He was about sixty, serious, but kindly. I had nothing to worry about. Not that an old man couldn't turn me on, as I've already explained; but it wasn't a compulsion to be turned on, and that's why I was here.
"I have a local genital irritation," I told him, "and an excessive discharge."
His nurse was older than I, and that was comforting. She had me disrobe and put on that foolish green sheet that did nothing but keep my neck warm. She left us and went back to the outer office, but I noticed she left the door open. I also noticed the doctor closed it. In court, the nurse would testify that the door was open between us and no sexual gratification occurred. How the hell would she know, with his head up my cunt? That must be a law from the old days of cock-in-the-cunt fuck. Isn't a suck-off sexual gratification? I'd like to testify.
I climbed on the tilted table and let my mind enjoy itself. The doctor gave me what I assumed was a thorough examination. It was most thorough. I came four times. The only difference was I couldn't plead to him to guide his actions and keep me on that plateau where I liked to stay. So I was on and off each time; but the old man was no fool. He had peered into too many vaginas for that.
When the examination was over, I was as weak as a kitten. Pussy-cat weak. Cunt weary. But he made no direct reference. He must have worn a cast-iron jockstrap.
"You have," he said soberly, removing white flecked, cum-spattered rubber gloves, "the healthiest genitals I've ever examined." Seen, doctor? Corae-acrossed? "Your uterus is a perfect house. Your cervix is spotless. Your vaginal walls are as unblemished and pliant as a young girl's." Take that, Beth, you bitch.
"But your clitoris is hypertrophied - uh - enlarged. And we both know the reason for that, don't we?"
"I masturbate a lot, doctor."
"And you let yourself be masturbated a lot."
"I like it that way."
"But get it sucked once in a while. It isn't as great a physical trauma."
"Oh, it gets sucked, doctor."
"Then get someone who doesn't bite."
I grinned sheepishly. "It's pretty difficult to tell someone not to bite until after they've bitten."
He slipped his dentures out of his mouth.
"Did you feel me bite?"
"No doctor."
"Stick to older guys," he said. "Young studs like to grind their teeth against pussy. It makes them feel like a real tiger."
"And you're a pussy-cat," I said.
"I'm a tiger," he grinned, and with that gummy hole in his mouth. "And all good tigers are toothless, otherwise you shouldn't have them around the house."
"Is that a medical opinion, doctor?"
"Who's talking about medicine? This is a personal opinion, from experience."
"So is mine, Doctor. I just dig young cocks."
"Nonsense, it's all in your mind."
"It's between my legs, doctor. A perpetual itch in my clit."
"Take cold baths. Exercise hard."
The cold baths might do it. The exercise was a pile of shit. Nothing got me up groovier for somebody younger. Okay, cold baths.
"Would you like a good fuck before I leave, doctor?" It might help with the fifteen-dollar bill he was going to send me.
He grinned. "A good one would kill me, Miss -" He looked for my name on his card.
I resigned myself to his tariff, and dressed quickly, you see, being old enough, he was smart enough to know he had given me the jollies so why should he reduce his bill? Maybe that's another reason I like young boys.
I left him, and went straight to Beth's.
And wonder of wonders, Phillip answered the door. "Where's Beth?" He wore a bathrobe loosely tied.
"Shopping."
"And you?"
"I'm waiting." He tightened the robe. Cock-sucking kid. "Oh."
I came in; Phillip closing the door hesitantly behind me. Jesus, I introduced him to this wonderful land of fuck, and here he was acting like a stranger.
"Do you mind if I wait?"
"N - no, I guess not."
"That's sweet of you."
I sat down in a love-chair. For dwarfs it was a love chair. "May I have a drink?"
"Oh, sure. What would you like?"
Maybe the sight of my spread thighs, the nylon pantyhose cupping my naked twat brought back the memory of my juicy cunt hugging his palpitating prick.
"How about a martini?"
"Uh - how do you make that? "
"Ice, gin, a spray of dry vermouth. Stir. Let it suck the ice while you put an olive in one of those stemmed glasses. Then strain the gin and vermouth over the olive. Rub the rim with a slice of lemon peel and float it on top of the drink."
He followed my instructions to the letter. He was a good boy, was Phillip. Too bad I had brought him around to Beth.
He looked adorable, the way his hair tumbled around his eyes and frizzled over his ears. His bare feet looked funny, though, and he tried to hide his toes. "Can't she afford any slippers for you?" I asked belligerently.
"I don't get much chance to wear them," he excused.
I gulped a swallow of the martini. He couldn't have made it any better if he knew how. It was a lot like fucking. He didn't need any prior experience. All he needed was the young ability to follow instructions. Older guys know it all. That's their trouble. Of course, I had the feeling that Phillip was getting to know it all too. He would be on his way out soon. Maybe I shouldn't feel uptight about it at all. Maybe. But he wasn't on his way out yet. And I had shown him how to get here. I was really uptight.
I tipped my head way back for another swallow. My legs went out and my skirt went up and I could feel his eyes on my nylon-covered cunt.
"Jesus, it's big!" he said.
"What?" I didn't even bother looking at him. I kept my eyes on what was left of the martini, swirling it around, watching the olive bang up against the lemon peel.
"Your whatchamacallit."
"My cunt? You learned that. Cunt, cunt."
"No, the red thing on the outside of it. It sure is big!"
"My clit, honey. Clitoris. It gets big from being worked good, like your prick." I downed the rest of the martini, gulped the olive, let my tongue work out the pimento, red and soft in my mouth.
"It felt soft and gooey in my mouth," Phillip said, taking his cue from the pimento I showed on my tongue. "Not hard like my prick at all."
"Your prick doesn't look very hard right now," I said.
He looked down at his spread-open thighs. His prick hung limply to the side.
He shrugged. "Jesus, three times this morning with Mrs. Frazier. And last night -"
"Only three times?" I said, "and you're like that?" I was grinding it into him, but I was as envious as hell. Three times, Jesus! Where else could you get it three times in a row from the same stud? I recalled my husband. From three times a night before we were married, to once a night after we were married, to once a week, once a month; and then I didn't know how often I got it from him, between the guys I was getting it from every day.
"It's still dangerous," he grinned half-heartedly.
I snickered. The young punk! It all went to his head. Now he thinks he has what Beth and I endowed him with. Only with Beth it was still there a little bit, while I looked to him like his mother. Only now he was beginning to think a fuck was a fuck; he can't let it go by, and I'm there. Well, let's see if we can't get the thing hard first. Otherwise, fuck him.
I put down the martini glass, flipped back the hem of my skirt, and began to roll down my pantyhose.
"I don't think Beth -" he began.
"Beth is my friend," I reminded him. "I always make myself at home here."
"Oh, yes, of course." He pulled the robe around himself, but immediately he sat down, it loosened. He left it that way. He wasn't doing it to entice me. He was really scared now the goddam thing wasn't going to get hard.
But he was young. A picture on the wall, spread knees in a magazine, a word in a book, a TV commercial with red lips and white teeth, a thought, a touch .... His fingertips were touching his penis. Just touching. And his eyes were looking at my cunt. Just looking. And I was dancing in front of him. Just dancing.
Watching his cock flutter alive was like having a harp played in my belly. The cock was like a chunk of pipe now. The head was like a half-opened umbrella. My cunt convulsed. I felt it shooting a milky stream, like a young stud's ejaculation.
But all the shooting was inside and the feeling was glorious . . . The feeling was also transmitted on airwaves; by radar; by infrared; by whatever.
I staggered back to my chair, sank down, drew my knees up against my breast and let them rub hard against my tits. My cunt hung open below like a hairy tunnel.
Phillip was jacking on his prick, but it had curled back halfway. I read desperation on his face.
"Suck me," I told him.
But he was too angry. He was angry at himself and he was angry at me for making him examine himself. My ass and cunt hung out to his murderous gaze. I watched him pull the belt from the robe. His robe hung loose and open, and where his prick should have been jutting out from it; it didn't even make a bulge in the cloth. He was angry enough to cry. He swung the belt and it cracked against my held-open ass; across the buttocks and the red-hair cunt and made a sharp, snapping crack in the small room. His face flushed with the blood that should have been in his prick.
