Elly
by Frair Dave



This gets pretty explicit, folks. Names have been changed to protect 
those who had a helluva good time and maybe learned something, too.
If explicit language describing the consensual activities of healthy
human adults bothers you in any way, please -- read no farther. And 
note: This is not for kids! 













ELLY ONE
     "David!"
     I opened my eyes wider and scanned the crowded Sunday-morning 
sidewalk. Sunday morning in a neighborhood that's almost all Polish, 
Italian, Irish and Latino means the sidewalks are Mass confusion, if you 
get my drift. And I was not all that fully awake anyhow, having finished 
Saturday night only six hours before.
     "David!" The voice was right in front of me now. I looked down. 
Recognition came slowly. I blinked. "Elly?"
     She smiled prettily and hoisted herself up and gave a little jump 
to plant a light kiss on my beard, catching me by surprise.
     I stared at her. "You look unbelievable," i said, with complete 
sincerity. And her appearance was more than half the reason I hadn't 
recognized her.
     I hadn't seen Elly in about 18 months. She'd just turned 19 a few 
weeks before we'd last bumped into each other. She'd been pretty much as 
she'd been the first time I'd met her, three years before. Elly was very 
short -- four-foot-seven, I learned later -- but not petite by about 
twenty pounds. Elly could have stood to lose that much and maybe a 
couple of pounds more, because a great deal of baby fat still clung to 
an otherwise fine-boned frame. She had a pretty, round face and Big Hair 
and seemed determined to dress as unattractively as possible. The last 
time I'd seen her, she was still just the plump, sweet, smart kid who 
sometimes needed someone with whom to talk.
     Elly had made some serious changes. Make that Changes, with a 
capital "C."
     The change that was unavoidably obvious was her figure. She'd done 
away with most of the weight; the rest had been redistributed. She'd 
always been buxom; now she'd melted the baby fat and what was left was 
just busty. Even dressed to deemphasize it, she had an astonishing bust, 
the more so for her otherwise-slender frame.
     She was dressed to deemphasize it, but nothing could hide it. Elly 
had a figure designed by the feverish imagination of a 14-year-old acne 
farm. She was very slim-hipped. She had no waist at all; the way she 
cinched her fashionably cut loose jeans betrayed that. Her waist 
couldn't have measured more than 18 or 19 inches. 
     But even the oversized flannel shirt (it was spring, but the 
Weather Gods had left some nip in the air to remind us that winter 
wasn't very long gone) and the oversized vest, unbuttoned, couldn't hide 
her the swell of her breasts. Words like "massive," "huge" and 
"coconuts" came to mind. I probably could have worn the shirt she had on 
and I'm a size 42; she still couldn't button the top three buttons over 
those tits.
     But as fabulous as her figure was, as radiant as her newly slimmed 
and well made-up face was, it was her vivacity that commanded attention.  
She was glowing and vibrant and gushing with news. She'd just signed on 
for a co-op in Flushing and then she'd lost her job -- at Shearson 
Lehman -- but it didn't bother her. She was looking for work as an 
administrative assistant and was sure she could find it quickly. I 
agreed. Best of all, she'd done something I'd nagged her about in most 
of our last conversation -- she'd had the doctor do a biopsy of the cyst 
in her uterus -- and it had been removed early enough to insure that she 
was healthy and free from The Bastard That Kills. 
     Damn, she looked good! Her jeans clung to slim hips and legs that 
were just a shade to short for her diminutive height. She'd had her hair 
cut differently, a bit longer and fuller. Her eyes sparkled and her lips 
and nose were perfect for her face. Elly had turned into a little 
beauty.
     But she wasn't happy. She'd been taken with this fella for the past 
couple of months, an Afghan refugee, and she had the distinct feeling 
that he wouldn't be devastated if she left him. That, to her, meant he 
didn't care much. 
