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Mrs. Ruby

By: BartlebyWaylon



This story took place half a lifetime ago, when I was just 18 years old and a senior in high school. I won't generalize about adolescents and their susceptibility to peer pressure; I'm sure there are some strong independent thinkers in the high school age bracket--but I sure wasn't one of them. I never had the courage to admit to my tastes and preferences whenever there was a strong consensus among my friends that I did not share. 

This applied to music, movies, television--you name it. It was okay to differ about who was a better rapper or rock musician, but don't let anyone catch you enjoying a country song, not even a little. If you did you had to keep it to yourself, a private "guilty pleasure," lest you risk enduring the ridicule of the crowd. It wasn't until I was well into my adult years that I gained the courage to own up to my unpopular tastes. 

As a teenager, one of my guiltiest pleasures of all was fat girls. It may be that I've simply m.atured, or it may be that the cultural zeitgeist has shifted toward greater acceptance of different body types since I was a kid, but all I know for sure is that not a single one of my male friends in school ever admitted to finding bigger girls attractive in general. I am sure some of them were sincere about their tastes, though probably conditioned by the self-appointed aesthetes of our society who choose the (in my opinion, disgustingly emaciated) cover models for fashion magazines. But I suspect others were like me--secretly admiring the big girls but cowed into silence by the fear of ridicule.

Being a secret fat admirer as a teenager had its pros and cons. The disadvantages are probably pretty obvious. The popular culture seemed almost never to cater to my tastes. Not being much for skinny chicks there was precious little wankable material out there in general circulation: from Playboy to the Victoria's Secret catalogue to the Sears catalogue, there seemed to be an anti-fat conspiracy; I was forced to use my imagination more than most. 

On the other hand, there were some plusses to digging the plus-sized. Because it was rather unexpected at the time, a person could actually more easily "get away with" checking out a big girl. It was as if all the skinny chicks were constantly policing the available views of their T&A, and woe betide he who got busted scoping bustage. "Why'nch you take a picture, perve, it'll last longer!" But with the bigger girls, I found that I could sometimes feign a detached, spacey gaze into the middle distance when, in reality, I was positively memorizing a bit of cleavage or a visible panty line for later use. Where skinny chicks were taken in stolen glances, with bigger girls it was sometimes possible to literally stare. 

One example was Mrs. Ruby (not her real name) who taught my senior algebra class. To this day, even with an adult's experience and hindsight (and even in light of the story I'm about to tell) it is hard to imagine that she knew how hard she was making me. Day after day I would have to choose a time, usually about ten minutes before the bell, to stop checking her out and just stare at my desk taking deep breaths and willing my hard-on to fade so that I'd be able to stand up from my desk after class without embarrassment. 

Was she doing it on purpose? Hard to tell. Most of the guys in class either didn't find her attractive or, like me, didn't admit to it. If they got a bad grade or caught detention they would complain about "that fat bitch." But to me she was a goddess--size 20, with big f-cup boobs that could squeeze together and suggest cleavage even with a neckline in full compliance with the school's teacher dress code. She had a nice round belly and an ass that must have measured 60 inches. 

And when she would help a student with a problem she was always bending over to look at their work. Sometimes she would stand in front of the desk, bending over and viewing their work upside down, giving me a glimpse of cleavage and, if I was lucky, a bit of brassiere. Other times she would bend over to look over a student's shoulder, giving me a chance to study that ponderous ass and, hopefully, visible panty line. And of course sometimes she would be at my desk, bending to help me--too close to get a visual, but intoxicating me with the mingling aroma of cosmetics and pheromone. 

She was white, fortyish, possibly Jewish, and had beautiful, lustrous, long, straight black hair that shone like the kind you see in a shampoo commercial. Almost daily she wore bright nail polish and lipstick, fire-engine red or some other loud color. Her eyes were a shimmering black, like oiled, burnished ebony. She was always extremely well put together, with designer clothes that, only in retrospect, it occurs to me to wonder how she could afford on a teacher's salary. 

