Message-ID: <13200eli$9807201657@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/13200.txt>
From: "Paris Waterman" <the_panda@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Girl From the Village  Part 1
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Content-Type: text/plain
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19980720173943.9720.qmail@hotmail.com>



Warning, you may have to read a few pages before the socially redeeming 
segment runs down. May I ask you to do everyone a favor and please wash 
your hands after reading.

 

The Girl From the Village

Part 1
By Paris Waterman


Copyright 1998


It’s no accident that propels people like Bruno and Ginger to perform as 
they did. Shakespeare said: "All the world’s a stage." He didn’t say it 
was a revolving stage, but it is.

Likewise, of itself New York initiates no dramas. They are begun 
elsewhere. One might say New York is like a whore. From a distance she 
seems ravishing, you can’t wait to hold her in your arms, and five 
minutes later you feel empty, disgusted with yourself. You feel tricked. 
In a whore’s parlance, you are the trick. And that’s New York for you. 

Bruno was about twenty, maybe a bit older. He was a good-looking man, 
easily mistaken for a male model. His face was clean-shaven, and dark, 
styled hair covered his ears. You’ve seen faces like his before on a 
million cigarette billboards. Men who like to smoke and don’t give a 
damn who disagrees.

Bruno considered it a typical Friday evening, nothing special, just a 
couple drinks at Ira’s Manhattan Lounge after work to kill time and 
avoid going home to an empty apartment. It was now twenty after seven 
and most of the clientele had vanished into the bowels of the city 
chasing after the rush hour crowd. Bruno threw down a decent tip for the 
bartender and strode quickly towards the door to catch up with a couple 
regulars whose names he never knew. They had been playing dollar bill 
poker and they had some of Bruno’s money in their pockets.

"Where’r you guys headed?" Bruno asked, as they stepped out into the 
moist, tropical mugginess Manhattan acquires in the dog days of August.

"Down the Village," the taller one with the bony, emaciated face 
replied, not looking at Bruno, just staring vacantly down a deserted 
Chambers Street. This piqued Bruno as it was in the opposite direction 
of their destination. Bruno decided he was staring at a dead pigeon 
lying on the curb, half-emersed in a mound of day old horse shit.

"Yeah," the shorter guy added, blinking his left eye furiously, as if a 
spec of soot was dancing a rumba in it. "Grab us some food, have a 
coupla drinks, who knows? Wanna join us?

"Yeah, sounds good," Bruno replied, suddenly blinking his eye.

"Shit! I gotta cinder in my eye"

"Yew all right?" the tall one asked.

"Yeah, be fine in a second."

Bruno wiped his eye with his handkerchief and brought about a minor 
miracle. The cinder floated away on a tear. Somewhat startled by this 
good fortune, Bruno looked up through teary eyes and spotted a taxi 
headed towards them. He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled a 
piercing blast that caught the driver’s attention and the cab pulled up 
to the curb beside them.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"O’Henry’s down the Village" commanded the shorter one, still blinking, 
but not wiping his eye.

Bruno spoke to the short guy. "You getta cinder in yer eye too?

The taller one replied. "No he’s gotta tick, ya know . . .a nervous 
tick. Picked it up over in ‘Nam.’"

He laughed at a private joke, then decided to share it with Bruno.

"Hah," He continued to laugh without smiling. "That ain’t the only thing 
he picked up over ‘dere, hah, hah, hah. He was a body bagger, yeah! Ha, 
ha. The Cong killed ‘em an he bagged ‘em. Bruno didn’t think it funny at 
all. He’d lost a few friends in ‘Nam and had several close calls 
himself.

Shorty shot a disdainful look at the tall one and suddenly the blinking 
stopped. Then as if no one had spoken since hailing the cab, the short 
one turned to Bruno and matter of factly stated:

"Got the best hamburgers in town. An you gotta see the cobwebs," he 
giggled.

A giggler, Bruno thought, he sighed thinking, "oh well, I could be home 
pullin’ my pudding."