     We talked and she told me she had a job interview for Tuesday 
morning and she was tickled at the idea of meeting me for lunch when she 
was done. I sensed a tingly tension with her. She'd gone from a pudgy 
sixteen-year-old to a devastatingly sexy twenty-year-old and I wanted to 
explore it more. 
     She called at noon and I had her come to my office, in the Village. 
I brought my company's job listing with me and took her to a good 
neighborhood restaurant, China Bowl. Their prices were reasonable, the 
ambience was unhurried and a sign in the window proudly proclaimed that 
they never used MSG.
     Our waitress, who went by the name of Alice, was familiar to me. 
Alice and I had played trade smiles and try-to-catch-the-other-one-
looking games for about three months. Alice, who was about Elly's 
height, came over for our order, took one look at Elly's preposterous 
bust not-too-effectively hidden by a very conservatively cut neck-high 
collar and gave me a look that said she was sure she could never compete 
with THOSE.
     Elly and I had a pleasant lunch and she thought my suggestion was 
nice -- that she stop by my place later in the week and see what I'd 
done with it.
     She rang my bell at 8:03 on Friday and I buzzed her in. She was 
wearing jeans again and a simple, plum blouse under a loose cardigan. 
The blouse was tucked into her waistband and when the cardigan came off, 
it looked like she'd stuffed a pair of cantaloupes into her blouse. 
     I gave her a glass of white wine -- her choice -- and the two-bit 
tour. She thought my alleged cat was cute. She admired the photo 
montages of friends and family and the cat. 
     She enjoyed the stereo -- choosing a recording by Kitaro, much to 
my surprise and pleasure -- and ooohed and ahhed at the little study I 
created; it's the place where I write.
     In the living room, she admired the nude torso framed on one wall. 
She asked; I told her: "Yes, that's her. It was taken by one of her 
former lovers." But what got her was the opposite wall: 
     "Did you READ all of these?"
     I am always surprised when someone is impressed by Library Wall in 
the living room. I explained to her that if you read for an hour a day, 
you read a couple of books a week. In thirty years, that's around three 
thousand books. If you save some books -- well, you pretty quickly end 
up with the Library Wall. My living room is only twenty feet long, so a 
wall of books isn't that big a deal.
     But Elly was impressed. We sat, drinking wine and talked. I asked 
after some of her friends. One was dying of AIDS. 
     "I'm glad I got out of that crowd," she said. "When they started 
getting into stuff past a few joints, I got scared. He was doing 
needles, so I guess that's where he got it."
     "There's lots of ways to get it."
     She drained her glass. "Don't I know it! When I went to get tested 
for it -- "
     "You did?"
     She nodded, eyes wide, as I poured more wine for her. Of course she 
did, she said -- as if there were no other reasonable course. She was 
crazy about her Afghan refugee. "You think I want to take a chance on 
killing him? No way!"
     Which was, I told her, exactly the way my Significant Other and I 
felt and why we'd gotten tested.
     The talk moved on to cheerier subjects and later, after more 
chatting and catching up -- and her doing in two-thirds of a bottle of 
wine -- she started examining the titles of the books. She asked if she 
could look at one on a high shelf. I started to get up from the couch.
     "I'll get it. I just wanted to know if it was okay to look at it."
     "Sure, help yourself." She got the little folding step-stool from 
the corner and set it up. It's only a four-step job, so she had to stand 
on the top. I went to steady her -- remember that wine -- and as soon as 
I got there, she turned half-way and started toppling.
     I caught her, with my hands at her trim waist. Her cheeks were 
flushed and the redness was spreading down her neck and throat and into 
the vee of pale flesh exposed by the three unfastened buttons.
     She put her hands on either side of my face, bent and kissed me. 
Her breath was sweetly tinged with the wine and her lips were taut and 
urgent. They opened immediately and her tongue danced with mine, 
teasing, then searching and demanding. Her tongue was rather long, too, 
she seemed to have no difficulty running it over the roof of my mouth 
and I know it reached farther than any other I'd encountered. It was 
somehow making me even more aroused.