I had a ritual with her. Apart from the random, sporadic occasions when we were working in class and I could steal random glances as she bent to help this or that student, there was an almost daily activity where she would, on request, work out a problem on the board from the previous day's homework. If no one else presented an appropriate one, I would pick out a long, complicated word problem and ask her to work it out on the board. This would make her turn her back to the class for a prolonged period and, if the problem took enough board space, eventually compel her to bend pretty low in order to finish it. 

The best part was that the ploy was never implausible because the word problems were naturally the most difficult and most likely to require explanation. I would just sit there and gape at her enormous ass, salivating, heart pounding, cock throbbing. It was amazing. The only hard part (pun intended) was that this activity was usually close to the end of class and it would sometimes bump up against my ten-minute rule. But life is all about hard choices, and this ritual was quite worth the risk. 

Then one day she caught me. 

She had brought in a variety of circular objects of differing circumferences to demonstrate the discovery of pi. We all knew about pi from middle school, but she wanted us to discover it in the way our ancient Greek forbears must have done as a property of things circular, so she split us up in groups with tape measures and a Frisbee, coaster, coffee saucer, chrome hubcap, etc. One by one each group sent a representative to the board where they would prop their group's circular object on the chalk tray and demonstrate their results. 

Then in the last quarter of class she erased the pi calculations and offered to do her usual demonstration of last night's homework. As usual, I picked a nice long one from the word problems section and raised my hand. 

At first it worked the way it always had. Her lilting voice mingled with the squeaky staccato scrape of her chalk as she explained the steps in the solution, supplying a sort of warm soundtrack to this lovely dance as she worked further and further down the board until she was bent at a nearly perfect right angle. "Uh huh," I would say from time to time, pretending to listen, "mm-hmm," all the while staring at that giant ass, imagining myself coming up behind her, hiking up her skirt and yanking down her panties, thrusting inside of her, and feeling her big jiggly white ass slap rhythmically against my belly, moaning as I deposited every last drop of my virginity into her warm pink goodness. 

That day I was particularly fixated: she had on a particularly flattering ecru blouse and khaki skirt. I was staring, staring, staring, completely lost in that luscious rump, when I vaguely detected something had changed. What was it? In my daydreamy state I couldn't be sure. Then I realized what it was. The room had fallen silent--the sound of her chalk and her New Jersey vocal cadence had both ceased, but I hadn't noticed (I could have used one of those canned record-scratch effects you get on TV shows). I heard her say, in the distinct tone of someone who is repeating herself, "Mr. Waylon (not my real name), are you still with us?" 

Then I realized what was happening. She was still bent over, back to the class, but I suddenly found myself making eye contact with her in the reflection of the chrome hubcap still propped on the chalk tray from the pi exercise! There was no disguising what had just happened. I was staring hard at her big butt and she had caught me in flagrante. I could feel my face rapidly reddening, wondering if it was as obvious to the other students as it now was to Mrs. Ruby. 

"Mr. Waylon?"

"Yes." 

"Are you chewing gum, Mr. Waylon?"

Huh? What the hell kind of non sequitur question was that? Of course I was chewing gum! I always chewed gum in her class (her class was my last of the day, after lunch, and I self-consciously wanted my breath to be minty fresh if she ever came to my desk to help me with a problem). She had never mentioned it before. "Um," I stammered, a bit confused, "yes," I finally said, "yes I am."

She rose and faced me. "You do know it's against the rules to chew gum in class, don't you, Mr. Waylon." I was literally stunned silent; I just stared at her stupidly without replying. She strode up to my desk, extended a supine hand in front of my face and, with a snap of her fingers, said "give it to me."

This only added to my shock. "In your hand?!" I was incredulous. 

"Spit it out, now, Mr. Waylon. And remain after the bell. You have detention." I took the gum out of my mouth and diffidently placed it into her palm. Pardon the hackneyed phrase but as she proceeded to drop my gum in the trashcan I understood what people mean when they say you could have heard a pin drop in the room. 

Just then I realized what was happening--or at least I thought I did. She had busted me checking her out and wanted to punish me, wanted me to have detention for it, but didn't want to embarrass me by announcing the real reason to the class. She used the gum as a pretext for my own good. 

Same with spitting the gum into her hand. Her calling me out had caused my hitherto massive hard-on to list to starboard a bit but, even so, I was in no shape to stand up and put my gum in the trash. She must have known that, which is why she came to me--to spare me the embarrassment. In that moment, even though I'd caught detention, I suddenly felt grateful to her. Then I cracked a smile as I caught myself thinking: "Her heart is as big as her ass." 

