French Vanilla Summer

You remember when you first saw him, your older sister’s boyfriend. He was leaning on his dirtbike in the school parking lot, his white-blond hair looking a lot like vanilla frosting in the sunlight.

Your sister was dark and rounded in that womanly Latina way, even more than you were. Her ass drew a lot of stares when she went down the hallway. “That be a woman’s ass,” the black guys used to say wistfully. “Ain’t no little girl there.”  They liked your ass, but they liked hers better; it was rounder, stuck out further in the back, not so far on the sides, like yours, and her waist was smaller.

You thought it was some funny bullshit; your sister Dez was scared of black guys, even though she was older than you, and the black guys were your friends.

But Glen was opposite of black. His arms were tanned like a perfectly grilled hot dog and his hair was bleached, like French Vanilla ice cream.

That was the summer you first fell in love with food, and your body was just starting to show it a little. You had bigger boobs than most girls, including your older sister, and a pretty big butt, but it wasn’t the same round shape as hers.

A few weeks later, you were almost asleep in your room watching some nonsense on TV alone. Dez was out with Glen at some movie, their first official date. You knew that, but your parents didn’t. She’d told them she was staying over a friend’s house for the night. She was sixteen, so she shouldn’t have to do this kind of thing, but your parents were sort of old world; at least your father was. Your parents were off having a late dinner; if Dez and Glen had known that, they’d have come here and watched TV instead.

All of a sudden, you heard the parents’ car roar into the drive, and screech to a stop. Your father’s voice came to you like a gust of hot wind, and the things he was saying were shocking even when you didn’t know what most of them meant. Castilian Spanish words, and not nice ones, from the sound of it.

Your parents never fought. He never drove fast. You went to the window and saw him drag Dez out of the car. Oh shit. She’d been caught.

Your mother grabbed her hand and hauled her into the house, muttering all the time. “Kissing an Anglo boy in public??? Your father could have killed you.” Your father was still cussing in Spanish, at the top of his lungs. The neighbors knew something was going on, but they couldn’t say for sure he was cussing anymore than you could, because they didn’t speak  Spanish at all.

Then you heard the sound of a dirt bike out back. No one else had heard it over the commotion. It shut off by the edge of the woods.

You decided to avert disaster by telling him to stay away, assuring him your sister was alright. You slipped out, even though you were in your nightie; just threw on some sweatpants and out the window.

He stood by the edge of the woods, pacing and smoking. When he saw you, he jumped and started forward. “How’s D?” he said in a loud whisper. “We were just at a movie, and…” His voice shook. “He better not hurt her, or I’ll…”

You put your finger across his lips. “My dad is just mad because she lied,” you said. “He’d never hurt her.” You hoped that was true.

“You sure? He seemed like he was pretty rough with her,” he said. “Yanked her arm, and pushed her…”

“I am sure,” you said. “He’s already calmed down.”

He blew out his breath in a big gust of relief. “Ok.” He finally smiled.

“I should go back,” you said. “You should push your bike for awhile so he won’t hear it.”

You turned.

“Hey,” he called. “Stay a minute while I finish my smoke.” He sat on a log and you joined him.

He held out the butt to you. “I don’t smoke,” you said. “Dad would kill me.”

He smiled, and pulled a twig from your hair, flipped it back from your face. “You’re kind of cute,” he said. “How old are you? Have a boyfriend yet?”

You couldn’t help it. He was so close, and he’d said you were cute. You kissed him. Suddenly his hands were on your hips, his lips on yours, his tongue raking your teeth and probing your mouth. He touched your nipples experimentally through your shirt, making you gasp, and when you didn’t stop him he slid his hands inside and cupped the left one, your favorite. His cool fingers felt delicious on your new breasts, sending messages to your brain that it had never considered before. Way down in your sweats, under that thatch of black Spanish hair, you felt yourself get warm and start to moisten.

Then you saw, or rather felt, the bump in his pants, as it brushed against you, and you reached out and touched it with shaky fingers, and then he made a noise in his throat and pressed it against your hip, and one hand traveled down and inside your panties, touching the wet. It felt good when his finger slid inside you, and you sighed. Then he stood and took his jeans open and his penis out and somehow was in your face, and he was begging you please, Mariella, please just suck it a little bit, and you did it because he was so adorably cute, and it tasted funny but not bad. Then he started to move and he was going too deep in your throat and you were trying to keep up but you choked and he stopped.

Then he was urging you over to this fallen tree where he bent you over and pulled your sweatpants down and pressed his hard slick thing against you, sliding between your legs, smearing you with its juices. You felt it start to slip inside you, but it wasn’t supposed to go there, was it? In your ass? You started to pull away, but he was almost sobbing please, please, please, you’re so sexy, I’ll do whatever you want and you figured he was older and he knew what he was doing.

You pushed back, and he pushed again, and his wet slippery thing went into your ass all the way. He sobbed “Oh yeah,baby, Oh yeah!” began to thrust and pull. It hurt some, but you knew it might. They said it always did the first time. But as he went on, pressing his dick into your ass, you began to get some pleasure from it, and you started to moan, and he asked, “Do you like my cock, baby?” and you said “Oh yeah, Oh Glen, oh God,” and he started to thrust harder, his… cock got even harder and longer, deeper in you. Now you were really getting excited, when he suddenly made a long groaning noise and slammed inside you real hard and went rigid against you. You felt his cock twitch deep inside you and shoot hot stuff into you and it felt gooooood… Then he stopped and sighed, pulled out and sheepishly buttoned up his pants, and you were disappointed.

The next time he came to see Dez, after your dad calmed down, he met the parents and he and Dez would sit and watch TV with your parents on the couch in the living room. They introduced you to him formally, and you were very shy with him and everybody thought it was because you’d never seen Dez with a boy before.

So that’s how it started. For the next few years, he would come to see Dez, and after the evening was done, he would leave by the road and then after he left, you’d wait until your parents were asleep or busy, and you’d slip out.

