Cleaned 22

By timos111@hotmail.com


A few afternoons later, Janelle got back to the 
apartment having just finished her shift at the mall.  
Doug would not be home for another two hours yet.

Brad was there, though.

He was putting a new set of strings on his beat-up 
Fender, having found a replacement neck for it after 
the cops broke it for him.

He was clearly nervous about being alone with her.

As well he might.

She was the kind of stunning woman who always made him 
get all tongue-tied anyway.

But without Doug present as buffer and protector, 
there was also the sense of not knowing what she might 
do to him next.

This instilled fear.

But also hope, and a certain amount of anticipation.

Because, truth be told, he fancied her something 
rotten.

But what price would he have to pay for each 
titillation?

And titillation was all it was, and probably all it 
ever would 
be.  Yet it still engendered faint hope in him that 
she might someday  
deliver on what he truly fantasized about.

She regarded him at length, smelling out his rising 
alarm and consternation.

This he had in good measure, as he looked up anxiously 
at her from the coils of bright wire he was winding 
onto his axe.

These reactions of his were sharpening her appetite.

Like a shark smelling blood, she began circling.

Closing in.

"Brad ..."

He just looked at her mutely.

"Can you put that down for a minute?"

He carefully laid the guitar down on the carpet.

"Stand up."

He complied, after a moment's hesitation.

"Drop your draws."

Aha!  Just another routine spot-check by the Panty 
Patrol, then.  He might get off lightly this time!

He slid his jeans down to his knees, to reveal a 
dainty creation in shiny pink nylon that only just 
barely concealed his flaccid wedding-tackle.  Its 
front was blotchy and yellowed by aging cum-stains.

She nodded with satisfaction.

Phew!  He'd passed muster.  

And only just.  He'd had regular mens' briefs on up 
until an hour ago, but fortunately had changed to 
these.

Why?

Premonition?

Yes, he'd had a sneaking feeling this might be on the 
cards.  Not only that, he wasn't too averse these days 
to the feel of women's panties.  So silky-smooth, so 
slippery.

So nice to masturbate into.

"Get all your clothes off."

Uh-oh! Still more to come!  Or would that be "cum"?

And what would he have to endure before he did?

Again, he complied.

So far, he hadn't spoken a word.

And still he didn't speak, as she surveyed his well-
muscled, smooth and almost hairless body.

She now knew enough about art to liken him to 
Michaelangelo's David.

Except that no fig leaf ever created would have kept 
this particular donger covered up.

It had partially stiffened now and was straining 
against its confinement, like a cobra stirring in its 
basket.  Pubic hair - practically the only body hair 
he had - could be seen sprouting from the margins of 
those pretty pink knickers.

She stepped up to him, and ran one hand across his 
chest.  Her finger grazed a nipple, almost making him 
swoon with delight.

Her hands traced downward along his sides, and gently 
slid those panties off to ground-level.

His fat cock stuck straight out in front of him, as if 
undecided whether to go right on up or go back down 
again.

She looked at it in admiration.

"Boy, that is one mighty fine prick you've got there."

Understatement of the year.

"Have you made any ladies happy with that yet?"

"Yeah."

Yay!  It talks!

"Who?"

"Coupla girls back home."

"And here, since you got to the city?"

He shrugged.

Actually, there'd been one.  It'd been after a gig, 
and she'd been drunk and horny, and he'd nailed her in 
the parking lot against the hood of a car.  It'd been 
over pretty quick, and neither of them remembered much 
the next day.

But he wasn't about to discuss that with Janelle.

Janelle couldn't care less anyway, she was too busy 
taking in the sights.

"Wait there.  Don't move."

She returned in half a minute, bearing a towel, her 
razor, and a can of foam.

"Hey! What the ...?"

"Shuddup, and hold still." 

Kneeling before him, she squirted foam around his 
pubic area and used one hand to lather up the halo of 
hair around the base of his prick.

Holding his prick steady in one hand, and using swift 
but sure strokes of the razor, she cut swathe after 
swathe through his soapy fluff.  He stood there 
without protest.  She was touching his prick!  She was 
actually holding his prick!

Mind you, she was pretty business-like about it.  She 
intended for there to be nothing erotic about her 
touch.  It was visual impact she was striving for 
here.

She finished up by wiping all remaining traces of 
shaving foam away with the towel.

He scrubbed up rather well, she thought.

In fact, it looked beautiful.

Almost virginal.

Positively pre-pubescent.

Yet so fucking huge.

She pulled the pink panties back up from his ankles 
and slipped them back into place.  His massive prick 
stuck way up out the top of them.

She performed that girl trick of unsnapping her bra 
and pulling it out through one shirt-sleeve.

