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.