A Bad Case of Nerves
by
Little Dan
I am a thirty-eight year old woman, and I have never had
sex. Yes. That's right. I am still a virgin. All through
my childhood my sainted mother drilled into me the knowledge
that all men were pigs. They would use a girl for their own
pleasure and then dump her. Men were put on earth to ruin
the lives of women. Hadn't men ruined her life? Left her
pregnant, alone and in poverty.
But she had triumphed. She had put me in day care and taken
a factory job, until she had amassed enough capital to open
a lovely little gift shop on Pine Street. During my high
school years, I had helped mother in the gift shop and
learned the business. Mother and I were always together,
and it was such a wonderful excuse to stay away from all
those rude disgusting boys who kept trying to ask me out.
Mother was not only disapproving of men. She was
disapproving of the loose sort of women who would consort
with them. Even those who would marry them. "All
strumpets," mother would trumpet. "All trash. Strumpet
trash." Mother was nothing if not judgmental.
It's been around ten years now since mother died. I
inherited the gift shop on Pine Street and I run it. I have
an assistant in the store, Mella, a twenty-five year old
divorcee. Her loathsome husband had cheated on her and
finally abandoned her. Mella is very nice. She opens the
store for me in the morning, and she takes charge when I am
not there. Every week I go to the cemetery and bring
flowers to dear mother's grave, and thank her for her wise
teachings. I have never suffered the misery visited on
other women by the male sex. I have kept myself totally
aloof.
Sometimes at night, when I am lying in bed, I have strange
thoughts, which I try to put out of my head. Some of those
thoughts make me want to reach down under my nightgown, and
touch my private parts. But no. No. I mustn't do that.
Dirty. Filthy. Disgusting. I turn on the television and try
to fill my mind with other things. The carnage in distant
parts of the world. Yes. Carnage usually helps to divert
my mind.
My life is very quiet and very peaceful and very uneventful.
I work at the store all day, I go home and warm-up a frozen
dinner, and I get into bed and read or watch situation
comedies. I don't know why it is that I'm getting nervous
as a cat. When I drink my coffee, my hands shake and
tremble, and I'm very irascible. Last week Mella asked me
when the new shipment of birthday cards was coming into the
store, and I snapped at her. She knows that it takes three
weeks. Stupid woman.
This morning a terrible thing happened. The alarm went off,
and I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and the
water wouldn't go down the drain. The sink was just filling
and filling. Sometimes, I let the water run and go into the
kitchen to turn on the coffee. Fortunately, I didn't do
that today. If I had been in the kitchen, I wouldn't have
seen the water filling the bathroom sink. I would have had
a terrible flood. A mess. This was so aggravating. Why
did these things have to happen to me?
I looked in the phone book and called a plumber. Dylan
O'Reilly. He was in my neighborhood. He told me his day
was booked and he couldn't come, but I begged him and begged
him and he relented. I called Mella and told her I would be
late at the store. That I was waiting for the plumber. I
told her to hold the fort. Then I got dressed and sat in
the living room, crocheting doilies, while I waited for
Dylan O'Reilly.
Around eleven o'clock, the doorbell rang and I went to
answer it. As I opened the door, I saw a tall, good-
looking, powerfully-built dark haired man, who hadn't
shaved. He was wearing a green uniform, and his muscles
bulged out in every direction. He was all male. He was
repulsive.
He stepped into the front hall, and I looked down in horror.
"Look what you did," I screamed. "You tracked mud onto my
carpet."
"Sorry, lady."
"Sorry? There's a mat in front of the door. Why didn't you
wipe your filthy shoes on the mat?"
"Sorry," he repeated.
"Pig," I muttered to myself. I led him into the bathroom.
He was walking very close to me. I could smell his strong
masculine aroma. The slightest scent of sweat, combined
with all those hormones. My legs felt a little wobbly. I
got a little faint. I think I may have been
hyperventilating a little. He was making me nervous. I
didn't know why. He wouldn't try to rape me, would he? My
palms started to perspire.
In the bathroom, he opened up his toolbox and took a wrench.
He lay down on the tile floor, his enormous legs stretching
toward me. As he adjusted himself, I could see a slight
bulge in his pants. The crotch area. I didn't even want to
think what it might be.
His sleeves were rolled up, and as he twisted the wrench, I
could see his arm muscles rippling. He had an eagle tattoo,
and as he rippled, the eagle stirred. I felt very hot. I
had stopped hyperventilating. I had stopped breathing.