Algebra was my last class of the day so reporting for detention just meant remaining in class past the bell. "Mr. Waylon, could you come here please," she said, motioning for me to come to the front of the now empty room. She handed me a thick red accordion file and said "These are the ungraded midterms from all five of my classes. I want you to sort them into alphabetical order by student last name, keeping them in their separate periods. That should be about a half-hour's work. If you finish early you can leave early, but if you're still here in 30 minutes you can leave whether you're done or not. Use my desk." With that, she disappeared into the hall and left me alone at her desk.

She had the standard issue teacher's desk, putty-colored aluminum with chrome legs and handles and a simulated woodgrain top. Her office chair was a lime-green swivel job on casters, scratchy polyester fabric except for the armrests, which were sticky vinyl. The whole desk was shoved into a corner, directly abutting the thickly painted cinderblock walls, leaving plenty of the front of the classroom as a stage for her daily blackboard demonstrations. I sank into her springy office chair and briefly surveyed the landscape from this perspective. 

On a corner of her desk, facing her chair stood a framed Olan Mills, she with her skinny husband and skinny ten-year-old son in their best clothes, smiling out at me. Mr. Ruby looked like a lawyer in his blue suit and curly but closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. "So that's the guy who gets to fuck Mrs. Ruby," I thought. The son had his father's hair but it was allowed to roam free in a tousled unruly fro. I sat there for a moment taking in The Ruby Family and then began alphabetizing her first-hour class's tests. 

After maybe five minutes she returned to the room and came directly to her desk. "Could you excuse me a moment--I just need to get a few things out of this file drawer." She was referring to bottom drawer of her desk and, before I could even offer to get up, she pulled out the drawer and began fingering the manila tab tops. I rolled my chair as far back into the corner as I could but there was no hiding from it; her enormous khaki-clad derriere was no more than twelve inches from my face, closer than I'd ever been before. 

Almost immediately I started swelling in my pants as my head filled with visions of reaching my hands up under the material, tracing the curve of her thick milky thighs, locating the elastic of her giant panties, sliding them down over her massive roundness. I imagined my face lowering into the valley of her buttocks, I imagined locating that warm tangy gash in a trim forest of black hair and--I was virgin--I could only imagine the taste!

This went on for a surprisingly long time, two or three minutes at least, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot causing her big pear bottom to shift in an enchanting waggle. From time to time she would pull a file out and set it on her desk but at the time it did not occur to me how improbably protracted her search had been, as though she were just randomly thumbing the files. I recall thinking with my big throbbing hard-on: "Doesn't she know what she's doing to me?! Maybe it was the gum after all." 

Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, she said "This is taking longer than I thought." I started to offer to get up but she cut me off: "How about I just sit in your lap for a minute."

"Um, I, uh--" 

"Won't be much longer." Whereupon she lowered her big beautiful warm bottom onto my thighs. I couldn't believe it. I was holding perfectly still. My fingers were in a white-knuckled death grip on the arms of the chair and I was staring at where my knees disappeared under the soft globe of khaki. My heart was pounding and my breath deepening. I was so nervous that I actually started to lose my hard-on, if you can believe that. But that wouldn't last long.

I began mentally revising my theory. "Aha!" I thought, "She does know what she's doing to me: this is part of the punishment." 

But then, with the only warning a hastily uttered statement "I just need to get into the back files here," she abruptly pulled the file drawer all the way out and simultaneously thrust her fat bottom all the way back into my belly, pinning me to the wall with her girth. It was too sudden and there was nowhere to hide. I tried with all my might to squeeze backward into the chair but it was no good: What was left of my hard-on was poking conspicuously into her right butt cheek. 

She froze instantly on contact. For a moment she held completely still, but then began shifting her bottom in a side-to-side motion as if to be certain of what she had detected. Then, in a wry, knowing tone, she said: "So, Mr. Waylon, I see someone has been paying attention in class."