Your knees shook with the need to have him bend you over and stuff his hard little cock into your naughty spot, to feel his hipbones pounding your butt cheeks hard, hard enough to leave odd bruises for your mother to puzzle over, to feel his cock swell thicker and then pulse hard, held deep inside you, and squirt the white stuff that would dribble out of you over the next few hours and make a disgusting mess of your underwear later. You learned to wear extra cloth inside your panties after he fucked you, or use a panty shield, after that time that your mother came to you and tactfully asked if you had had diarrhea one night.

Then he came over to your house one day when no one was home, when he knew because Dez told him, that just you and she would be home without the parents. It was a Sunday morning and your parents had gone to church, but you were sick, and she’d asked him to come over because she was going to pretend she had caught your cold. But your mom was no fool, and she’d taken Dez along anyway, her sickness vanished in a cloud of sulking because mom didn’t believe her.

When you heard his bike, your insides got all fluttery and you pulled yourself out of bed to answer his knock on Dez’s window. When he saw you, he seemed surprised, but not disappointed, you were pleased to note. You explained and invited him in through the basement. You sat with him on the couch for awhile but when he started kissing you, which he’d never done much after that first time, you took his hand and took him back to the bedroom. You bent over the bed, and started to pull down your pajamas but he stopped you and got undressed, then undressed you, climbed into bed and pulled you in beside him. It felt strange to be fully naked in front of him and in bed, and you were nervous, awkward. He kissed you hard and you felt his cock stiff against your thigh.

Then he slipped three fingers inside your vagina and pushed deep. You gasped, because it hurt.

He took it as excitement, and began to push in harder, then abruptly pushed you onto your back and climbed on top of you. You protested, thinking it wouldn’t work this way, he couldn’t reach your ass from the front, but then his hard cock was pressing its way into your vagina and you were moaning in pain, almost sobbing. Then he was in and moving, and you tried to move with him so he didn’t go so deep. Soon, there was some pleasure mixed in with the cramps that came when he went in too deep.

He soon came again, and you wondered if you would get to come, too, sometime.

He heaved off you after he’d caught his breath and went into the bath to wash up. He came back looking puzzled, holding up the bloody cloth. “How can you be bleeding? Are you on your period?” You shook your head.

He frowned, puzzled, and you didn’t like being a disappointment, so you crawled across the bed and took his cock in your mouth. It smelled and tasted like your fingers after you played with yourself, but you didn’t care. Soon, he was hard in your mouth again and rocking back and forth with your movements. His cock was seeping, tasting oily on your tongue, and you feeling queasy from the lingering cold, but you sucked harder anyway, taking his balls in your hand and squeezing softly.

Then he made a funny sound in his throat, something like a cough mixed with a sneeze, and then he was pushing his cock deep in your throat, his hands tangled in your hair and squirting his hot sticky stuff into your throat. You swallowed quickly, like it was bad medicine.

“Boy,” he said breathlessly. “I wish your sister was as much fun as you.”

It made you feel good, and guilty, to hear him say that.

Well, she had the tiny waist. So you hoped it all worked out even.

You were there a few weeks later when he tried to fuck Dez and you tried to save them from getting caught, but you weren’t fast enough. When you heard your dad’s steps on the stairs, you thumped on the wall. but they didn’t hear. When your  dad burst through the bedroom door, Dez’s top was off, her skirt bunched up around her thighs.

It was the last time any of you ever saw the boy with the French Vanilla hair.

Fucking the past

“Motherfucker…!”

“Tom?” The woman said, rising from the water. Her voice was both excited and unbelieving. “My God, I…” She stopped.

I put my eyes back in my head, eventually, and responded, but she was gorgeous, I mean, for an older woman. “No, I’m Jason. I‘m… looking for Elizabeth.”

She looked confused for a second, then smiled slowly. “Of course you are, Jason. I’m Kathryn, Lizzie’s mom, from back east. Sorry if I blanked out there for a moment. You look a lot like…. a boy I used to know….when I was young.” She shook her head. “The resemblance is… uncanny.”

“Well, come inside and have a cold drink.” She turned and walked inside, holding the door for me. She caught me watching her legs, I’m pretty sure. I couldn’t help it; they’re pretty trim, and the white suit cover really set off her tan. Wow. I never knew Liz’s mom was that hot; I mean Liz said she was pretty, but I never knew she meant movie-star hot. She went to the fridge and handed me a beer without asking what I wanted.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just come around to the pool to wait when Liz isn’t home yet,” I said, taking the beer from her, although what I really wanted was a Pepsi. I didn’t know Lizzie’s dad drank, or her stepmom. They’d certainly never offered me one, probably because I’m underage.

“No problem,” she smiled. “I’m the one who doesn’t belong here; I just let myself in, thinking I‘d have a swim. I know where her dad still keeps the keys; he hasn’t changed that since we were married.”

I was having trouble seeing her ever having been married to Lizzie’s plain old schlumpy, pudgy dad. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your swim,” I said.

“Wanna come with?” she said softly. “Liz’ll be awhile. She just called…”

“Oh… well…I could leave and come back then…” I said. Just then my cell buzzed. Text from Liz. “Hang out an hour or so if you can, babe. Mom’s on her way and I don’t think she has a key.”

I showed her the message. She laughed. “Come on, J, let’s take a dip. You look kind of…like maybe you could maybe use a dip.”

“Well, yeah, I’m sweaty, I guess. I worked all day in the field, topping corn. Should I shower first…?”

“Nah,” she shrugged. “This is the midwest, not Hollywood.” She took a beer herself and led the way back out. As she walked through the arch, she slipped off the swimsuit cover and that orange-cream behind leapt out at me.

“Yeah,” she said, catching me looking at her ass. “It’s the same as Lizzie’s. I bought it for her.”

It looked good on Lizzie, but on her mom? Wowsers. I decided suddenly that maybe a swim wasn’t a good idea. “Ummm… Mrs…” I stopped, not remembering her name.

She laughed. “Call me Kath. Mrs. Nothing.”