     Without breaking the kiss or moving my hands from her waist, I 
lifted her off the step-stool. She wrapped her arms around my neck and I 
had to bend to maintain the kiss as I stood her on the floor.
     I put my arms all the way around her and pressed her up and against 
me. Her breasts, so huge and full, were crushed against me. She was 
arching her back deeply to catch my leg between her thighs and rub her 
denim-clad crotch against my leg. I ran my hands up and down her back, 
then reached down and covered her ass, one hand to a cheek. Her hips 
were so narrow and her butt so tight and hard that I was momentarily 
taken aback; it was almost like squeezing a preteen girl's ass.
     But there was nothing kid-like in the heat or experience in her 
hungry kiss or the way she was writhing against me. And there sure as 
hell was nothing childlike in the massive pressure of her firm, 
bounteous breasts against me. 
     When she finally broke the kiss, she leaned back in my arms, 
otherwise remaining pressed against me and letting me support most of 
her weight. Her eyes were closed and there was a small smile on her 
flushed face.
     "I have wanted to do that for four years," she said. "And I've 
wanted you to do that, too." Her eyes opened. "Did you know that?"
     I shook my head. 
     "And you don't remember the time I told you that one of the things 
I liked best about you was that you'd never tried to come on to me."
     Again, I shook my head.
     "And you don't remember telling me that you liked me and thought I 
was cute, but that I felt bad about myself and that was why I was 
overweight and I felt bad about myself because I was overweight."
     I was starting to remember something, now ....
     "And do you remember telling me that if I was a few years older and 
about 20 percent thinner, then you'd have more of a problem not making a 
pass at me?"
     "Uhhhh --- Well -- "
     Her smile widened. "I'm a few years older and a lot thinner -- 
mostly -- and just like you said, you're making a pass at me. And guess 
what?"
     "What?"
     "Pass received." She brought one hand up and quickly unbuttoned her 
blouse. The bra she wore wasn't meant to be sexy. It was meant to 
contain and support breasts that belonged on an over-endowed woman a 
foot taller and thirty pounds heavier. It wasn't containing them, 
though. Her tits swelled up and around the edges of the cotton, creamy 
swells of billowy pale flesh that was just tinged with a flush of 
arousal. And that made it a sexy damn bra
     I swallowed.
     Her fingers went to the clasp between the two overflowing cups. Her 
fingers moved. The clasp released. The bra slid back partly, unable to 
deal with the pressure of her large breasts. 
     "Did you ever suspect that sometimes when I called you and asked 
about relationships and how they could be, I was sitting in my 
bathrobe?"
     "No, I never -- "
     She was shimmying her shoulders and the bra was opening wider and 
wider.
     "Or that sometimes, when we were talking, I was getting wet and 
starting to touch myself, imagining what it would be like to have you 
making love to me?"
     "Not even once."
     She shimmied and the cups fell back from her breasts. They wee 
magnificent. The bra hadn't been able to contain them and judging by the 
firmness of the twenty-year-old tits jutting up at me, it hadn't been 
absolutely necessary for support, either.
     "I used to imagine you kissing and licking my breasts -- not like 
the grabby guys my own age or the dirty old pigs that were always 
copping feels -- but just sweetly, lovingly, hungrily devouring my 
tits ... Would you like to do that?"
     "Guess what, Elly?"
     She frowned. "What?"
     "Pass received." I lifted her easily and turned, setting her tiny 
butt on the arm of the loveseat, then I bent slightly and began kissing 
and licking her magnificently excessive tits, trying furiously to live 
up to the lurid imaginings of the pudgy sixteen-year-old who'd encased 
this gloriously sexy twenty-year-old.
     I tried to guess what she'd fantasized, planning to live up to it 
-- if biologically possible -- but abandoned that effort in, oh, five-
sixteenths of a second. So I just went with instinct and Me.