He twisted the wrench, and suddenly a gush of water spilled
out of the pipe, onto my clean tile floor. Rusty water.
"You got water all over my floor," I screamed at him. He
looked at me as if I were crazy. "Men are such slobs," I
said, and then I started crying.
He fixed the pipe. He cleaned up the water. He stood up to
go. I was still sobbing hysterically. I wrote out a check,
and I led him to the front door.
"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I don't know what's wrong with
me.
"You've got a bad case of nerves, lady. You need to get
laid," he told me. And then he was gone. I went into the
kitchen, and made myself a cup of coffee. My hands were
still shaking. I was almost in shock. What was wrong with
me? What was wrong with me?
I started to think about Dylan O'Reilly. His black tousled
hair, his dangerous looking dark whiskers, his long legs,
his thighs, his bulge, his eagle. My hands got so bad that
my coffee spilled onto the kitchen table. I put down the
cup, and buried my face in my hands. That thing that he had
said to me. Was he right? Did I need to..?
I thought, and I mused and I pondered. The more I thought
about it, the more I thought he might be right. I had
denied myself physical contact for thirty-eight years, and
maybe I needed the touch of another human being. A caress.
A kiss??? Did I want to lay my hands on male flesh? Did
I want to stroke Dylan's eagle?
Could it be that mother had been wrong? That all my life, I
had been given misinformation, which had made me a cold, cut-
off, stunted human being. A frustrated woman. Perhaps I
needed to find out for myself what men were really like?
Yes. I would have to find out for myself. It was time. I
washed my coffee cup. I went into the living room and put my
half-finished lace doily back in the knitting bag, and I
went to the store.
All day long, I worked in the store, and made polite
conversation with Mella. But I was thinking. I was
planning. I was going to take my life into my own hands.
After work, I drove to Reynolds Department Store. I bought
a whole new wardrobe. Lacy underwear, short skirts, tight
fitted off-the-shoulder tops.
I went down to the cosmetics department and bought all those
things I had never used. Foundation, rouge, lipstick, eye-
shadow, powder, and the most expensive new woman's
fragrance. Raindrops by Dorothy Powers, the rich celebrity
girl who had made a dirty movie with her boyfriend and
released it on computers. I had always turned the station
when she was on a talk show. Now I was sorry. I might have
learned something from her. She was worldly. She was
sophisticated. And it seemed, she wasn't repulsed by men.
"Oh, mother, what did you do to me?" I wondered.
After dinner, I put on one of my very sexy new outfits. The
blouse had a built-in push-up brassiere. My breasts were
literally spilling out. I realized I had terrific cleavage,
which I'd disguised all these years. I let my hair out of
the severe bun that I wore it in, and brushed it forcefully
until it shone with a copper hue, and spilled exuberantly
down my back. I was not used to such high heels, and had a
little difficulty walking at first, but I held onto the
walls and I was fine.
I had never been schooled in the art of applying make up. I
knew that in Hollywood, they had experts to do that. Real
artists. But I gave it a brave try. I evened out my facial
texture with the foundation, and then I applied the lipstick
and rouge. The lipstick shade was called `Color Me
Crimson.' I was not fooling around. No pale pinky flesh
tones for me. Maybe I overdid the indigo eye shadow and the
mascara. I don't know. Before I had done my eyes, I had
used the eyelash curler I had purchased, and now my black,
black lashes curled upward saucily.
I gave one last look in the full-length mirror on the inside
of my bathroom door. I could hardly recognize myself. I
was a babe. Where had I been hiding all this time?
I drove into town and after parking in the lot, I entered
the Westwind Lounge. A dozen pair of eyes turned toward me,
and began assessing me. Men's eyes. I went up to the bar,
and climbed upon a stool. There were single men all around
me. Maybe I wasn't twenty years old anymore, but I figured
I'd probably do all right.
Next to me on my right was a businessman type. He wore a
light blue shirt, a dark blue tie, and a navy blue blazer.
I was afraid to look down to see what color his pants were.
He was joking with the bartender, and some of the other men
at the bar. The bartender asked me what I wanted, and I
told him a gin and tonic. I had heard of gin-and-tonics.
The man on my right, who had thick curly hair of mixed black
and gray, was tall and imposing. Even though I had dowsed
myself with `Raindrops,' I could smell his bracing spicy
lotion. If I had been that kind of girl, I would have
thought that he was very masculine and very attractive.