“Kath… I shouldn’t swim. These aren’t exactly swim shorts. “ Gym sweats, cut off.

“It’s okay. They look kind of hot on you.” She took my hand and chugged her beer. “Ready for another?”

“I shouldn’t,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one of *those* moms,” she said, smiling.

No, she wasn’t.  I killed it. “Sure.”

She went in and came back in with the rest of the six, popped my cap, and drank some of hers, walked to the pool and stuck her toe in. “Wow. Nice. Nebraska weather.”

She set down her beer and did a quick sideways dive off the deck into the deep end.

God, she looked great doing it. I felt my shorts tighten, walked to the shallow end, waded in.

“Looks like you like the water.” Her throaty voice came from my elbow where she surfaced suddenly after a fast crawl across the length. She looked frankly at my crotch.

Raised an eyebrow. Winked. I looked down at myself, and what I saw made me choke on my beer.

I stammered something apologetic, and blundered away, out of the pool toward the towels.

“Jason,” she said softly in my ear, her hands on my hips. “Stop.” She took the towel and draped it around my waist, hiding my erection. “Better?”

I gulped, nodded.  Filled my mouth with beer, since I had nothing to say.

“I think you should come into the kitchen with me,” she said softly.

I followed, watching her pert butt twitch under the orange, wet and creamy. My Willie came back up immediately. It had been a rough month with Lizzie, who would not touch me for fear we would inadvertently “go all the way.”

“Kath…” I said.

“Shhhhh…” she turned, stopping me with a finger to my lips. She pulled the towel from my waist, and looked fondly at my cock, pointing from my sweats. She took the bulge in her hand. “Nice, Jason. My daughter is a lucky girl.”

“We don’t… she…” I stopped.

She looked me appraisingly in the eye. Pulled the string on her top, which fell to the floor, revealing her perfect breasts. They were way too big for her slim body, obviously enhanced, but God, I didn’t care.

She pulled my shorts down and took my cock in her strong fingers. “Jason, I think you should just let me handle this,” she said. “You remember I told you you reminded me of someone?” I nodded.

“He was my boyfriend all through the 10th and 11th grade. I never… gave him any.” She looked me in the eye. “Never… fucked him.” She licked her lips. “I gave it to the next boyfriend. He didn’t really deserve it, but he was … more aggressive. Tom was too shy, too polite. I’ve always regretted it. So I want you to be Tom for me, now, for an hour.”

“But…” I gulped.

“..you love my daughter. I know. She’s who you want. But for now, I want you, and it will be good practice. Just do me, and forget I’m her mom. Fuck me.” My ears began to buzz, and I felt my breath speed up. “And when it’s done, go back to your life, and to Liz, and forget this. We’ll never speak of it again.”

“Wow,” she said huskily. “Very nice, Tom, is that for me?” She sank to her knees. “God, I love your cock,” she said as she took me into her mouth.

It felt amazing. I had no idea. I couldn’t help it; I started to move, pushing my stiff cock into her hot wet mouth, like it was Lizzie’s pussy.

She laughed softly and sucked harder, took me in deeper, working me with her hand like she knew how it worked. “I need you to fuck me, Tom,” she said and took me deep again, real deep. All of a sudden, I knew it. I was going to blow it. In her mouth. I couldn’t help it. “Kath,” I panted. “I…”

“It’s okay,” she said smoothly, between strokes. “You can come in my mouth, baby. Go ahead. You’re sixteen, you’ll have another one in 10 minutes.” She sucked me in again and in pretty short order I let go, spurting into her searing mouth.

“Ahhhh… Oh, Kath….”

She giggled, sucking, swallowing.

“Tommy, your cock is as delicious as I could’ve hoped,” she stood and took off her bottoms. “I hope my pussy is all you dreamed of when you used to look up my skirt in home room.”

It was gorgeous. Trimmed, soft reddish blonde hair, lighter than on her head, framed the muscular legs, and the golden throat of her cunt winked liquid at me. I could smell musky, womanly scent, and my shrinking cock leaped back to life.

She grinned. “Nice recovery, Tommy. You want…?”

I nodded.

“You don’t secretly want Jennifer, or Ashley, or… John?” she teased, her voice sinking to  a low rasping giggle, schoolgirl nervous.

I grabbed her around the waist, picked her up, setting her on the kitchen counter. She was lighter and harder by a third than Liz, and she didn’t fight me.

She pinched my nipple hard as I drove my cock up between those gorgeous spread legs and into her oily warm cunt.

“Oh!” she said softly as I rammed my cock all the way into her heat. “Fuck me, Tom. You’ve got a beautiful cock…mmmmmm….”

I was raging hard and she felt like fire across the inflamed head of my cock. I was ready to come already, but she stopped me cold with her hands. “Easy,” she said, and I obeyed, despite the raging lust in my blood.

“Slow, stallion,” she said, hands on my chest. She took over the pace, and began to draw me in, slowly, deeply, milking my cock. Her hand on my ass, she drove, and her speed made me insane.

She pushed me up, making me pull out, and sat up, facing me. She stared into my eyes, pushing down on my shoulders until my face was against her gorgeous tits.   I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked hard. “Easy,” she commanded again.

I tried.

After a few moans from her as I nibbled and licked her hard nipples, washing my tongue across the perfect swell of her sculpted breasts, she urged me down further, until her cunt was in my face, guided my mouth to the right spot, showed me how to lick her, how to slide my tongue into her, how to work her clit around without really touching it directly. The taste was exciting, naughty, gamy, sexy. I could feel her start to quiver, her juices leaking, seeping across my tongue, hear her soft moans escape as if she was trying to stifle them.

“Oh, Tommy, this is so naughty,” she gasped. “The teacher will hear us..!” then she began to shudder and shake, grinding her cunt against my chin, her hands winding deep into my hair, pulling it.

