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 THREE
     When I awoke, I lay there for a few minutes trying to sort things 
out. The clock said 9:08. After reminding myself that this was a 
Saturday and I did not have to go into the place I laughingly refer to 
as "work," I began to wonder: Had I dreamed it? No; there was a wet spot 
where she'd lain. And I became aware of the aroma of fresh coffee (half-
Sumatra, quarter-pound each of French-roasted Mexican Altura and French-
roasted Colombian, dripped in a Braun Melitta-filter pot) I rolled to my 
feet, pulled on my faded blue terrycloth robe, slipped into my slippers 
(clever name for them, eh?) and thwap-thwapped into the living room.
     Elly had opened the shutters and glorious sunshine was pouring in 
through the fourth-floor windows of my tenement apartment. She was doing 
wonderful things for my old, blue Dior robe (the tattered one that came 
halfway to my calves). A cup of The Good Stuff was on the battered old 
oak table next to the love seat and she'd switched the stereo to play 
through the living room speakers, the ones in the books shelves. It was 
something called "LITE FM" and I hated it. "LITE" means no calories and 
calories are a measure of heat; no-one was ever going to accuse Ann 
Murray or Kansas of generating heat with their music.
     On Elly's lap was the three-ring binder in which I keep photocopies 
of my published stories.
     She looked up as I entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she'd been 
weeping. "Oh, David," she said, "I can't believe you wrote these!"
     "Why not?" I already knew which one had elicited that response. 
"Because I like to fuck?"
     Her expression collapsed. "Why do you have to spoil it?"
     "I'm a package deal. With the beautiful story comes the guy who 
supported himself for a couple of years by writing brilliant, sensitive 
stuff like `Lezzy Bitch' and `Mom, Sis And Every Body'. And if that 
disappoints you, think what it does for me, okay?"
     She looked down and pursed her lips. I tried to ignore the Parting 
of the Robe. She murmured, "I guess that's fair. I mean, you'll take me 
as a package deal, I guess I have to do the same. You don't mind being 
with a slutty bimbo who loves being fucked and cumming all the time." 
She looked up at me, beautiful blue eyes wide and bright.
     "I don't mind and I don't think you're slutty."
     She closed the binder and set it aside. I was disappointed that She 
wasn't compelled to finish what She was reading. She leaned forward and 
I got a good view all the way down the front of her robe. She opened 
mind and sucked my cock, still coated with our juices from the night 
before, completely into her mouth and began using her tongue to wash it. 
The inevitable happened quickly.
     She pulled back and released it and looked up at me. "I get off 
sucking cock. Drinking semen makes me get over."
     "I know. So does being licked or having a cock inside you -- "
     "That's different. Then I can't stop cumming and I don't want to. 
But drinking it, getting off that way -- then it's just once and I'm in 
control."
     "And the other way you're being controlled."
     "No -- no, the other way I'm out of control, I can't control 
myself. That's why I started studying Yoga when I was fifteen -- to help 
me learn to control myself. I controlled my eating and stopped smoking 
and never do drugs anymore and hardly ever even drink. And I never, ever 
masturbate. That way nothing controls me but me and no one can control 
me or hurt me or take advantage of me."
     "That's why you want it to hurt you when you fuck."
     She nodded gravely. "If it doesn't hurt -- well, you saw what 
happened." She was blushing. "I just keep getting over..." She dropped 
her eyes. "It's not natural to be such a slut. That's why you're the 
first man I ever let lick me and that was just because I like you so 
much."
     I frowned, pulled my robe closed and sat down in the rocker facing 
the couch. "Last night you told me you liked it -- before I licked you."
     "No, I didn't -- "
     "You're not a good liar."
     "But you are the first -- "
     She stopped and tears welled up. 
     "How old were you when you let a woman lick you?"
     "A year before I met you, my cousin and I, we -- we --"
     "You liked it."
     "Yes, dammit!" She shouted and then looked away. Softly: "I used to 
masturbate and get over every night before I went to sleep. But when 
Adele licked me, I went nuts. I licked her, too, and she went nuts, too. 
That's when I realized what a slut I am, because she was the biggest 
slut you ever saw and I was getting over just like her."
     "How do you know she was a slut?"
     "I'd seen her doing it with guys and men. She'd do it with any guy 
she saw, sometimes whole bunches of them. It was like she couldn't get 
enough, like she was an addict."
     "Sounds like she was a sex addict, alright. And a slut. But you're 
no slut."