The bartender brought me my drink, and I opened my purse to
pay him.
"I'll get that," the masculine attractive man on my right
said.
"Oh, no. I really couldn't.."
"It's on me. Phil, put the lady's drink on my tab," he
instructed the bartender.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He smiled and nodded at me. I could see that his eyes were
on my ample, spilling bust. Even when he turned and faced
forward again, I could see his left eye dart to the outside
corner of his eye socket to dwell on my breasts. I took a
deep breath and expanded my chest.
"My name's Edgar," he said.
"Louise," I said, nodding.
He stretched out his hand and I took it. He pressed my hand
in his large beefy palm, looking into my eyes. I lowered my
eyes. I was not used to this sort of thing. I'm sure my
face was red.
We chatted a little as I sipped my drink. He bought me
another. His eyes never left my bosom. "Thank you,
Reynolds Department Store," I said to myself. It was hard
for me to look him in the eye. I kept my heavily shadowed
lids lowered. My glance landed on his lap, and I saw an
enormous protrusion. I'm sure I was blushing again.
I told Edgar about the gift shop, and he told me that he was
an insurance broker. He asked me about my home insurance,
and I had to admit I didn't have any.
"You're very foolish," he chastised me.
"I know. I know," I pined. Mother had been very
impractical and neglectful. And so was I. A man would have
seen to insurance.
"Would you like me to take a look at your house, and
recommend a policy?"
"Oh, yes," I said gratefully. What a nice man.
When I finished my fourth drink, I got into my car and drove
unsteadily home. Edgar was following me in my own car. He
was going to check my house, and help me with insurance.
Such a nice man.
I parked my car in the driveway. He pulled in behind me. I
was a little dizzy, so I just sat there. Suddenly Edgar was
at my door. He opened it and reached out a hand. He was
helping me out of the car. What a nice man.
We walked to the front steps, side by side, and he grabbed
my arm and steadied me, when my high heel turned slightly
and I stumbled against him. Again I smelled his spicy
cologne.
I gave him a tour of the house, and when we got to my
bedroom, suddenly he turned and stood directly in front of
me. He put his arms around me and drew me to him. His
mouth lowered and met mine. I felt his beefy tongue in my
mouth, and my legs got a little wobbly. I had never
experienced anything like this before. I loved his cologne.
I threw my arms around his neck and responded like a love-
starved strumpet. Way down, I could feel a hard thing
pressing into me. Way down, below the waist. I moaned and
sucked on his large tongue. I think all those gin-and-
tonics were having an effect on me, and causing me to
exhibit wanton behavior.
He planted one of his large beefy hands over my left breast.
"MMMMMM," I moaned. I was feeling a strange warmth and
tingling in my breast, and then down below, and then over my
whole body.
We moved together over to the bed, and fell heavily upon it.
He was on top of me, devouring me, dominating me. I loved
it. I felt his large paws reaching behind me and lowering
the zipper on my form-fitting blouse. The zipper zzzzzzz'd
all the way down my back. He drew it off me. My breasts
were naked.
He lowered his mouth to my chest, and began to lick my taut
nipple. "AAARRRGG," I screamed. I thrashed around under
him. He licked and he licked. The left. The right. The
left. The right. Between. As he was licking, he was
unzipping my skirt. I lifted my behind off the bed, so he
could pull it down below my buttocks. His finger started
stroking me on my panties. I could feel I was getting
wetter and wetter. It felt so wonderful. I just kept
kissing him. His mouth was like honey.
Then I felt him lowering my panties. I raised my middle
again, to help him. He took his mouth off mine for an
instant, and stuck his finger inside his mouth. He
lasciviously wet his finger and brought it back to my mid-
area. He began stroking me with his wet finger.
"AAARRRGGGHHH," I screamed again. I was thrashing all
around. I had never felt such exquisite sensations. His
finger slipped inside my body, and I actually raised up to
get it deeper. "Edgar. Edgar," I screamed. "Yes. Yes."
He moved away from me, and my heart sank. Was this it? Was
it all over? No. He was just undressing. First the
jacket. Then the tie. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled
it off his arms. He lifted his undershirt over his head.
As he was taking off his shoes and socks, I dropped my high
heels on the floor. Also my stockings. Edgar opened his
belt. He stepped out of his pants, and stood there in
unflattering boxy plaid shorts. There was a large lump.