The cab dropped the trio off at the restaurant entrance. Bruno looked 
around. O’Henry’s was on the corner of a worn down street. But O’Henry’s 
was not worn out, although the surrounding buildings were. They stood 
there in the shimmering heat, a grotesque mockery of modern 
architecture. A cursory glance was all Bruno needed to reveal they were 
decrepit and rotting away to the point of collapsing upon one another. 
The sidewalk was uneven and slippery with slime. Wet garbage littered 
the curbside adjacent to the restaurant. A fetid odor seeped from the 
walls and the smell of a mildewed mattress wafted over to Bruno’s nose 
from the alley across the street. A drunken wino sprawled upon it, 
wearing an army overcoat in the 102-degree heat. Next to the alley was 
an X-rated theatre featuring "Deep Throat."

Deciding it was safe enough to enter, he followed the others inside. 
O’Henry’s was vintage Greenwich Village. Standing at the confluence of a 
hundred crooked streets that seemingly led nowhere, it epitomized the 
Village. It was a huge tavern with big, smoky rafters and it was packed 
with revelers and reeked with the pungency of tobacco and good food. 
Bruno was gawking at the crowd which was three deep at the bar as a 
haughty waitress made her way over to them and brusquely informed them 
that there were no empty tables for the next two hours.

Bruno glanced around the place. He was startled to see huge, thick, 
dusty cobwebs hanging at least four feet from the ceiling, seemingly 
defying gravity. O’Henry’s was seething with activity. Bruno looked to 
his left and saw long lines of men and women sitting and standing at the 
bar, lustily jawing juicy chops, porterhouse steaks, kidneys, mountains 
of oysters, and sweetbreads; quenching them with an assortment of beer, 
martini’s, bourbon and rye. Every table was covered with food, drink and 
in most instances, a chessboard with an active game as well as onlookers 
kibitzing about each move, whether welcomed or not.

Shorty giggled again and jabbed Bruno in the side with his elbow.

"You ever seed anythin’ like dat? He asked, indicating the cobwebs 
overhead. And without waiting for an answer, Shorty took it upon himself 
to enlighten Bruno. "The City inspectors come in here at least onct a 
month. I dunno if they pay ‘em off, or if it’s somehow legal, but it’s 
ben dis way forever, man."

"Hell," Bruno said with a grimace on his face and stamping out a 
half-finished cigarette, "they’re playin’ chess at more‘n half the 
tables. They’ll be at ‘em longer than two fuckin’ hours."

 

"Fuck it, " the taller one said laconically, face down involved in the 
ritual of lighting a cigarette. "Let’s hit another joint."

Shorty was quick to agree. Bruno followed, shoving his way through the 
crowd to the hot, steamy street outside. Four doors down the street was 
Maude’s, another lounge and not as crowded only two deep at the bar and 
there were several table available. They were seated and placed their 
orders. Hamburger, hamburger, cheeseburger. Fries all around and 
Heinekens for Bruno. The others went for Budweiser’s.

The service was quick and good.

"Hey," the taller one said, lifting his glass in an informal salute, 
"ain’t nothin’ like a Bud."

"Mmmmmm," said Shorty.

Bruno licked some foam off his lips, but said nothing. They wolfed down 
their burgers and in tandem began scanning the crowd.

Shorty drew their attention to a young brunette.

"Lookit the ass on dat one in the green dress! Oh, Christ I’d eat that 
out in a minute," This was uttered somewhat wistfully. Bruno had never 
gone down on a pussy and longed for the opportunity.

Bruno noted several above average women over at the bar, but all 
appeared to be spoken for. He steeled himself for another disappointing 
night, shook a cigarette out of a pack of Camels and went through the 
macho ritual of lighting it.

A very good-looking girl sauntered towards them from the deeper recesses 
of the bar. Wearing a tight dress with a scoop top that struggled to 
contain her breasts, which were bra-less, she was about to pass their 
table. Bruno was impressed with her body. And Bruno was stunned when the 
taller one rose up and greeted her by name.

"Ginger! Hey Ginger!" the tall one called out.

It was evident she recognized him and Bruno thought he’d detected a 
slight grimace on her face an indication the tall one was not a welcome 
sight.

"Oh, hello Charlton," she said softly, extending her hand in greeting.

