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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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A Tale of Four Blowjobs - 3
by Kimmie Holland (address withheld)

*** 

A sissy goes to sleep with a cock in her mouth--and 
wakes up with a cock in her mouth. (M/m-teen, ora, tv, 
sissy)

***

3. Morning Wood Sucker

Next morning, fittingly, it's his cock that wakes me, 
insistently pressing against the crack of my ass; it's 
sometime well before dawn, the room dark and soft as 
blue chenille, and though his penis is up and strutting 
about, cock-a-doodle-doo, H is still sound asleep with 
his arm around my waist. Nevertheless he's 
unconsciously thrusting his pelvis against me, his 
erection instinctively seeking entrance into my warm, 
soft body. It's endearing, I think, this blind drive to 
hump me. I'd like to encourage it at every opportunity. 
Yes, that's it, the idea I want to get across: I am a 
thing-for-fucking.

I reach behind me and take hold of H's cock and guide 
it between the cheeks of my ass, which is already 
sticky with the precum of his earlier somnolent efforts 
to penetrate me. The head of his cock feels so smooth, 
so sleek, so hot...and so very big against my tight 
little hole. Alas, I can't wait for the day when H can 
simply roll over and sleepily fuck me at will, bend me 
over anywhere and everywhere, whenever the mood strikes 
him, to deposit an urgent load of cum in my ass.

And why stop there? Mouth, ass, even if they hollow me 
out a cunt...it hardly seems as if the body's potential 
to give pleasure has been even close to fully utilized. 
For instance, I can imagine "designer orifices" being 
opened all over my body, warm wet pockets at various 
fetishized places where a man might want to fuck me. 
With a cunt cored out of my sole, for instance, a man 
could screw me in the foot as I wiggled my toes to 
intensify his orgasm; with other strategically placed 
cunts, I could be fucked in the chest, between my tits, 
under my arm, between the shoulder-blades, or even in 
the back of my head, where perhaps a man might shoot 
his cum directly into my brain—imagine that, a 
braingasm! 

The liquidity of my sexuality, pouring as it does from 
one gender into another, respecting no boundaries, 
causes me to question the very notion of erogenous 
fixities—i.e. whether such libidinal localities do or 
even should exist—and to consider my desire for the 
impossible as something perfectly natural... a logical 
extension of my irrationality, something not unlike 
what was once mankind's desire to travel to the moon. 
As it is, I am already something of a sexual proteus, 
an ever-changing, unnatural object of male fantasy. Why 
shouldn't I then have at the very least seven or eight 
different cunts for a man to fuck me in?

For now, in lieu of orifices not yet ready, or still 
imaginary, I'm just going to have to make due with the 
one hole I have at my disposal, trying to make up in 
versatility and availability what it lacks in novelty 
and variety. An asshole, after all, hasn't the mobility 
and responsiveness—the loquaciousness, let's say—of a 
mouth, nor can a cunt boast a muscle inside as 
possessive of wily intelligence and as subject to 
voluntary control as the tongue. 

There will always be something uniquely transgressive 
about fucking a mouth. No other bodily orifice whether 
used for sex or not has the power to communicate with 
the subtlety and complexity of language. One can't help 
but feel this is significant, even without thinking the 
matter all the way through to its logical and 
metaphorical conclusions.

And then, of course, there is the whole matter of 
fucking me in the face—the most distinctly unique and 
individual part of my body—the thing that makes me 
"me." An ass is faceless—it can be any one of a 
thousand, ten thousand asses. A cunt is every bit as 
masked and anonymous. To stick a cock into either of 
those places, ass or cunt, is to defile nothing, it's a 
zero-sum game, a sexual draw. Ass, cock, cunt—it's a 
horizontal progression, equal backwards and forwards, 
an erotic palindrome. No hierarchy is disturbed, no 
idol pulled down, here we have neither revolution, nor 
vandalism. But to fuck a face is to turn the ladder 
upside down.

A cock plunging in and out of a face is to deface—a 
graffiti of semen sprayed across the Mona Lisa. A pair 
of hairy black balls bouncing against a chin is the 
Dali-esque metaphoric equivalent of the bristling and 
swollen bellies of two large spiders assaulting the 
angelically golden visage of a sunflower. It inspires 
in us a perverse frisson of irresistible repugnance and 
shuddering fascination. I suggest, as Bataille might, 
that this is nothing less than a vision of God.

I manage to extricate myself from H's embrace just 
enough to turn around without quite waking him. He 
murmurs, stirs, grabs at me blindly. I slip under the 
sheets where his cock is jutting up from beneath his 
warm and furry belly. Did I say a vision of God? 
Perhaps it is the Goat of Mendes. But is there really a 
difference? I slowly lick the shaft, watching how the 
light touch of my tongue-tip makes his cock leap and 
lunge. 

I wonder if he's having a sex dream; if so, I wonder if 
sucking his cock will make it glow more intensely. If H 
isn't having a sex dream, maybe sucking him off will 
inspire one. I'm his suckubus, his cum angel, his cock-
a-doodle-do, and my entire raison d'etre is to 
facilitate his early-morning R.E.M. orgasm.

At some point before he deposits his load into my 
mouth, H is more awake than asleep and, accordingly, 
his thrusts grow longer and stronger, until, at last, 
he grows still and stiff to prolong the penultimate 
moment. Then it's sliding over my tongue, slippery as 
egg yolk, my breakfast, a surprisingly copious amount 
of semen. I swallow, like Rocky Balboa in training. I 
come up from the tangle of sheets and H motions me into 
his arms. 

"Good morning," I whisper, licking my cum-slicked lips. 
"Sorry if I woke you. But you were so hard."

"Oh baby. I'm not complaining. What a way to wake up."

"It's still early," I purr, pleased as punch that I've 
started the day off right doing something right. And I 
haven't even gotten out of bed yet! There's hope for me 
yet. "Go back to sleep. I'll start the coffee."

Continued...

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 62