He swished the belt three times more; across and up and down my puckering flesh.
"Not so fast," I told him without emotion. Take breaths between swaps. Then do it hard. Sting it. Snap it."
He swished the belt three times more; across and up and down my puckering flesh.
"Not so fast," I told him without emotion. "Take breaths between swaps. Then do it hard. Sting it. Snap it."
My whole bottom, from the middle of my thighs to the middle of my back, was bent open to him; my arms locked around my legs tight to hold the target still; my head bent down between my arms so I could observe the lurch of my cunt-lips when the belt bit into my ass. And in that turned-up, bent-head position, I could see Phillip's cock unfolding like the American flag. I shivered.
He dragged the end of the belt over my dime-sized anus, and the tufted thickness of my cunt. A picture of the whiteness of my stretched flesh, with the red belt marks showing, stimulated me as much as it seemed to stimulate him. He whipped the belt viciously.
"No love taps," I told him as the cloth seared my cunt.
He whacked me again, and I began to cry.
He went left, right; left, right, hitting at me with rapid snaps, and I almost choked on my tears. "Oh, dear God," I moaned. "Hit me! Hit me!"
Phillip was quivering as violently as I. He stung me again, and I screeched. He screeched back. Then the savage whip again. The pain was unbearable. My whole ass and cunt and flanks and hips was a red-laced glow. The crack of the belt brought higher-pitched screams. From him and from me. He was measuring the blows, and between licks, I peeked at his cock. It was up like a bludgeon; fan shaped at the head; tree-trunk sturdy at the base. The slit in the head was spreading, as if ready to come.
There was a menthol feeling through the length of my cunt. The blows kept coming, harder and harder. Phillip's prick suddenly lurched upward. I watched the white stream of gism fly in all directions as he staggered from the unlooked for ejaculation. His eyes closed and he bent at the hips, straining to relieve all the come that was oozing forth without a cunt to help it, without a hand to guide it, without a mouth to support it.
He straightened up. If he was angry before, he was almost insane now. The whip came, again and again. And the miracle was his cock stayed hard. He realized it too. A wild look of joy spasmed across his almost catatonic face. His lips peeled back baring his teeth, like fangs. He whipped his arm again and again, and I felt my cunt being shredded in layers. I screamed and began to piss. The piss arced out in an uncontrolled splash; hot piss from my sore urethra; scalding piss that burned my cunt and seared the lacerated flesh already puckered with crisscrossed bands of inflammation. I grabbed at my cunt with both hands, tried to stem the flow, relieve the sting, but it was as if I were unplugged. The piss kept shooting, spraying from between my fingers, across my thighs, my belly, down my legs; splattering out and drenching Phillip who was ejaculating again at the sight of the steamy piss spraying like rain all over the room and all over us.
He was crawling in on me, his prick trying to stem the flow of piss; trying to cap it, like capping an oil well, with the plug of his cock. But the piss still squirted out the sides so he was down on his knees, covering the length of my cunt with his mouth, gurgling deep in his throat, and begging my forgiveness and entreating me to love him for the rest of my life.
I'll tell you this: that's one little boy who never forgot me.
CHAPTER THREE
"Isn't she something else!" I said to the other guys. There were Dick and Joe and Norm. Three jerks who still jack off in the toilet. Sisters and mothers and cousins around and they still jack off.
It took me to show them what a cunt was for.
She was about forty-five, and black. Her ebony hands kept clasping and unclasping. It was the only sign of her nervousness. Her face was blank. Only her soft, brown eyes seemed alive.
"Move your ass," I instructed her.
She bucked it up once or twice. Norm giggled. Dick swallowed his Adam's apple. Joe was jacking off.
Her nose was flat and her lips were broad. And in her face you could see she was forty-five. "How old are you?" I said. "Forty-five."
"We're fifteen."
"I know," she said. "How do you know?"
She shrugged. It's hard to shrug laying down flat, your legs spread and your ankles tied to a door on either side of the room. Her arms stretched backward, and we had her wrists laced to the leg of a heavy table. The wriggle of her svelte hips constituted the shrug. Outside of her face, she was svelte all over.
"See what I mean about black pussy?" I said.
"She's an old lady," Dick reminded us.
She grinned up at us. "Not so old," she said.
Her breasts were large, but they stood up as if they were propped from underneath; the nipples blue-black buttons that begged to be sucked. Black suck. Her buttocks flared out on either side, giving her a soft, pillowy ass that would soft-ride our fucks, if I could get Norm and Dick and Joe to start fucking.
"Who's first?" Joe asked, wiping the cum off his forefinger on the seam of his pants. His prick was long and thick and white as it hung out over the black body beneath. The ugly black face looked up at him with real interest. That's all that was ugly. The rest of that body can hardly be described.
I know, because I've fucked it four times even if the guys don't believe me. It cost me ten dollars each time. She comes around and waits for me to finish my delivery route each week so I can pay before I fuck.
When I suggested that my buddies and I all wanted to fuck her for ten dollars, she told me to go fuck myself.
Now she wasn't a wise, black bitch anymore.
"I've never had black pussy," Dick said.
"You've never had any kind of pussy," I told him. "That's why this is going to be so good."
"Man, she could be my grandmother," Norm said.
She spat at him, the spit dribbling down her chin, and she sucked it back with thick lips.
Joe squatted at her side, his limp cock hanging down between his legs, brushing her thigh. Hot against her thigh. Her eyes flickered. He had one of those cocks that was just as long soft as it was hard. And he had just proved to us that it stayed long even after coming. And he was going to prove to us that he could jack off in his hand and then turn right around and fuck himself another come.
I could feel a heat and a vitality coming up from the black woman, like from an oven.
"How comes you got to tie me up?" she said. "I fuck better if I can move."
"No money," I said.
"Then I don't fucks."
Joe smiled. "I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Pepper." He rolled a hand around her belly, let it ride up and caress her tits. "I feel I know you very well."
She smiled with large, white teeth. "We two are going to get along great," she said. "Just untie me."
"You know we can't do that just yet," Joe said. "You might just want to fuck me and that wouldn't be fair to my friends."
"I'm the one she's been fucking," I interjected.
"For ten dollars," he answered, without taking his eyes from the now undulating body beneath his hardening prick. "When she fucks for nothing, she's choicier."
"I ain't gonna fuck for nothing, white boy."
"Oh, sure you are, Mrs. Pepper," Joe said sounding hurt.
"I ain't."
"Well, like on credit then. You know, you'll get it when we can give it to you."
She cackled. "You're funning."
"We're serious," Joe said seriously.
"She likes young boys," I told them. "She really does. She told me. Said the money didn't mean anything to her, that she just wanted to keep me interested."
"I don't understand that," Dick said.
"She'd fuck for nothing she said, only she wanted me to pay off to show that I was interested in fucking her, even if she was older." Older, shit - because she was a black nigger, right?
Mrs. Pepper laughed. Her laugh was like velvet. "Then how come when you wanted to fuck for nothing, I told you to go fuck yourself?"
"That's what I'm mad about," I said. "That's why I'm really pissed off. Now I got a chance to prove to the guys I wasn't lying."
"You're a liar, white boy." She dismissed me with a blink of those soft, brown eyes. They glistened again when they switched to Joe and his cock.
It's true, I don't have one like that. I don't know anyone around who does. Maybe some of those black studs that Mrs. Pepper has fucked in her life, maybe even her husband, who she told me hasn't been around for some time. But certainly no other white one. I didn't feel bad about it. I was proud that Joe who had it was a friend of mine. A good friend. Even if he was a little pissed off that I was getting black pussy, even if I paid for it, and didn't let him know about it.
I had let them all know about it, but none of them believed me. They think I jacked off like them and the rest of it went on in my mind. I couldn't prove it with Dick's sister, could I? I couldn't let them know I was fucking her. And Norm's mother - well, she didn't really fuck. She just sucked me off a couple of times, and I couldn't tell the guys about that. Mrs. Pepper was ideal. Nobody could get uptight.
"I never had black pussy," Norm repeated.
Mrs. Pepper grinned. "Under the skin it's all alike, white boy."