He pulled down the shorts and stood there is all his naked
glory. His skin was pinkish, and he had a little bit of a
belly. He had very little body hair. And down there was
his thing. That big manthing. I had never really seen one
before. I had seen statues in the museum, and averted my
eyes. But here was a live thing. And it was so big, and it
was so hard, and it was so thick. How could that ever go
inside my little body? Beneath it were his two big
testicles, which swung wildly as he moved back onto the bed
with his left knee.
He climbed on top of me again, and we resumed kissing, but
now I felt his hard manthing against my soft flesh. This
was all making me dizzy. So dizzy.
He kissed my breasts again. He tongued my nipples. Then he
moved down and his tongue entered my body, where no man had
ever been before. "AAARRRGGGHHH," I screamed, louder than
ever. "My god. My god." What was happening to me? "Oh, my
god."
I spread my legs so that his tongue could do its sweet work.
I reached down and began twisting my fingers in his hair,
pressing him between my thighs. That soft tongue was
transporting me to strange distant kingdoms. Then he
stopped. He fell back on the bed and pulled me over him and
down.
"Suck my cock," he said.
"Suck your cock?" I asked. "No. No. I can't do that."
"Sure you can, Louise. Get down there and suck my cock."
He forced my head down over his large organ, and when I
opened my mouth to protest, he forced his large organ into
my mouth. I choked and sputtered. I tried to pull off him.
"Suck it," he ordered me.
I heard a dangerous tone in his voice. I started to suck
him. My mouth was getting used to his size, his shape, his
taste. It wasn't so bad. It was really very pleasant.
Actually I just loved it. My mouth moved up and down his
shaft, and I was making obscene sucking noises. Then he
pulled my head off his penis, and forced my head between his
legs.
"Suck my balls, Louise. Suck my big balls. That's it.
That's it. See. You can do it. You can do it. You like
my big balls, Louise? You like my big cock?"
"Yes," I admitted. "I like your big balls. I like your big
cock. I love your big cock."
He shifted his bottom to give me access to his large fleshy
cheeks. "Eat my ass, Louise."
"Edgar!" I protested.
"Eat it," he ordered and forced my head down. My nose was
buried in his flesh. I stuck my tongue out and lapped at
his pink eyehole. I held my breath, so I wouldn't smell or
taste anything, but the smooth feeling of it on my tongue
was not unpleasant.
"Oh, You're so good, Louise. What a great whore you are.
Cocksucker! Asslicker! You know what I'm gonna do now,
Louise?"
"What?" I asked innocently.
"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you." And with that he
threw me flat on the bed and once again jumped on top of me.
His hand was feeding his large merciless cock into my tight
virgin pussy. I screamed a little.
"What's the matter, baby? Never been fucked before?"
"No," I answered.
"Oh, come on," he said, of course, not believing me, until
the head of his dick hit my tight unyielding maidenhead."
"My god," he uttered. "You haven't been fucked before.
What have you been doing all your life?"
I had no answer.
"Okay. Here goes," he said, and pressed into me. I felt
the blunt head of his member tear through my hymen. I
grunted and cried in pain. He just lay on me then, without
moving. Waiting for me to get used to his penis inside me.
Waiting for the pain of my lost membrane to dissipate.
After a few minutes it did, and he started grinding himself
into my body.
"What a nice tight pussy. What a nice tight cunt," he said
appreciatively.
I had heard those nasty words before. `Cunt.' `Pussy." How
I'd always hated them. But now they were filling me with a
strange excitement.
"Fuck me, Edgar. Fuck my hot pussy. My cunt loves your big
hard cock. Fuck my cunt. Fuck my cunt." I felt
incredibly liberated. I had finally found the real me. The
tramp. The harlot. The cock-hungry slut. I threw my legs
around his body in abandon. I pressed my heels into his
asscheeks. I grabbed his asscheeks with my hands. I
pressed him into me, as I slammed my middle up to him. "Oh,
my god. Oh, my god," I intoned continuously.
He twisted my tits (his word) as he fucked my dripping
pussy. I wanted it to last the rest of the night. It
didn't. He started making funny sounds, and his rhythm
changed. He started slamming into me hard and fast, and
then he froze, and I could feel his cock swelling inside my
pussy, and then I felt shot after shot of hot liquid
blasting down my cuntchannel. Blasting into my body.
Blasting down my uterus. Blasting into my womb. Uh, Oh.
