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Subject: {FriarDave}JDR"Inger 2"( mF MF mmF anal )[2/5]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
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=====================
(INGER.STY)
(Copyright by the author, 1995)
=====================
INGER
By Friar Dave
Friar_Dave@mhbbs.com
PART TWO
"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom -- "
"Not at all."
"Wha -- "
She was unzipping my pants and pushing them and my Jockeys down.
"There does seem to be quite a bit to it for a young man your age."
I moaned when she took my dick in her hand.
"Maybe I can help."
She started stroking me. Her face was all red and she was panting.
"It's so nice and hard and -- are you going to cum soon?"
I grunted.
"Well, we can't make a mess in here..." Still stroking, she reached
for the Kleenex. "Come on and let it go."
"Oh, shit..." I gasped and started shooting. Even though I'd whacked
off twice, my knees started to bend, I came so hard -- and a lot.
Inger's Kleenex got soaked pretty fast, and then there was stuff
running over her hand and wrist. I came some more before I stopped and
she squeezed the last few drops out, then used another Kleenex to
clean off my cock. She looked up at me and smiled.
"That was nice," she said. She put her hand to her mouth and licked up
some of my jizz, then gave a little shiver. "And it tastes nice, too.
Straighten out your clothes and flush this." She waited for me to pull
my pants back up, then handed me the tissue. I kind of stumbled to the
bathroom, wondering if I'd just had a dream. I flushed the tank and
tossed some cold water on my face before returning to the living room.
Inger waved me to her side, then patted the cushion next to her.
"No secrets, okay?"
I nodded.
"No -- you have to say it."
"Okay -- no secrets."
"Have you ever done that with anyone before?"
I blushed. "Well, a couple of times my friends and I kind of, well, we
have a contest to see who can shoot the farthest or the most."
"But that's it?"
"Yeah."
"But you get horny a lot, and beat off a lot?"
"Well, I guess so."
She took a deep breath. "Well, I can understand that. I get horny,
too. A lot. And I masturbate a lot. Sometimes it seems almost anything
can get me hot. So I try to be careful. You know about AIDS and that,
right?"
"And how." Did I ever! Between Dad and school, I felt like a walking
brochure from the Centers for Disease Control. Or GMHC.
She thought for a few seconds. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll take
care of you if you'll take care of me."
"Take care of you -- ?"
"I'll teach you how. But two rules: No one else can ever find out, and
we tell each other everything -- including about anyone else we play
with. How does that sound?"
It took me a minute to realize what she was offering. But once I did,
I told her how it sounded.
"That sounds completely excellent."
"Good. Now, have you ever seen a naked woman in the flesh?"
I shook my head. She smiled, stood and led me to my room.
Roger Speaks:
I got home at 10 o'clock, on the dot. To my surprise, Inger was alone
in the living room, reading her poly sci text. Bill wasn't in sight.
"He's sacked out," she said quietly. "Said he was really tired."
"I hope he's not coming down with anything. Usually I have to drive
him to bed."
She shrugged. "He ate enough. Maybe he's just worn out. How was your
date?"
My smile told her plenty. She grinned at me, her face blossoming. She
stood and stretched languidly. "Well, I'm a bit tired myself. I think
I'll head home. Are you going to see her again?"
"Almost certainly. I think we're really hitting it off."
"Good on you." She took her coat and I helped her into it. Something
about the way she moved and talked seemed more relaxed than I'd ever
seen her before. "Good night."
I handed her an envelope. "Thanks, Inger. I really appreciate it."
"Hey, any time I can, I'm glad to do it. He's a good kid."
"The best." I beamed. She beamed right back.
The next morning, Bill seemed pretty cheerful and filled with energy.
"I'm glad to see you feeling okay."
He gave me an odd look.
"Inger said you were pretty beat last night and turned in early."
His expression relaxed, and he grinned. "I was definitely beat. I was
going to stay up and grill you about your date, but -- " He shrugged.
"How did it go?"
"It really went well, Bill. I like her, and I think she likes me. We're
going to see each other again."
"That's swell, Dad." Oddly, that seemed to be the end of it for him.
I'd spent my time in the shower rehearsing how I'd deal with detailed
questions and felt a bit let down that he wasn't more curious. On the
other hand, Bill was bright and advanced for his years. He might well
have concluded for himself that there were some things we would not be
discussing in detail. I was proud of my little guy; he was growing up!
