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Subject: {FriarDave}JDR"Elly 1"( MF )[1/3]
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                             JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults.  If you are 
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic 
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now.  The story 
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas 
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author 
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matters that you find distasteful.  You read at your own risk.

The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming 
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=============================================================
This tale involves consensual sexual relations, explicitly
described, between an adult male and an adult female.
There is no violence, drugs (except for some wine), bondage, 
discipline, sado-masochism, water sports, projectile vomiting,
piercing, humiliation, mutilation, bestiality or references to 
Joey Buttafuoco. If the absence of any of these turns you off, 
read no farther. Please don't show this to those unable or 
unwilling to consent to reading it. Please do not use "impact"
as a transitive verb. 
=============================================================
 
                           =====================
                                   ELLY 
                               by Friar Dave 
                           Friar_Dave@mhbbs.com.

Part 1


"David!"

I opened my eyes wider and scanned the crowded Sunday-morning 
sidewalk. Sunday morning in a neighborhood that's almost all 
Polish, Italian, Irish and Latino means the sidewalks are Mass 
confusion, if you get my drift. And I was not all that fully awake 
anyhow, having finished Saturday night only six hours before.

"David!" The voice was right in front of me now. I looked down. 

Recognition came slowly. I blinked. "Elly?"

She smiled prettily and hoisted herself up and gave a little jump 
to plant a light kiss on my beard, catching me by surprise.

I stared at her. "You look unbelievable," I said, with complete 
sincerity. And her appearance was more than half the reason I 
hadn't recognized her.

I hadn't seen Elly in about 18 months. She'd just turned 17 a few 
weeks before we'd last bumped into each other. She'd been pretty 
much as she'd been the first time I'd met her, three years before. 
Elly was very short -- four-foot-seven, I learned later -- but not 
petite by about 20 pounds. Elly could have stood to lose that 
much and maybe a couple of pounds more, because a great deal of 
baby fat had still clung to an otherwise fine-boned frame. She had 
a pretty, round face and Big Hair and seemed determined to dress as 
unattractively as possible. The last time I'd seen her, she was 
still just the plump, sweet, smart kid who sometimes needed someone 
with whom to talk.

Elly had made some serious changes. Make that Changes, with a 
capital "C."

The change that was unavoidably obvious was her figure. She'd done 
away with most of the weight; the rest had been redistributed. 
She'd always been buxom; now she'd melted the baby fat and what was 
left was just busty. Even dressed to deemphasize it, she had an 
astonishing bust, the more so for her otherwise-slender frame.

She was dressed to deemphasize it, but nothing could hide it. Elly 
had a figure designed by the feverish imagination of a 14-year-old 
acne farm. She was very slim-hipped. She had no waist at all; the 
way she cinched her fashionably cut loose jeans betrayed that. Her 
waist couldn't have measured more than 18 or 19 inches. 

But even the oversized flannel shirt (it was spring, but the 
Weather Gods had left some nip in the air to remind us that winter 
wasn't very long gone) and the oversized vest, unbuttoned, couldn't 
hide the swell of her breasts. Words like "massive," "huge" and 
"coconuts" came to mind. I probably could have worn the shirt she 
had on, and I'm a size 42; she still couldn't button the top three 
buttons over those tits.

But as fabulous as her figure was, as radiant as her newly slimmed and 
well made-up face was, it was her sheer vivacity that commanded 
attention. She was glowing and vibrant and gushing with news. She'd just 
signed on for a co-op in Flushing, and then she'd lost her job -- at 
Shearson Lehman -- but it didn't bother her. She was looking for work as 
an administrative assistant and was sure she could find it quickly. I 
agreed. Best of all, she'd done something I'd nagged her about in most 
of our last conversation -- she'd had the doctor do a biopsy of the cyst 
in her uterus -- and it had been removed early enough to insure that she 
was healthy and free from The Bastard That Kills. 