The taller one, (let’s call him Charlton now) stood directly in front of 
Ginger.

Bruno took in her shoulder-length, artfully tousled, dirty blonde hair 
which framed a face with high cheekbones, luminous gray eyes and a 
perfect narrow nose. The only break in the perfection was a slight over 
bite and pouty lower lip, but that only added to her appeal. It was a 
mouth made for uninhibited love.

His eyes wandered over the tight, short dress that accentuated her long, 
shapely legs, her lean waist and her high, full breasts.

Rather than accept her hand, Charlton instead reached towards her 
nipples and halting just short of contact began braying in a falsetto 
voice. "Come in Station TEAT, Do you read me? Come in Station TEAT."

Ginger froze, except for the crimson blush that must have started at her 
toes and now spread across her face.

Shorty was smiling as he took a swig of beer. He’d seen this performance 
before.

Charlton looked at Bruno, nodded in Ginger’s direction and said, " We 
went to high school together."

Standing abruptly and knocking over his beer in the process, Bruno 
flipped his cigarette away and tersely replied, "I don’t care where ya 
know the lady from, yer outta line." Moving in closer to Charlton, he 
warned him, "Knock it off or I’ll make mush out of you’re fuckin nose."

Shaken by the threat, Charlton backed away, lost his balance and sat 
down on the table in the middle of the pool of spilled beer. Shorty 
found this funny enough that Bruno dismissed him as a potential second 
threat.

"Com on Charlton, ole buddy, let’s get the fuck outta here ‘fore he 
cleans ya clock for ya. How many times I gotta tell ya not ta fuck wit 
the ladies? And the bemused Shorty finished his beer and put his arm 
around Charlton’s shoulder at the same time maneuvering him towards the 
exit.

They left without another word and the rest of the bar crowd turned away 
resuming their interrupted conversations.

"I’m sorry I let him get that far," Bruno said, hating himself because 
she’d caught him staring at her breasts. In all fairness to Bruno, they 
were taking in large amounts of air. Ginger seemed to take no offense at 
Bruno’s staring. Truth be known, Ginger was highly excited. She couldn’t 
recall a guy standing up for her, ever. And this guy was a dream.

Making up her mind in an instant, she took Bruno’s right hand and shook 
it.

"Thank you. That was very nice of you."

She held his hand tightly. Looking into his eyes and summoning up her 
most seductive smile, she cooed at him. "Come on with me, I’m wit some 
guy back there, but I’ll tell him yer a high school classmate. He won’t 
mind. Come on join us."

"Okay," said Bruno, enjoying her touch and noticing that her hand was 
moist from perspiration.

They reached the rear of the bar. It was more crowded than the front. 
Couples were leaning on each other, some were kissing, and others were 
casually groping one another.

"So this is where the action is," Bruno thought. Then he was being 
introduced to Ginger’s companion.

"This is Jerome." Waving her hand indifferently at a very disturbed 
burly type. "Jerome, this is . . . err, David. We went to high school 
together."

Bruno readied himself. The beers consumed earlier and his successful 
confrontation with Charlton buoyed his confidence. The hairs at the nape 
of his neck rose up. He squared his shoulders and positioned himself on 
the balls of his feet. He was ready to fight. Deeply inhaling the musky 
aroma drifting up to him from Ginger; his testosterone surged to a new 
high and he wanted Jerome to do something, anything, that he might 
consider sufficient to provoke him into swinging a fist into Jerome’s 
face. Bruno crackled with tension.

"Hi yuh, Jerome, ya gonna hang around much longer?" His eyes challenged 
Jerome; his voice was belligerent in tone, sounding whispery and hoarse.

Ginger felt an electrical current surge to her loins. "Was this guy 
gonna fight Jerome over her? Gawd!"

Nostrils flaring, she moved closer to Bruno, brushing his thigh with her 
hip. Continuing her discreet exploration, she touched his arm and 
feeling the hardness, got so excited that she began to secrete juices 
from within the dark confines of her cunt. Her nipples were distended, 
pressing outward against the thin material of her dress obvious to the 
onlookers of whom there were several.