He lay on top of me as our heart rates slowed. I lazily ran
my fingers through his thick hair. My lips nibbled at his.
His lips nibbled at mine. I loved the weight of his heavy
body on me. I wrapped my arms around him and cradled him.
I felt his large cock softening within my dripping pussy.
"Oh, Edgar," I said. "Oh, Edgar."
"Did you like that, Louise?
"Yes. Yes, Edgar, I did.
"Did you like getting fucked Louise?"
"Yes. Yes. I loved it. Fuck me again."
"Now?"
"Yes, now."
"Not now," he said. "Maybe later."
"Oh, Edgar. You're so mean," I complained.
Edgar and I drifted off to sleep. Towards morning, he awoke
and fucked me again. This time there was no membrane.
There was no pain. Only pleasure. Unbelievable bottomless
pleasure.
In the morning, I suggested to Edgar that we get married,
but he just laughed at me. I made him coffee, and then he
got dressed and left the house. I looked out the window as
he went back to his car in my driveway. I had given him my
phone number, but he had not given me his. I hoped that he
would call me. I wanted desperately to see him again. I
wanted desperately to get fucked again.
I drove to the gift shop and I think I was singing when I
opened the door. Mella looked at me suspiciously.
"How come you're so happy?" she asked me.
"It's a beautiful day," I answered.
"It's raining," she countered.
"I like the rain," I insisted. I was very cheery all day
long. Actually I couldn't wait to get home. I just knew
Edgar would call me and we would fuck again. That night I
lay naked in bed, stroking my wet pussy, waiting for the
phone to ring. It didn't. The next night the phone didn't
ring. A week went by. I stopped singing. He hadn't even
called me about the home insurance.
"What's wrong, Louise?" Mella asked me.
"Nothing," I answered, twisting my fingers together. "I
just have a bad case of nerves. It'll pass."
She shook her head and went back to putting the new birthday
cards in the rack.
"Well, if that's how he wants it, fuck him," I thought as I
got into my sexy clothes and put on my makeup. I would just
make another trip to the Westwind Lounge. I would find
someone new. Edgar was not the only pebble on the beach.
There were a lot more fish in the sea.
When I got to the Westwind Lounge, I was half hoping that
Edgar would be at the bar. I wanted the chance to snub him.
I wanted the chance to have him watch as I spurned him and
got cozy with another man.
The bartender nodded to me, as I perched on a stool. I was
a familiar face. I looked around. Edgar was not at the
bar. Damn. But there were several other decent looking
possibilities.
One of them moved from the end of the bar, and sat down next
to me.
"What can I get you to drink?" he asked me.
"I think I'd like a gin and tonic," I said. I simply did
not know the name of any other drink.
"Phil," he called to the bartender. "A gin and tonic for
the lady. And I'll have another scotch rocks. He tipped
his empty glass toward the bartender.
Scotch rocks. I would have to remember that.
He was a tall, good-looking, powerfully-built dark haired
man who hadn't shaved. He was wearing a green uniform and
his muscles bulged out in every direction. He was all male.
He was breathtaking.
I recognized him immediately. He was my plumber. Again I
noticed the eagle tattoo on his arm. But now the eagle was
turning me on. I could tell that he didn't recognize me.
Well, how could he? I was a different person.
"The name's Dylan," he said and reached out his hand. I had
known his name was Dylan. And what he didn't know was that
I knew his last name. O'Reilly. Dylan O'Reilly.
"Louise," I answered, and shook his hand politely.
He told me all about the vagaries of the plumbing business,
how you never knew what was going to happen when you got to
someone's house. Some of the people were really nice, but
some of them were real `ballbusters.' I sympathized with
him. I could really imagine his going to the house of a
nervous, cranky, frustrated old-maid, who gave him nothing
but misery.
I was telling him about the gift shop, and the new birthday
cards, when all of a sudden the door opened, and someone
came into the Lounge. No. It was not Edgar. It was a
woman. A glamorous, beautiful young woman with long red
hair, and a tight sexy outfit. She wore long, shiny black
stockings. A short plaid skirt. A mini-top which exposed her
bare midriff. In her navel were a cluster of fake diamonds.
She had been pierced. I was so astounded by her general
appearance that I had not even glanced at her face. I did
so now. My jaw dropped.
"Mella," I cried in amazement.
"Louise? Is that you? Oh, my god. It is you. What are
you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?"
"Why are you dressed like that?" I countered.