Damn, she looked good! Her jeans clung to slim hips and legs that 
were just a shade too short for her diminutive height. She'd had 
her hair cut differently, a bit longer and less full. Her eyes 
sparkled and her lips and nose were perfect for her face. Elly had 
turned into a little beauty.

But she wasn't happy. She'd been taken with this fella for the past 
couple of months, an Afghan refugee, and she had the distinct 
feeling that he wouldn't be devastated if she left him. That, to 
her, meant he didn't care much. 

We talked, and she told me she had a job interview for Tuesday 
morning, and she was tickled at the idea of meeting me for lunch 
when she was done. I sensed a tingly tension with her. She'd gone 
from a pudgy 18-year-old to a devastatingly sexy 20-year-old, 
and I wanted to explore it more (not being nearly as dumb as I 
look).

She called at noon, and I had her come to my office, in the Village. 
I brought my company's jobs listing with me and took her to a good 
neighborhood restaurant, China Bowl. Their prices were reasonable, 
the ambience was unhurried and a sign in the window proudly (and 
truthfully) proclaimed that they never used MSG.

Our waitress, who went by the name of Alice, was familiar to me. 
Alice and I had played trade-smiles-and try-to-catch-the-other-one-
looking games for about three months. Alice, who was about Elly's 
height, came over for our order, took one look at Elly's 
preposterous bust -- not too effectively hidden by a very 
conservatively cut neck-high collar -- and gave me a look that said 
she was sure she could never compete with THOSE.

Elly and I had a pleasant lunch, and she thought my suggestion was 
nice -- that she stop by my place later in the week and see what 
I'd done with it.

She rang my bell at 8:03 on Friday and I buzzed her in. She was 
wearing jeans again and a simple, plum blouse under a loose 
cardigan. The blouse was tucked into her waistband, and when the 
cardigan came off, it looked like she'd stuffed a pair of 
cantaloupes into her blouse. 

I gave her a glass of white wine -- her choice -- and the two-bit 
tour. She thought my alleged cat was cute. She admired the photo 
montages of friends and family and the cat. 

She enjoyed the stereo -- choosing a recording by Kitaro, much to 
my surprise and pleasure -- and ooohed and ahhed at the little 
study I'd created; it's the place where I write.

In the living room, she admired the nude torso framed on one wall. 
She asked; I told her: "Yes, that's her. It was taken by one of her 
former lovers." But what got her was the opposite wall: 

"Did you READ all of these?"

I am always surprised when someone is impressed by the Library Wall 
in the living room. I explained to her that if you read for an hour 
a day, you read a couple of books a week. In thirty years, that's 
around three thousand books. If you save some books -- well, you 
pretty quickly end up with the Library Wall. My living room is only 
20-feet long, so a wall of books isn't that big a deal.

But Elly was impressed. We sat, drinking wine and talked. I asked 
after some of her friends. One was dying of AIDS. 

"I'm glad I got out of that crowd," she said. "When they started 
getting into stuff past a few joints, I got scared. He was doing 
needles, so I guess that's where he got it."

"There's lots of ways to get it."

She drained her glass. "Don't I know it! When I went to get tested 
for it -- "

"You did?"

She nodded, eyes wide, as I poured more wine for her. Of course she 
did, she said -- as if there were no other reasonable course. She 
was crazy about her Afghan refugee. "You think I want to take a 
chance on killing him? No way!"

Which was, I told her, exactly the way my Significant Other and I 
felt and why we'd gotten tested.

The talk moved on to cheerier subjects and later, after more 
chatting and catching up -- and her doing in two-thirds of a bottle 
of wine -- she started examining the titles of the books. She asked 
if she could look at one on a high shelf. I started to get up from 
the couch.

"I'll get it. I just wanted to know if it was okay to look at it."

"Sure, help yourself." She got the little folding step-stool from 
the corner and set it up. It's only a four-step job, so she had to 
stand on the top. I went to steady her -- remember that wine -- and 
as soon as I got there, she turned half-way and started toppling.