"No, it isn't!" he said belligerently, thinking of his sister probably. Well, I had to agree with Mrs. Pepper; except for her age, that is. At her age she knew what she was doing, and Norm's sister didn't know her ass from her cunt. Even after I fucked her, she was putting me down. But Mrs. Pepper was always telling me how fine I was.
I took time now to survey the cunt I had fucked four times before, but had never looked at closely. In fact, she never undressed; just let me diddle her under the skirt. For ten bucks. I had a right to be mad.
Her pubic hair was sparse, kinky; the cuntlips blue-black and thick as her mouth. A fierce, hungry-looking cunt. Man, that would suck up even Joe's cock without him even knowing it was in it. I couldn't wait for the guys to try her. Then they'd believe my words what fucking felt like.
"Cunt like a horse," Norm said. She didn't take her eyes from Joe's cock. It was swinging over her now, like a pendulum.
Her tongue flicked out and wet her wide lips.
"Think you can light her fire, Joe?" This from Dick. His hands were in his pocket and I knew he was furiously working on his prick. So far no luck, and he didn't intend to be first.
"We have to examine her closely," Joe said. "You know, make sure she doesn't have a disease."
"How the shit can she have a disease?" I asked, coloring. "I don't have one." What a friend. "Maybe she got it since you," Joe said. "How can you tell anyway?"
"Look for pimples around her hair." We strained to look.
"Put your hand on her pussy," Joe said, "and feel around."
I petted her mat like a pet animal. I had been there before. It was good to feel. The others pushed now for a prime hold. "Christ," Norm said, "it's steaming!"
"Hot pussy," I said. "I told you."
We giggled nervously.
"Put in a finger," Joe said.
I slowly ran my forefinger down the deep cleft, to the pencil-like opening. I slowly inserted it so all could see.
"You put your prick in there?" Dick asked wonderingly.
Now Joe's finger followed mine; then Norm's. Dick finally made it. He whistled. "Greasy," he said.
Mrs. Pepper's eyes followed our hands. I was the only one who looked at her.
Poor Dick didn't understand. That wasn't just heat in there. That was a tender, buttered lobster that sucked the cum right out of your asshole!
Mrs. Pepper began to smolder. Not with anger; but with reaction to our plunging fingers. She was all set to kick each one of us in the balls, but now the interplay of her hands sort of woke her up. The writhing of her body said she was mad at getting fucked for nothing but it was better than not being fucked at all.
I hadn't finger-fucked her before so I guess I never got her clit going good. Joe and his big prick couldn't do anymore than our little fingers massaging her come-button. I almost cheered at the discovery.
I worked my finger inside the slippery surface, bending the lips back and exposing the pink flesh so the guys could see that her cunt on the inside was no different than any other woman's cunt. Not their sisters', their mothers' or their cousins'. I had to bite my tongue not to compare her cunt to Dick's sister's.
There was a big difference. Maybe it was all in my mind, but right then, it was right there, between her legs.
Her huge eyes, kept shifting from one to another of our faces, obviously to observe the progress of our passion and to constantly assure herself that we were observing her. Her nipples, erect, were as large as a young boy's prick, and our fingering was causing a liberal dosage of cunt cream to seep from her lower lips. Wanting to delight her as much as I could, I exaggerated my facial expressions, furrowing my brown and intermittently forming a silent oh with my lips. It wasn't very effective, because her eyes never left Joe's cock. She began to sigh, and to whimper like a crying puppy. I began to work my finger like a prick, running it in and out of her with long strokes. Her own expression, as she continued to study us, was very nearly the same look I had seen on my own face when jacking-off in front of a mirror; like straining when taking a shit. I quickened my finger strokes and they began to sound like a dog lapping water. The smell of her cunt was really heavy, a stench that was by now so absorbed into the flesh of our forefingers that twenty years from now we'd still smell it. We caressed her without speaking; the only sounds were her sighs and whimpers and the lapping ones of our fingers. Her eyes were pleading now as if she feared we might stop. Her cunt had actually gotten hotter inside, and the outside lips were swollen into a pair of peaches. The silky smoothness of her cunt inside was incredible. Her clitoris was only a nub, but a happy one. Her cunt was beginning to loosen and hang open, the inside meat looking like chicken liver.
"Please," she begged, looking at Joe. "Make me come! I'm burning up!"
The cream was running down her thighs. Mine too. Ours. Before Joe could get his mind together, I bent forward and sideways and glued my mouth against that black cunt and began waving my tongue like it was going to fly out of my jaws. She moaned and put her hands on my head. I heard Joe chuckle. Then I heard the three of them walk off, and out the door. The black cunt, Mrs. Pepper, was all mine. I had claimed her with my mouth, and they didn't want any more of her, and no more of me.
Well, fuck you, guys. I'm telling you this is something you've got to do to believe. Even jazzing Dick's sister was nothing like this. Knowing it was Dick's sister helped, but outside of that, it was pretty ordinary, know what I mean?
Velva, that was her name. What a name. But a name that fit a thirty-year-old librarian. "Like it?"
"Uh huh."
"Want to try it kneeling?"
"Uh-huh."
Velva lowered her head to the pillow and smiled back at me over her shoulder, showing her dimples. The dimples in her cheeks and the dimples in her ass. I would never have believed, if I weren't right there doing it, that this stuck-up cunt, who never looked at me when I came into the house with her brother, would be right there naked in bed with me.
It all began because I was reading one of her library books, and she knew the words I was reading: cunt and fuck, and following the description of how a worldly-wise woman introduces a young man to the art of seduction. The way they explained it, it was pretty shit-boring, but sharing the book with me - or me with her - wasn't so boring. Dick was gone and we were alone and here we were in the bed trying to figure out another way to fuck. She didn't know much more than I did.
"Come on, Jimmy."
I got up behind her. I took hold of a fleshy tit in either hand as I bent over her back. She was reaching back between her legs and nimbly inserting my prick. Maybe she knew more than I gave her credit for. Then all I could hear was our breathing.
"Fun?"
"Oh, yes, Jesus god, yes." What the shit are you doing to make it feel like that?
I tried to go slowly, pulling out and pushing in; fondling and squeezing her boobs with both hands, but all the while watching what I was doing to her.
I wanted to see how a woman acts when she comes.
"Come on, baby," I grunted. "I'm gonna come in a minute."
"Go ahead, Jimmy, don't wait for me. Put it in as hard as you like."
Sonofabitch, no difference than jacking off.
I grabbed her hips and slammed home. I held her flush against me until I couldn't bear it any longer; then I pushed her away; shifted my hips; held my cock out in the air for an instant; then slammed in again. I kept doing that, and she kept waiting. Finally I ejaculated, as she said, "You ejaculating, dear?" but I was coming during one of those times when I had pulled my prick out of her cunt, and I swallowed and moaned and knew I was crying.
She turned over on her back, caught me between her long legs, and pulled me down so that my head was resting on her belly. She stroked my hair while I tried to hold back the tears. After awhile, she said, "Would you like a little treat before you go home?"
I thought I had it; besides my pecker was flat as a pancake. It wouldn't even fit in my hand.
I picked my head up to look at her, and she showed me her dimples again. I guess I'd do anything for that smile and those dimples. She showed me what anything meant. Mrs. Pepper was getting the benefit of that knowledge now, but then my head was just stroked while I sucked pussy and learned how to really have a woman get off her rocks.
Mrs. Pepper tasted better because I knew she was feeling what I was doing. Besides she was tied up and couldn't stop me. That made it taste better too. It tasted like hot-buttered popcorn. I marveled at the way it brought my prick up, round and hard. Joe's prick had nothing on a guy who could suck a cunt. That's what I wanted to show the guys. If Dick would balk, I was going to tell him how to try it out on his sister first. I didn't know they'd walk out on me.
If we ever talked about it, I was going to tell Dick that Mrs. Pepper's pussy was hotter and buttier and creamier than Velva's. That ought to hold him.