That afternoon, at just after four, Bernice called me. (We'd agreed
that it would be best for her to call me at work, since it might be
putting too much pressure on Bill to have him answer the phone and
find his "babe-and-a-half" English teacher asking to talk to his
father.) How did my schedule look? I told her that it depended on
whether Inger was available, and I'd have to get back to her. She was
agreeable. I called home. After the ninth ring, Bill answered the
phone, a bit out of breath.
"Oh, uh, Inger bet me I couldn't do 20 pushups."
"Really. Who won the bet?"
"Me."
"Oh, good." I was surprised. Bill had never had much athletic
inclination. "Let me talk to her for a moment, please?"
"Sure."
"Hi, Mr. Millman."
She was out of breath, too.
"Well, that's what he won. I had to do as many as he did."
"What's with this pushups business?"
"Well, I figure that exercise is important, helps the circulation and
alertness. Since this Algebra has an association with sleepville, I
figured the stimulation might help."
It sounded logical, in an odd way. What the hell; I asked about her
availability on Friday or Saturday night.
"Oh, no problem! Which will it be? Or both?"
I had to laugh. "You're more optimistic than I am. Friday would be
best." I paused. "It might be a little later."
"Are we talking changing the date on the clock?"
"With any luck. I have a very good feeling about the way it's going."
"I'm really glad to hear that."
"Don't say anything yet. I'll tell him myself."
"Bye!"
Then I called Bernice. She was very pleased that it was Friday. I
explained that Bill and I tended to reserve Saturdays as our day
together. We had a whole little routine that ended with going out late
Saturday night to bring in the Sunday Times and News and some snack
food for watching late night movies together. She thought that was
wonderful. Then she told me she was glad it was Friday, because it was
a day closer, and she really wanted to see me.
When I hung up the phone, I felt like a champ. I felt so good that
when the MIS department timidly explained that they'd just lost half
the files on my number-two account's broadcast schedule, I told them
not to worry about it, to just salvage what they could and get me two
people to re-key the entire flight from paper. By quitting time,
everyone in the agency was looking at me oddly. I guess word got
around about my strange behavior. After all, the last time MIS had
done something like that it had taken three large men to pry my hands
from the throat of the manager. I checked my watch: 25 hours and 10
minutes till Bernice.
I don't think I actually clicked my heels together, but I might have.
Bill Speaks:
Dad wondered about me being breathless; the pushups thing was pretty
quick thinking, if I say so myself. Of course, I was encouraged by
having a naked Inger beneath me, coaxing me on.
After last night, I didn't think anything was going to turn me on as
much, let alone more. I mean, first, Inger had me sit on the bed,
facing her, both of us stark naked. And then we watched each other
masturbate. Her tits aren't as perfect as the ones in Playboy or
Penthouse, but they're awfully pretty -- and real. And her pubic hair
isn't as neat as the models', either -- but it's real. And I've
*never* seen a girl masturbate. I've read stories and letters, but
then they're always putting things inside them. But Inger just rubbed
her fingers around on her clitoris, and stroked her labia. She had an
orgasm real fast and real loud. I was so amazed I just stopped wanking
and watched her. But then she had me sit next to her and showed me how
to touch her clitoris while she started jerking me. I didn't expect
that part of her to be so hot or so wet! She didn't want me to put my
finger inside her, either -- just rub. "Caress it," she kind of
whispered. "Pet it, gently, like a scared kitten."
She said I did it pretty good, and I believe her, because she was
moaning and grunting and jerking around so much she stopped wanking me
for a while.
And then she stopped.
"Now, I'm going to teach you how to lick and kiss a girl down there.
If you learn to do it right, you'll be the most popular boy in your
school." And she smiled at me. "But even if it takes a while to learn,
I'm going to finish you off for the night with your first blowjob."
"You mean you're going to suck my -- my penis?"
She shook her head. "I'm going to suck your cock. Until you cum in my
mouth. And I'm going to swallow every drop."
My mouth hung open.
"That," she said, smiling, "is a good start. Taste." She brought my
hand from her cunt to my mouth. It smelled kind of funky, but kind of
sexy. That was her juice, a woman's cunt juice. I'd heard guys talking
about rotting fish, but this wasn't at all like that. Different, but
not at all funky. I licked my fingers, and her smile broadened.
"Oh, goody," she said. "An eager student."
Inger was true to her word. She taught me to go slow and light, where
to put my tongue and where to tease. By the time she was finished,
she'd cum about a hundred times, and my face was soaked. And my dick
was like a piece of wood.
"I think," she breathed, panting as she reversed our positions -- her
on her belly between my legs and me on my back -- "that you really did
enjoy licking me."
"I could really get into it," I said, and then I moaned, because when
she shifted, her tits brushed my thighs -- and then she was holding my
boner in one hand and I could feel her breath on it.