I caught her, with my hands at her trim waist. Her cheeks were 
flushed, and the redness was spreading down her neck and throat and 
into the vee of pale flesh exposed by the three unfastened buttons.

She put her hands on either side of my face, bent her head and kissed 
me. Her breath was sweetly tinged with the wine, and her lips were 
taut and urgent. They opened immediately and her tongue danced with 
mine, teasing, then searching and demanding. Her tongue was rather 
long, too, She seemed to have no difficulty running it over the 
roof of my mouth, and I know it reached farther than any other I'd 
encountered. It was somehow making me even more aroused.

Without breaking the kiss or moving my hands from her waist, I 
lifted her off the step-stool. She wrapped her arms around my neck 
and I had to bend to maintain the kiss as I stood her on the floor.

I put my arms all the way around her and pressed her up and against 
me. Her breasts, so huge and full, were crushed against me. She was 
arching her back deeply to catch my leg between her thighs and rub 
her denim-clad crotch against my knee. I ran my hands up and down 
over her back, then reached down and covered her ass, one hand to a 
cheek. Her hips were so narrow and her butt so tight and hard that 
I was momentarily taken aback; it was almost like squeezing a 
preteen girl's ass.

But there was nothing kid-like in the heat or experience in her 
hungry kiss, or in the way she was writhing against me. And there 
sure as hell was nothing childlike in the massive pressure of her 
firm, bounteous breasts against me. 

When she finally broke the kiss, she leaned back in my arms, 
otherwise remaining pressed against me and letting me support most 
of her weight. Her eyes were closed and there was a small smile on 
her flushed face.

"I have wanted to do that for four years," she said. "And I've 
wanted you to do that, too." Her eyes opened. "Did you know that?"

I shook my head. 

"And you don't remember the time I told you that one of the things 
I liked best about you was that you'd never tried to come on to 
me."

Again, I shook my head.

"And you don't remember telling me that you liked me and thought I 
was cute, but that I felt bad about myself and that was why I was 
overweight, and I felt bad about myself because I was overweight."

I was starting to remember something, now...

"And do you remember telling me that if I was a few years older and 
about 20 percent thinner, then you'd have more of a problem not 
making a pass at me?"

"Uhhhh --- Well -- "

Her smile widened. "I'm a few years older and a lot thinner -- 
mostly -- and just like you said, you're making a pass at me. And 
guess what?"

"What?"

"Pass received." She brought one hand up and quickly unbuttoned her 
blouse. The bra she wore wasn't meant to be sexy. It was meant to 
contain and support breasts that belonged on an over-endowed woman 
a foot taller and 30 pounds heavier. It wasn't containing them, 
though. Her tits swelled up and around the edges of the cotton, 
creamy swells of billowy pale flesh that was just tinged with a 
flush of arousal. And that made it a sexy damn bra

I swallowed.

Her fingers went to the clasp between the two overflowing cups. Her 
fingers moved. The clasp released. The bra slid back partly, unable 
to deal with the pressure of her large breasts. 

"Did you ever suspect that sometimes when I called you and asked 
about relationships and how they could be, I was sitting in my 
bathrobe?"

"No, I never -- "

She was shimmying her shoulders, and the bra was opening wider and 
wider.

"Or that sometimes, when we were talking, I was getting wet and 
starting to touch myself, imagining what it would be like to have 
you making love to me?"

"Not even once."

She shimmied and the cups fell back from her breasts. They were 
magnificent. The bra hadn't been able to contain them, and judging 
by the firmness of the 20-year-old tits jutting up at me, it hadn't 
been *absolutely* necessary for support, either.

"I used to imagine you kissing and licking my breasts -- not like 
the grabby guys my own age or the dirty old pigs that were always 
copping feels -- but just sweetly, lovingly, hungrily devouring my 
tits...Would you like to do that?"