"I guess you never saw my piercings." She smiled.
"No. I never saw them. You dress differently in the
store."
"So do you," she observed. I nodded.
She sat down on the stool on the other side of me. I had
Dylan on my right, and Mella on my left.
"What can I buy you to drink?" Dylan asked her, leaning in
front of me. He was looking at her breasts, which were even
bigger than mine.
"I'll have a banana Daiquiri," she said. Dylan ordered it
from Phil, the bartender.
"Dylan. This is my friend Mella. Mella, who works in the
shop with me. Mella. This is Dylan. Dylan is a plumber."
They shook hands directly along the bar, directly in front
of me. Dylan seemed to be holding on to her hand, but Phil
wanted to put down the Daiquiri, and needed space. He let
go of her hand and they sat up. We laughed and chatted and
gazed at each other in the mirror behind the bar. Mella was
really a beautiful girl. I had never even noticed that.
And Dylan. My god. Dylan was a hunk. He was sexier than
Edgar. This would be no night of second best. I would pick
him over Edgar any day.
But a horrible thought crossed my mind. Dylan and Mella
were being very flirty. Suppose he didn't want me? Suppose
he wanted her? She was younger than I. I didn't want that
to happen. I tried everything I could think of. I was
bright, vivacious. I kept injecting clever little bon mots
into the conversation. And I have to admit, I let my leg
rub against Dylan's every now and then. Sort of
unconsciously. And when I dropped my purse, and had to
reach down to get it, I steadied myself on his firm,
muscular left thigh. Way high up, and my middle finger was
almost touching his enlargement. Yes, it was enlarged. And
I hoped against hope that I was the cause of that
enlargement.
We all had more drinks. We laughed. We chatted. I joked.
I dropped my purse again. Dylan began describing to us the
fabulous apartment he had furnished for himself, above his
plumbing supply store. He called it his bachelor pad.
"You gotta see it," he told us. "When we leave here, you
gotta come over and see it."
"Both of us?" I asked.
"Of course," he said.
I was disappointed. There would be no action tonight.
Dylan left Phil a big tip on the bar, and we gathered our
belongings. Before I got up, I dropped my purse one more
time. Clumsy me. All three of us got in our separate
automobiles, and Mella and I followed Dylan to the plumbing
store and his fabulous bachelor `pad'.
We walked up an exterior flight of stairs on the side of his
store, up to the second floor. Dylan led the way. He took
out his keys, and opened the front door. Mella and I
entered. He flipped the light switch.
One side of the living room was a living room, and the other
side was a gymnasium with all sorts of weights and exercise
machines. Now I knew how he got all those muscles. He
gave us a walking tour. He showed us the modern kitchen
with the granite counters, which he said he never used. He
showed us the modern bathroom, with the enormous Jacuzzi
bathtub, and the marble vanity. He showed us the bedroom.
The bedroom. My god. Mirrors everywhere. Every wall was a
mirror. The ceiling was a mirror. I looked up and saw
myself upside down. I saw Nella and Dylan upside down. I
saw the enormous king size bed with all kinds of red pillows
and cushions upside down. Suddenly Dylan's headtop
approached my own, and before I could react, I felt his
demanding lips on mine. He put one arm around my waist,
and pressed me to him. I could feel his hard enlargement
against my vulnerability. The other arm was reaching out to
Mella.
His mouth moved off mine, and onto Mella's. We were pressed
together in a close-knit group of three. Mella moaned in
rapture. Then he took his mouth off Mella's and suddenly it
was on my own again. He was massaging my breasts. Then
Mella's. Then mine. Then..
He was still kissing us both. I felt Mella's hand brush
against mine on Dylan's fly.
"Kiss her," he told me.
"Kiss Mella?" I had never considered anything like this.
"Yes. Go ahead. You too, Mella. Kiss Louise. I want to
see a nice sexy ladykiss."
I nervously moved my mouth to Mella's, and she to mine. We
kissed. I licked her lips. I felt her tongue enter my
mouth. I felt a tingling in my vulnerability. Now Dylan
was placing a hand on my tingle. And on Mella's. Then the
three of us were kissing all at once. Three tongues
together. Then he opened our blouses and brassieres, and
began feeding on my breasts. Then on Mella's. Then on
mine...
"Get undressed," he said.