“You horny little fucker,” she squealed. “Eating my pussy like that. What’s gotten into you? What’s gotten into me? Your tongue, that’s what. Hold it still now. Make it hard. Point, like this.”  She demonstrated with her own tongue. I did, and she rode it, sliding herself up and down against it, harder, faster, gasping for breath. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking cominnnnnnngggg…ahhhhh…!

Suddenly she froze and squealed, grabbing my hair in both hands and pressing herself hard against my mouth.  “Oh, fuck,” she said softly.

My face was flooded with warm juices, and she  made a choking noise. I licked her softly as she slowly relaxed and caught her breath.

She let go of my hair and I stood, reached for my pants.

She stopped me with her hand.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Stick that hard cock inside me, boy. Hurry.”

I did, and she squealed again, as I started to pump myself deep inside her soaking snatch.

She started coming again, squeezing me, calling my name.

My name? When had she stopped calling me Tom?

“Jason… oooohhhh…baby boy. Ride me.”

I picked up the pace, excited to hear my name in her mouth, slamming into her juicy cunt. She cried out and pushed me away, pulled me up onto the counter top and climbed on top of me, driving herself down forcefully to bury my cock in her tight, blazing hot pussy. “Oh, my God,” I groaned. “Please…” She moaned, her tits jerking above my mouth, tantalizingly just out of reach as she gyrated up and down on top of me.

 

I reached up and pulled her down toward me until I could grab her nipple in my teeth, and nibbled lightly. She stiffened, cried out. A spasm ran through her body and her cunt reacted by squeezing me even tighter as she rammed down until there was no place to go but off. I shot over the edge, moaning her name, blowing up inside her, Liz’s mom, the movie star, up into her thrusting brown body.

“God,” she gasped when she had caught her breath. “Liz is in for a treat.”

Still seated on me, she reached across the counter and into a drawer, rummaging. “Yep. I knew it. The man’s a creature of habit.” She pulled a bottle of brandy from under the bread and took a long draw.

“So. Jason,” she said it like she was trying to remember who I was. “How long have you known my daughter?”

It was surreal, being suddenly quizzed by her as she sat on my slowly deflating dick. “I… uh…well, um, her dad bought this land from my uncle…”

She frowned, took another pull on the booze. “How long have you lived in the county?” She passed the to me, and I took some. The liquid burned down into my body and I shivered.

“I was born here,” I coughed as the liquid hit bottom. “My uncle Tom, uh…”

She stiffened. “Tom? What… what’s your last name? Please don’t say Mc…”

I nodded.

“Oh, shit,” she said softly, finally rising from on top of me and sitting on the counter beside me. “Oh, shit.”

“Tom was gay,” I blurted.

“Oh, fuck me,” she said, but I don’t think she meant it literally this time.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I saw the expression on her face. “I shouldn’t have told you that. You… had a thing… with him.”

“It’s ridiculous, really. That was a lifetime ago. I don’t know why I thought nobody’s else’s life would have moved on. Is he…?”

“He died a few years ago…AIDS. That’s when we moved to this farm from town.”

She lowered herself to the floor and walked across to her purse. Flicked through it idly, then grabbed her suit and cover. She nodded, and a tear slipped from her nose to the floor. She sniffed. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get in the pool, and remove some evidence before we get dressed.”

I followed her to the door, stopped to grab my trunks from where they had fallen on the floor. She stopped at the door, walked back and grabbed the flask. She took my hand as we got to the water, and we waded naked into the shallow end. She did a fast crawl toward the diving board, then turned and came back to me where I’d stopped, water up to my ass. She swam right up and took my cock in her hands, washing the juices gently. I felt myself begin to harden again. She smiled ruefully. “Duck,” she said. “Wash me out of your beard.” I did, and when I stood up and opened my eyes, she was sitting in one of the cutouts, her face at crotch level. She reached behind her and took a small white device and a lighter. Lit the stick and inhaled sharply. She held it toward me, questioningly.

I recalled now that she’d dropped something to the deck when I’d walked in, which seemed hours ago.

I took it, inhaled cautiously, careful not to put it out with my wet fingers. Passed it back to her.

“Weed…” she said, taking a deep drag, holding it… “makes me…”

She took me in her fingers again, and despite all the weirdness and the fact that Liz could come in the door any second, I was instantly erect. Her mouth engulfed me, taking me deep into her throat.

“I don’t think….” I began.

“Don’t think,” she said softly. “Just feel.”

Her mouth felt heavenly, and I slid into a place I had never been. Stoned. So this was what that felt like. I closed my eyes and rode her throat, thrusting as if I was fucking her again. My balls skimmed the water with each movement, adding to the excitement. I floated on the sensations, unable to resist her in the least.

Then, as I was rising to the crest, she got her feet and I started to open my eyes. “Don’t,” she whispered, putting her hands over my eyes. “Keep your eyes closed and just feel me.” Her hands squeezed and milked my cock. Out of the darkness I heard a click and several beeps. She was on the phone.

“Lizzy, dear,” I heard her say. “Could I get you to stop by my favorite place and get dinner? Yes. You know what I want.” She chuckled. “Love you, dear.” The phone closed.  “We’re safe for another 45 minutes, lover.” Her mouth seized me again and it was up, up, up…

She stopped again, moved. “Eyes closed,” she reminded me sternly.

Then she pulled me to her and I felt my cock pressing against her slippery flesh, dipping into her cunt. My hands on her hips, I drove myself hard into her. “Ohhhh…” she said softly, pressing back. “Nice. But I get to drive, ‘cause I have the license. All you have is learner’s permit.” She pulled away and took my cock in her hand again, milking me. Then she pressed back onto me again and gasped as I slid into her from a new angle, from behind. God, this woman was tight. I thrust forward again, and she squealed, pulled away and then pushed back, taking me in, but slowly. “Gently, gently,” she whispered , her voice tense. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing by stages and took me into her all the way. “Oh, baby,” she sighed. “I love your cock in me this way. Just fuck me. You don’t need to be gentle now.”