"Err, David . . . Jerome was just leavin’ wasn’t you Jerome?"

Jerome, his eyes downcast, wanted no part of any confrontation with 
Bruno, rose up from his barstool. He was at least four inches taller 
than Bruno, but size was not the issue. Jerome, reacting to Ginger‘s 
rejection, had no heart for a confrontation. It would have been a waste 
of his time and the way he felt he’d probably get his ass kicked by this 
smaller, but determined hardass.

"Yeah! I’m leavin’," and staring directly at Bruno, said to Ginger, 
"you’re a waste of fuckin’ time." Throwing a three-dollar tip on the 
bar, Jerome spun away from them and stalked out.

Ginger moved closer to Bruno and looked up at his face. "My Gawd," she 
thought, "he’s got the sexiest eyes, ooooh! If only I . . .."

"Don’t think for a minute that I’m gonna buy you drinks all night," 
Bruno said with some hostility, interrupting her reverie.

The bartender approached and inquired if Bruno wanted anything to drink. 
Taking the three dollars, Bruno tossed it to the bartender and said, 
"Yeah! Gimme a Heineken."

The bartender knew the money was his tip, but didn’t want trouble on his 
shift and meekly complied.

"What’s your name?" Ginger asked pressing her thigh against Bruno’s leg. 
To herself, Ginger thought, "What the hell am I doing? I’m really comin’ 
on to this guy. Whew! I’m gettin’ the hot’s for him."

"Bruno," he replied tersely, wondering why he was acting so 
belligerently. He was looking over her shoulder into the corner where a 
couple appeared to be fucking.

"Hey Ginger," he said off-handedly, "check ‘em out over inna corner."

Ginger turned in that direction. "Oh yeah, that’s Annabel an . . . an I 
think his name’s Mike. She likes to fuck in public places."

Bruno had never watched anyone screwing before and stammered, "I never . 
. . "

"He jus takes it out ‘en she straddles him. No sense in wearin’ undies 
if ya gonna get laid. As long as she don’t go ape-shit hardly anybody 
notices." Ginger tossed this off with a casual air.

Bruno was entranced as he followed Annabel’s slow motion gyrating up and 
down, "She’s right," he thought, "if ya didn’t study ‘em, ya’d never 
think anything of it."

"Are you married," she asked, filing his name away. She hadn’t noticed 
any ring, but these days, who could tell.

Startled by the question, which was totally unexpected, he told the 
truth. "No. Why’d ya ask that?"

"Cause ya seem so . . ." she paused, searching for the right word, 
"cocky." She smiled realizing the double meaning that implied. "Err, . . 
. you’re not . . .ya know . . . Well, ya seem comfortable around me . . 
. most single guys . . .err . . .they err . . ." Stuck, Ginger changed 
direction. "That’s good! That yer not married, ya know, cause I don’t go 
out with married guys. There’s no percentage in it.

Bruno didn’t pick up on the underlying message. He was staring intently 
at Ginger’s nipples, still prominent as they strained against her dress.

"Yuh know," Bruno rasped, "ya gotta great body Ginger."

His words washed over Ginger, and filled her pores. She heard them all 
right, but between taking in his good looks, remembering his chivalry, 
and the compliments he was paying her, he’d moved her to a nether world. 
A dreamy place it was as if he were laving her cunt with his tongue.

Coming back to reality, Ginger murmured in a quavering voice, "We don’t 
have to stay here," wondering at the same time why she’d said it.

"Where do you live?" Bruno inquired.

"Brooklyn," Ginger answered before thinking. "Oh, shit!" Ginger thought. 
"Now he’ll dump me. No one wants to travel that far, and what am I gonna 
do, introduce him to my father?"

"Okay," he replied anxious to get her out of the bar and alone. "Let’s 
go, I’ll get us a cab." Risking a last glance over Ginger’s shoulder he 
saw Annabel deftly tucking Mike’s cock back into his pants.

Putting his arm around her, he pulled her close and felt her breast 
pliant against him. Instant erection for Bruno. Ginger noticing the 
bulge in his pants, licked her lips which had dried despite the lipstick 
adhering to them.