     "How can you say that? Only a slut would get over the way I do -- "
     "You're saying that every woman I ever cared about is a slut?" I 
growled, as menacingly as I could. It must have been pretty effective 
because her eyes widened, she jerked back on the couch and cringed, 
holding the robe closed. I'm terrific at terrifying insecure women under 
five feet tall.
     "No! I just meant -- "
     "The hell! You said a multiorgasmic woman is a slut and every woman 
I've ever cared about has been multiorgasmic."
     "But -- "
     I pointed at the frame photo of a nude torso on the wall. "You've 
met her. Is she a slut?"
     "Her?" Disbelief.
     "What about Livinia?"
     "Who?"
     "The Filipino woman who used to work in the laundromat. Is she a 
slut?"
     "But she was always nice and pleasant and polite and never -- "
     "That's two. You've met both of them, talked with them. By your 
definition, they're sluts -- because they're multiorgasmic."
     "I don't understand," she whispered.
     "You read a lot, Elly. There've been hundreds of articles in 
women's magazines about women being naturally multiorgasmic."
     "I don't read those articles. They start me thinking and then I 
want to get over too much." She blushed. "Even just talking about it, 
now, makes me -- you know."
     "Horny."
     "I can probably get over just by thinking about it and imagining 
it, I think."
     I stared at her for a long time. "Elly, I know women who'd kill to 
be able to do that."
     "Really? Are they slutty?"
     "Nope. Elly, what do you do when your sweetheart wants you? Make 
him hurt you?"
     "He can't help it. He's so, you know, big that it always hurts to 
have him inside. We hardly ever do that, because he likes to have me 
suck him off. I like that."
     "I know."
     Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing me at the moment. 
Pornographic images were in her field of vision. Her nipples were 
swollen points jabbing the front of the tautly held robe. Considering 
that the robe is terrycloth, that's pretty impressive.
     "And I like you," she said suddenly. "You listen to me and talk to 
me. But you're telling me to take a chance and give in to being a slut."
     "When you wanted to lose weight, you didn't stop eating completely, 
did you?"
     She shook her head. "I just learned to eat regular meals and eat 
the right stuff."
     "Same thing. Get crazy only when it's right for you and do what 
feels good with the right people. Use your head the way you did when you 
were dieting. You're acting like an anorexic -- someone who's compulsive 
about not eating so he can avoid being fat."
     "So you're telling me that you don't think I'm a slut, that it's 
natural for a woman to get over so much and that the way I'm doing it 
isn't really healthy for me."
     "In my humble opinion."
     She looked up at the Library Wall. I watched the robe, to see if 
the nipples were going poke holes in it. I didn't think so, but I wasn't 
willing to put money on it.
     "I don't know," she mumbled.
     "Think about that while I get some coffee."
     "Mm-hm."
     I stood and went over to stand before her. She refocused her eyes 
on me. She was slightly flushed and her breathing was shallow. "And one 
other thing," I said.
     "What?"
     "While I'm drinking my coffee in the dining room..." I took her 
hand put it over her cunt and squeezed. She gasped -- but didn't try to 
stop. "I want you to touch yourself."
     "I don't know -- "
     "Please, as a favor."
     I didn't have to wait for a reply, because her fingers were already 
moving of their own accord. I would have preferred to stay and watch, 
but I wanted my coffee -- and to keep the conditions I'd set.
     I fed to so-called cat and sat down to drink my coffee. I did not 
look at the clock and tried not to scald myself with haste. I also tried 
not to visualize what was going on in the living room.
     I remembered Elly as I'd met her. She was mentally rather mature 
for her age -- 16 -- and sold donuts at a local store, over near the 
subway. Her poise and perception and literacy had impressed me. Becoming 
acquaintances and even friends was odd.
     Odd because I am truly repulsed, physically, by overweight females. 
(Don't take this as sexist, please; I suppose that the vast majority of 
women are repulsed by overweight males, too.) That made it easy to be a 
friend to her, to be a confident and, occasionally, an advisor -- 
because I knew I'd never be tempted to hit on her and she could sense 
that I was safe.
     As time passed, she would sometimes call me late at night, after 
her strict (Old Country Polish) mother had already turned in. She knew 
that I stayed up late and l encouraged her to call. There was something 
fragile about her. She needed a friend, a man whose interests weren't 
confined to fucking her, or who -- like me -- wasn't at all interested 
in fucking her. Considering her weight, that was no problem for me.
     After she left the donut store, sometimes we'd bump into each 
other. More often than not, it was at the local video store. We'd chat a 
bit while we walked as far as my corner (she lived much farther east, in 
the old end of the neighborhood) and one night we stood and talked for 
almost an hour. Neither of us wanted to stop sharing of ourselves.