And it was. Even the sound of my slobbering mouth was setting me up. A voluptuous lethargy seeped out of my asshole, and I could feel my prick blow up like a balloon. I rolled up my tongue and hugged her clit. It was spongy and soft and she bucked it into my mouth. With ropes and all, she was bucking her ass; her own tongue swinging out of her mouth like a whip. I fumbled around so I could swing my legs up on her shoulders, and felt her hot mouth latch onto my cock. A thrill of fear, when I realized she could bite it off, made me hesitate, and I apprehensively lifted my head out of her snatch. She whimpered in disappointment, but then closed her soft lips tenderly around my prick, and I went back to sucking without a care in the world.
The sudden, fierce clamping of her thighs against my ears jerked me out of my dream. I heard a squealing moan and a gurgle of delight. She was coming and letting me know, and I was coming too, feeling my come sliding down her black throat while her cunt sucked my tongue as if in a velvet vise; the butter sliding across my tongue in thick globs that I had to swallow to keep from choking. I felt my whole cock, from the very tip right down to the balls, stretched out in her mouth. God, how the hell did she take the whole thing? Then her cunt opened up and my whole face sank in and I knew how she was taking the whole thing.
I clamped my mouth and swallowed my sounds. She was having a magnificent orgasm, and I was doing it!
She was born in Atlanta, Georgia, in 1926. "My mother and my aunts were living together in something like an apartment building. We kept 'roomers'. Everybody in the building kept 'roomers.' Men just floated in and out. But because we didn't have one man, Mama said that's the way it had to be. We thought nothing of it.
"My mama says she had a hard time there. You know, there wasn't hardly enough to eat, and she'd take food off her plate to give to us. I guess our biggest problem was financial. All the other give and take between people, we could put up with that. But we just ran short of money sometimes. Sometimes we ran short of "roomers", but the "roomers" ran short of money too, and eventually Mama had to put them out. It was a big problem, but we managed until we didn't have a place to keep our problem. We ran short of food, and the babies ran short of diapers, but we made it one way or the other as long as we had somewhere to make it in. But we lost the apartment. I don't know why.
"So we came up North here, just my mama and us two kids. The others stayed in Atlanta, my aunts and uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces - they're all in Atlanta. I don't know what the fuck they're doing. Yes, I do. Just what we're doing up here.
"We came up here to improve our life. We lived in seven places trying to improve. One place we moved because the man wouldn't fix the front door. Mama got mad everybody walking in on her. Whether she was fucking, shitting, pissing, eating, men just walked in on her. It was a nice neighborhood too, nice and clean and everything. The man just didn't want to fix the door so we left.
"And I made it to high school. I would have finished too. I was all the way up to the eleventh grade before I dropped out. Time for my baby. Mama didn't say too much about it. She just, you know, she wanted me to go and finish school and make something of myself. But it was done and what could she do. She cried a lot. She wanted me to take up nursing. She said she was going to help me. She was going to go all the way with me. And then I had this baby and she didn't ask any questions.
"Hey, there, sugar, how old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Mmmm-Mmmmm, just big enough to suck a dick."
"I don't suck no dicks."
"Ever seen one?"
"Lots."
"Like this one, baby?"
"Yeah, my uncle got one bigger than that."
"You suck it?"
"Lots."
"You suck this one?"
"How much?"
"What do you mean, how much?"
"How much you going to pay me?"
"I ain't paying you nothin'."
"Then I ain't suckin'."
"You is."
"I ain't."
"You is."
"I felt guilty in a way, because my mama sure wanted me to be a nurse. And I did too. I didn't tell none of my friends, 'cause I don't have friends. I have acquaintances. I didn't tell none of them. I didn't even tell that grocery store keeper, Mr. Golden. He's the one who fucked me and give me the baby. But he gave us milk and bread and canned goods, and he was fucking my mother at the same time so I didn't want her to know. She'd just be out another man. He didn't put me down, though, and make me suck his cock or eat out his asshole or anything like that, so I ain't got nothing to say 'gainst him.
"Anyway I told the school I was going back down south for a funeral. I guess they think I'm still down south at the funeral. I went to a different school after the baby. We moved again, because there was one guy told Mama he'd take care of her and the kids, and my kid too; but we had to move on account of Welfare so he wouldn't get into trouble. But he got me pregnant when Mama was down at the welfare office so I just kept right on going to school through the nine months.
"Hey, your Mama ain't gonna be home for hours, honey."
"I knows that, but I don't fuck, James."
"Sho, you do. You got a baby, aintcha?"
"That's why I don't fuck no more."
"Aw, come on!"
"My mama's gonna get upset this time."
"She don' have to know."
"No."
"Aw, jus' kiss it!"
"That's a puny pecker."
"It comes good, just like a big one."
"I like big peckers."
"Make it big."
"Like this?"
"Yeah, baby."
"I didn't start showing until I was almost ready to drop the kid, and the school said I could come back, after Mama explained to them. They promoted me and gave me my certificate and everything. Mama was mighty proud. She said I'd get to be a nurse yet. The principal said I could pick up my certificate in his office anytime.
"What's your baby's name? "
"Irving."
"White baby?"
"No, my first baby, he's white. But I named him after my father down in Atlanta, Henry."
"Oh."
"This one I named after the father of the first baby, Irving."
"Oh."
"I'm not going to have any more babies."
"Never going to get married? "
"I'm on the pill."
"You get them through welfare?"
"Welfare gets 'em for Mama."
"Well, uh, Thereasa, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Thereasa, let me tell you that of all the girls who have gone through our school, I would say you are the one most likely to succeed."
"Thank you, sir."
"It's your body, Thereasa. It should be on a Broadway stage."
"But I'm an ugly gal."
"Well, your face can be fixed with makeup and things today. But, you know, I couldn't even tell you were pregnant, through the whole year."
"Ha, ha. You shoulda seen my belly without clothes!"
What does your belly look like without clothes, Thereasa? Well, Mr. Principal, it looks like this, see? Flat navel; creased like a cunt running sideways. See these thighs? Man, they're full blown. Nice round ass. Got me in trouble when men wanted to kiss it. Didn't see anything wrong in somebody wanting to kiss my ass. Especially when we and Mama got money troubles. Only once they kiss my ass - like you now, Mr. Principal, why then - "I got a summer job then. I was working in a recreation center part-time. They said I looked physically appropriate. I even worked part-time in the hospital as a dietician aid. Two jobs. I did it because I was healthy enough, and I figured I could really make it as a nurse if I stuck around that hospital. Nursing, that's what my ambition was. I wanted to be a nurse. A registered nurse. I enjoy helping people, you know, that can't help themselves.
"But I got these two kids to take care of and my sister does poorly, and Mama's getting to be a sick, old woman. But she took care of my kids while I kept the two part-time jobs and earned $38.50 a month on one, and $27.00 a week on the other. We just weren't making it. They said we were lazy.
"Mama just wouldn't let me become no whore, though. Other black chicks, with or without babies, were hustling on street corners, soliciting every car that stopped at the light. Men, ladies, it made no difference. Black, white, whatever. Phillipinos were good for a steady income, but my mama said no dice. She didn't want one of those greasy-haired monkeys around the house. They're nice and everything, work hard, too; but they act just like babies themselves. And when they get a few bucks ahead they're off with some white woman or going back to the Philippines.
"So now I got me no use for men. I don't need any man to help me. I'm raising my children right. The oldest one, Henry, I sent him off to school in the east, and Irving, he tells me which of the high school boys got money and which don't. So I don't waste no time and I makes enough to keep food on the table and I ain't no whore. And, if Irving is a pimp, with a string of girls, he's a good one. Gets you something for your money.
"They told me I could go into show business, but I don't trust no man. I'd rather stay by myself. I guess I just don't feel like being bothered. 'Cause sometimes I feel lazy and I cook dinner when I get hungry, not when some stud tells me to. I clean up when I'm good and ready to clean up. And I live in an apartment that got a lock on the door. I still want a job that makes me some money, but they tell me I ain't fit for nothing. If I got me my nursing papers, I'd be in good shape. I'm okay as a helper to carry shit pans, but if I'm gonna handle shit I ought to get more than $76.00 a month for it. That's what they pay now. And then they're bitchin' and calling it "inflation." Blaming it on the unions. Fuck 'em.
"I went into one of those training programs for young dropouts and older people, to be secretary-clerks and telephone answerers and everything like that. Train you for an insurance company. You learn how to file, type, answer phones, stuff like that. $68.40 a week. Maybe you can move up to an IBM machine and make maybe $80.00 a week.