Composing herself, she settled her arm around Bruno’s waist, in the 
process marveling at the muscles in his back. Holding her close, Bruno 
led her outside where the straggling passerby’s were wilting in the 
oppressive air. The night air was still, heavy and difficult to breathe. 
It was the kind of hot, humid night that would cost some elderly people 
their lives. But Ginger and Bruno weren’t feeling that kind of heat at 
the moment.

After scanning the street for a cab and finding none Bruno kissed her 
for the first time. Ginger’s hungry mouth opened like a baby sparrow’s 
anticipating a worm. She was clearly the hungrier aggressor. Bruno 
permitted her to lead the way. He still couldn’t believe his luck. 
Bringing her body closer to his, Bruno felt her breasts crushed up 
against his chest. Ginger, caving into a wave of lust, ground her pelvis 
against his, almost desperate in her craving to feel his hard cock 
pressing against her. Her tongue ravaged his mouth. Gasping for air, 
nostrils flared, she broke off the kiss. From the corner of his eye, 
Bruno spotted a cab approaching from the opposite direction and hailed 
it. The driver responded by serving across several lanes of traffic in a 
hasty U-turn and cruised to a stop beside them.

Opening the door, Bruno allowed Ginger to enter first. She bent her head 
and stepped in as Bruno admired the close up view of her ass clinging to 
the dresses’ material. He followed her into the cab.

"Where to, Mac?" the driver asked.

Bruno glanced at Ginger looking for help.

"Brooklyn, err, Flatbush and DeKalb," she told the driver.

"You got it," the driver replied, and pulled away from the curb, happy 
with a long trip and the hefty tip it promised.

Bruno had his arm around Ginger, who snuggled closer. They kissed again. 
Bruno’s hand cupped Ginger’s breast. She moaned into his mouth. He 
flicked a turgid nipple inadvertently with a finger; Ginger broke the 
kiss to groan in pleasure. Bruno thinking he’d hurt her started to 
apologize.

"No, no," Ginger sighed with some intensity. "It’s okay. Go a‘head touch 
‘em. I like . . .I want you to."

Bruno opened the top three buttons of her dress. Ginger leaned against 
him, her breath ragged, her eyes closed. A breast toppled out. Bruno 
took the nipple in his mouth and gently sucked on it, his fingers traced 
the underside of her breast. He licked her breast and momentarily 
blanched at the stale taste of sweat that had accumulated on her 
unwashed body from her dancing the night before.

"Fuck it," Bruno told himself, "it ain’t gonna kill me." He reached in 
and extracted the other breast, kneading them together and marveling at 
their pear-shaped fullness. Her nipples sprang out an inch from silver 
dollar sized aureole, they were irresistible. Bruno took turns licking 
and gently nipping at them with his teeth. Ginger’s hand passed through 
his hair and continued lower where she gently caressed his neck. Bruno 
found himself captivated by her breasts and using both hands, crushed 
them together before allowing his face to fall between them. Nuzzling 
them, he licked upwards through the valley and to her throat. He sucked 
on her throat long enough to leave a hickey.

Ginger lay passive, luxuriating in the attention her breasts were 
receiving.

He returned to her breasts, kissing and licking around one while rolling 
the nipple on the other between his fingers. He gloried in their 
fullness. "Real tits," he told himself. "None of that artificial 
silicone shit." Then he registered yet another fact about Ginger. She 
wasn’t very clean. He had already tasted her sweat and now his nostrils 
absorbed her body odor. She wore no perfume or cologne. Bruno shrugged 
it off. "She’s got a great body and she wants to fuck. Nobody’s 
perfect." He continued exploring her body.

Ginger’s hand glided along opening shirt buttons, bearing his hairy 
chest; moved down across his firm stomach to his belt and withdrew, to 
reconnoiter along his pants leg until she found his groin where she 
paused. Then, like an animal having sniffed the air for potential 
predators and satisfied no danger lurked close at hand; resumed moving 
her fingers again, searching for his cock ¾ located it, gripped it 
firmly and squeezed. She began to knead it, delighting in its great 
size. Ginger started to unzip Bruno’s fly, but realizing they were 
approaching Brooklyn, hesitated and instead contented herself with 
fondling him as she considered where to take him once they reached 
DeKalb.