I stood up and started disrobing like an automaton. Mella
took off her blouse and skirt. She had disattached the left
stocking from the pantygirdle clasps and was now rolling the
sheer black nylon down her long leg. She was still in her
pink panties while I was already in the nude. Dylan led me
to the bed and arranged me along its length. Then he
started to get undressed.
I could never have imagined such an endowment. How did it
get so big and muscular? I knew it didn't lift weights.
How would I get that inside me? I put that fear out of my
mind. I knew that I was resourceful and somehow I would
manage.
Dylan was first on top of me. Then on top of Mella. More
and more hot kisses. His tongue was becoming as familiar to
me as my own. Then he scootched down on the bed and planted
his mouth over Mella's pussy. He began licking it.
Flicking his tongue back and forth over her engorged pink
nublet. Back and forth. Back and forth. Mella was
thrashing all around on the mattress and making low guttural
sounds. I was fingering my own pussy in envy.
But then, Dylan moved across the bed and began pleasuring
me. Now I knew what Mella was thrashing about. I began
rolling around the bed, screaming, holding his head into me.
Yes. I was behaving like a strumpet.
Then Dylan moved up over my body, and that fearsome blunt
knob was pressing into my slot. I could feel my mucous
membranes separating around it. Separating and then drawing
back together to clutch at it. I reached down and fondled
his hard asscheeks as they were hunching his dick into me.
Along the sides, I could feel his taut assflesh dimpling.
His behind was so smooth. So smooth. I raised my legs
around him, and I could feel his heavy balls battering my
exposed asshole. It was very sexy. I could see his hard,
firm asscheeks flexing and unflexing on each instroke and
each outstroke. In the mirrors I could see the long taut
dimples of his straining buttocks. I could see everything.
All in the glittering mirror over my head. I was looking up
at that mirror, and I could see fantastic fornication on the
bed below it. If I turned my head to the side, the walls
were mirrored, and I had a side view. I saw a man and a
woman fucking. I was that woman. I loved it. I could also
see another tattoo. A large one covering his left buttock.
It was an American flag. Red, white, and blue. And it was
waving, as he gored in and out of me. I wanted to salute,
but instead I grabbed the banner and crushed it in my greedy
hand. When I removed my hand, the flag was not crushed. I
had not desecrated it. I wanted to move down and lick it,
as any good patriot would do. But I was under him getting
plowed. I was pinned down and couldn't move anything but my
hips.
He was kissing me, when suddenly Mella's face was there and
he began kissing her.
"Lick my asshole," he told her.
She hesitated.
"Lick my asshole," he told her again. "Then I'll fuck you."
She thought it over and decided this was a good deal. She
knelt between our legs as he pumped into me, and I looked
down. She had moved my hand off his patriotic buttcheek,
and now was separating his two mounds with her own hands. I
saw the little pink tongue dart out between her lips as she
moved her face into his darkness.
"Oh. Oh. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah." Dylan screamed and began
really slamming into me and then pressing his tight pucker
back onto Mella's tongue.
I wished I could have had his thick white cream in my cunt,
but he had promised Mella that he would fuck her, so I
wasn't surprised when he withdrew his pleasure rod from my
slick sheath, before it had blasted into me. Now Mella was
lying next to me on the bed, and she shifted over and stuck
his still-wet dick into her. They began hunching together.
I was a little jealous. I turned on my side, and placed my
mouth between theirs and we were all kissing together again.
This continued for another five minutes. I thought he was
going to blast into Mella, but he didn't. Suddenly he
withdrew his big meat from her slippery sheath, and moved up
on her body, straddling her chest. His butt was lightly
pressing against her large breasts, as he bent his stiff
dick down toward her mouth, and pressed it between her lips.
He pulled me over to him, and began devouring my tits.
Licking them, sucking them. He suddenly had a brilliant
idea.
"Eat her pussy," he told me. He may have sensed a slight
distaste on my part, because he repeated, "Eat her pussy."
And it was like an order.
I moved down between Mella's luscious thighs and began
running my tongue up and down her mouth-like slit. Then I
went for it. I clasped my lips around her button and began
sliding my tongue over it and sucking. I liked it. Mella
liked it. She was making low guttural sounds again. So was
Dylan, as Mella sucked his length into her throat in extreme
passion.
We did all different things. In all different positions.
