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From: "Martina Lee" <susanasue@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Frog (Part 1 of 17/17 from Oh Susana) FMM
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This is the final chapter of my book of short stories, collectively 
entitled "Oh, Susana". I am posting all 17 chapters, including reposts 
of the four chapters submitted previously. Some of them, including this 
one, are in two parts because my email window won't accept the whole 
document. Please feel free to comment on the stories. 

WARNING: This is adult entertainment only, dealing with sex and sexual 
subjects in explicit language and detail. If you are under age for that 
kind of thing, leave now. This story, and others in the Oh, Susana 
series, may be reposted on ASSM, and redirected to ASS, but may not be 
put to commercial use by anyone but myself. I am willing to discuss them 
on ASSD or you can email me at <susanasue@hotmail.com>

Oh, Susana!
The erotic adventures of a South Seas sexpot
by Martina Lee


The Frog 1

Frank really is a repulsive little slug, thought Susana, studying their 
host as he lurched away from the bar in the corner of his living room, 
carrying drinks for her and Neil. "Gross" was another word that sprang 
to mind. He was short, balding and pallid, with pop eyes, yellowed teeth 
and a bulging beer-gut. He was also very drunk, and more than a little 
cross.
He'd left the club about ten minutes ahead of them, and when they 
arrived at his apartment with Bob and Erica he'd answered the door 
wearing only his socks, underpants and shirt, unbuttoned all the way 
down the front. A moth-eaten carpet of black hair covered his chest and 
ran in a thin line down the centre of his belly. Tendrils of the same 
peeped from behind the sagging waistband and slack leg-openings of his 
Y-fronts and wandered down the insides of his thighs. He reeked of gin 
and cigar smoke, and Susana was absolutely fascinated.
He reached over her as she sat on the floor between Neil's legs, placed 
the drinks on the low table beside the chair, and leered challengingly 
down the gaping front of her kimono. Then he scuttled back to the bar, 
collected his own drink, and sprawled wearily on the sofa.
Susana handed Neil his drink, picked up her own and held it up towards 
Frank. "Cheers," she said, and took a moderate sip. Frank gulped down 
half a glass of gin, mopped his mouth with the back of his hand, and 
regarded her blearily from beneath half-lowered eyelids. He's not a 
slug, thought Susana, he's a frog — a big, fat, drunken bullfrog. She 
wondered if there was a handsome prince inside him struggling to get 
out, decided there wasn't, and leaned back into the V between Neil's 
legs. Frank waggled his tongue at her. She tugged at Neil's trouser leg, 
got no response, and tugged again. Neil leaned forward and cocked his 
head over her shoulder. "What?"
Susana muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "Look," she said. "Just 
look what he's doing." Neil looked up from under his eyebrows. Frank, 
entirely unabashed, smirked and waggled his tongue at Susana again. 
"That's it," whispered Neil. "Finish your drink and let's get out of 
here." She shook her head. "Not yet," she said, and Neil sat back and 
picked up his glass. Frank grinned and scratched his belly. Susana stood 
up. "Where's the loo?"
Frank left off scratching and raised his hand, pointed, and eyed her 
speculatively as she swept past him and disappeared into the darkened 
main bedroom. There was a brief gleam of light when she found the 
en-suite switch, cut off as she closed the door.
Frank swallowed the rest of his drink, scratched his chest and glared 
balefully at Neil. After a few seconds he heaved himself to his feet, 
padded over to the bar and reached for the gin bottle, then turned and 
growled belligerently: "Who invited YOU?" Neil nodded towards the 
bedroom door. "She did," he said. Frank snorted. "Silly bitch." He 
splashed gin in his glass, moved behind the bar and bent to the fridge, 
hooked out a bottle of tonic and topped off his drink. Then he stared 
fishily at Neil and demanded: "Why?" Neil shrugged. "You invited her. 