     I bent and licked her shoulders, then down her arm. I trilled my 
tongue in the hollow of her elbow and watched the goosebumps rise and 
felt her shiver. Then I went to work on her breasts.
     Twenty years old or not, tits that big are required by Gravity to 
have some sag to them and hers weren't lawbreakers -- but they were 
bending the rules pretty good. I licked the underswells of each 
gorgeously curved mound and then kissed along the outer edge. Then I 
moved my tongue around and around, slowly, on each breast, working 
closer to each nipple and never ... quite... reaching it. My saliva had 
coated the pale flesh of her mountainous boobies and her nipples swelled 
huge in response to being left out of the treatment.
     Her aureoles were no larger than twenty-five-cent pieces, making 
them oddly tiny in proportion to the her tits, but the nozzles 
themselves were outstanding. They swelled up and out, stretching easily 
three-quarters of an inch and as thick as pencil erasers.
     Her hands had come up to either side of my head and she was trying 
to force my mouth onto her nipples. I let her -- but my mouth draped 
over each one, open, and I withheld my tongue, so no matter how much she 
pressed my face into the firm, fragrant abundance, her nipples were 
untouched. 
     She was moaning for me to attend to them, but I had another idea. I 
figured a girl with such huge, gorgeous breasts probably had her nipples 
grabbed by every moron who got his digits near them. I also figured that 
absence makes the frond grow harder. So I stayed completely away from 
touching her nipples.
     It made her crazy. 
     But while my lips and tongue were busy with her abundant upper 
attractions, my hands had been steadily caressing and stroking her 
curvy, slim legs. My right hand was gently moving up and down over the 
denim-clad chub of her mons. I could feel the heat through the fabric of 
her jeans and whatever else she was or wasn't wearing beneath them.
     I unsnapped the waistband of her jeans and lowered the zipper. I 
could almost feel the humid heat rising in waves from the v-opening. I 
began kissing below her breasts, working my way down over her abdomen. 
That's what you call that part of the torso on a woman in her condition: 
"abdomen."  "Belly" is too soft a word. From the definition of the 
muscles crisscrossing her tummy, it was obvious that she'd been burning 
calories with serious exercise. I could easily find the ridges of hard 
muscle beneath the smooth, minimal layer of normal, healthy human fat by 
tracing and exploring with my tongue. 
     That's just what I did: explore with my tongue. I traced and 
delineated every smooth ripple of firm abdominal muscle, always working 
lower, and as my tongue finally found and reached the limits of her 
opened zipper, her hands came down to either side of my head, pushing me 
lower, always lower.
     As deep as the V went, it didn't reach deep enough. I couldn't even 
touch pubic hair with my tongue and had no choice but finally to halt 
and stand.
     "Put your arms around my neck," I whispered -- mostly because my 
voice wasn't working quite right at that moment -- and she complied 
willingly. My plan was to stand with her hanging on me and push the 
jeans down off her narrow hips. Would've worked, too.
     But she also put her legs around me, just above my hips, hooking 
her ankles behind my back.
     "Bed?" she breathed and pulled her mouth close to my ear. Her 
tongue, wet and serpentine, wriggled into my ear. "Bed?" Her breath was 
fire on me.
     "Buh," was all I could say. I cupped her tight little jeans-clad 
ass in my hands, one paw under and covering each cheek, and walked 
through my home office, down the hall and into the bedroom. She was 
kissing my beard and ears all the way.
     I bent at the foot of the bed and braced myself with my hands. She 
released her leglock on my waist and brought her hands down over the 
front of my shirt, undoing buttons as she went. When I straightened, she 
rolled lithely to her knees and pushed my shirt back. Her blouse and bra 
were in complete disarray, her lush breasts exposed and quivering. Her 
nipples -- I can't stop thinking about how her nipples looked with those 
nubbly aureoles and the immensely swollen nozzles turning almost purple.
     Her hands were busy, unsnapping the waist of my slacks and dragging 
down the zipper. She pushed the jeans down and then my briefs and my 
dick popped free, standing straight out and pointing at her face like 
some turret gun tracking its target.