"Theresea Pepper. You married?"
"Not lately."
"I can get you a good job here, if you, you know, put out on the side."
"If I'm gonna put out what do I need a job for?"
"Well, in a way that's true, but it sort of gives you a position in life."
"I got me a position in life. I need a position to eat and take care of my kids."
"That's what I'm talking about, Mrs. Pepper."
"And I could get my mother out of the ghetto and into a nice apartment. Furnish it nice. Live next door to nice folks. And get my own apartment with the kids. The kids would know I'm their mother, 'cause they'd be with me in the nighttime, you know what I mean. I'd be there. And they'd know my mother's their grandmother, not their mother or some lady who comes in to cook.
"I want to get out of the filth I live in, get to someplace where people don't throw their garbage out the window and the garbage men don't bother about coming to collect it. To me, that's filth. Suckin' a cock can be clean. Good. Necessary. Everybody does it. Even the Pres. The First Lady. That movie star - what's her name - saying that if she didn't suck cock, she'd still be a salesgirl at Woolworth's.
"That's the position in life this supervisor is talking about. A front. He's offering me a nice front and I don't have to let myself be dicked by boys in back alleys and in dark schoolyards. Front. But I'd still be dicked and I'd have to work eight hours a day besides. No thanks.
"But I want to get out of my neighborhood. It's too filthy to raise children in. Like sometimes you see people on the street eating out of garbage cans. Like the other day I see this man. He didn't look like a bum, you know, but it looked like candy he was taking out of the garbage and eating it. It could have been a used rubber, still dripping cum. I gave him a dollar. One-tenth of what that kid, Jimmy "gives me, and I don't do anything half that bad. "Don't eat out of garbage cans," I tell him. He said, "Thank you," and walked away. He didn't ask me for a piece of ass or to put out on the side or anything like that. I was going to catch up with him and give him a little pussy to go along with the buck, but he was so filthy I couldn't take his cock if my life depended on it.
Now these boys, they're dumb, but they're clean. That's why I don't dig hippies, man. They're filthy.
I had me a dream too, once, but I can't remember just now what it was. I'm in an agony of ecstasy, and this kid won't let me move my arms so I just grind my cunt into his face and take his flood of cum, only, fuck it, I want the ten bucks or I'm going to kill the mother fucker.
Norm's mother had it all. The right man and the right house and kids and all. She had money in the bank and she had a car of her own. Her children had what they needed, and it was assumed she had what she needed, didn't she?
Every Sunday they visited their families and had Sunday dinner. They were proud of each other. They were only slightly disturbed at the blacks ringing the neighborhood, why don't they stay in their own place, and clucking their tongues over the war in Vietnam, and hoping it would all be over before their own kids had to go.
And this Sunday, Fred, her husband, was playing golf and Norm was at the playground playing ball, and here was I in her kitchen saying, gee, I didn't know anybody would be home, thought Norm and you would be at his grandmother's, but I saw the car in the drive - I was sitting in the kitchen, and she, Norma's mother, was down the hall in the bathroom. And I called, "Can I use your bathroom?" and knew it would have to be the one upstairs, because she was still in the one downstairs.
And she called back, "Okay," so I went down the hall to go past that door and up the stairs from the foyer only the door was open and when I started to pass, she said, "I'll be right out." So I stopped.
She was standing in front of the mirror, methodically squeezing her breasts. She had on bikini shorts for sunbathing in the patio. Tufts of black hair rooted out from the crotch. I felt my prick beginning to throb as if it were already shooting out the thick, milky-white fluid that I got from jacking off. I hadn't fucked yet, and here was Norma's mother acting like I was her old man, just waiting for her to leave the John so he could take a piss.
I was surprised that a woman so old could look so young in front of a mirror. Her slender back narrowed to an almost nothing waist and then flared out into the neatest pair of globes that was really all ass.
I watched those big cheeks jiggle as she went past me, putting a halter around her neck as she went, but one hand still massaging a tit. If she was doing it for pleasure there was nothing on her face to show it.
"One has to keep in shape, doesn't one?" she said to me as she went by. I couldn't have pissed then if my life depended on it.
Like a zombie I followed her to the kitchen. She was struggling to tie the halter strings on her smooth, white back, and I tied them for her.
She said, "I thought you had to go?"
I said, "No, mam ... I mean, not right now."
She giggled. "It's hard to pee when it's hard, isn't it!"
I looked down to see if it showed. It showed. She said, "You know, Norm doesn't know anything about sex yet. You're quite precocious for your age.
I wanted to tell her that Norm jacked off twice a day, three times on Sunday; the third one at his grandmother's, where he said he could watch the girl next door who always took a shower on Sunday afternoons and always left the window open.
Norma's mother said, "Have you ever played with titties?"
I nodded, eyeing hers.
"Well, maybe next time you can do my exercises for me." She laughed silently at the flush in my face. "Norma's daddy is getting too old for his household chores."
I nodded. I didn't know what else to do, or say.
"Do you play with yourself?"
I know I turned red now.
"If you still want to pee, that's the best way," she said.
I sat there like a piece of wood, a whole tree growing in my groin.
"Do you want me to help you?"
I nodded. There didn't seem anything wrong in responding to a direct question.
She led me back to the bathroom by the hand. I watched those hips rolling in the scant bikini, watched those tits jiggling in the loosely-tied halter. Why the shit had I tied it? I had my chance. Blew it.
She parked me in front of the toilet bowl, lifted the cover, and then the seat. The white porcelain looked virginal. Go ahead, she said.
I stood with my arms at my sides, flaming face looking into the toilet bowl. She gave a cry of exasperation, and leaned across me and started to undo my pants. "Just rub it up and back," she said, "and let it squirt into the toilet." As if I had never jacked off.
While she tried to find my zipper and run it down, I put a tentative hand on one of her titties. I felt it grow hard in my palm, just like my prick. I let my other hand move down the nakedness of her ribs, over her hips to the band of the bikini tops. My fingers hesitated there; then stuffed themselves under the band. She seemed to ignore what I was doing. "Don't worry," she said, "it isn't going to hurt."
She had my cock out and was putting it into my free hand. I kissed her on the stomach, between her halter and the bikini, and she began to move her hips.
The way I was standing, I was able to move my knee between her legs. I rubbed it up in the crotch where her cunt bulged thickly.
At first she said, "OOoooh!" And then, "AAhhh!" And then she began to moan. But all the time, she was keeping my first around my prick and helping me jack it off in the toilet.
I didn't want to come that way.
I didn't need her for that.
And right then I needed her bad.
My hands moved up to her bra, and I pushed it above the big tits. I grabbed two handfuls and nearly went out of my mind. My prick was loose now, back in her hands, and she looked down at me as if I were being a very naughty boy.
"You're a naughty boy," she said. "We can't do that."
I asked her why, and she showed me.
She undid the bikini and let it fall to the tiled floor of the toilet. My eyes watched it float all the way down. She had silk panties on underneath and I could see through them like plate glass. A big pad was between her thighs, planted on the black bush of her cunt, and held there by a belt that wrapped around each thigh by thongs.
"It's my period," she said. "I can't fuck today."
I felt the slick wetness of her palm around my prick and the suctioning noise as she squeezed and released; squeezed and released. She really didn't know how to jack a guy off. And a grown woman, too!
I pushed against the pad over her cunt and tried to get a finger into the slot; at least if I could finger-fuck her while she jacked me, it wouldn't be so bad.
She cried out and moved away from me. It left my prick dangling in the air. I grabbed it with one hand and tried to put it between her legs.
"Oh, no, no," she said softly. Not angrily. Not loudly. Softly. Tenderly. "We can't do it that way."
"Oh, please," I said, "I got to."
But she had my hands down to my sides; but before I knew what to do, she had already done it.
She kneeled down and took my cock into her mouth, her hair falling over the front of her face, her cheeks bulging out, her hands holding my balls like they were something precious.