"Guess what, Elly?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Pass received." I lifted her easily and turned, setting her tiny 
butt on the arm of the loveseat, then I bent slightly and began 
kissing and licking her magnificently excessive tits, trying 
furiously to live up to the lurid imaginings of the pudgy 17-
year-old who'd encased this gloriously sexy 20-year-old.

I tried to guess what she'd fantasized, planning to live up to it -- 
if biologically possible -- but abandoned that effort in, oh, five-
sixteenths of a second. So I just went with instinct and Me.

I bent and licked her shoulders, then down her arm. I trilled my 
tongue in the hollow of her elbow and watched the goosebumps rise 
and felt her shiver. Then I went to work on her breasts.

Twenty years old or not, tits that big are required by Gravity to 
have some sag to them, and hers weren't lawbreakers -- but they 
were bending the rules pretty good. I licked the underswells of 
each gorgeously curved mound and then kissed along the outer edge. 
Then I moved my tongue around and around, slowly, on each breast, 
working closer to each nipple and never...quite...reaching...it. My 
saliva had coated the pale flesh of her mountainous boobies, and her 
nipples swelled hugely in response to being left out of the 
treatment.

Her aureoles were no larger than 25-cent pieces, making 
them oddly tiny in proportion to her tits, but the nozzles 
themselves were outstanding. They swelled up and out, stretching 
easily three-quarters of an inch and as thick as pencil erasers.

Her hands had come up to either side of my head, and she was trying 
to force my mouth onto her nipples. I let her -- but my mouth 
draped over each one, open, and I withheld my tongue, so no matter 
how much she pressed my face into the firm, fragrant abundance, her 
nipples were untouched. 

She was moaning for me to attend to them, but I had another idea. I 
figured a girl with such huge, gorgeous breasts probably had her 
nipples grabbed by every moron who got his digits near them. I also 
figured that absence makes the frond grow harder. So I stayed 
completely away from touching her nipples. It made her crazy. 

But while my lips and tongue were busy with her abundant upper 
attractions, my hands had been steadily caressing and stroking her 
curvy, slim legs. My right hand was gently moving up and down over 
the denim-clad chub of her mons. I could feel the heat through the 
fabric of her jeans and whatever else she was or wasn't wearing 
beneath them.

I unsnapped the waistband of her jeans and lowered the zipper. I 
could almost feel the humidity rising in waves from the v-opening. 
I began kissing below her breasts, working my way down over her 
abdomen. That's what you call that part of the torso on a woman in 
her condition: "abdomen." "Belly" is too soft a word. From the 
definition of the muscles crisscrossing her tummy, it was obvious 
that she'd been burning calories with serious exercise. I could 
easily find the ridges of hard muscle beneath the smooth, minimal 
layer of normal, healthy human fat by tracing and exploring with my 
tongue. 

That's just what I did: explore with my tongue. I traced and 
delineated every smooth ripple of firm abdominal muscle, always 
working lower, and as my tongue finally found and reached the 
limits of her opened zipper, her hands came down to either side of 
my head, pushing me lower, always lower.

As deep as the V went, it didn't reach deep enough. I couldn't even 
touch her pubic hair with my tongue and had no choice but finally 
to halt and stand.

"Put your arms around my neck," I whispered -- mostly because my 
voice wasn't working quite right at that moment -- and she complied 
willingly. My plan was to stand with her hanging on me and push the 
jeans down off her narrow hips. Would've worked, too. But she also 
put her legs around me, just above my hips, hooking her ankles 
behind my back.

"Bed?" she breathed and pulled her mouth close to my ear. Her 
tongue, wet and serpentine, wriggled into my ear. "Bed?" Her breath 
was fire on me.

"Buh," was all I could say. I cupped her tight little jeans-clad 
ass in my hands, one paw under and covering each cheek, and walked 
through my home office, down the hall and into the bedroom. She was 
kissing my beard and ears all the way.