     She grabbed my penis and for the first time, after knowing her for 
something like four years, I realized how small her hands were. True, my 
dick is a bit on the thick side -- about an inch and three-quarters in 
diameter -- but that's within the standard variation. No one has ever 
swooned at the sight. And her fingers barely reached around it. 
     She rolled onto her side at the foot of the bed, putting my dick 
almost exactly on the same level as her face. Her mouth, to be precise. 
She ducked her head forward and began moving her tongue around my glans, 
swirling. That's something you may have heard of, but let me tell you: 
I've been with a few women and the awkwardness of the movement usually 
restricts it to something that's really pleasant, but not accurately 
described as "swirling." 
     She swirled. Her tongue was agile, experienced, limber and long 
enough to do the job. Not to mention, tireless. She moved it around and 
around my fat dick head, all the time moving her lips closer and closer 
to my glans. Her slim little fingers were gripping the base of my cock, 
her tongue was swirling, her lips were nearing, and from time to time 
she'd glance up at me and her eyes would sparkle.
     Her other hand? She was playing with her breasts, caressing them 
briefly and spending a lot of time pinching and twisting her nipples a 
lot more vigorously than I would have. Even laying crossways on the bed, 
she could almost have straightened her lithe legs. I reached down and 
caressed her face. She closed her eyes dreamily and pushed her head 
forward a little more and fastened her lips around the head of my dick. 
She let go of the base of my cock and reached up to rest her delicate 
hand on my hip. She guided me toward her a little bit, then back. As I 
pressed forward, she took about half my cock into her mouth. 
     Her tongue did amazing things to the underside of my shaft, and her 
cheeks were drawn inward with the force of her sucking. I caressed her 
face again and she shivered slightly. I traced my finger around the side 
of her mouth, up her jaw to her ear, then back down to where my dick was 
outlined through her concaved cheeks.
     Her flush had spread to her fabulous breasts. My hand went farther. 
I caressed the beautiful swells, using just my fingertips to glide over 
the silken, full flesh of the undercurves -- or what would have been the 
undercurves. They were already firm; aroused and laying on her back, the 
stood up like pale hills.
     Still, when I touched her like that, she sucked even harder and her 
tongue did amazing and mysterious things. I brushed my fingertips across 
her hard little belly, then began pushing her jeans down over her hips. 
She wriggled, sinuous and smooth as an eel, and then she wore only pale 
blue -- sodden -- panties, cut high across her thighs. I pushed them 
down, too, and then she was naked before me on my bed. In the dim glow 
that filtered through the blinds, I saw that her pussy was topped with a 
small tuft of fine sparse curls, but the border was too uneven for it to 
have been trimmed.
     I knelt astride her head and slid my hands under her butt. I 
couldn't believe how tight her asscheeks were! It was exactly like 
holding two little mounds of hard foam rubber...but considerably more 
pleasant. I began kissing and licking just above her knees. When I slid 
my hands to the back of her knees and pulled her legs open, her sucking 
hesitated. When I pressed my lips to the taut flesh on the inside of one 
shapely thigh, I felt her groaning around my turgid dong. The vibrations 
were excruciating on my swollen, over-sensitized cockflesh. My balls 
were starting to tighten ominously.
     I licked higher on her thighs, forced by the disparity in our 
heights to slide back until my dick as threatening to pop out of her 
mouth -- which was the idea at the moment: I didn't want to cum so 
quickly.
     But Elly had other ideas. She arched back and up, maintaining her 
lip-grip on my glans as long as possible. And she was clamping her 
thighs back together as my tongue approached her barely furred cunt.
     I slid back a little farther and my dick popped out of her mouth. I 
licked around the edges of her pubic hair and then pressed my tongue 
down between her tightly clamped thighs to brush as much of her labia as 
I could. Her musk was almost dizzying in fresh sweetness.
     She gasped and her hands came down to push my head away.