She sucked her mouth off the almost luminescent head, and looked up at me, brushing her hair back off her face, throwing her head so that it fell back over her shoulders. Her big tits danced nicely when she did that and I almost came in her hand although I didn't want to. She smiled up at me, a very friendly smile; then she seated herself and crossed her legs, her ass flat on the cold tile, and eased her hips against the wall and gently tugged me toward her.
"This won't hurt, Jimmy, I promise. It'll feel good. I'm going to make a man out of you."
I felt the warm softness of her mouth against the head of my swollen cock, and I moved my hips to move it between her lips; but she kept one hand wrapped around the shaft and sucked it where she wanted to suck it and in the way she wanted to suck it. Maybe she didn't know how to jack, but her sucking was something else. I felt the hot tissues of her tongue on the underside of my cock, and I wanted to scream. That's all she did: she kept her whole hand wrapped around my prick, with just the head pushed out red and bulbous from the end of her fist, and licked it furiously with her tongue. It squirted like it never squirted when jacked off. And when it squirted, she pointed it quickly into the toilet bowl, and I saw the big, whipped-cream arcs splash against the tile, and run thick, like butter, down the sides of the porcelain bowl.
Now she pumped with her hand so all the drops came out; the last making a ring around the head of my cock and clinging to the rim of her forefinger.
"You'll have to excuse me," she apologized, "but if I swallow it when I'm having my period, I throw up."
I guess the advantage of an older lady is that she knows what to do whenever she has to do it.
But she couldn't suck like this black mouth being drowned by my ejaculating prick; ejaculating as it never had before, because I never had the opportunity to be sucking back on a cunt while coming before. Not with Dick's sister; not with Norma's mother.
Her mouth was like a small pussy grabbing my cock, while her actual pussy was dragging in my whole head. She was doing it from both ends, and I was coming in the middle.
Not any different than your old lady or your sister, I'd tell the guys. The way she does it and her reason for doing it might be different, but the result is the same. But if I just told you, you wouldn't believe me; but you saw, didn't you? Right there, me sucking her cunt; and in time you will too. You're starting out the same as me, with your prick in your hand. Then you'll find out about your sister and your mother, the same as me. Then you'll fuck black pussy, and then you'll eat it. So don't give me any shit about you wouldn't marry one. You followed me up till now. You sure ain't going to stop here. Want to bet? And that goes for you too, Joe, with your big prick. You're going to need it.
CHAPTER FOUR
First you got to get the picture. I work with three other girls - I do mean girls - because they're seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-four, and me - I'm thirty-four. I'm also 34-29-36 and that helps. We work in the boxing room - and don't think that name doesn't bring pussy-calls and whistles - wrapping and packaging small, electronic devices - transistors and diodes and things like that. As Millie, says - she's the twenty-four year old - "My kid brother has balls bigger than these connectors. And these are worth ten-grand apiece!" Well, someday his balls may be worth their weight in gold, but not to me. But that's another story.
No, it isn't. That's this story. But I'm not to that part yet.
Anyway, these three young chicks get along well together, and me, well I'm sort of a mother-hen. I don't do any of the screwing around they do when the super isn't around, but I get my share of titty squeezes and ass feels; only with me the duffers that work here don't mean it, but with the chicks, they really do. I guess that's what I resent a little. Especially since I've been cold-cocked too many times to count, and these chicks are still peein' in their pants.
I got to give them this much credit though, they don't seem to mind the dry fucks they get in the store room, or the quick snatches at their pussies as they pass up and down the aisles. Although they still think they've got something to bargain with, like they're the only females with cunts and they think I got a rusted zipper on mine. But they'll learn.
Anyway, there's Millie, like I said, with really well-developed breasts for someone who still tries to suck on them herself; almost real udders, you know what I mean? With a fine brown ring of nipples like a cluster of raspberries. I really can't blame the guys much. Although her thighs are kind of hefty with baby fat still. Right between them she's got a ripe plum of a cunt that I'd fuck myself if I had a prick.
You can see why I'm a little jealous and why it's tough to be thirty-four. But then there's an advantage too, because most guys don't know that cock is what I'm thinking about all the time. So it lets me be a little more cool and make a better selection.
Now they think that that's what Millie's thinking about all the time from the adoring expression on her face when they grab at her large, hairy cunt lips. They can't get their fingers in the slit, but they sure grab a handful of hair. And Millie just backs her big ass away and smiles. The guys don't know that when we're in the John, Millie is the first one to lift her skirt and see if her pussy is still there. Then she shivers with relief and pats the thick clit that juts up between the raised halves. Shit, I haven't had such self-assurance in 'years, but that's the advantage of being young and ignorant.
And that reminds me of her friend, Joanie. Now Joanie works at the same table with Millie and has a fine pair of knockers too. Like two luscious, ripe cantaloupes. They go on double dates a lot. Not the two melons, the two chicks. The melons, naturally, go along for the ride. And the feels. And the hot sucks from the young studs.
And that's what's burning me up, as you gather. I want some of that young cock myself and I'm trying to think of ways to get it. If these boys would only realize that in an older woman is where it's at, they'd be getting a lot more of the jazz.
Anyway, Joanie is kind of generous too with the boys. Her eyes tell them how horny she is. She'll never look away from a guy once he looks at her. And her hot, brown eyes will follow his hands down to his cock, where he cups it in his pants and shoves it at her with his hips. She smiles at that and licks her lips, while looking. Then they get her in a corner and rub it between the cheeks of her ass. Once the delivery boy managed to get her miniskirt up, as she bent over, but he came so damned fast that his cum was running down the back of her legs before his knob had even nibbled inside her twat.
At the next bench, just to give you an over-all introduction to the cast of my competition, a little bird by the name of Dorothy - she's the seventeen year old - has more fuck-charm than the other two chicks put together. I mean she's young, baby, and the older men around, the super, and the bookkeepers, and the office manager who wanders out under the pretext of checking a shipment, all want to be the first one to slip a dick in her.
Now, they should know better than that. They should know that Dorothy, if she got this far with that trim figure and that movie-star-like face, not only knows what her cunt and tits are for, she knows how to use them too. They won't be first. So if they're going to settle for some secondhand pussy, they should concentrate on me, right?
But, fiick 'em. If they want young chicks, I'll make it with the young studs. But then I said I'm getting to that, didn't I?
Anyway, just to fill you in, to show you I know what I'm up against, I can inform you that between Dorothy's slender thighs she has the loveliest, tightest slit any heavy-hung guy could want. Now that isn't because it's been pricked only a few times, but because it was just built that way - the slit coming high up on her vulva, way out in front instead of tucked down in the middle of her legs. The kind of chick you can fuck standing up, without making her put one leg up on a chair or anything. In other words, she carries her cunt just where kids think a girl has a cunt, instead of way back to her asshole where it really is.
Now Winnie - did I mention her before? - Winnie works with her, a broad with hips like a football field and a cunt that's a mile long and a yard wide. Winnie is no competition really, except that the boys like the way she fucks. I mean, she'll let them fill her with bananas, long, hard, half-green bananas, either before they dip their own wicks, or after. And she doesn't care. So no guy has to feel he has to out-perform anybody else. She isn't fucking him because he promised her how good he is. He won't get any hang-up fucking Winnie, and in back of my mind that's the chick I decided to model myself after. Let them fuck you with bananas, what's the difference. I mean, if I'm going to get young cock, I've got to get rid of their self-consciousness first. Let them just enjoy themselves. I'll have my own ball.
Anyway, these little girls are always teasing me about being an old lady. Either they're putting me on that I can't fuck any more, or they're patting my tits and rubbing my ass to remind me of what things used to be like. The only time they seemed kind of angry with me was one day when the janitor, Swede Johnsen, threw his arms around me, fondled my breasts, and tried to get his hands up my skirt. Our faces were almost touching, and I've never seen eyes grow so blue. It was like I was looking inside his skull. His mouth was open, his lips wet, his tongue slobbering, and his dentures slipping out of his gums.
They kicked the poor guy's ass out of there, but I think the girls were mad at me, like I said. If a guy was going to go nuts with hot rocks, they couldn't see why he wouldn't attack them instead of me. I didn't enlighten them that I wanted old Swede to cunt-lap me without his teeth. Only he thought I meant right then. I meant later, of course. So I let him do me later, at his house, but that's another story too.