"Um--"

Without another word she began thrusting her bottom back and forth, back and forth, grinding against my cock which, needless to say, was now once again hard as a rock. In response, and without even thinking, I started meeting her rhythm with a forward pelvic thrust of my own. She picked up the pace and the springs of the office chair began squeaking in time with the bouncing rhythm of the ride. 

The sensation of my hard cock digging into the crack of her khakied ass was at once ecstatic and unbearable. Before I knew it I was arching my back in a pounding upward thrust trying desperately to press harder into that big beautiful rump. Then she reached back and took my hands from where they were still gripping the armrests and she placed them on her body, where the curve of her hips rounded into her big booty. I immediately accepted the cue and reached forward, fondling her love handles, her belly, even trying to reach her breasts before moving back down to her pelvis.

I began putting her love handles to their intended use, pulling her hard against me as I thrust harder and faster against her soft jiggling backside. She put her palms flat on the desk, feet on the floor, and changed her stroke, began lifting her ass into the air and slapping it down hard against me. 

By now it occurred to me what was going to happen, and how inconvenient it would be to deal with it here at school, and I thought about trying to stop it. For the first time I stopped staring at her ass, closed my eyes and tipped my head back to clear my mind. When I lowered my head to the side and opened my eyes I found myself face to face with that paragon of familial bliss, The Ruby Family. I looked at the father, then the son. I thought: "I'm dry-humping your mom, kid." 

And suddenly there was no way to stop--I was past the point of no return. I was thrusting hard and fast, pulling her toward me and pressing the whole length of my shaft--as much of it as I could through my jeans--into the place between her buttocks when, seized with that telltale tingle of inevitability, I froze, shuddered, and felt my whole body start to seize up. She easily detected what was happening and momentarily pulled away from my grasping urgency. "You making a mess in your pants sweetheart?" she asked as, to my amazement, she quickly and deftly pulled up her skirt exposing acres of cottony yellow panty, and ground herself heavily down into me just in time to meet my last desperate thrust. 

My buttocks tightened into an impossible pucker as I pushed forward involuntarily and, gasping, felt shockwaves of pleasure rippling through my body as generous spurts of hot semen began coursing into my underpants. I felt I'd had the wind knocked out of me. She was still pressing hard against my sputtering member until the last contractions finally faded and, when she rose, just before she let her skirt slip back down to cover the evidence, I could see where my load had soaked through my jeans and left a spot on her lemon-colored underwear. 

She stood and wheeled her massive body around, gazing down at my spent form with a satisfied smirk. "You seem to have had a bit of an accident, Mr. Waylon. In light of your problem I think it's appropriate to dismiss you from detention early so you may attend to it. Have a pleasant afternoon." I looked down and the spot was actually not quite as noticeable as you'd think; thankfully I was wearing dark jeans. 

It was really just more uncomfortable than anything else. I had shot quite a healthy load and, as I walked down the hallway from her classroom in a daze, I was vaguely aware of the rapidly cooling sticky mess trickling down past my scrotum and lingering on my perineum. 

I stopped off in the boys' room but, as you might imagine, the mess was more or less impossible to clean up. I finally gave up on the inabsorbent institutional toilet paper they stocked in the stalls (it was just shredding and making an even bigger mess) and finally just stripped from the waist down and used my jockey shorts as a rag, wiping down my cock and balls and adjacent cracks and crevices. I remember wishing for warm soap and water but, even a half hour after the bell, there was no way I was leaving that bathroom stall naked and cum-covered. Instead, I stuffed the soiled jockeys into a pocket of my backpack and walked all the way home with my cock hanging loose, grazing the damp denim of my spunk-soaked jeans. It was uncomfortable as hell--but 100% worth it! 

Mrs. Russell and Me



It was late Thursday afternoon when Janis, my secretary, stuck her head in the door and said, "Your four o'clock appointment is here and I'm getting ready to take off. Remember you said I could go home early today."

Damn! I had forgotten about Mrs. Russell. Tomorrow and Monday were holidays and I was looking forward to getting an early start on the long weekend myself. I had just met a new, hot lady I was hoping to get to know better, a lot better. I had made reservations for a weekend trip to the Bahamas on one of the cruise ships out of Miami. I desperately needed to get lucky, and I don't mean at the craps table.

