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From: "Proculus" <proculus@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Treat For Marshall  (M/F, Cons)
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FICTION FROM Proculus: A Treat for Marshall (M/F:Cons)
________________________________________________________________________
Another erotic story from the Proculus!
Copyright (C) 1998 by Proculus.   All Rights Reserved.   Free distribution
via
electronic medium (i.e.  the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as
long as the text is not modified and this copyright is included,  but no
other form of publication is allowed. This document may contain material
of an ADULT nature. *READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*.  Anything offensive is your
own problem.  This story is for **entertainment** purposes only and does
not necessarily represent the viewpoints of the author or the electronic
source where this was obtained.   All characters are fictional and any
resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
_______________________________________________________________________

"Do you like it?" she asked anxiously. Marshall looked up. His first impulse
was to flee, with the hounds of guilt baying at his heels. There before him
stood the embodiment of all his secret desires, his most private and
primitive fantasies  the young voluptuous female, bursting and bulging
through the pathetically inadequate garments of the young schoolgirl. She
was perfect; from the crumpled white knee-socks and black flat-heeled shoes
with round toes and ankle straps, to the blonde hair, neatly parted down the
middle and tied each side with white ribbons. Her navy-blue skirt, which
hung unevenly and barely reached halfway down her thighs, was held up, not
by the yawning zip-fastener, but by the spectacular swell of her hips. Only
two of the buttons on her prim, white blouse could be fastened at all; the
vast between gaped wide open before the spinnaker thrust of her breasts.
Deep between them, like a striped mast, lay her precious school tie.

A pulse beat sharply at Marshall's right temple, another in his groin. He
tried to speak, but only a croak escaped his dry throat. He looked up at her
and a worried frown appeared on his face. She seemed tense and anxious; the
pale full lips trembled. "My dear child..." he murmured, extending a
sympathetic arm. She collapsed on top of him, tears streaming down her
cheeks, and wrapped her convulsing body around his torso. Somewhat
bewildered, Marshall patted and clucked reassuringly. As the intensity of
the outburst subsided he managed to locate and extract his elusive
handkerchief and separate her head from his chest for long enough to dab
away most of the tears. Eyes brimming, she favoured him with a joyful smile,
kissed him tenderly on the cheek and nuzzled in against his neck. With all
the turmoil, the top button of her blouse had come undone. The sight of her
naked breast, which in his position he could not very well avoid looking at,
noticeably discomposed Marshall. In his world sex and sympathy were not
compatible.

He made a clumsy attempt to pull the blouse together, but she thwarted his
efforts by grasping one of his hands and placing it firmly on his hands and
placing it firmly on the exposed breast. The contradictory sensations of
pliant firmness and cool warmth experienced by his hand were intensely
pleasurable, but the rigid set of his shoulders, head held stiffly erect,
eyes fixed heroically on some imaginary horizon, seemed to deny that this
was so. Still, he found the regular gentle pressure of breast against hand,
caused by her deep and even breathing, reassuring, and presently a tingling
hypnotic calm stole over him such as he had experienced hitherto only
occasionally, when having his hair cut by his regular barber. Through all
that followed he never quite lost the feeling of drowsy euphoria, in which
all his thoughts and actions could drift, dreamily and disconnected from
time and place.

In that tranquil state both her hands settled on his; taught his fingers
gently to knead the breast and roll the nipple between forefinger and thumb;
and when it was erect she pulled his head down and plugged the nipple
between his lips. "Bite. .uh.. .uh. . .not so hard.. .chew it, yes, like
that." The quiet, peremptory tone urged him on. Now her busy hands conveyed
his calm unresisting ones down to her yielding lap. What little there was of
the skirt slid back to the waist, the full white thighs flowed apart, and
Marshall found his fingers contending with the elastic of her copious white
school knickers. "Not yet. On the outside first." He pressed tentatively
against the material at her crotch. Underneath it was spongy but resilient.
As he pressed and stroked, the fabric became damp and redolent with her
secretions. Marshall caught a hint of the musky scent and, disengaging his
mouth from her nipple, leaned forward and sniffed. She chuckled deeply,
ruffled his hair and whispered "Lick me," confidentially in his ear.
Marshall was beset with academic doubts.