 

I rammed it home and began to pound her in earnest, my head in the clouds. What she was doing different, I didn’t know. The weed had taken me away, and my cock felt like it had never felt, thicker and longer, bursting with nerve endings. For an eternity we moved in rhythm, our parts meshing like magic, my thoughts suspended as my body felt everything deeply, drank it in, and then, without warning, I felt myself begin to climax inside her, my cock swelling large and long, reaching to her very core. She cried out, thrust herself back against me and her body rocked with the spasms, squeezing me almost brutally as she came. “Oh, Kath…” I moaned. “Oh, I love… fucking you…”

“Ohhhhh, take me, Tommy,” she groaned. “Take my ass. It’s yours. You should have had my virginity, and now you have it.”

I pulled out, and opened my eyes in time to see the last wave of sperm gush from my cock and splash across her perfect butt. She thrust back and knocked me from the ledge into the pool. I lay and floated as I got my breath, marveling at the sensations.

After a bit she joined me in the water, rinsing our bodies and kissing me deeply, her hands on my ass. Then she pulled away, took my hand and led me to the steps. “I guess we’d better get dressed, Jason,” she said. “Dinner will be here in a minute.”

I pulled on my trunks watching her ass as she dressed, then collapsed on the chaise lounge. Wow, did this feel great. I closed my eyes and reveled in the feelings that ran though my body, relaxing deeply.

I wasn’t aware of sleeping, but suddenly I tuned in to the delicious smell of pizza. Liz was there, and I could hear the whispered conversation between the two women. “Yeah,  poor boy’s not used to that kind of work; he’s had a hard day,” Liz said. “Probably should let him rest.”

The door closed behind them, and the pool area lights went down a notch. I lay there a bit longer, then yawned and got up, located the pizza box by smell and finished it off in a dark corner, then stretched out and slept again.

Hue

“It’s over. The verdict is ‘not guilty.’ Will the Caucasians riot?”

She grinned impishly at him, her teeth gleaming whitely against her mottled skin, and he remembered how much he wanted her. Come on, he thought. A smart rejoinder is absolutely called for here. Tongue-tied at being in her presence again, so completely unexpectedly, he could think of nothing.

“Trial of the century, huh?” She went on. “Does that refer to how long it took?”

“Yes,” he said weakly, full of the knowledge that the time had come to act on his intention. But he could not formulate the question, regardless of how obvious it seemed that the answer would be yes. So he simply looked, drowning in her, and held out his hand.

She looked stunned. “I… don’t get off for an hour… uh…”

she looked around for coworkers. “Come back?”

He nodded.

The trial had lasted a year, with every pundit in the land pontificating about how the opinions, divided along racial lines, did not bode well for the country’s health. They’d been dissecting it in their own way when he last saw her. Her views, uniquely her own, always interested him, especially her humorous assaults on stereotyped racial reactions to the events unfolding on TV day after monotonous day. Then she’d disappeared from the office building where he worked, and from his life. Now, on the last day of the long ordeal, she was back, and he couldn’t care less about the outcome of the event which had dominated office chat for so long.

An hour. He wandered over to the library, passing through the section of town known as ‘the Dump’, a haven for poor black, ‘white trash’ and Latino families. He stood out in his tie and jacket, but the jeans and sneakers made him more acceptable. No one threw anything. Inside, he leafed through familiar novels and pondered the definition of adultry.

When the hour was up, he walked briskly to the Jeep, still parked in the lot at Roy’s, and waited for her to emerge. He craved a cigarette, but didn’t know if she’d find it disgusting, since he didn’t know whether she smoked. He didn’t know her name either, but that didn’t seem quite as important as the turnoff of death-breath to a non-smoker.

She came out, cautiously looking around. He flashed the lights. She walked with exaggerated casualness toward his car, carrying her uniform hat and apron, then jumped in and hissed “Drive!”

He peeled out of the lot and up the alley. Beside him, she giggled. “Boy, you do know how to be unobtrusive!” Then, softly, “What do you want to do?”

There was no discernible hint of suggestion in her voice, but he reacted as if it were a proposition. “I… uh…. are you married? And what’s your name?”

She laughed, a deep, rich roiling noise. “No. I’m Anika, and I’m too young to be married. I’m only twenty.”

He choked.

“It’s okay,” she murmurred, her voice a caress in his ear. “I won’t tell anybody.” Her breasts rose and fell in his peripheral vision, filling themselves like bellows, large and full, soft-looking, like all of her. Her hand lay on his arm, warm as a heating element.

He took her to his house. It was the single largest no-no in the world. He wondered if he wanted to get caught.

Inside, she reacted with awe. “This is all yours?”

He shook his head mutely.

“Ahhh. Your wife’s?”

“Both,” he said softly. “You want to go?”

She looked at him, her eyes soft, moist, liquid brown, melting chocolate, and shook her head. Before he knew what was happening, he had her in his arms, kissing her full lips wetly, his hands on her shoulders, hers on his hips. She ground herself against him like a cat, rubbing her groin to his. Then she extricated herself and stepped back, and with a deft motion behind her hips, she stood in her underwear, pants puddled around her feet, the thin white silk slicing sharply between her brown legs, her orange Roy Rogers shift still tenting over hard nipples.

With a groan, he threw himself at her, his pants pointing obscenely as his fingers groped under her shirt, releasing her full melons into his hungry palms. She laughed throatily, and her hands smoothly located his belt, lowering his trousers to his socks.

Holding up a finger, she stepped smoothly out of her pants, and motioned for him to follow her. He tried, and tripped on his own pants.

“Easy, big fella,” she whispered. He tugged the pesky trousers from his feet, shoes and all, and followed her toward the sofa, shedding his shirt as he went, and then, irresistably drawn to her, reached around and captured her retreating breasts, sliding his hands under the shirt to fondle them reverently. She stopped, and his erection, pressing his shorts, bumped her silk-covered cheeks hard.

She gasped softly, and reached behind her to seize it in her warm, strong fingers. “Oh!” she giggled, as her hand, freeing him, encountered the slippery wetness. Then, as he watched, she looked over her shoulder and licked her sticky palm teasingly. Her other hand on his hip pulled him closer, nestling her bare thighs around his equally-bare penis.