She assumed the invitation included me. We go together. Like book-ends. 
She's my wife."
Frank gaped. "Well, bugger me," he said. "Why didn't somebody tell me?" 
Neil shrugged again. "Prob'ly did," he said. "Prob'ly you weren't 
listening. You don't, you know." Frank reddened. "Fuck YOU," he said. 
"Fuck you. And your fuckin' wife. Cock-teasin' bitch." He hiccuped, 
picked up his glass and strode angrily back to the sofa, sat down 
muttering further imprecations under his breath. He hiccuped again, 
leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes, then opened them 
again at the sound of Susana's voice, calling from the bedroom.
"Look what I found," she said, and her hand appeared around the 
door-frame, waving a 25cm vibrator. Frank's eyes popped and his mouth 
fell open again as she stepped out into the living room, her black silk 
culottes draped over her right arm and her kimono hanging open in front 
from the neck to the hem at mid-thigh. "This party needs waking up," she 
said. She tossed the vibrator on the sofa beside Frank, hung her 
trousers over the back of the nearest chair, and walked over to the open 
hi-fi cabinet. She riffled quickly through the CDs, made a selection and 
slipped it into the player, nodded her head to the driving beat as the 
music swelled from the speakers, then held out her hand towards Frank 
and clicked her fingers. "Come on, frog," she said. "Dance with me."
____
Although it was Friday Neil had brought home a pile of work, and when 
Bob and Erica dropped in and offered to take him and Susana to dinner at 
the club he begged off. But he was content that Susana should go with 
them — it would keep her off his back while he worked, he said — and he 
promised to be along later. Susana left the three of them chatting over 
sundowners while she showered and thought about what to wear. Erica, the 
tart, was underdressed as usual, in a little blue-and-white polka-dotted 
playdress with a deep-scooped neckline, buttons all the way down the 
front, and a skirt that barely covered her bum.
Susana chose her black silk pants-suit — long, wide-bottomed culottes 
and a kimono top which wrapped around and was secured at the waist with 
a bright green sash. She tried it on without a bra, decided she liked 
the feel of the slick fabric against her nipples, and dug around in the 
bottom of the wardrobe for her patent heels. Then she checked her 
make-up, gave her throat and forearms a quick spray of Coco Chanel, 
dropped the vaporiser into her purse and stepped out into the living 
room. Bob stood up as she entered, and whistled admiration. Susana 
smiled smugly, settled on the couch beside Erica, and demanded a drink. 
Then another. It was a full twenty minutes before, to Neil's obvious 
relief, they were finally on their way.
Dinner at the club, on Friday night, was a family buffet affair in the 
main hall, with kids running up and down, babies crying and drinks 
waiters neglecting their duties while they gawped at the footy on the 
big-screen TV. They ate quickly, then adjourned to the more congenial 
atmosphere and better service of the Aircon. Lounge, where they were 
lucky enough to find two stools at the bar. Thirty minutes and three 
drinks later Erica and Susana were both well away, giggling and ogling, 
making the most of the Aircon's traditional male-to-female ratio of 
about ten-to-one. It was all good, clean fun — grubby jokes and sexual 
innuendo included — and over the course of the next two hours they 
chewed up and spat out upwards of a dozen admirers while Bob stood by 
and chatted diplomatically with his mates.
As the succession of suitors came and went, there was one who persisted 
— a pudgy little cigar-smoking lecher who Susana didn't remember seeing 
before. Erica knew him, though. She introduced them ("Frank, say hello 
to Susana. Susana, this is Frank. He's a filthy little beast.") and 
Susana gathered he was one of Bob's more important clients. Frank 
shrugged off Erica's unflattering description, bought a round of drinks, 
and tried openly to peer down Susana's front. Over the next ten minutes 
he told two of the dirtiest jokes Susana had ever heard, and had three 
drinks to their one. When Bob excused himself and trundled off to the 
toilet, Frank leaned over Erica's shoulder and blew cigar smoke into her 
cleavage. Erica picked up her purse. "I need to powder my nose," she 
said, and looked enquiringly at Susana. "Me too," said Susana.