     "Stop!" she hissed. "You're starting to lick me...down there."
     "I know," I said. "I'm trying to."
     This seemed to stun her. "You mean -- you want to lick me down 
there?"
     "You betcha. Or don't you like it?"
     "Well, sure, but -- you really want to?"
     I knelt upright and locked down, past my throbbing cock, at her. 
"Been craving it."
     "But then I can't suck you! I'm too short to -- "
     "I know, but if you keep doing those lovely things, I'm going to 
cum in your mouth ." 
     "Ooooo...I hope so!"
     Her hands were back on my hips, anchoring her so she could pull 
herself up and get my dick back in her mouth from underneath. "I want 
you to cum in my mouth," she breathed hotly onto my glans, her tongue 
flickering onto the underside of my shaft for unnecessary emphasis. She 
used her hands to urge me to lay back. She rolled to her hands and knees 
on the bed. "I want you to lay back and let me suck you and -- "
     Who was I to refuse a lady? Especially since as she talked about it 
and as her tongue touched my cock, her hips began to move as if she were 
being soundly fucked. She was, I realized with a dull thud, one of those 
women who gets off on sucking cock. Heh.
     I sprawled crossways on the bed, with my legs hanging off at the 
knees. She scrambled over me, brushing me with her luscious tits in the 
process, and arranged herself perpendicular to me. Her face was at my 
groin.
     She took my cock into her hot mouth again and this time she moaned 
as she sucked it slowly into her face. My dick hit the back of her 
throat and she groaned, backed off, then shifted her angle a bit. She 
took it slowly back in and kept gulping until she had her lips into the 
coppery hair around the base of my cock and her nose was pressed flat 
against my abdomen.
     This time I was the one who groaned. She sucked powerfully on me. 
She began to back my dick out of her throat. When only the head remained 
between her lips, she slowly pushed her face down again. I reached down 
with one hand and caressed her hair and her shoulders, then slid my hand 
over her torso and squeezed her cute little butt. I brought my hand 
under and around to cup one big tit. 
     She quickened her pace slowly, inexorably. As she came down, my 
hand was pressed between her breast and my abdomen. I could feel her 
swollen nipple grinding hot and pebble-hard into my palm. I rubbed a 
little bit and she groaned. Her groan vibrated my dick, eliciting an 
answering groan from me -- which seemed to excite her still more. Her 
hips were hunching slowly, almost grinding at the empty air. She was 
sucking harder and bobbing a little faster.
     I felt the tingling buzz through me and whispered, "I'm cumming 
now, Elly."
     She moaned loudly and her hips pumped rapidly, demandingly. She 
sucked hard and her hand came up between my shaking thighs. Her 
fingertips grazed my balls and I could hear and feel her gasp as her ass 
lurched and then she got my cream in her mouth.
     I came like a newly released convict. The stuff erupted out of me 
into her mouth and when the first spurt splashed into the back of her 
throat, she started to shaking all over. She sucked harder, almost 
frantically, and a second geyser flooded her mouth. She swallowed and 
dived her head down and back up halfway, working her throat and lips and 
tongue over my pulsing shaft, milking my dick and balls. I had the 
presence of mind -- barely -- to pinch her nipple sharply and her hips 
jerked sharply, rapidly, as she drank my cum and had an orgasm.
     When she got the last of my cum, she slowly relinquished my 
limpening dick by pulling her still-sucking mouth backward, her tongue 
all the time working wildly on my shaft and finally on my glans. When my 
shriveled dick finally popped out of her mouth, she used her tiny 
fingers to raise it. She lapped at my cock like a kitten getting the 
last of the milk from a saucer. When her tongue rasped over my glans, I 
almost screamed from the sensation; my dick was much too sensitive at 
that point.
     She flopped on her side with her cheek on my abdomen and her face 
toward me. Her hips still moved, but now languorously. I rested my hand 
on the side of her face and caressed her.
     "C'mere."