"Ummmmmm." groaned Bruno in pleasure, as his fingers worked feverously 
to open the remaining buttons of the dress in the darkness of the cab as 
it sped towards Brooklyn.

Now the bright lights of the Williamsburg Bridge flickered into the cab 
as they crossed the river, affording Bruno and the driver, their first 
clear view of Ginger’s lithe body. Bruno glanced toward the front of the 
cab and caught the driver’s eyes on them in the rear-view mirror. "Watch 
the road, Buddy," he grunted, "I’ll handle the backseat, you got the 
front."

Ginger made no attempt to cover herself from the drivers prying eyes.

"Yeah, right," morosely replied the driver, who continued sneaking 
glimpses of the activities on the back seat as the cab wove its way 
through the light traffic and entered Brooklyn.

Bruno’s hand traveled up under her dress. "Lift up." He commanded.

Ginger complied and the thin dress was raised to her waist.

The cab swerved, as the driver and Bruno both saw Ginger wore no 
panties.

Regaining control, the cabby tore his eyes from the rear view mirror, 
swearing to himself under his breath. "Christ," the cabbie thought, 
"he’s gonna fuck ‘er in my cab. Maybe I’ll get some too." And with that 
gratifying thought in mind, concentrated on his driving again.

As Bruno’s fingers traced their way toward Ginger’s curly pubic hair, 
she gently restrained him.

"No, don’t do that, not there. I’ve . . .I’ve got the rag on. To support 
this statement she reached down and found the cord from the tampex 
inserted inside her and placed it in Bruno’s hand. "See?" she murmured 
shyly.

"I don't care," he said, although he was bitterly disappointed in being 
denied access to those sweet rose-petal lips. Then recovering his 
sensibilities, he countered, "I’ll only touch it on the outside, how’s 
that?" And not waiting for her approval, he began drawing his fingers 
tenderly along the outer folds of her silky-sheened labia.

"No, don’t," she whimpered. "You’ll make a mess. I’m not ready for 
that."

"No. No I won’t," Bruno argued, quietly pleading his case.

"I’m just gonna touch ya here, see?" Shifting his attack slightly to her 
thighs and then moving back in to trace across her labia majora once 
again.

Ginger closed her thighs, trapping his hand. She cursed herself. " I’m a 
stupid shit, for going out lookin’ for it with the rag on. She pondered 
his statement. "He’s lying," she thought, "but . . .. Oh, Gawd, lookit 
him." And she gently squeezed his swollen cock again.

Bruno picked that moment to reach out with his free hand and touch her 
face. Ginger uttered a subdued sigh, savoring the gentleness of his 
caress and revealed her increasing desire to him as she relaxed the 
pressure of her thighs on his hand.

Bruno wasted no time and brushed his finger across her clit, which he 
found slippery as mucus.

Ginger could not contain her ecstasy and cried out.

"Oh, yeahhh! Yeah, do that, oh, Gawd . . .. Yeah! Yeah!" And raised her 
head to kiss and suck his lips.

She sucked his tongue tenderly back into her mouth, savoring the taste 
of beer and cigarettes she found there. Her fingernails traced the 
length of his cock. Lustfully she thought, "My Gawd, it goes on an on, 
he’s got a cock like a horse."

Bruno’s response to her kiss was more aggressive than earlier and their 
tongues explored the nooks and crannies of each other’s mouth. Satisfied 
at having aroused her, Bruno slowed his attack on her cunt. He abandoned 
the idea of forcing his finger into her cunt; instead he applied 
pressure to her mound with the palm of his hand and every so often, 
permitted a finger or his thumb to stroke her clit as they continued the 
kiss.

Bruno summed the situation up in his mind. "She needs a fuckin’ bath, 
this broad. She gotta fantastic built, but I gotta draw the line 
somewhere’s. Christ, I licked her ear and got a tongue fulla wax. I 
sucked her tits an licked sour sweat up, musta been dere from the year’a 
the flood. I’m gonna make ‘er lick the sweat off’a my balls later."