"This is a pretty impressive piece of wood for a kid your age. How big
is it?"
"Only about six inches," I said.
"And it's pretty thick, too, maybe an inch and a half," she said. She
leaned forward and licked it, just behind the knob. "What do you mean,
`only' six inches? You wish it was more?"
"Well, sure. Ian's is almost eight inches."
She grinned up at me, and held her hand up, with her thumb and index
finger apart. "Two inches. That's the difference. You think that's
better or something?"
"Well, sure, I've heard stories and read stuff -- "
"Let me tell you a secret, Bill. Six inches hard beats eight inches
soft -- and usually beats eight inches hard."
"But I hear that women love -- "
"Some do; most don't. I've had big ones, eight and nine and even more
inches. I like this best. It's perfect. You're not going to go too
deep and hurt me with it." And then she leaned her head up and over
and put my whole cock in her mouth. I could feel the back of her
throat on the end and feel her lips around the bottom. I tensed all
over; I was that close to cumming. She quickly backed off.
"I can't do that with a bigger cock. I gag. And there's other stuff
most women won't even consider with a dick that's too big. Like taking
it in the ass. Most guys are too rough, so a big cock back there hurts
like hell, and most women won't even consider it with a big dong."
"You do that -- you know, in back?"
"Sometimes I like to do it. But not with a swinging dick. Yours,
though, is just perfect for allllll kinds of things." She leaned her
head forward and licked the length of my prick. I gasped.
"But, first of all, let me demonstrate that I keep my word, and I
think your nice, hard cock and smooth balls are just perfect for a
demonstration of the advantages of not being hung like King Kong."
And then she took my cock all the way in her mouth again. I guess I
lasted maybe 30 seconds before I started to cum. She pushed her
fingers up against me between my legs, about halfway between my ass
and my nuts, and I thought I was going to explode. I mean, the stuff
just poured out of me.
So -- yeah, Dad. I was beat when you came in. Fucked out is more like
it.
After all that, I didn't think anything could turn me on more or feel
better, but Inger again taught me I was wrong. Hence, the naked
"pushups."
It's funny, I guess, but the first time I felt her cunt around me, I
knew that jacking off was just a pale imitation -- and came almost
immediately. But I stayed hard. Maybe it was because I had one of her
nipples in my mouth, maybe it was the way she gave a little moan, but
I stayed stiff and kept pumping her. And when she started moaning and
humping back at me, it just turned me on more and more, and then I came
again -- but I still stayed hard. I was working away, and she was
cumming when the phone started to ring.
Of course, the interruption was minor, so as soon as she hung up, I
was all over her again. This time she was on her knees, so she leaned
over, and I was banging away from behind. She started to cum, and I
felt it, her inside muscles moving on my woody. Then she put her hand
down there and played with herself, and she *really* started to cum,
and pretty soon I came too.
This time I got soft -- for a little while, anyhow -- and Inger just
cuddled me to her, my head on her pretty tits. And that's when she
explained the new reward system to me.
Roger Redux:
When I told him I might be very late Friday -- as in "Saturday
morning" -- Bill gave me a really funny grin. "I'll be pulling for
you, Dad." Which struck me as odd, but then, he *was* a 12=year-old
boy.
When Friday evening finally -- and I do mean FINALLY -- rolled around,
I felt like a 12 year old myself. I mean, I was going on a date with a
woman who turned me on so much that all I had to do was think of her,
and it was instant-erection time. And me at 41. It wasn't like she'd
be the first woman I made it with. Since Dana, under the stands at the
track meet in my junior year of high school, there'd been about two
dozen, not counting the occasional paid companion. But she was the
first one in 10 years who made my blood race. I really liked Bernice,
AND she turned me on, AND she liked me.
The way it was supposed to be was, I would call on her at her place,
and we would go out to eat dinner. We had a couple of places on our
short list, all but one of them French -- a taste we shared -- and
then we'd see how the evening progressed. So to speak.
The way it worked was that Bernice surprised me by saying she wanted
to cook dinner for me, and she hoped I didn't mind but she'd already
brought in and prepared the sole fillet for broiling and had the baby
carrots and broccoli ready for steaming, and the rice was going into
the cooker in three minutes, and would I mind tossing the salad after
I opened the wine?
I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror opposite her
apartment's entrance door and decided that I wasn't quite as dumb
as I looked.