Mella and Me. Mella and Dylan. Dylan and me. We tried
every permutation possible. There was nothing I didn't
like. Finally Dylan pushed me down on the bed on my stomach
and pulled my ass up into the air. He fucked me like the
bitch I was. He fucked me doggy style. I could feel his
big prick feeding into me from behind. I slammed my ass
back into his taught muscular belly. Slap. Slap. Slap. I
looked in the mirror. His eagle soared. His flag
fluttered. And I wanted his cum. How I wanted his cum.
Oh, no. He was taking it out again. But wait. Oh my god.
He was moving it up against my bottomhole. He wanted to
take me anally. How could that happen? It was too big. It
was too long. It was too thick. He was pressing. Pressing
too hard. Now my rear walls were separating and regrouping
around his hard rod. Sucking on it. Pulling on it. He
started making crazy noises, and his flanks began pumping
arrhythmicly. He pushed me flat on the bed and fell heavily
on top of me. I could feel him hunching frenetically. I
could feel his cock growing inside me. Yes. This was what
I had wanted so badly. He was coming in me. I could feel
blast after blast of his burning liquid inside my rectum.
At least I didn't have to worry about getting knocked up
tonight. I would really have to get a prescription for
birth control pills.
The three of us lay in the bed exhausted for more than an
hour. Fondling each other. Nuzzling each other. Around 3
a.m. Mella, and I each went home. We had to get a little
sleep and dress for work the next day. Dylan told us he
wasn't going to ask for our addresses or phone numbers. (If
I'd given him my address, he would have realized that I was
the nasty frustrated harridan whom he'd visited recently. He
had told me I needed to get laid. Well, he had been right.
I had needed it. He had changed my life. I owed him a
debt.)
Dylan explained that he never saw anyone twice. He liked
new experiences all the time. New faces. New tits. New
cunts. New asses. All shining in his multi-mirrored
bedroom. I was disappointed, but I was used to it. I
hadn't seen Edgar again either. I guess only a woman really
wants a relationship. A man just wants to get his rocks
off. Too bad.
The next morning when I got to the store, Mella was already
there. She had opened as usual. I had never looked at
Mella as a person before. Only as an employee. And now I
realized that she was an attractive and vibrant young woman.
The first hour, after I got there, was a little awkward. I
think we were both a little embarrassed about what had
occurred the night before. But as the day wore on, we got a
little more comfortable with each other. In a new way.
We started to become friends. We would go out for dinner
together. She would come over to my house and we would
watch television together in the evening. It got so that
when she went home at night, I would start feeling lonely.
I would start missing her.
I asked her to move in with me. I needed the company. She
agreed. She sublet her own house, and moved into my spare
bedroom.
The first night she was there, we decided to celebrate. We
got all dolled up and drove down to the Westwind Lodge. We
had a ball. The guys just loved us. We brought someone
home and had just the greatest time. We had such a good
time that we did it again the next night. Yes. Mella had
been sleeping in the spare bedroom down the hall, but now
she would just stay in my bed all night long. Sometimes the
guy would sleep over and there would be three of us in the
bed. It was so cozy.
We scored almost all the time. A man, on the prowl, might
not pick up anyone. A woman, on the prowl, has a better
chance. And two women on the prowl. Just imagine.
Some nights we brought home one man. Some nights we brought
home two men. There were nights when we brought home three.
And sometimes more. Sometimes we just emptied out the whole
bar and had a real party. I had had so many cocks inside my
mouth and my cunt now. And even my rectum. I was a regular
old pro. Except, no, I didn't do it for money. I just
liked it.
Of course there was that occasional evening when there just
weren't any men in the lounge. Just Mella and me. We
would drive home together. Just the two of us. We would go
to bed together. Just the two of us. And we would have a
good time. Just the two of us. We enjoyed that too. For
those nights, we bought a double-headed dildo. And besides,
you'd be surprised at how much sensation you can get with
just two pussies rubbing together.
I still go to the cemetery to visit mother's grave every
week, but I don't bring flowers. I am too much of a lady
to do what you are thinking. I would never spit on my own
mother's grave. But when I think of what she did to me..
When I think of all the years I lost, that I am desperately
trying to make up for.. An icy cold feeling envelops me as I
stare at her gravestone. I do not get hysterical. I am
totally calm. `Calm as a cucumber' as the clich‚ goes. You
see, since I first began to fuck, my whole life has changed.
My whole personality has changed. I am no longer fidgety
and fretful. I no longer whine and complain. I am just
fine. I have become worldly. I have become sophisticated.
I am now a full-fledged strumpet. And I no longer have a
bad case of nerves.