Where he fits into this one is that that night, the super and the office manager offered me a ride home even before the afternoon shift was up. I didn't know if Swede had said anything in the office, in his own defense, but I didn't care because it was nice to know that the whole damn production, including office and shipping, was thinking about fucking, and because it had happened with me, naturally they were thinking about fucking me.
When they got me to my apartment, it was only natural that they would want to come up to see that I got in all right. Obviously they wanted to see that they got in all right.
I knew then they were going to grab me just like Old Swede had. That kind of burned me up, too, because all they had to do was ask. In fact, if they had waited a little bit, I'd have asked them. The first time around, one at a time, of course. Then I'd have suggested a threesome.
But this way I was going to make the bastards work for it. And they weren't going to get it anyway. I like boys. Not just because they're young and virile and can come four or five times a night. (One of their troubles is they come too goddam fast and they're suddenly bored. And also, even though they can come more times, with us older women it's hard to get them excited enough to repeat their performance. It's a problem - make no mistake about that - but just their youthful good looks and their enthusiasm makes me prefer them to the older cocks who would be better if they just didn't treat you like cunt, you know what I mean?) A young boy, hell, he looks at you with awe and wonder, and although he probably smirks about it to his friends afterward, he can't shrug off the idea that he's suddenly in the big leagues and he credits you for that. So I dig 'em.
Anyway, here we were, with Kurt, the super, saying, "You got anything to drink, honey?" and Martin, the office manager, casing my bedroom with wet lips and bugging eyes.
"Don't look so scared," Kurt said. "You'll be okay. Hell, a woman your age knows what it's all about, don't you?"
"I can understand Swede, if that's what you mean," I said, edging back to the door to show them I assumed they were leaving. "But a mature woman doesn't look forward to being raped in public." I couldn't refrain from tossing in that little tease. Both fuckers had two things to work with: one, I was telling them I didn't mind being laid, but not raped; or, two, I was telling them I got my jollies being raped, but it was having it happen in public that was bugging me. At the same time they couldn't be sure of either one. In the meantime Kurt found my hoarded bottle of scotch in the kitchenette. If they were the fuckers, I was to be the fuckee.
"Hey, Martin," Kurt called, "why don't you scoot down to a liquor store and get a replacement for this? I think we're all thirsty." He leered at Martin, then busied himself with glasses and ice.
"I won't refuse you men a drink," I had to admit, "but you don't have to replace it. It's my pleasure, and thanks for bringing me home." I opened the hall door.
Martin closed it.
His lips were getting wetter all the time. And his eyes protruded like green golf balls. They were like Swede's, except for the difference in color. I couldn't see Kurt's eyes at all. They were just slits in his fat face.
Now either what happened right after that was rehearsed, or stiff pricks make great ad libbers. They weren't going to waste any time trying to con me into a seduction. They had to be home to the wife and kids in thirty minutes. That's another advantage of studs - time means nothing to them. They live for fucking and that's what time is for. But not these guys.
I don't know who signaled who, but Kurt grabbed my arms from the back so hard the buttons on my blouse were straining to pop. Martin dived for my legs. He picked me up at the thighs and held me draped on his hips.
"Shit!" I gasped. "What the hell!"
Then I was on the couch with Martin sitting on my legs, his hands hurriedly undoing my blouse. He quickly pushed it back over my arms and shoulders while Kurt yanked it off and snapped the hook of my bra so that my tits spilled out like two white waterfalls. I didn't waste my time yelling. I had thumbed my nose at my neighbors too often for me to call on them for help now. Besides I didn't mind getting laid; it was just the way these guys were going about it that irked me. I figured I could handle it on my own terms.
I struggled and twisted and turned, but the two guys managed each to hold me by one arm while they used their free hand to strip me of everything.
"Look, I'll cooperate with you guys - but you got to take it slow and easy. Otherwise you guys are going to sit in Leavenworth for fifty years!"
I'll say one thing for horny males. When they're out to fuck, they have no concept of consequences. And when you stop to realize that when almost any sexual demonstration is illegal, or can be claimed illegal, and with the law against sex and all, it's a wonder that there's any fucking going on at all. And the fact that it is going on, and is going on more than anything else is going on, you know that guys don't give a shit about verbal threats when they got a stiff prick.
So when my appeal worked, it wasn't so much because I scared the bastards as it was that they wanted to stretch out their good time and really feel it good for all the time they had.
"Oh, sweet gash!" Martin crowed, and kneeled at my side and tenderly kissed the crinkly hairs of my vulva. Now that was more like it.
I watched him spread the lips of my cunt with shaking fingers and admire the bright pinkness on the inside, where it glistened wet and sticky. As if hypnotized, I watched his fingers go right inside the hot box and stroke up and down searching for my clit. I relaxed with mouth open and looked up and saw Kurt waving his cock above my head. The tumescent tip was already beginning to drip.
"Man, what a nice, tight slit!" Martin whispered below. "Man, you got a tighter box than any of those raw kids down at the plant."
I pushed my legs as far apart as I could so Martin could get a real good look up my open twat. As long as the man appreciated what I had and he was going to get, the least I could do was be gracious about it.
I sighed and reached up for Kurt's big cock and pulled on it, rubbing the prick-head with my thumb and then caressing the big bag underneath to get the feel of the two hefty balls that rolled around inside. I felt my cunt fill with pre-fuck juice, and Martin fluttered his fingers inside me like feathers, while his free hand was bringing his prick out of his pants. It was up pretty good, but it was still putty-like, and I saw he had to work on it awhile. That was all right with me. I can understand that. Just as Kurt's cock in my face was big but still needed a little working over to get it to do what it was really capable of doing. My throat ached to get it in my jaws while it was still chewable. After it gets bone-hard, all you have to do is touch it with your tongue and the guy goes off like dynamite. At least that's what I learned with the kids so I was taking advantage of these two middle-aged cocks. Older is good all right, but they just don't come around too often. At worst, they would at least set me up for some young prick that I would get just as soon as these guys hit the hallway.
"Oh, Jesus," Martin was moaning between my legs, "what sweet, hot cunt!"
I was prepared to bed down for the night, but these bastards only had fifteen minutes left. And that included the time it would take them to drive home from here.
I fed Kurt's jutting cock to my mouth with a stroking hand. He was just about willing to settle for the jackoff. -But I wasn't, not now. My mouth felt as hot as apple pie and my cunt was spasming with anticipation. I rubbed Kurt's cock across my soft, meaty titties and then pressed it to my cheek while my fingernails ran up and down the rigid tube, from head to balls, while I read the adoration in Kurt's eyes, slitted in the bobbing head above me. All the while Martin kept fingering my cunt, while his own hand pounded his cock to get it stiff enough to fuck.
I got Kurt's dick between my lips, finally, and then hugged it with my whole mouth while I laved the bony structure with my tongue. Kurt placed both his hands on the top of my head now and started to rock his hips back and forth. It made my teeth grate across the ridge of his cockhead, and I heard him wince. But he didn't ask me to stop or to take it easy or anything. So I kept going and so did he.
I felt my belly jerking and moving too in rhythm with my sucking on Kurt's prick. It was enough to let Martin know his time had come, and he was climbing on top of me, getting his cock between my thick, rubbery, comey cunt. It felt massive. Oh, sonofabitch, it felt big. Big! Hard! Hot! In my mouth and up my cunt. Both at the same time. Both together. I had a fleeting desire for anybody - Old Swede or anybody - to have a third cock up my ass at the same time; and I made a mental resolution to correct this condition at my first opportunity, when Kurt jerked staccato in my mouth, filling my throat with spurting jism that almost made me choke in my eagerness to swallow it.
At the same time, Martin straightened himself out on me, his whole body going as rigid as his cock as he blew his nuts. I felt the jism like hot raindrops lashing up the walls of my pussy.
So my anger was not what they did, but that that's how they left me when they scurried out the door. Bastards.
My hands shook like castanets as I dialed Herbie Miller's telephone number. Not his exactly, his parents'. But they wouldn't be home, and I prayed that Herbie would be. Playing with his dick maybe, in the John. He told me that's all he did from the time he woke up in the morning until he fell asleep at night. But now that I had introduced him to fucking, he should have had more than playing with himself on his mind.