I tossed the salad after uncorking the wine -- explaining that I
couldn't touch it, as I'd been sober for 14 years and wasn't going to
interrupt a winning streak, but she should feel free -- and then, as
the fillet broiled and the baby carrots and broccoli steamed and the
rice cooked, Bernice excused herself for a moment to change into
something more comfortable. Which turned out to be an incitement to
riot.
She returned to the living room in a white leotard interrupted only by
an ankle-length skirt of some loose fitting material that draped
perfectly. And quite clearly braless,
"That's `something more comfortable'?"
"You don't like it?"
"Bernice, wearing that at dinner is going to spoil my appetite."
She looked briefly puzzled.
"I mean, all I'm going to be thinking about is saving room for desert.
You."
Her smile was glorious.
I forget if the dinner was any good. I remember highlights. Bernice
sucking a baby carrot slowly into her mouth. Bernice running the
circle of her thumb and forefinger up and down the big pepper mill.
Bernice looking down at the unavoidable sight of her swollen nipples --
aereolas and all -- clearly visible and distending the semi-transparent
leotard and saying, "I'm not cold, so what -- ?"
I do recall quite distinctly Bernice mumbling -- her mouth was full --
that she hadn't expected me to be that big. And also that I cautioned
her that if she kept doing *that* with her tongue, I was going to be
done pretty fast. (She didn't stop doing *that* with her tongue.) And
her warning me that she was "different, a little small" down there.
"Small" wasn't quite the word; try "tiny." She was also extremely
tasty. And vocal.
By 10:30, it was pretty clear that I wasn't going anywhere for the
night, so I called home.
When I got back to what West Village realtors call the "bedroom" --
meaning there was room for a bed, a dresser and maybe a mirror --
Bernice was sitting with the sheet pulled to just cover her breasts.
"C'mon back here, big fella." She smiled. "I want to feel you next to
me."
"Your wish, et cetera." I quickly slid in next to her, sitting with my
back against the headboard. I slipped an arm behind her and pulled her
back against my chest. She let her head loll on my shoulder, so I
nibbled her ear a bit and brushed my lips across her cheek, inhaling
the scent of her. She pulled my hands under the sheet and put them
under her breasts, cupping those wonderful mounds. I let my fingertips
graze the underswells, and she sighed. I felt her hand slide down over
my stomach and thigh, and then come back up to grasp my limp dick.
"I really didn't expect you to be that big, Roger."
"It's not all *that* big. Barely eight inches."
"But it is awfully thick."
"I pride myself on being gentle."
"And patient, I hope."
"That, too."
"Because I wasn't kidding. I'm really, really small there, and -- " She
paused.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
"I like...different things, Roger. Some people might disapprove."
"Then they don't have to be involved." I let my fingers roam down over
her sides. I caressed her hips. "Do you want to tell me? Or would you
rather show me?"
She purred as I brought my hands down to gentle her lovely thighs. She
drew a deep breath. "I -- I -- "
"Take your time." I brought my hands up to hold her breasts, my thumbs
finding and rubbing her nipples. She had wonderful nipples.
"When I first started having sex, because I'm so small down there I
developed a taste for oral sex -- "
"I noticed."
" -- and for backdoor sex. It's usually much more pleasurable for me --
especially with a big man -- than the front. I hope I'm not horrifying
you."
The idea of doing Bernice's lovely butt was provoking a nonverbal
response from me. She felt it.
"Oh, good!" Her hand was wrapped around my resurrecting flagpole.
"Such a nice, big, fat one will feel sooooo good stretching me back
there -- if you're gentle at the start."
"I love to make it last as long as possible, that first insertion."
Her nipples -- nozzles and areolas -- had become wildly distended.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Bernice?" I bent my head
forward and nibbled the side of her neck.
"Not now -- I just want you to do it!"
I rolled us prone onto the mattress, our lips locked together. We were
all tangled up in each other's arms and legs, trying to press every
available bit of flesh. I slipped lower on her, planning to mouth her
breasts as my fingers moved toward her delectable little honey pot,
but Bernice would have none of it.
"I can't wait, Roger! The lube is in the night table! Hurry!"
While I fumbled into the drawer to find the tube of gel, Bernice
rolled onto her stomach with a pillow under hips. I turned around and
was greeted with the wondrous sight of Bernice's superbly rounded ass
pushed into the air with her hand beneath her. Her lush tits were
squished out to the sides, and she was moaning, "Hurry! Please hurry!"
[more]
=================================================================
All comments and criticisms are
very welcome via Email or in public posts, but posts should
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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 call MHBBS at 212-683-1448 and leave a note for the Sysop or
me.
================================================================
=====================
INGER
By Friar Dave
PART TWO
-30-
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