As they slipped off their stools, Frank stuck his hand up what little 
there was of Erica's skirt. She slapped his hand away, smiled 
dangerously and hissed: "Do that again and I'll bite your cock off." He 
simply grinned, waited until they were halfway across the room and then 
called after them: "Promises, promises. Always bloody promises." He 
turned back to the bar and ordered another gin.
Erica was boiling by the time they entered the toilet, and Susana 
developed a nagging suspicion that there was more between her and Frank 
than met the eye. The idea of Erica balling that pop-eyed little perv, 
although grotesque, was intriguing. But she didn't ask, and Erica simply 
stewed in uncharacteristic silence.
When they got back to the bar Frank was still there, deep in animated 
discussion with Bob. He made way for them with an exaggerated show of 
courtesy as they reclaimed their stools, then went on moaning about the 
parlous state of the economy. Susana was just beginning to marvel at his 
transformation from out-and-out sleaze to simply boring businessman, and 
wondering which of the two she liked least, when he quite deliberately 
dropped his cigar on the floor between her and Erica, apparently for the 
sole purpose of taking a long look up Erica's legs as he bent to 
retrieve it.
A couple of minutes later, reaching for his drink on the bar-top, he 
contrived to grope Susana's breast as she chatted over her shoulder to 
another passing acquaintance. "Watch it, worm," she muttered. He leered, 
belched and bent his mouth close to her ear. "I'm watching YOU," he 
whispered hoarsely. "You're HOT."
Susana searched for a suitable rejoinder, found none, and waved at Neil 
as he pushed through the swing door. Neil waved back and threaded his 
way through the standing knots of drinkers towards their group. "Well," 
he said to the world in general, "I made it." He studied the disposition 
of drinks in hands and along the counter-top, decided a round was 
unnecessary, and motioned to the barman for a single "handle" of beer. 
"Cheers," he said to Bob, and drained half of the ice-cold contents of 
the glass, then directed his attention at Frank. "G-day," he said. "I'm 
Neil."
Frank blinked owlishly, ignored the proferred hand, and leaned close to 
Susana. "Fuckin' wanker," he muttered, and seemed pleased when Susana 
giggled. She signalled Neil with her eyes — "No problem" — and Neil 
raised his glass to her and turned back to start a conversation with 
Bob.
Susana looked up at the bar clock and noted it was half an hour to 
closing time. She tapped Erica's bare knee: "Want to party after?" Frank 
seized on her question. "Fuckin' good idea," he said. "Come back to my 
place." It was not what Susana had in mind, and she was a little 
surprised by Erica's response. "Why not?" said Erica, and tugged at 
Bob's sleeve. "Party after at Frank's," she said. Bob looked at Neil, 
who shrugged, then at Susana. "Fine by me," she said. "Okay," said Bob. 
"Party at Frank's."
Neil bought another round, then was called away to discuss the perennial 
subject of government corruption with a group of Tax Office types. Bob 
bought another round, and Susana another, lining them up along the bar. 
Frank lurched off to the toilet, came back with a triangle of 
shirt-front caught in the top of his fly. He downed another double gin, 
put a proprietary arm around Susana's shoulders, and launched into the 
telling of another amazingly filthy joke.
The shutters came down on the bar, and the room began to empty. Frank 
squeezed Susana's thigh. "I'll drive you," he said. She lifted his hand 
off her leg. "It's all right," she said. "I've got transport." Frank 
looked at Erica, then at Bob, and nodded drunkenly. "Oh, yes, of 
course," he said. "She's got TRANS-port. Of course she's got 
TRANS-port." He gulped down the last of his drink. "All right," he said. 