"Here.  Put this on."

He did his best, and she had to help him, 'cos he was 
pretty broad-shouldered and the straps all had to be 
lengthened.  Even then, they were stretched about as 
tight as his guitar strings once she did up the clasp.

He looked both beautiful and ridiculous at the same 
time.  So cute, she couldn't help smiling.

His face was a picture, though.  He'd never done this 
before.  Coming as he did from rural back-blocks, he  
had an aversion to anything even remotely faggot-like.

Now, he looked well and truly sissified.

"Jack off for me."

He was kinda expecting this.

"Can I lie down?"

"Why?"

"It's better done lying down."

"Okay."

And he did.

He lay back on the big leather sofa, and didn't take 
his eyes off her for an instant as he pulled his 
foreskin back and forth with gathering pace.

She could feel him undressing her with his eyes, 
especially taking in the way her bra-less tits were 
swaying loose in her shirt, with nipples like  
peanuts under the fabric.

But she had lots more to look at than he did, and he 
was a sight both erotic and amusing.

Such a strange contrast between his super-sized 
rampant dick, and the incongruity of the bra and 
panties he wore. 

Not to mention that the whole charade was for her 
benefit.  As if he were jacking off in her honour, 
almost.

God, it was a lovely prick.

One she'd love to jump on, and ride with abandon.  To 
feel so filled, so stretched.

Every girl should try out a really big dick at least 
once, she felt.  Just to find out if the ladies' 
locker-room talk was true.

But to ride Brad's dick just wasn't even on her 
agenda.  It would spoil the game.  Ruin the dynamic 
she had 
going with him.  It would give the boy the very thing 
he wanted most.  The fun here was to be had by denying 
him.

And most importantly, Brad was not the one she was in 
love with.

WHAT?!!?

This thought burst like a bomb in her brain.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Since when had she ever needed to love a man in order 
to 
fuck him?

She struggled to squeeze this out and get her mind 
back 
to the turn-on tableau before her - the sissified 
country boy jacking off for her.   

He was getting close, but huffing and puffing with the 
effort.

Meanwhile, that thought had reduced her horniness.

She shoved her hand up her shirt to massage a boob, to 
tug at its nipple.  The boy goggled at this in hopeful 
anticipation.

Oh, what the hell!  Let's show it to him!

She pulled her shirt up over her head in one sudden 
movement.  Now she was completely topless, and 
standing there with hands on hips.  His eyes shot out 
like organ stops, and his hand became a frenzy.  Hot 
damn!  She had the finest tits he'd ever had the 
pleasure to spy!  This was a dream come true.

Seeing how his eyes were feasting upon her thrusting 
brown breasts was having the desired effect on her.  
Janelle was a natural exhibitionist, and being so 
strenuously admired like this was making her hot 
again.  She reached up and idly twisted a turgid 
nipple as she regarded his frantic pumping and 
pulling.  He surely couldn't last much longer than 
this?

He surely couldn't.  Brad shot with considerable 
force, arching his back and fucking his cock up 
through his fist.  Pearlescent globs formed as if by 
magic over his stomach and chest, some of them 
clinging to the black lace of the bra he wore.

Brad collapsed back down onto the sofa, panting and 
out of breath.

"May I have my bra back, please?"

He sat up, and struggled out of it.

"Clean it up for me."

"Huh?"

"Lick off the spunk before you hand it back."

He hesitated, then saw the commanding glare in her 
eye.  He held up the twisted black lace and dabbed  
the globs of cum away with his tongue.  When 
satisfied, she snatched it out of his hand.

"Thanks Brad.  You done great."

Scooping up her shaving gear, she spun on her heel and 
headed straight for the master bedroom.  The door got 
firmly closed behind her.

She had a vibrator in her bag of tricks which 
came pretty darn close to the dimensions of the tool 
she'd just just sissified and de-spunked out there.

Slipping her panties down, she maneuvered it for 
maximum effect as it hummed and growled against the 
channel of her fuzzy-downed fanny.  Then she inserted 
it, really giving her insides something to grip on as 
she stimulated her externalities by hand.

It worked, and quickly too.  

Switching off, she lay back as limp as a dish-rag.

She'd gone a lot further with Brad than she'd 
intended, 
showing off her tits to him like that.

But not as far as she could've.

She could have truly ravished the boy.

Something had held her back.

The rules of the game?

Nah.  Rules were made to be broken.  If it feels good, 
do it.  That'd always been her motto.

The truth was, she hadn't even wanted to do it.

But what the fuck was that about being in love?

Ridiculous.

Must be going soft-in-the-head in her old age.

After all, she'd be turning twenty-five next birthday.

Fuck, that's ancient.