The phone only rang twice. His voice was quiet, dead, dull. Masturbated out. "Yeah?"
"Hey, Herbie. This is Mrs. Peters."
"Yeah?" Voice a little louder. Up. Not yet excited, but interested.
"Remember what I did to you last time, Herbie?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Want to do it some more? "...
Silence. Last time, she had given him a hard time before she gave him his first piece of real ass. He had delivered something to the apartment next door. Chairs or a table or something. He drove a delivery van after school for a neighborhood department store. The tight jeans straining across his hard thighs had been too much for her to resist. His cock was outlined thick and wide on one leg alongside his crotch. She had waited in her doorway, and she deliberately bent over, ass up, when he puffed by. She wore nothing under her house dress, and she knew the backs of her thighs and the yellow hairline of her cunt was a golden fountain to his open eyes.
When he came back down the hall, she sat spread-legged in an easy chair, the door wide, her shimmering thighs naked to his gaze.
He looked in, hesitated, stopped. He leaned against the doorjamb, thrusting only the tips of his fingers into his tight pockets. His cock pulsated behind the blue denim. She watched it for a moment then met his level gaze. "Yes?"
"That's what I wanna know," Herbie said. "Yes?"
"I don't like talking through an open door," she answered.
He came in, shut the door, and sauntered up to her knees as she sat sprawled in the chair.
"You don't have anything on under that dress," he said.
"That's no business of yours, is it?"
He shrugged and half-turned as if to leave. The kid had seen too many movies. He was Tony Curtis, bored with all the female ass that was being thrown at him.
"You in a hurry to leave?" she asked curtly, but softened it with the hint of a smile.
"Maybe I'm double-parked."
"I'm worth a five-dollar ticket, if it takes you that long."
He was already taking off his jeans. But by the time he was stripped to his jockey shorts, that well-advertised cock had softened like butter. She saw him surreptitiously trying to rub it back hard before he yanked off his shorts. "You don't have to worry. I'll get it hard for you," she promised.
He flushed. "It always gets that way," he said, "just before."
"Just before what?"
"You know, just before I do it."
"Do what?"
"You know?"
"Fuck?"
"Yeah, like fuck." He had no cock at all now. It had crawled up his ass.
"You know," she said sadly, "this is my birthday and I haven't even been kissed."
"Hey, how about that," Herbie said.
"Yeah, how about that?" she echoed, and wondered what kids communicated when they spoke in set phrases that had nothing to do with the situation in hand. And this was one situation she really wanted in hand. She looked under her brows and saw him looking desperately up her crotch. She tugged the hemline all the way up to her ample hips. She heard him gasp as he tried to catch his breath at the marvelous sight that unfolded to his ecstatic eyes. Unfolded was right. Her thighs were a little too fat and her lower belly curved out over the hump of her cunt. She sucked in her breath to tuck her tummy back in her ribs and make her pubic mound swell up like a football.
"What about that kiss?" she asked huskily.
His eyes reluctantly left the hilled V of her thighs and came up to her mouth. He turned his head and leaned into her face.
"I said kiss, baby, not swap spit."
She saw his bewilderment, and resisted pushing him further. She chuckled. After all he was what, fifteen, maybe sixteen? "How old are you?"
He kissed her before he answered, on the mouth, of course, but it was a good kiss. An open-mouthed kiss, with his tongue sweeping the roof of her mouth and curling and sucking in all the tissues and sucking up all the drooling saliva. His arms went around her shoulders and his hips humped against the arm of the couch between them. She kept the embrace tight and mashed her mouth against his and lifted her breasts so that they rubbed through the thin cloth and tingled the stand-up hairs on his arm. She pushed her free hand between the boy's chest and the side of the couch, and found his cock had come up rock-hard and he didn't have anything to worry about anymore.
She deliberately moved her knees apart. Her cunt bubbled like a self-heating cauldron. She took one of Herbie's hands from around her shoulders and guided it down to her twat. He let his middle finger slip into the cunt juice.
She pulled her head back so that the boy's wild lips went to her neck and down to her breasts. His kisses were short and quick so he could catch his breath between gasps. But there were a lot of kisses. From breast to breast and in the valley between and up her throat and around her chin. On her cheeks. In her ears.
"When are you going to kiss me?" she whispered. She deliberately thrust her legs wide, held a firm palm on the top of Herbie's curly head, and gently pushed him down, down to the middle of her legs.
He sniffed at her pulpy cunt like a dog; then he dived in.
While he sucked hoarsely, sloppily, frantically, she asked him if he liked her legs. His sweaty palms gripped tightly behind her knees, and he hugged her thighs to his ears.
"Get your fingers up around to my ass," she begged him. "Spread my asscheeks. Open my asshole, baby. Spread me wide."
Eight fingers were slicing her ass in two, and the tongue in her cunt was licking across her clit in raspy moans.
"Get your tongue up higher, baby," she instructed him. "Curl it up into my guts and suck me out, baby."
Herbie did his best by sinking his whole mouth into her crotch. He pursed his lips and inhaled. His exhale sent bubbling warmth spreading through her limbs. The pull on the squirming cheeks of her ass and the separation of the tissues in her anus sent small electric shocks into the pit of her belly. She had both hands whipping on his cock now. There was no doubt that he had a magnificent cock now.
"Hurry, hurry!" she begged as she tugged the jockeys from his slim hips, fought them past the rise of his cock and down around his balls and over his balls and down to his knees. She felt the stiff, hot, surging strength of his young penis. A boy's penis. A first-time penis. The thrill of the feel in her hands triggered a series of quick orgasms that tightened Herbie's mouth and locked his tongue inside the walls of her cunt, until he could get his knees up on the couch and use them as a fulcrum to pluck out his tongue and replace it with a prick that was just dying to be fucked.
"UUUgggghhhhh!" he grunted as he wormed it into her. She saw his eyes open wide with the thrill of feeling his cock in a cunt. Doubt. Disbelief. Amazement. Pleasure. The emotions rippled in waves over his cunt-sticky face. And then he came. The first time he had ever come in a cunt. He came with a scream and a bellow and a whimper and a sigh. And she came with him, with every sound he uttered and every thrust he made. She came with each choked breath he took, came again and again while he shivered with the might of a single come, not knowing that each shiver triggered a separate orgasm from her, that each shiver kept his cock palpitating inside her, still stiff, still long, still whipping, even though he had come all he was going to come.
And then he was off for his double-parked truck, his jeans loose on his hips, his jockey shorts stuffed in a torn back pocket. She didn't have the strength to stop him, to find out his name or where or how to reach him. With every ounce of strength she summoned her limp muscles to drag her to the window so she could identify the truck, and then him. Who he was and where he lived. She wanted him again only when she was ready for him, when she could take him, when she wanted to be finished off after being started by somebody who didn't know how to start, let alone how to stop.. ..
"Herbie? Mrs. Peters, remember?"
How could he forget.
Whispers, excited and exciting.
Yet he was reluctant.
"Remember you kissed me?" I held the thought, breathed out the promise. "I want to kiss you back, Herbie." Silence. "I want to kiss your prick, Herbie." Heavy breathing. "I want to suck your cock, baby, yes, I do. I want to be your cocksucker, Herbie. Please hurry over and let me suck your cock."
The phone was still in my hand when his knock came at the door.
"Oh, Darling," I sighed. "Hurry, please hurry!"
You see, I didn't know then that when they're young they're just worried about having it. It's when they're older that they worry about having it better. That's their mistake. If when they're older they just worried about having it, they could have it from me. From you too, baby, if you're a chick with a little mileage on you and maybe no longer the shape they show in those TV commercials. Honey, if you just admitted you liked to fuck and were willing to fuck anytime a guy wanted to fuck you, you could get all you need. And that's a lot. If you think not, just write me and I'll set you up. Get you laid night and day by a different guy each time, if you want. Generous guys. But probably you won't take me up on that. Probably you'll still sweat for young studs. Okay. I understand. That was my hang-up too.
So to keep Herbie happy, I talked Millie and Joanie and Winnie into coming to my house for a party.
And wouldn't you know it - they brought along Old Swede.
End
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