His basest impulses took over, and, gripping her breasts painfully tight, he thrust himself between her firm thighs, sliding over the thong a few times before catching and pressing the cloth into her folds, and up inside her body. She caught her breath in surprise, but did not stop him, as he thrust his silk-covered erection inside her again. “Oh, my!” she said, chuckling again. “You are a big fella in a hurry.”

In answer, he pressed hard, as deep as the restriction allowed, and held her breasts tightly. Faster, faster, the cloth adding an almost painful friction, then he pulled out, and came quickly, spilling his sperm down her legs.

She sighed.

When he’d caught his breath just a bit, he pushed her firmly onto the large sofa, and attacked her large breasts with his tongue, worrying each nipple to hardness, slurping them into his mouth, and nibbling them until she moaned. “God!” she said at one point. “You do know how to work titties.” He slid his hand into her cunt, and zoomed in on her clit with his thumb.

After about five minutes of her lusty moans, he was – miraculously! – hard again. With his head still nestled firmly among her globes, he parted her with a lunge, and she sang out as his turgid member went straight in to the hilt, deeper than had been possible with her underwear barring the way. “Oh, boy. Here we go again,” She rumbled with pleasure.

This being the the second time, he was able to last a respectable ten minutes, and her appreciation was evident. “Oh!” she moaned several times as he thrust particularly deep. She was slick and warm, snug, sheathing him like a wet suit. Her breasts heaved and shook with his pumping, and his mouth, still busy, made her nipples stand up like fingertips.

Finally, he went rigid inside her, and she moaned appreciatively again. Then, as she felt him burst, she whimpered, “Oh, no. Not yet, not yet…”

“Sorry…!” he gasped helplessly as he spent himself deep within her.

“Then do it real hard with what’s left!” she begged. He gave it his best shot, throwing himself at her with abandon, his hip bones banging hers, flesh smacking flesh, and she moaned with lust and despair. It was over too soon.

“Sorry,” he said again.

She held him to her breast again. “S’okay,” she murmurred. “It was pretty good anyway, and it’ll be better next time.”

His penis, resting pale and dispirited on her chocolate thigh, gave a last, frightened leap at the words. Next time?

***

When he met her, she was working as a cleaning woman in our building. Her breasts, naturally, were what most men noticed, but her personality was hard to miss as well. Outgoing and friendly, she almost bubbled over with goodwill, a sharp departure from the other people on the cleaning crew, most of whom could not even be bothered to return your greeting.

She walked among the scowling ladies, a motley crew of dour older women blacks, like an ambassador of sex appeal and friendliness. Office workers, evenly divided between those who were just naturally rude to those who they considered their inferiors, and those who’d lapsed into silence after being rebuffed by one or the other of the two he called The Sullen Twins.

She came in that first morning, tripping through the office like a Brownie Scout, singing out names of those she passed, leaving a string of startled people in her wake. Most had forgotten the name plates located somewhere in the vicinity of their desks, and stood in clusters pondering how the new girl could know all their names. Was she psychic? No one even felt the need to laugh at her stumbling, heroic attempts to pronounce the consonent-laden Eastern-European surnames which dominate our division.

For the entire summer and most of the fall, she’d been the source of sunlight for a number of the white-collar drudges in that windowless hole. The women, though most of them were minus the obvious physical attributes the girl seemed so unaware of, could not seem to muster her the ill will necessary to make their usual catty remarks, even though they all noticed with dismay the effect she had on the men, from the young just-graduated Midwesterners to the eldest, most jaded East Coast Wasps. Though the office harbored a number of not-so-muted racists, he’d never heard anyone speak disparragingly of the office’s dusky ray of sunshine.

The effect of Anika’s presence was palpable. We all talked a bit more nicely to one another, less afraid to interrupt someone’s work to say good morning, more apt to compliment a coworker on a nice outfit; less concerned about the ever-present spectre of sexual harassment misunderstandings. When Anika breezed through, the air seemed less stuffy, and many of us would invent reasons to keep her there. More than one old man would find himself in the corner booth – the private one – of the men’s room after she left for the day. But I never heard an off-color remark about her.

Then one day she vanished.

The office rocked with disappointed men, and not a few women. The other people on the cleaning crew were as uncommunicative as ever. When someone finally got the nerve to ask, we discovered we had no name to go with the face. “What girl?” they wanted to know. “We change peoples all the time. Dey leaves.”

We never saw her again until the day a few months ago when a couple of us walked in to Roy’s and saw the place light up with her personality. “Hey, guys. How you like that TV coverage of the trial?” she smiled.

We began to develop a taste, almost every day, for fast food.

It’s been a few months now. He comes into the lot late, certain nights, about once every two weeks. Not the Roy’s lot, like the first time; now he prefers the lot of the repair shop a few blocks away. She meets him there, driving her own car, and then follows him to the place where this week’s assignation will take place.

After the first time, he tried to stay away, haunted by the thought that, rather than a one-night fling, he was beginning a protracted deception. He was realistic enough to know that the risks would increase with each meeting.

But the temptation was too much for him, as temptation usually is. He’s not very good at restraint, and his excuse, of course, is the same one she alluded to earlier: he needs to make it up to her. Even when he’s finally learned to make her come repeatedly, some months later, when it’s obvious that the imaginary debt has been satisfied, he’s unable to break off the affair.

He’s hooked.

A few weeks’ withdrawal always brings him back, shaking with the need. And she’s always willing, always expectant, never demanding.

His conquest, as he sees it, is complete. He can bring her violently to climax anytime he wants, in seconds. She’s never boring, always exciting, and he can’t stop it, even though he knows the time is here.

She surprises him. Lying in the sand on the pitch-dark beach, she pulls him to her by his testicles, then climbs into his lap, screwing down on him so suddenly that he cries out. Is there sand inside her?