     She'd ask about my girlfriend -- though "main squeeze" was more 
like it, since my girl and I had sort of an open relationship -- and I'd 
ask what new love was in her life. She was a hopeless romantic, falling 
in and out of love weekly, but usually had to worship from afar. 
Eventually, we simply lost touch with each other.
     Her footsteps in the hallway snapped me back to the moment. I 
finished my coffee and looked up, expecting to see her come into the 
dining room. Instead, the steps changed direction and then I heard her 
bump into the door jamb -- she is Polish, after all -- and then heard 
her hit the bed. I heard sheets rustle.
     Then: "David, please come here." Her voice had a quaver in it. 
Being not nearly as dumb a I look, I immediately went to her. When I got 
there, she had the covers pulled up to her neck. Only her flushed face, 
framed by disheveled hair, was visible. Her hands wee moving beneath the 
covers, though, clearly cupping and gliding over her breasts, then 
sliding down her torso to move at the juncture of her thighs. 
     I closed the door and looked down at her from the foot of the bed. 
My cock was already throbbing hard beneath my robe. 
     "I just kept getting over until I had to have you. Oooo... What 
would make you hot?" she breathed. Her eyes were half-closed. The 
heaving of her breasts beneath the light blanket increased. "C'mon -- 
tell me."
     I walked around to stand beside the bed next to her head. She 
started to reach for me.
     "No -- keep touching yourself."
     "Does that turn you on?"
     I opened my robe. "What do you think?"
     She licked her lips. "Whatever you like ..."
     "I want you to -- " I stopped, watching her reach between her legs 
under the covers. Her legs parted wider and she hunched her shoulders. 
Her breathing deepened.
     "You want me to what?" 
     "It turns you on having me watch you, doesn't it?"
     "Yeah!"
     "I want you to cum for me while I watch you."
     "I can't -- "
     "Yes, you can."
     "But I want you inside me, where it aches -- " She kneaded her cunt 
frantically. "I need it so baaaaad inside me..."
     I reached behind me and into the top drawer of the dresser. When 
she opened her eyes, they widened. "I want to watch you using this."
     "I couldn't -- "
     "That's what would get me really turned on."
     "I can't -- " But even as she objected, her eyes were locked on the 
very realistic eight-inch dildo. I pulled back the bedcovers, exposing 
that magnificent young body. She started to remove her hand from her 
soaked pussy, but I covered her hand with mine and then kissed her 
slippery fingers. She barely hesitated in her furious masturbation. She 
was holding her labia apart with the fingers of one hand and furiously 
rubbing her clit with the other thumb while trying to force two fingers 
deeper into that sweet, syrupy little slit.
     I stood and took the K-Y from the same drawer and smeared a liberal 
dose on the dildo. She focused on it like a bird watching a cobra as I 
brought it slowly down between her thighs. When I put the tip against 
her exposed cunt, she jerked. "Cold," she said. 
     "It'll get warm fast." 
     She rolled her hips and pressed her pelvis down and toward the 
dildo. I pushed it a little and she gasped as it began to slide in. Her 
fingering of her clit speeded up. I worked the latex head back and forth 
a few times, watching her rhythm alter. When her cunt was reaching for 
it all the time, I pushed the head all the way in. She gasped and then 
groaned and began revolving her hips around it. She took the labia 
parting hand away and began caressing her breasts. I was jealous.
     "It feels so big in there, so good and big and stretching me so 
muuuuu..."
     I led the tit-fondling hand down and placed it on the shaft, then 
took my fingers away. She worked it back and forth experimentally a few 
times, then began slowly pumping herself with it, taking the inch-and-a-
half thick dildo deeper each time. 
     "Oh, yeah, this feels so good, feels so good, feels so good," she 
breathed, chanting in time to her thrusts. Her hips were taut, now, and 
she was starting to arch her ass from the bed. Suddenly, she arched 
higher and rolled slowly over onto her belly. She pulled her knees up, 
leaving her shoulders and face flat on the bed, and began pushing that 
latex prick deeper. Whatever she was muttering was lost in the pillow.
     I looked at her in profile. Her face was turned toward me and was 
totally slack with pleasure. Her hair was a singular, disheveled mess. 
Her position was crushing her over-sized tits so they bulged out to 
either side of her. She had her knees pulled up so far that her kneecaps 
were pushing against her breasts. Her sleek little ass was outthrust 
beautifully. And her hand, still gripping the base of the dildo, 
occasionally appeared briefly between her taut thighs before 
disappearing back between.