To what part of the anatomy did the personal pronoun refer? Or did she mean
all over? The doubt was promptly resolved when she hooked a couple of
fingers through the crotch of her white school knickers and, pulling them
athletically aside, patted the exposed mons Veneris encouragingly. Before
you could 'Pavlov's dog', Marshall had whisked off his glasses. He
approached the prospect from above, and like a man eating oysters for the
first time, tentatively applied his tongue to the hair-fringed gap at the
top of her crease. Her fingers wriggled and the outer lips rolled back to
unfurl before him a broad pink furrow curving down the slope. She was
sopping wet. The freshly turned layers of inner flesh glistened wetly; there
was a faint squelching of ooze; trails of juice seeped down her thighs. No
sooner had his tongue probed a little further than it touched a small oval
ridge standing in its path. It was as though he had accidentally set off the
alarm for every emergency service in the city, she became a howling,
wailing, caterwauling siren of sexual frenzy. The white school knickers were
flung aside; she seized his head and thrust her gaping sodden cunt
repeatedly against his mouth.

Together they twisted and turned frantically. Somehow he was on the floor,
kneeling between her thighs, lapping thirstily at her flood of female
liqueurs. Now she was squatting over him, smearing her dribbling cunt lips
over every inch of his face. And Marshall loved it; the humid, cheesy aroma;
the warm, slippery succulence; the taste and touch and tang of it; but above
all the sheer marvel of being utterly inundated with cunt.

She collapsed on to his face and they tumbled over. Once more her hips rose
and the legs wrapped around his neck; but whereas in the public arena he had
felt stunned, humiliated, now his tutored tongue worked at her clitoris with
a precise dedication that drove her on from paroxysm to moaning flailing
paroxysm. A sudden, sharp intake of breath preceded a moment of complete
stillness. Her back arched acrobatically and the rigid legs locked
Marshall's head in a vice-like grip. As her hands clawed at the carpet, a
long, strangled, gurgling screech strained out between clenched teeth. The
abdominal muscles trembled and twitched spasmodically before the entire
frame was seized by a series of violent shuddering convulsions that finally
left her a limp, exhausted heap gasping for breath.

When Marshall finally ventured to look about him and observe the devastation
he had caused he was not a little awed by the power it seemed was in him to
unleash. A simple smile of child-like wonder spread over his face. Then he
began to feel his age. He creaked awkwardly up on to the sofa and while
massaging loose the rigid tendons at the back of his neck, carefully
practised bending and unbending his rackety knees.
Preoccupied with the state of his joints, he did not notice that the young
schoolgirl had begun an unhurried exploration of his flies. What he did
become aware of, gradually was the alternation of peppermint freshness and
clammy warmth on the head of his penis as the soft, glutinous suction of her
mouth moved slowly up and down. Electric fingers fondled his surging sack,
moist lips nibbled along the length of his shaft, her industrious tongue
sought out his most sensitive places and the relentless suction built up,
with agonising slowness, its massive potential. As her mouth and fingers
worked his engorged member, every nerve and capillary in his taut frame came
searingly aglow until his entire being pulsated, incandescent with
sensations. Presently, his erratic breathing failed altogether. In the
deathly hush his heart struck sharply against the drum-tight rib cage. Then,
with a seismic rumble that shook the floorboards, Marshall erupted. It was
as if through all the barren years his withered root had lain dormant,
secretly gathering unto itself the generative power of the lost seasons
until at last - its cells finally charged beyond endurance, like a vast
throbbing dynamo of seminal energy - in one profligate coruscating
ejaculation, it unleashed all its fecund store. Joyfully the young
schoolgirl drew back to welcome the hot buds as they cascaded forth and
burst into flowers on her upturned radiant face. With reverent hands she
anointed her womb and spread his balm generously over belly and breasts.
Marshall put on his spectacles and looked down at her in wonder. She settled
back, eyes shut, serene face turned upwards. Idly her fingers stroked her
school tie.
With the swiftness of a final curtain, embarrassment descended on Marshall.
Why didn't she close her legs instead of lying there, gaping? A thought
struck him. He glanced down, coughed, and briskly tucked himself in. His
tweeds felt prickly and uncomfortable; he longed for a good hot bath. What
was the matter with her? Why was she still lying there like that, white
blouse open, navy blue skirt upturned around her waist, white knee-socks
clinging to her calf's and her face splattered with his spunk, rubbing her
school tie in all that sticky mess?

Marshall stood up. "My friend," she said quietly, "I have something to tell
you." Oh dear, thought Marshall; is she going to tell me she's under-age? He
sat down, fidgeting uneasily. "I'm still a virgin!" He suppressed a small
urge to rip open his tweed trousers. Instead at the door he turned for a
final look. She lay there like a discarded doll, one arm stiffly holding her
white school knickers aloft. "Present." she said and he snatched them into
his pocket. Striding down the corridor he felt positively roguish.
     _______________________________________________________________________

proculus@hotmail.com

*** Comment, ideas, or criticisms accepted with enthusiasm! ***
Proculus
(The Storymaster)








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