She shushes him with a breast in his face, like a baby, suckling, pressing him supine. In the dark, nearly invisible but for the occasional moon’s glint reflected in the liquids on her body, she is even more mysterious than usual. He thrusts upward, screws the darkness, formless, wet and inviting, and it responds with incoherent demands and exaltations, grasping, tugging, prodding, the flesh which touches his altering; firm, pliant, smooth, hairy, slippery, gritty and ultimately painful.

The breast in his face seems to have grown wiry hair, and his tongue finds its way into the musky tunnel, just as his penis is clamped again by a wet, superheated clamp, pressing down upon him. He protests and his flailing tongue brings a clenching reaction from above, his voice muffled. He clasps the flesh above to him, his hands slipping in the liquid, and his tongue, tracing, slides between the globes, into a tightening cleft. The flesh above him stiffens, strains as he touches the bud lightly with the tip of his tongue, then presses it firmly with his thumb. The shriek that greets his ears is followed by a sharp pain in his own anus, and he comes, violently, into the fleshiness which clasps him.

He feels the vacuum as she drinks him dry, pressing deeper into his rectum until he gives up all he has.

She withdraws her finger, and the nail grazes his inner thigh. Words he realizes he has been dreading chill him to his soul. “I want you to promise you’ll never leave me,” she says distinctly.

The silence lengthens, then:

“We’ll have to get rid of her,” he responds mechanically, his voice vacant and uninflected.

She sighs contentedly, and nestles her head in his lap. “Whatever you say.”

Somewhere a man, condemned by a majority in a racially-divided nation of getting away with murder, finds some inexplicable measure of peace.

The Dawning of RadClassical

I want you to do me right here. Pull my dress up, open me up wide, and fuck me backstage before I go on.

Your father wouldn’t appreciate that.

I’m not asking you to fuck him.

Yeah… So why…?

I want to have your sperm dripping down my legs under my prim black dress. When I put my violin to my chin, I want to feel you inside me.

I can’t be. That’s sort of impossible.

She blew out her breath impatiently. Not literally, dumbhead. I’m talking about my art.

Explain.

I want to change classical music. I want it to be less sterile; I want to breathe the passion of life back into a.. art form that has become way too… dead. Stale. Technical brilliance can only be so good if it stays unconnected from real life.

You want to create edgy classical.

Passionate classical. I want to play my violin, fed by the lust for you in my blood.

We settled for my semen in her mouth. She played the whole show that way, turning it over and over on her tongue, refusing to swallow. The blush of sex was on her cheeks, the rising sap of a blooming late-teenage girl awash in hormones, aglow with the promise of the touch of her lover, the yearning of the flesh for the flesh of her older man, her mentor. Not in music but in life.

Most of the audience saw only her hair, a dark mass of which lay across her face throughout the show. Maybe some men noticed the extra swell of her butt and the strong push of her pudenda against the low-waisted black gown, but not many. But all noticed the plaintive notes of love, fresh and dark, pushing through the trite perfect phrases, filling the gaps until they burst forth dripping, overflowing the bodice of the music.

A t the end of the show, all eyes upon her, she bowed low, and then knelt. The audience gasped at the violation of protocol, but froze when she tilted her head back,  face centered in the spotlight’s pool, closed her eyes and allowed the sticky essence to dribble from her lips and down across her cleavage, onto the Stradivarius, making its way toward her aching cunt.

They saw it as an audacious artist’s statement, a precocious child’s over-the-top explanation, explication of the music. Some elders grew angry at her desecration, some younger hailed her bravery at smashing convention. Some idly wondered what the exact substance was that she had chosen to symbolize the life she was breathing back into her beloved baroque, baptising the invaluable relic she held to her chin.

None dreamed the substance was the symbol.

*

It was the beginning of RadClassical. Sex and Violins! one critic dubbed it. From there, her fame only grew, as did the elaborate stage shows, with suggestive props, many of which she used as chairs, perching upon the strangely-shaped items, taking them secretly inside her while she played, rising and falling slightly upon them. Over time, they became exotic vibrators, stroking her toward climaxes timed to happen when the music reached crescendo.

Many of the stage sets became vehicles to hide me, disguises that allowed me to stroke and caress her while she played, to insert my tongue into her and let her revel in the naughtiness, all notable for the passion that it wrought in her music.

She began to practice nude, sitting down upon me slowly and rising and falling as the music dictated.

Speaking of dictation…

One night, she disrobed and leaned forward, violin at her chin. Do with me what you will, she said primly. I want it as you want it.

With that marvelous, flawless ass inclined toward me, I took her as offered, with rather more vigor and less finesse.  After first kneeling and licking her from behind, releasing her slick welcoming juices, I rose and finding myself magnificently tumescent, I took her abruptly, thrusting into her suddenly, roughly. Her stroke on the violin strings faltered, and I heard the intake of breath, waited for her to remonstrate.  Then the bow came down again and the music flowed, but the piece that she was playing changed subtly, becoming less whimsical, more muscular, altered again. I took her with ever more urgency, and the music responded, becoming more martial.

The next innovation was obvious.

The ages of things

She would meet me at the old house, slipping out when her mother was occupied with her own lover, or she would come up with excuses, something that didn’t require a car; visiting a friend who lived close, a basketball game, something that could be an excuse for slipping out and walking a few blocks in the wrong direction before doubling back and streaking through the woods over to the old house. The house where we used to live chastely together, me as her father’s guest, a friend from out of town come to stay for an extended period, she as his dutiful beautiful underage daughter. The house was somehow still empty, years after her dad and stepmom had moved up the coast to Nimbin and joined a community of pseudo-hippie-hedonists like themselves.

She looked every bit the voluptuous hippie girl herself, buxom, bursting with health. Her body was near perfection, with a rounded hour-glass aspect, clearly a woman’s shape animated by a girl’s vitality; a bit of baby fat lining the lush, graceful curves, but it just made me even more molten for her. Especially in the days before, when I looked only from afar.