I had only skimmed over the Russell file. Sixty-four year old Fred Russell, a successful businessman, had driven his car off a cliff on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. The method of death suggested suicide but there was no other evidence to back it up. Under the terms of the policy, suicide paid nothing, regular loss of life was $250,000 and the double indemnity clause paid $500,000. As an insurance investigator it was my job to determine which was the case. If he drove off the cliff on purpose she got nothing, if he had a heart attack and died before going of the cliff she got $250,000 but if he fell asleep then took the big jump she could be in line for the full half million. His wife, Mrs. Fred Russell was named as the sole beneficiary under the policy. 


Well, let's get the old battle-ax in here and see what we can do. I called Janis on the intercom, "Send Mrs. Russell in before you go. Have a nice weekend. See you Tuesday."

The door opened and in walked a very tall and very attractive blond, tastefully dressed in a short skirt and frilly blouse. She had long tan legs with flat-heeled sandals and no hose. I guessed her to be in her early 30's, about ten years younger than myself. She was a beautiful woman, with large, firm, shapely breasts, a narrow waist and hips that promised heaven. She demurely took a seat in front of my desk as I fiddled with the file.

"How do you do, Mrs. Russell? I was just familiarizing myself with your the status of your, ah, claim." I would kill to familiarize myself with her body.

"Let's cut the small talk. It's been over four months since my husband drove off that cliff. I need to close this and get along with my life. I know, first hand, and my private investigator found out that the medical examiner said, he was alive when he went off the cliff, so I am entitled to the full amount of the double indemnity claim."

Unfortunately, without any proof of suicide, she was probably right. In any case, we would probably lose a court trial, the jury would award her the full amount of the claim and we would be stuck with the cost of the litigation too. It would be best to cut our losses and settle. I wondered if I could negotiate something a little below the full $500,000. 

As I shuffled through the file and looked at the photo of the demolished car she came around the end of the desk and looked at the picture over my right shoulder. It was impossible to ignore her perfume or, in fact, any part of her presence. Her left breast was just brushing my shoulder and I could feel her warm breath in my ear. She should have been able to see the goose bumps on the skin of my neck. I know I felt a pleasant stirring in my loins that had become more and more frequent over the past few weeks.

"Our investigator said he cannot be sure that Mr. Russell was alive when he went off the cliff but, if he was, there is a good chance that it was suicide." Maybe, if a good bluff worked, I could be on my way to the Bahamas to take care of this unusual swelling condition in my penis. I gave her my best comforting smile and, as I began to put things back into the file folder, said, "I'll contact the company and see if they will settle for the face value of the policy and save a long legal battle".

She moved back around to the front of the desk, gave me a dazzling smile and said, "Not on your life. I have been fucked too many times by big business and I'm not going to let you or some dickless insurance company do it to me again. I might let you do it to me for free but not for two hundred and fifty grand." 

I wasn't sure what she said after the part about "For free." I think she said something else, but all I could hear was my libido screaming in my ear, beating on the inside of my chest.

She sat down and continued, "Why don't you close up here and take me to dinner so we can talk about it."

About what? Fucking me for free or settling the policy? I think I mumbled something about canceling some plans. She stood up to leave but I couldn't because the swelling in my crotch was so severe I knew you could hang a flag from it.

She flashed me another of those dazzling smiles and said, "OK, I am in the executive suite at the Sheraton downtown. Call me later and lets see if we can get our thoughts and things together."

Oh, damn, I did want to get my thing together with hers! But I wimped out and said, "Fine, I'll call you about 6:30, if that's OK."

She nodded her acceptance and breezed out of the office, leaving the essence of her perfume hanging in the air, throwing love darts into me like some invisible seductress.

I made a flurry of canceling the boat and hotel reservations. Canceling the trip with Lucile was not as easy. When I told her that something unexpected 'came up' she indicated that I could kiss the part of her I could see as she departed. She also said something about me passing up an opportunity to have my eyes roll back into my head and that the temperature in the neither world would be quite chilly before I had another chance as good as this to experience ultimate bliss.

Back in my apartment I wondered if I was a fool for passing up sure thing Lucile for Mrs. Russell. (I didn't even know her first name yet). In the shower, I washed away the day’s grime, wondered about relieving my swelling, decided against it, shaved and changed into my best casual slacks and sport blazer. I called her promptly at 6:30 and made a date to meet her in the hotel dinning room at 7:00.