He tickled her clit, causing Ginger to moan in passion. She broke the 
soul kiss to ethereally cry out: "Yesssss! Oh, Christ, ohhhh that feels 
so good!"

Bruno was still talking to himself, "An’ her fuckin breath, it reeks of 
bad breath an’ garlic." Then he smiled to himself. "Look who’s talkin,’ 
did I shower this mornin’?" Who smoked two packs of Camels so far? An 
what about all that beer I sucked up earlier. Fuck it, I ain’t no prize 
either. If she can take me, I can take her. ‘Cept I ain’t gonna eat her, 
not wit the rag on. Ugh, no way."

 

"Flatbush and DeKalb, folks," the driver called out, turning and looking 
his shoulder at them.

Ginger quickly wriggled her dress back down and started buttoning up.

"Err, driver," she said; "go down DeKalb another two blocks." Ginger 
stopped buttoning and thought about a place for them. "The Rossi’s," she 
thought, and filled with exhilaration at the thought. "They’re in Italy! 
No one’s home, we can use their porch, it’s late, it’s dark,  yeah it’ll 
work fine."

"Here driver," Ginger instructed, "right here." The cab pulled up to a 
house with a screened front porch.

Bruno thinking with his cock assumed Ginger lived here. He paid off the 
driver, who looked at him pleadingly. Hoping to be invited to join in 
the fucking he knew would begin shortly, the driver raised the courage 
to ask, "Kin I hang wit you guys a while? I got nowhere’s to go. Slow 
night ya know?"

Bruno was amused by the driver’s request and held the door open for a 
moment before pushing against it, closing it with a soft click. "No 
thanks," he grinned, "three’s a crowd." Bruno turned away, taking 
Ginger’s hand and escorted her up the steps to the screened porch door. 
The driver quietly cursed his bad luck and drove away into the night.

The coolness of the breeze whipping in on them from the cab ride was 
forgotten as the oppressive heat rose up from the steamy street and 
enveloped them.

Opening the screen door, Bruno followed Ginger inside. She made no move 
to open the front door, casually tossing her purse into the porch’s 
corner.

 

Perplexed, Bruno said, "I promise to be quiet. I don’t wanna wake your 
folks up."

Ginger smiled and came into his arms and ground her cunt against his 
rigid hardon. He sucked on her lower lip, enjoying its swollen fullness. 
She allowed the kiss to continue working her tongue into his mouth and 
dueling with his tip to tip. Abruptly she broke away, pulled her 
sweat-stained dress over her head, tossed it away and squatted nude in 
front of him.

"Right here, right now." Ginger said with a wanton huskiness.

Bruno stripped and hunkered down on the floor with her. He reached 
between her legs and pulled her tampex out throwing it in the musty 
corner near her purse. His gaze lingered on her cunt, the night shadows 
made a clear look at it impossible, but the streetlight some yards away 
provided enough light to let him discern it was wet and glistening. 
Ginger unhurriedly lowered herself to the floor, spread her legs and 
wrapped them around him. In a naked embrace, they explored each other’s 
body.

Bruno teased her nipples with his thumbs before lowering his mouth to 
them. As he sucked upon them Ginger started humming for she felt the 
heat in her cunt begin to boil. She grabbed his cock and squeezed it 
hard. Nothing gave; it was as though she were squeezing a steel bar. She 
launched into a languid masturbation, enjoying the feel of the precom as 
it oozed out and onto her hand. Marveling at his size, she gripped him 
with both hands and toyed with his cock.

"What the fuck," she thought, "my period’s almost finished." And she 
inserted him into the portal of her cunt. Bruno reacted automatically by 
raising his hips and thrusting inward. Ginger was wet enough to accept 
him fully. They began fucking frantically, clasping one another in a 
death clinch, they rolled over each other on the filthy porch floor, 
like socks in a washing machine. Bruno wanted everything. He withdrew 
his cock from her cunt, and placed his blood-encrusted cock in her 
mouth. Ginger accepted this sucking and licking his cock with abandon. 
Reveling in the taste of herself and his cock.




-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>