"I'll see you there." He turned to Bob. "Got to clean up for the 
guests," he said. "Goin' on ahead. See you there." He winked at Erica, 
put down his glass and staggered in the direction of the door.
Neil finished solving the nation's ills and came back to the bar. They 
polished off the remaining drinks, gathered loose change and purses, and 
the four of them walked down together to the parking area. Neil had 
found a space right in front of the main door. "We'll follow you," 
Susana told Bob as she slipped behind the wheel. Neil slid in beside her 
and she fingered his crotch, then started the car. "Let's go and get 
legless," she said.
They drove in silence, tailing the lights of Bob's car through the 
business district and out along the harbor road, finally passing through 
the security gates of a U-shaped high-rise apartment building. Bob led 
them into the lobby, where one of two uniformed guards asked their 
business and muttered into the house phone for a few moments before 
ushering them into the lift and riding with them to the fourth floor, 
furtively eyeing Erica's legs in the mirror at the back of the car. When 
the lift door opened he pointed to a carved portal at the far end of the 
passage, watched until Bob had rapped out a summons on the ornate brass 
knocker, then ducked back into the lift and rode back to the lobby.
Bob knocked again, there was the snick-click sound of a key in the 
dead-lock and the door opened to reveal Frank in his saggy Y-fronts and 
unbuttoned shirt. He seemed a bit taken aback at finding Neil in the 
company, shot a speculative look at Erica and reached the wrong 
conclusion, and invited them in. They slipped out of their shoes just 
inside the door and walked through into the living room.
Susana ran an appraising eye over the layout and furnishings — three 
deep-padded armchairs and a sofa arranged in a broad horseshoe around a 
low table, TV and VCR in the corner by the balcony doors, panelled bar, 
built-in bookcase and hi-fi cabinet, carved sideboard, local artefacts 
and a couple of paintings by one of the more respected indigenous 
artists. There were twin kitchen and dining alcoves, two doors leading 
to what Susana assumed were bedrooms, and a third which she took to be a 
bathroom.
She flopped on the sofa. Erica danced over to the hi-fi, tuned in the 
all-night request program on local FM radio, then joined Frank at the 
bar and supervised the getting of drinks —beer-in-a-bottle for Neil, 
whisky and water for Bob, whisky and Coke for her and Susana. Frank 
drained his gin and tonic, poured himself a refill while Erica 
distributed the other drinks. Bob settled in one of the armchairs and 
Neil sauntered over to the bookcase, beer in hand, to check on their 
host's taste in literature.
"I want to dance," said Erica. She took the bottle from Neil, placed it 
and her own glass on the sideboard, and pulled him into the open space 
in front of the TV. Frank walked away from the bar and over to the sofa, 
plumped down beside Susana and watched as Neil pranced around the gently 
gyrating Erica in passable, if inappropriate, imitation of a Hoopoe rain 
dancer. "Wanker," said Frank. Susana regarded him with mild amusement 
and sipped her drink. He stroked the outside of her thigh, a minor 
liberty which she decided to let him get away with.
Erica grappled Neil into a slow dance, nuzzling his neck and pressing 
her belly against his crotch. Bob looked at Susana, stood up and walked 
over to the bar to pour himself another scotch. Susana remembered the 
one about the bloke with the headaches and the overtight underpants, and 
told it to Frank. He spluttered with mirth, slapped her on the knee and 
slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh. She picked his hand off her 
leg and laid it on his stomach. "Naughty, naughty," she said, and he 
leered happily.
The radio swung back to super-fast disco mode and Erica disentangled 
herself and picked up the beat. Neil kept up the pace for a minute or 
so, then pleaded weary and begged to be let off. He picked up his beer 
and settled thankfully into his chair.