     I reached out and began lightly caressing her back. After about 
twenty seconds, she was cumming -- hard. She kept pumping her pussy with 
the indefatigable dildo and her pussy kept pumping right back: She kept 
cumming. I took my fingers from her back and she moaned, "Touch me! 
Please!" She was cumming faster now and I didn't want to spoil the mood 
or anything, so I accommodated her. It was a great sacrifice.
     I traced my fingertips on the overflow swell of her left breast and 
she continued pumping, now with less regularity. She was starting to 
lose her coordination and all self-control. I leaned forward and kissed 
her hot cheek gently and whispered, "You are so beautiful and wonderful. 
You're turning me on beyond belief!"
     She just moaned and continued getting off on what she was doing. 
     I went to the foot of the bed and bent and began kissing and 
licking the small of her back. Inches beneath my chin, she was thrusting 
the dildo harder and harder into herself. I grabbed her buttocks and 
gave them a squeeze, then spent so time nibbling lightly on them, then 
kissed and licked them. My hands stayed busy on her hips and thighs, 
caressing. She was moaning softly and continuously now and her whole 
body was shaking.
     I licked down the sweet, narrow furrow of her tiny, taut ass and 
when I got to the opening, kept right on licking. She was quivering all 
over, cumming without pause, now, and with growing intensity. I located 
the K-Y, and lubed up a finger while rimming her teeny little asshole. I 
thrust my tongue against pinpoint opening, then licked up and down and 
kissed the inner swells of her cheeks again. Then I put my slippery 
fingertip against her anus and slowly massaged the K-Y into it. 
     "Yessssss...." she hissed loudly. I pressed the fingertip in to the 
first knuckle. I could feel the dildo pumping through that thin membrane 
separating the channels. Her ass clamped down on my finger and spasmed 
powerfully as she continued cumming. I worked it in farther and then 
carefully moved it in and out. I thought of how it would feel to have my 
prick in there and regretted that she was so tiny that my dick would 
hurt her too much. Doubly regretted it, because she was obviously 
enjoying what I was doing back there and she moaned when I removed the 
finger. 
     I went back to the side of the bed and rolled her onto her side. 
She slowed her pumping and looked up at me. Her eyes focused for a 
moment and she said in a distant, amazed voice: "I just can't stop 
getting over, David! I just keep cumming!"
     "It's so wonderful," I answered. I rolled her over the rest of the 
way. She reached up with one shaking, juice-soaked hand and grabbed my 
stiff prick. 
     "Please?" she said, pulled me toward her face. "Please?"
     I straddled her and felt the her huge breasts brushed the backs of 
my thighs. Her nipples were stiff as spikes. I lowered my cock to her 
eager mouth and that long, limber tongue flickered out to guide it the 
rest of the way to her welcoming lips. She locked on to my dick about 
halfway down. I leaned forward, onto my outstretched arms, and looked 
down to watch as I slowly, carefully, pump my dick in and out of her 
mouth. Beyond that, her wondrous tits thrust upward, capped by 
outrageously swollen nipples. And beyond those, I could see her hips 
canted up, her knees wide and feet flat on the bed. She was holding the 
dildo almost motionless and fucking it with urgent thrusts. Every half-
minute or so, she would hold herself still and catgut taut and cum in 
shuddering waves. The room was ripe with the smell of hot pussy.
     It was too much for me and very quickly I was pulsing in her mouth. 
I didn't have to tell her I was cumming; she knew it was imminent. She 
sucked maniacally, cumming constantly as she did.
     When I finally began spurting in her mouth, she gobbled my cock to 
the back of her throat and gulped me right down and in. I felt like all 
my semen was exploding out of me in one long, uninterrupted stream -- 
and she was drinking it all and cumming so hard that she was arching on 
the bed beneath me.
     She drained me dry and kept sucking. I pulled my spent dick from 
her lips and rolled to one side. She continued cumming, her hand a blur 
as she rubbed her clitoris, her hips chattering up at the dildo held in 
fast by the other hand.
     She was gasping a word. I put my ear close and finally made it out: 
"More...more...more..." Each time it was a little explosion of barely 
modulated breath. I leaned down on the bed and began licking her breasts 
and then suckled her. I ran my hands lightly all over her. She was 
cumming constantly now, without interruption. I licked lower, over her 
abdomen and then around her mons. I caressed her thighs and reached 
beneath the lightly cup and squeeze her ass. Her buttocks wee in 
constant spasm as she came. 