She has these sultry, pouty lips, with a line of fine muscle around the border, full expressive lips that you just need to kiss, softly, gently, taste them like they’re a delicacy, an appetizing morsel to tempt you before the coming feast. And then after a bit, you press harder against them, tickle them with your tongue, then move inside and explore her mouth, engage her tongue, withdraw and then meet again, harder, then catch the corner of her lip softly in your teeth as you separate, nibble softly along the ridge until you feel her breath speed up.

Lips you bite lightly when she’s highly excited, so hot she’s about to crawl out of her skin, when light pain gets all mixed up in your brain with pleasure.

Her face is an oval, almond-shaded, framed by dark pixie hair, her nose aquiline yet soft, with a lock of her hair always hanging not-quite-across one eye, curling alongside her nose like an accent, her skin feathery to the touch almost like it’s been powdered with sugar. It tastes just as delicately delicious.

Her eyes are soft brown one minute, gentle, then black-purple the next, almost dangerous looking, a change that alters her every feature, making her seem an almost-constant mystery, a stranger that you somehow know without really knowing, need even when you can’t recognize her.

Even when I am the one making all the moves, doing all the seducing, while she silently — or not-so-silently — registers her surprise and pleasure at all the new things I do to her, it still feels like she’s somehow the one controlling everything.

I dip down, kneel, and explore under her soft white cotton skirt, and her sighs and whispering cautions show her appreciation and inexperience, and the novelty of sliding my tongue into that subtly sweet, tangy, sticky slit and knowing I am in all the likelihood the first tongue to ever taste her, the Columbus of Carnal Knowledge.

I make my tongue soft and broad and slip it gently across the opening in her softly-furry mound, up, up and then slowly inside at the tip so softly, it’s like a whisper. She grabs my head, her fingers entwining into my hair, vocalizing but saying nothing, soft liquid sounds issuing from her mouth. I set a steady, gentle pace and she starts to undulate slowly, her hips describing a soft determined semi-circle, the intensity of her thrusts slowly building until she’s rubbing herself against my lips, my tongue, my chin, moaning softly.

I suddenly make my tongue go stiff and clenched, pointed, and thrust inside, darting swiftly into her gooey center before resuming the gentle vertical swipe. She goes rigid for a second with a sharp intake of air, and then grinds herself against me. “Do that again,” she gasps. “Please?”

I take off then, launch all my skills and technique, all the things her gender across the country and the world have painstakingly taught me over the years. In minutes, no, seconds, she’s coming, moaning, sobbing, grinding against me, her hands clasped tightly to both sides of my head.

“My God,” she says shyly when she can speak again. “I had no idea it could be like this. Jeez.”

I stand, sliding up her body to her perfect breasts, touch her perky nipples each in turn, then lean in to taste each, my hands gripping that perfect meaty, shapely butt. She groans and presses herself against me, her sticky cunt suctioning to my thigh. I nudge it with my knee and she murmurs approvingly. “I guess there’s some compensation for being my age,” I say softly. She smiles, nods.

I often think back on that, the way it was at first, as she stands before me these days, her face defiant and full of scorn, disgusted at my continuing physical decline, yet she comes when I call her, grudgingly unwilling, moving across the room in that strange splay-legged gait that looks like her thighs are scraping together.

I know the signs, and I know them well. She’s the only woman I have ever met who needs sex as much as I do, her body signaling that need as clearly as if she had a neon sign on her head – or a bulge in her pants. Her labia suffuse with blood when she’s in need, and push out, rubbing against each other, making her walk bowlegged, until she needs to scratch it like an actual itch. If she doesn’t get what she needs, she’ll go home and masturbate in her strangely violent way, scratch herself until she comes. She does that out of spite, not pleasure. She only wants me, but it’s not personal – her cunt likes my cock. It’s not like she desires me as a being, or even likes me very much anymore. In fact, most days she says she hates me.

But the sex is every bit as mind-blowing; every time is like the first time, if not always in the same gentle style, it matches that first time in intensity. She still needs me to take over and dominate, even as she loathes me, hates that she needs it. Some nights she sobs while she rides me, cursing me with her eyes while out of her mouth tumble tiny, surprised mumbled words of effusive praise, helpless in her gratitude for what her body is getting from its melding with mine.

It’s a mutual need, an addiction for both of us.

The first time I parted her with my finger and thumb and held her apart while my penis entered her, it was like an explosion of emotion and sensation, grabbing us both and throwing us into each other’s orbit, trapping us with the centrifugal force, making us cling to each other and gasp with wonder at what had been unleashed. It seemed an awesome, fearsome thing, capable of life without our consent, and of fierce destruction if it should decide to — and it still does.

That day, we moved slowly, tentatively yet somehow deliberately, tenderly meshing our bodies, learning our parts, interlacing my suddenly-rigid cock in her soft tissue-paper-like tensile wetness, lest we break something, start a chain reaction, initiate a meltdown. But the energy spooled up anyway, spilling over us, heating our thighs and flushing our faces and limbs with racing blood, even as we moved slowly, deeply restrained even as we buried my most impressive erection ever inside her innocent babe-flesh.

When my orgasm came, there was no question of holding it back even for a moment, it blasted its way up and out like a geyser, flooding her insides like a firehose and then suddenly she was coming with me, her tiny cunt clamping ever harder, milking, and she screamed into my ear, a ragged bird-like cry, dredged from some forgotten part of the brain that humans had long ago abandoned. I felt the force of my spasm as a pressure in the fillings in my teeth, in my toenails, in my soul. With the rush of blood to my head, my ears began to hum, rumble, sing, and the world went blurry and indistinct, her cry of primal primacy sounding robustly feline and childishly fragile at the same time inside my head.

Back then, she would always lay her head down on my chest, her hair matting and bonding to my damp skin, and sleep, stirring with my every move, kissing my chest in her sleep, murmuring. Sleeping exactly an hour, then waking cleanly and departing with a secret backward smile.

These days she leaves as I lie, still gasping, not daring to call to her lest the pounding in my chest be accompanied by a sharp, lightning pain down my arms.