     She frowned. "Why?"
     I pulled her up to me and forced her to sprawl across me. Her 
breasts were crushed -- but not nearly flattened -- against my chest. I 
moved to kiss her, but she jerked her head away.
     "I've still got some of your stuff in my mouth!"
     I took her head in my hands and forced her face toward me. I kissed 
her as sweetly and gently as I could, on the eyes and nose and finally 
on the lips. She kept her mouth tightly closed for a moment.
     I pulled back. "I want to kiss you, Elly."
     She looked bewildered, but relented. Our tongues danced for a few 
moments. She was telling the truth; she still had some of my semen in 
her mouth. It didn't bother me in the least, but she seemed to get 
uncomfortable and I was beginning to have a suspicion of why.
     I let her back away from the kiss. She looked at me strangely for a 
moment, then: "Can I ask you really personal question?"
     I grinned like a damn fool. "Gee, I'm not sure we know each other 
that well, Elly. A personal question? Gosh, I dunno. I mean, it's not 
like we've ever shared any intimate moments."
     "Is that your sarcastic way of saying I can ask?"
     "Exactly."
     "Are you bisexual?"
     I stared at her. She had honestly stunned me with that one. I just 
shook my head, numbly. Finally, I managed to ask: "Why?"
     "Well, you just came in my mouth and wanted to kiss me and it's 
like you don't mind the taste of, uh -- "
     "Semen. The word is `semen.' Or `cum.'"
     "Well?"
     "It's not my favorite taste, but I don't mind it -- at least, not 
my own. I don't think I'd be so tolerant of another guy's semen." I ran 
my hands down her back and pulled her closer. "But, Elly, you don't seem 
to mind the taste; why should I?"
     "That's different." She said it as if it was something that was 
self-evident. "I'm a girl."
     "A woman."
     "Whatever."
     "There's a difference."
     "I had big tits when I was thirteen, and I'd already started to 
have my period."
     "And you were still a girl, then. Did you always like the taste of 
semen?"
     "Well, sure, it's okay. I guess."
     "Do you like it?" I put the emphasis on "like."
     "Not particularly," she said, "but I really don't mind it."
     "But you had an orgasm when I came in your mouth."
     Her eyes got suddenly heavy-lidded. "Oh, yeah, well, I really like 
feeling that in my mouth, all that stuff spurting so hot and thick, and 
feeling you moving and hearing you groan and knowing that I'm doing that 
to you, making you feel like that while you give me the cum right out of 
you, like you're feeding me and -- " 
     She shivered and I could feel her nipples hardening against my 
chest. Her legs had parted; her thighs were opened to either side of my 
left thigh and she was slowly rubbing her mons up and down against my 
leg. Thinking and talking about sucking me off was turning her on. I had 
the brains to realize it wasn't me, in particular, but the mere idea.
     Now, let me set the record straight here on something. It may sound 
like she's some not-too-bright young Polack bimbo with big boobs and a 
bottomless throat. Yes, she's Polish, young, has big breasts and a 
bottomless throat. But she wasn't and isn't some bimbo. She was a bright 
kid and she's a smart young woman. She's always been -- at least, for 
the four years I've known her -- smart and sensitive and sometimes 
startlingly perceptive and introspective. She'd graduated high school 
with her peers after being left back twice in grade school (parochial, 
of course) for something called "defiant and insubordinate behavior" and 
dropping out of high school for a year. Yet she was bright enough to 
catch up on the earlier stuff and return to high school and graduate on 
schedule.
     But she had the idea that it was dirty to have a man give her 
pleasure with his tongue and mouth. At the same time, just the thought 
of swallowing semen had her hot and ready to rock again. 
                                                          [more]



Any and all feedback -- positive and negative -- is much-appreciated, 
as are suggestions. 
Even more appreciated would be to see more folks sharing their experi-
ences and fantasies with the rest of us and giving us a chance to en-
joy them. 

By the way -- have you hugged your SysOp lately?