     I leaned farther and she grabbed my hair and forced my mouth down 
to her clitoris. As she kept grinding her cunt on the dildo, I sucked 
her clit carefully into my lips and began lightly running my tongue 
around -- but as fast as I could: swirling. I wrapped my arms around her 
slim hips and grabbed her ass and bore her back down to the bed. 
     "YES!" she screamed suddenly, loud enough to scare the neighbors 
dog into barking. Her body began writhing, serpentine, beneath me. She 
wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled herself to me so tightly, I 
thought one of us was going to break. Her mouth was against my abdomen 
and I felt her screaming nonstop against me as she came.
     She came harder and harder and then, abruptly, went silent. Her 
hips hunched and then relaxed and she fell shiveringly limp. The dildo 
was pushed ever so slowly out of her cunt, followed by an enormous 
accumulation of Elly juices that seemed to pour out of her. Even as I 
rolled away, hearing her panting slow, she shuddered and came again. 
     I sat up with my back to the wall and looked at her. Elly's body 
continued, slowly, to shake with pleasure, as if echoes of the orgasms 
were still bouncing around in there. The flush was just beginning to 
fade from her chest. 
     I stretched out beside her and took her into my arms. The bedside 
clock said noon. I nestled her, spoon-fashion, against me and kiss the 
side of her neck. She smiled in her sleep. I smiled back, anyhow. When 
she woke I would tell her that she had helped me realize a fantasy I've 
had since I was eighteen: To be with a woman and help her cum so hard 
and so much that she passes out from the sheer pleasure of it.
     Forty-five minutes later, I was awakened by the sound of the shower 
running. I donned the ratty old robe, creaked out of the bedroom and 
knocked. 
     "Come on in!" I heard her drawing the curtain.
     She had drawn it open. Elly stood there with her hair in the 
incredibly stupid pink showercap I keep for guests, with water sluicing 
off her incredible little body. I had great fun watching her use the 
Ivory Soap on the astonishing curves, and my cock had even more fun in 
mind. She spotted the growth and her eyes half-closed and her nipples 
began to swell. Her hands dipped between her legs and started moving, 
then withdrew. I started to pull off the robe.
     "Don't," she said softly. "I have to get going."
     "Don't you want me anymore?"
     She grabbed my hand and put it between her legs. I slid a finger 
deep inside her. The hot moisture in there wasn't from any shower. 
"Desperately," she said softly, putting a kiss on beard and pushing my 
hand away from her cunt. "But I have to run some errands and do some 
housekeeping."
     "Still think of yourself as a slut?" I whispered.
     She laughed and straightened, completing her rinsing. As I watched 
her towel herself dry, she said, "Right now? No. But when I want to, 
I'll be a slut, alright. Like before." She shook her head in amazement 
and wrapped the towel around herself. "I never would have imagined I 
could ever cum so much! I actually passed out from it!"
     I walked her to the bedroom and watched her dress while I told her 
about the fantasy.
     "That's the kind of fantasy I would've thought you had, David." She 
was wearing her jeans and had her bra on, but not clasped. She leaned up 
to kiss my chin. "It's too bad that once you do something, it can't be a 
fantasy anymore."
     "Naaaah. I'd like to do it again -- lots."
     "Really?"
     "You betcha."
     "Me, too. The same goes for my fantasy."
     I frowned as she hooked the bra and reached for her plum-colored 
blouse. "What's that?"
     "The one I've had since I was sixteen -- about you."
     "I'm ready."
     She gave my stiff dick a squeeze. "So I noticed." She button her 
blouse, saying, "And I've had other fantasies, but I've always 
suppressed them."
     "I'd love to hear them."
     "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours -- that is, if you've 
got any left."
     "Don't worry. I've one or two left, maybe even three."
     She cocked an eyebrow at me. "`Lezzy Bitch' was it? How many of 
those books did you write?"
     I made a face. She laughed as she bent limberly and straight-legged 
-- as if to taunt me with her body -- to pull on her sandals. She 
straightened and said, "You know, I really would like to see that book."
     "`Lezzy Bitch'?"
     "No, the one on the shelf -- `Fear of Flying'." 
     We went into the living room. She retrieved her handbag (which is 
what they call a canvas steamer trunk with a strap on it) and I gave her 
the book.
     At the door, I asked, "Can I count on getting this book back?"
     "Hand-delivered," she said and started down the stairs. She waved 
from the third-floor landing.

END


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?