I bent at the foot of the bed and braced myself with my hands. She 
released her leglock on my waist and brought her hands down over 
the front of my shirt, undoing buttons as she went. When I 
straightened, she rolled lithely to her knees and pushed my shirt 
back. Her blouse and bra were in complete disarray, her lush 
breasts exposed and quivering. Her nipples -- I can't stop thinking 
about how her nipples looked with those nubbly aureoles and the 
immensely swollen nozzles turning almost purple.

Her hands were busy, unsnapping the waist of my slacks and dragging 
down the zipper. She pushed the jeans down and then my briefs, and 
my dick popped free, standing straight out and pointing at her face 
like some turret gun tracking its target.

She grabbed my penis and for the first time, after knowing her for 
something like four years, I realized how small her hands were. My 
dick is about an inch and three-quarters in diameter -- right 
within the standard variation, and no one has ever swooned at the 
sight -- and her fingers barely reached around it. 

She rolled onto her side at the foot of the bed, putting my dick 
almost exactly on the same level as her face --as her mouth, to be 
precise. She ducked her head forward and began moving her tongue 
around my glans, slowly swirling. That's something you may have 
heard of, but let me tell you: I've been with a few women, and the 
awkwardness of the movement usually restricts it to something 
that's really pleasant but not accurately described as "swirling." 

She swirled. Her tongue was agile, experienced, limber and long 
enough to do the job. Not to mention, tireless. She moved it around 
and around my fat dick head, all the time moving her lips closer 
and closer to my glans. Her slim little fingers were gripping the 
base of my cock, her tongue was swirling, her lips were nearing, 
and from time to time she'd glance up at me, and her eyes would 
sparkle.

Her other hand? She was playing with her breasts, caressing them 
briefly and spending a lot of time pinching and twisting her 
nipples a lot more vigorously than I would have. Even laying 
crossways on the bed, she could almost have straightened her lithe 
legs. I reached down and caressed her face. She closed her eyes 
dreamily and pushed her head forward a little more and fastened her 
lips around the head of my dick. She let go of the base of my cock 
and reached up to rest her delicate hand on my hip. She guided me 
toward her a little bit, then back. As I pressed forward, she took 
about half my cock into her mouth. 

Her tongue did wonderful things to the underside of my shaft, and 
her cheeks were drawn inward with the force of her sucking. I 
caressed her face again, and she shivered slightly. I traced my 
finger around the side of her mouth, up her jaw to her ear, then 
back down to where my dick was outlined through her concaved 
cheeks.

Her flush had spread to her fabulous breasts. My hand went farther. 
I caressed the beautiful swells, using just my fingertips to glide 
over the silken, full flesh of the undercurves -- or what would 
have been the undercurves. They were already firm; aroused and 
laying on her back, they stood up like pale hills.

Still, when I touched her like that, she sucked even harder, and her 
tongue did amazing and mysterious things. I brushed my fingertips 
across her hard little belly, then began pushing her jeans down 
over her hips. She wriggled, sinuous and smooth as an eel, and then 
she wore only pale blue -- sodden -- panties, cut high across her 
thighs. I pushed them down, too, and then she was naked before me 
on my bed. In the dim glow that filtered through the blinds, I saw 
that her pussy was topped with a small tuft of fine sparse curls, 
but the border was too uneven for it to have been trimmed.

I knelt astride her head and slid my hands under her butt. I 
couldn't believe how tight her asscheeks were! It was exactly like 
holding two little mounds of hard foam rubber...but considerably 
more pleasant. I began kissing and licking just above her knees. 
When I slid my hands to the back of her knees and pulled her legs 
open, her sucking hesitated. When I pressed my lips to the taut 
flesh on the inside of one shapely thigh, I felt her groaning 
around my turgid dong. The vibrations were excruciating on my 
swollen, over-sensitized cock flesh. My balls were starting to 
tighten ominously.