Her entrance into the hotel dinning room was breathtaking. Conversation dimmed, forks full of food paused on their way to open mouths, waiters stood still in their tracks and even other women stopped talking to look at her. She wore a simple black dress that was in sharp contrast to her blond hair and showed her outstanding figure to maximum advantage. The maître d' made a fool of himself fawning over her as he showed her to my table.

I’m sure I wasn’t any more suave when I stood up to welcome her, the winds of coitus were blowing cobwebs across my mind, blocking any rational thought. “Good evening Mrs. Russell.”

“I’m no longer Mrs. I am a widow now, remember? Anyway, I would prefer Rita to Ms. Russell.”

She sat and we ordered. She had a he-man-sized filet mignon and I had a small prime rib. Over dinner we discussed her claim and I explained that if it went to litigation, we would both the out by the amount of the attorneys fees. I suggested we settle for something a little less than the full, face amount of the policy. She laughed and said, "You know was well as I do that my claim is valid and likely to be upheld. If it is, you'll get to pay all of the attorney’s fees and the full amount the policy to boot.” 

“But….”

She leaned toward me, giving me a wonderful view of her cleavage and, in the tones of a conspirator whispered, “I’ll tell you what, you approve the full amount of the policy and I'll give you the best piece of ass you ever had.”

Suddenly my tongue was swollen in my mouth. “I, I’ll – er -- I Don’t – Maybe -- I can – Oh hell, yes, I will do it!” God how I wanted to do it!

She smiled, put her hand on top of mine and said, “OK, we will go back by your office, you can sign the release papers and then we can go up to my room. I’m glad you want to make love to me; I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t had sex with another person since my husband died and I am horny as hell. By the way, do you eat pussy?”

I don’t know if it was her last question, her eyes looking deep into me, or her hand on mine, but something caused me to loose control of my knees, mouth and lips. I just sat there paralyzed, unable to make any words beyond some noise that sounded like I was strangling. 

“Are you OK?”

The thickness of my tongue made it difficult to speak but I finally was able to say, “Yes, lets go and execute the pussy – er - policy release right away.” 

In the car going to my office, it was even worse. She sat very close to me and kept putting her hand on my leg. I just knew that my cock was going to rip its way out of my pants like some puny anaconda and attack her arm. After six or seven minutes we finally got there, went up to my office and signed the necessary documents. 

She took her copies of the papers and put them in her purse, turned and put her arms around my neck. “Are we all done? Well let me start by giving you a little reward and a taste of what is to come.” She kissed me, long, hard and very wet. 

My mind was already buying pussy in the shop of earthly delights when she dropped to her knees and unzipped my fly. Her mouth was tantalizing warm and soft as it stroked me. I know that standing in the middle of an office with all of your clothes on and a beautiful woman sucking your cock is not the sexiest thing I could describe, but you should try it. The sensation of ecstasy was so great I couldn’t hold back and had a massive orgasm in just a minute or two. Cum that I had been saving for weeks was expended in moments. She finally had to let some of it trickle down her chin. When she took her mouth away, it continued to ooze out of the end of my cock, making a puddle on the carpeted floor. Janis would probably wonder what it was on Tuesday.

I was so week with euphoria that I could care less about the carpet. I staggered backward to sit in one of the reception chairs, my rapidly softening cock still sticking out of my pants. Rita had taken a Kleenex from her handbag and was wiping the cum from her face. “Hey big guy, don’t get too comfortable, you still owe me one. Lets get back to my hotel where I can get out of these clothes,” She came over and stuffed my deflated dick into my pants and zipped me up. “Lets go.”

Although she rubbed my penis repeatedly in the car there was very little response until she unzipped my fly, pulled it out and started sucking on it again. 

By the time we got to her hotel, I was so hard I could barely walk and it was very awkward as we crossed the lobby toward the elevators. In the elevator car, she once again started fondling my cock through my pants and kissing me. She opened the door to her suite and pushed me inside. “Get ready for the ride of your life big boy. I have been waiting a long time for the man who would give up a quarter of a million dollars for me and I want to make Damn sure he gets his money’s worth.”