Erica danced on alone. Susana, fending off a renewed invasion of the 
creeping fingers, stood up and joined her. They danced for each other, 
clapping their hands, dipping and weaving, bumping bottoms and shaking 
their shoulders. When the number ended, Frank applauded 
enthusiastically. Susana curtsied. Erica bowed, then turned around, set 
her feet apart and bowed again, flashing her white Cottontails panties 
and waggling her bottom. Frank was delighted. "More," he yelled. "More, 
more. Show us your tits."
Erica sprang up on to the top of the low table in front of him and began 
a lap-dance routine, sliding her hands down her body and between her 
legs as she rolled her hips, her knees bent apart and her pelvis 
projected towards him. Frank clapped again and drummed on the floor with 
his feet. "That's right, girlie," he shouted. "Show us more. Show us 
your tits." Erica pursed her lips at him, caressed the creamy insides of 
her spread thighs, then tiptoed her fingers back up her body and undid 
the top button of her tiny frock.
Frank hammered on the sofa with his fists, made no attempt to hide the 
developing tumescence in his underpants. "Tits," he cried. "Show us your 
tits." Erica reached for the second button, then caught Bob's warning 
look. "That's enough," she said, pulling herself together and stepping 
down off the table. "Maybe it's time we went home." Frank came down off 
Cloud Nine with a bump. "Don't go yet," he said. "Have another drink." 
Bob stepped away from the bar. "No thanks," he said. "We have to leave. 
I've got a squash match at six o'clock." He took Erica's arm and started 
to propel her towards the door.
Frank stood up, looked hopefully at Susana. "YOU don't have to go, do 
you?" he asked. "Stay and have another drink." Susana stepped up close 
and prodded the bulge in his Y-fronts. "Okay," she said. "One more 
drink." Bob, standing just inside the door with Erica, coughed politely. 
"Well," he said, "we'll see you later." Frank recalled his manners, went 
to the door to say his goodnights and see them out, watched until they 
were safely in the lift, then shut and locked the door and turned 
eagerly back to Susana.
Obviously, he'd forgotten all about his fourth guest. So he was visibly 
put out at discovering Neil still sitting in his armchair. And he was 
positively peeved at the sight of Susana, sitting on the floor between 
Neil's legs, her back against the front of the chair and a look of 
wide-eyed innocence on her face. She held up her empty glass. "Fill me 
up, Frank," she said. Frank choked down an expletive, snatched the glass 
from her hand and stomped over to the bar.
____
"Come on, frog," said Susana. "Dance with me." Frank struggled to his 
feet, his anger forgotten, and joined Susana in the open space, pumping 
awkwardly with his arms and stumbling over his own feet as he tried to 
match her gyrations. His bulging eyes ogled her bare brown thighs, tried 
in vain to penetrate the mysteries lurking beneath the filmy black lace 
of her panties, and feasted on flashing glimpses of her breasts as her 
top slipped tantalisingly aside from one or the other. He extended a 
hand towards her and she danced out of reach. "Let me touch your tits," 
he gasped, and lunged towards her again. She evaded him easily, and 
giggled. "Have some patience, frog," she said, and inflamed him further 
by holding her kimono open with both hands and jiggling her breasts at 
him.
He was no dancer, but she kept him at it for three tracks, until they 
were both bathed in sweat and he could hardly lift his feet. Then she 
took his hand and led him back to the sofa. "Brave frog," she said as he 
sat down. She picked up his glass, held it to his lips and made soothing 
noises as he drank. When he'd emptied the glass she set it down by the 
end of the sofa and straightened up.
"Now," she said, "Susana's got a reward for her brave little frog." She 
slid the kimono off her shoulders and draped it over the back of the 
sofa, fended off his hands as he reached for her, then straddled his 
belly and offered her right breast to his mouth. He suckled greedily and 
she closed her eyes, willing her nipples erect. "That's right, baby," 
she cooed. "Good baby. Good boy. Mama's here."
She shifted position, transferred his attentions to her other breast. 
"Yes, baby," she crooned. "Baby loves titty, doesn't he? Suck, baby. 