I licked higher on her thighs, forced by the disparity in our 
heights to slide back until my dick was threatening to pop out of 
her mouth -- which was the idea at the moment: I didn't want to cum 
so quickly.

But Elly had other ideas. She arched back and up, maintaining her 
lip-grip on my glans as long as possible. And she was clamping her 
thighs back together as my tongue approached her barely furred 
cunt.

I slid back a little farther, and my dick popped out of her mouth. 
I licked around the edges of her pubic hair and then pressed my 
tongue down between her tightly clamped thighs to brush as much of 
her labia as I could. Her musk was almost dizzying in fresh 
sweetness.

She gasped and her hands came down to push my head away.

"Stop!" she hissed. "You're starting to lick me...down there."

"I know," I said. "I'm trying to."

This seemed to stun her. "You mean -- you *want* to lick me down 
there?"

"You betcha. Or don't you like it?"

"Well, sure, but -- you really want to?"

I knelt upright and looked down -- past my throbbing cock -- at 
her. "Been craving it."

"But then I can't suck you! I'm too short to -- "

"I know, but if you keep doing those lovely things, I'm going to 
cum in your mouth ." 

"Ooooo...I hope so!"

Her hands were back on my hips, anchoring her so she could pull 
herself up and get my dick back in her mouth from underneath. "I 
want you to cum in my mouth," she breathed hotly onto my glans, her 
tongue flickering onto the underside of my shaft for unnecessary 
emphasis. She used her hands to urge me to lay back. She rolled to 
her hands and knees on the bed. "I want you to lay back and let me 
suck you and -- "

Who was I to refuse a lady? Especially since as she talked about it 
and as her tongue touched my cock, her hips began to move as if she 
were being soundly fucked. She was, I realized with a dull thud, 
one of those women who gets off on sucking cock. Heh.

I sprawled crossways on the bed, with my legs hanging off at the 
knees. She scrambled over me, brushing me with her luscious tits in 
the process, and arranged herself perpendicular to me. Her face was 
at my groin.

She took my cock into her hot mouth again, and this time she moaned 
as she sucked it slowly into her face. My dick hit the back of her 
throat and she groaned, backed off, then shifted her angle a bit. 
She took it slowly back in and kept gulping until she had her lips 
into the coppery hair around the base of my cock and her nose was 
pressed flat against my abdomen.

This time I was the one who groaned. She sucked powerfully on me. 
She began to back my dick out of her throat. When only the head 
remained between her lips, she slowly pushed her face down again. I 
reached down with one hand and caressed her hair and her shoulders, 
then slid my hand over her torso and squeezed her cute little butt. 
I brought my hand under and around to cup one big tit. 

She quickened her pace slowly, inexorably. As she came down, my 
hand was pressed between her breast and my abdomen, her swollen 
nipple grinding hot and pebble-hard into my palm. I rubbed a little 
bit, and she groaned. Her groan vibrated my dick, eliciting an 
answering groan from me -- which seemed to excite her still more. 
Her hips were hunching slowly, almost grinding at the empty air. 
She was sucking harder and bobbing a little faster.

I felt the tingling buzz through me and whispered, "I'm cumming 
now, Elly."

She moaned loudly, and her hips pumped rapidly, demandingly. She 
sucked hard and her hand came up between my shaking thighs. Her 
fingertips grazed my balls, and I could hear and feel her gasp as 
my ass lurched, and she got my cream in her mouth.

I came like a newly released convict. The stuff erupted out of me 
and when the first spurt splashed into the back of her throat, she 
started shaking all over. She sucked harder, almost frantically, 
and a second geyser flooded her mouth. She swallowed and dived her 
head down and back up halfway, working her throat and lips and 
tongue over my pulsing shaft, milking my dick and balls. I had the 
presence of mind -- barely -- to pinch her nipple sharply and her 
hips jerked sharply, rapidly, as she drank my cum and had an 
orgasm.