She pushed me down on the bed and stripped my trousers and boxers down around my ankles. As soon as my rigid cock was visible she gobbled it up again. She was sucking me and removing her clothes all at the same time. By the time she had all of her clothes off, I had my shoes and pants off. I still had my coat and shirt on and was fucking her mouth for all I was worth. 

“You like that, don’t you? Well I have bigger plans for us. I want you to taste the sweetest pussy in the world.”

She moved around to the sixty-nine position and sat on my face. She was right! It was so good I almost forgot about her soft mouth and tongue caressing, licking and sucking on me. Her pussy was very wet and the clit was very pronounced, almost a little nipple of soft skin. I could easily suck it into my mouth and run my tongue all over it. Each time I did that, she let out a low “MMMM” sound until she finally stopped sucking on me, raised her head and just enjoyed what I was doing to her. 

She began pushing herself down on my mouth, harder and harder and moaning louder and louder. With a loud “Oh my God, I’m cumming,” she finally had her first orgasm, but I wouldn’t release her. With my arms around her waist I held her in position and sucked until she was almost wailing, Every time my tongue touched her she quivered and sucked in her breath.

She finally broke my grip on her waist and moved around to lie along side of me gasping for breath. I tried to put my head between her legs again, but she wouldn’t let me. “Wait a minute big boy, let me rest for a few seconds, then I want to feel your dick inside of me. I want you to fuck me from behind. I want to be able to feel it when you unload your cum into me.”

While she rested, I slipped out of bed and took off my coat, shirt and the rest of my clothes. By the time I finished and washed my face, she was flat on her back, snoring lightly. I crawled onto the end of the bed and again put my head between her legs, only this time I had complete control. With my arms wrapped around her thighs, my fingers could pull the lips of her pussy open; exposing her clit and making it stand up. I could suck it in my mouth and run my tongue all over it. This was very successful because she had another orgasm in a very few minutes. I had recouped enough to fulfill the rest of her request so I slid upward between her legs, my cock coming into contact with her pussy.

The sweet nectar from her box was all over my face, but she didn't seem to care and neither did I. I worked my way up, licking and kissing across her tummy to her waist, pausing at her breasts long enough to make sure each nipple was properly attended to, and finally to her face. My tongue entered her mouth at almost the same instant she opened her legs even wider and welcomed my cock into her pussy. She wrapped her legs around my ass and, with a grunt, pulled my penis deep into her.

She said, ‘God, that feels good.”

She was right!

I began to stroke. Slowly, every nerve ending in my body deserted its post and reconvened in the seven inches of my flesh that was slipping in and out of the softest place in the world. Nothing mattered except the feelings that were being transmitted to my brain from this magical union. I was lost. If someone told me I would die if I didn’t stop, I would have happily accepted my fate.

Slowly, in and out, each stroke faster and deeper than the last, I fucked her. In and out, for what seamed an eternity. In and out, all outside influences blocked from my mind. In and out until I realized she was almost screaming in climax. In and out, in and out, until I joined her in ecstasy. My entire body stiffened and I could feel the fruit of my loins being reaped by her harvesting pussy. Grunt after grunt I deposited my seed, deep inside her.

I collapsed on top of her, totally spent. I couldn’t believe I had cum twice within a period of an hour and she scored three times.

She pushed me off to one side, saying, “God, that was good, I think I will keep you.”

“Was I really good or do you say that to everybody that gives you a quarter million dollars?”

“I was going to get it anyway,” she smiled. “I will tell you a secret. I think the reason he drove off that cliff was because he was distracted. We were talking on his cell phone and I was telling him how I was going to give him a world-class blowjob when he got home. I was giving him a blow-by-blow description of what I was going to do to him. He had his cock out and was masturbating. He screamed that he was cumming seconds before the crash. The coroners report said that his penis was out and there was semen on his pants, his shirt, the steering wheel and even the windshield of the car.”

She smiled again, “So you see, you really were that good. Now, kiss me and lets do it again.”

Copyright © 02-16-2003 by E. J. Sheeran. All rights reserved. This work, in part, or whole, is not to be distributed, reproduced, transmitted or posted, in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.

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