Good boy. Don't fret now, don't fret. Everything's fine, mama's here." 
She placed her right hand behind his head and bounced him gently against 
her breast, singing: "Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top . . . "  Frank 
whimpered, snuggled close and snuffled at her nipple. Susana reached 
behind her with her left hand and groped his groin.
"Oooh," she said, dancing her fingers over the hardening lump in his 
underpants. "What's this, then? NAUGHTY boy! Rude FROG. NAUGHTY frog." 
Frank giggled stupidly around the nipple in his mouth. Susana delved 
into the opening in his Y-fronts, fished out his semi-erect cock, and 
milked it between her index and middle fingers. "Does the naughty little 
fellow want to fuck his mama, then? NASTY boy. DIRTY boy. Wants to poke 
his pee-pee into mama's pussy? DisGUSting frog. Needs a good SMACK!"
She pushed his head away from her breast and slapped him on the cheek. 
Then, before he had time to react, she let go of his cock, grabbed his 
head with both hands and covered his startled face with quick, 
slobbering kisses. "Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry baby," she said. "Mama 
didn't mean it. Mama didn't mean to hurt her baby. Don't cry, don't cry. 
Here, baby, here." She cupped her left hand under her right breast and 
pressed his face into her softness. Frank, torn between lust and anger, 
fuddled with gin and exhausted from his recent dance marathon, turned 
his head and petulantly refused the proferred nipple.
"Oh, sorry," said Susana. "Baby's cross. Mama's really sorry, baby. 
Don't be cross with mama." She swung herself off his belly and sat 
beside him, then poked a finger into his ribs. "Tickle, tickle," she 
said. Frank refused to look at her. She put a hand under his chin and 
tried to turn his face towards her. He resisted. She walked her fingers 
down his chest and tickled his paunch. He twitched, testily, and the 
soft fat slug of his penis wobbled.
Susana slipped off the sofa and, kneeling, insinuated herself between 
his legs. "Frankie-wankie's still cross," she crooned, "but mama will 
make him feel better. Oh, look, Frankie's got a weenie for his mama. 
Mama LOVES weenies. Mama's going to EAT Frankie's weenie." She leaned 
forward and slurped his limp prick into her mouth for a few moments, 
then sat back to observe the results. The pale pink sausage oozing from 
the flap in Frank's Y-fronts rolled slowly on to its back and writhed in 
rapture. Susana clucked encouragement. "That's better, baby," she said.
She lowered her lips to within a couple of millimetres of his cock and 
blew gently along its underside, then sat back again, her tongue poking 
provocatively from her open mouth. Frank sighed. His dick writhed again, 
and the foreskin peeled back as its head wriggled free and began 
climbing blindly towards the waistband of his underpants. Susana lifted 
it in her hand, bent forward again and lapped its tip. She looked up at 
Frank and licked her lips. "Yum," she said. "Yummy, yummy, cock for 
mummy." She put it in her mouth, took it out again, and Frank groaned in 
frustration.
"Aww," said Susana, "does Frankie LOVE mama's mouth?" Lick, lick. "Wants 
to be sucked?" Lick. "Wants his mama to munch his cock? DIRTY beast. 
DisGUSting little boy." She regarded him in silence for perhaps ten 
seconds, then shrugged her shoulders. "Say 'please', baby. Say 'pretty 
please'. Say 'pretty please, mama, suck my pee-pee'." Frank groaned 
again, whispered: "Pretty please, mama, suck my pee-pee." "What?" said 
Susana. She smiled encouragingly, and tickled the tip of his cock with 
her tongue. "What was that? Mama couldn't hear you, baby." Frank 
practically shouted: "Pretty-please-mama-suck-my-pee-pee! NOW GET ON 
WITH IT!" Susana tsked. "Well all RIGHT," she said. "There's no need to 
get CROSS."


(MORE IN FOLLOWING DOCUMENT, THE FROG 2)





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