When she got the last of my cum, she slowly relinquished my 
limpening dick by pulling her still-sucking mouth backward, her 
tongue all the time working wildly on my shaft and finally on my 
glans. When my shriveled dick finally popped out of her mouth, she 
used her tiny fingers to raise it. She lapped at my cock like a 
kitten getting the last of the milk from a saucer. When her tongue 
rasped over my glans, I almost screamed from the sensation; my dick 
was much too sensitive at that point.

She flopped on her side with her cheek on my abdomen and her face 
toward me. Her hips still moved, but now languorously. I rested my 
hand on the side of her face and caressed her.

"C'mere."

She frowned. "Why?"

I pulled her up to me and forced her to sprawl across me. Her 
breasts were crushed -- but not nearly flattened -- against my 
chest. I moved to kiss her, but she jerked her head away.

"I've still got some of your stuff in my mouth!"

I took her head in my hands and forced her face toward me. I kissed 
her as sweetly and gently as I could, on the eyes and nose and 
finally on the lips. She kept her mouth tightly closed for a 
moment.

I pulled back. "I want to kiss you, Elly."

She looked bewildered, but relented. Our tongues danced for a few 
moments. She was telling the truth; she still had some of my semen 
in her mouth. It didn't bother me in the least, but she seemed to 
get uncomfortable and I was beginning to have a suspicion of why.

I let her back away from the kiss. She looked at me strangely for a 
moment, then: "Can I ask you a really personal question?"

I grinned like a damn fool. "Gee, I'm not sure we know each other 
that well, Elly. A personal question? Gosh, I dunno. I mean, it's 
not like we've ever shared any intimate moments."

"Is that your sarcastic way of saying I can ask?"

"Exactly."

"Are you bisexual?"

I stared at her. She had honestly stunned me with that one. I just 
shook my head, numbly. Finally, I managed to ask: "Why?"

"Well, you just came in my mouth and wanted to kiss me and it's 
like you don't mind the taste of, uh -- "

"Semen. The word is `semen.' Or `cum.' `Jism' works. So does 
`splooge'."

"Well?"

"It's not my favorite taste, but I don't mind it -- at least, not 
my own. I don't think I'd be so tolerant of another guy's semen." I 
ran my hands down her back and pulled her closer. "But, Elly, you 
don't seem to mind the taste; why should I?"

"That's different." She said it as if it was something that was 
self-evident. "I'm a girl."

"A woman."

"Whatever."

"There's a difference."

"I had big tits when I was 13, and I'd already started to have 
my period."

"And you were still a girl, then. Did you always like the taste of 
semen?"

"Well, sure, it's okay. I guess."

"Do you like it?" I put the emphasis on "like."

"Not particularly," she said, "but I really don't mind it."

"But you had an orgasm when I came in your mouth."

Her eyes got suddenly heavy-lidded. "Oh, yeah, well, I really like 
feeling that in my mouth, all that stuff spurting so hot and thick, 
and feeling you moving and hearing you groan and knowing that I'm 
doing that to you, making you feel like that while you give me the 
cum right out of you, like you're feeding me and -- " 

She shivered, and I could feel her nipples hardening against my 
chest. Her legs had parted; her thighs were opened to either side 
of my left thigh and she was slowly rubbing her mons up and down 
against my leg. Thinking and talking about sucking me off was 
turning her on. I had the brains to realize it wasn't me, in 
particular, but the mere idea.

===========================================================
Please don't ask me to Email missed
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============================================================
===============================================================
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of 
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without 
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag. For 
information about The Abbey, a spam-free place for writers and
readers of adult material to gather, email Friar_Dave@mhbbs.com.
or leave a note to the Sysop at MHBBS (212 683-1448),
================================================================

                           =====================
                                   ELLY 
                               by Friar Dave 
                                  Part 1
                                   -30-


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