1 comments/ 7760 views/ 0 favorites Testing Stacy Ch. 01 By: FatherMuck This is intended for adults 18 and over only. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of a sexual nature, please, don't read this or download it. If this is illegal wherever you are reading this, please read on, remember to have fun and in the end, cum! (MF, oral, 1st in series) Thanks to LadyCibelle for editing; and D.H. Lawrence for occasional inspiration. * "Hi, I'm wondering if I could take a little of your time?" Stacy was yanked out of the stupor she had been rolling in, and raised her large brown eyes to see who had questioned her. Jesus. A goddamned interrogation! Exactly what I need when I'm on my way to fucking class. Why me? It's always the same. First it's "Can I ask you a few questions," and then their evaluation turns you into a self-centered egomaniac out of touch with reality. She looked him over. Shit, she thought, he's gorgeous, I can't say no to him! Smiling nervously she replied: "Uh, yeah, sure." She assumed it was just some sort of questionnaire or survey for an assignment, and it shouldn't take too long. She glanced at her watch as he took a sheet from the clipboard, "Ah shit, Actually, I can't right now," she rescinded, "I need to get to class." Pained but determined, he simply replied, "Look, I'll write my name and address on it, and then you can get it back to me later: it only needs to be filled in quickly. Total confidentiality: I promise." He grinned. She melted. His teeth were perfect. He had a great smile, she thought, albeit lopsided. He quickly wrote his name and address on the top of the sheet. He had great big hands, she noticed - nicely manicured. He looked nervous, "If you want total anonymity, I mean, you don't want to hand it back to me, just hand it in to the psychology department, Ok?" Now having to rush, she grabbed the sheet and fired a quick, "Yeah, sure," over her shoulder as she rushed off to her music class, wondering what the hell she had just agreed to. He watched her run off; her brown curly locks streaming behind her. "No problem," he mumbled to himself. *-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-* Two hours later, she finally finished her class. It was tedious work; the class was studying the diatonic scale at the moment - those 8 notes used by Western musicians, some better than others (compare Beethoven with, say, the Backstreet Boys, for example) - and the basic construction of chords and "their application to composition". Being an undergraduate, she really didn't expect much fun and excitement until her last year and she started her thesis, but she was getting a good basis of knowledge that she could work from. She still had her extracurricular piano lessons with Mr. Adamson. Bored, Stacy headed for the cafeteria to see if any of her girlfriends were hanging around to talk to. She breezed through the self-opening doors, searching the room. Bloody hell, she thought, where is everyone? She checked her mobile phone: nope, no messages. It was pretty late though. Grabbing a strawberry milk-shake from the refrigerator, she retreated to one of the many empty tables via the cash register. Looking around the cafeteria, she recognized no one. Stacy had always been a social slut. She looked outside, slurping from her straw and saw Questionnaire Boy walking about - she assumed to class. Jeez, she thought again: he's gorgeous. What an arse! She wondered what the questionnaire was about. She reached into her purple shoulder bag and grabbed the sheet, scanning it as she reached for her pencil case. Her hand never reached the pencil case. She froze when she read the title: Sexual Habits Of The University Student, And The Perceived Impact On Others. She looked around quickly; glad the cafeteria was devoid of students. Wow, she thought; is this serious? She scanned the rest of the questions, "How often do you think about sex?" was one; "Have you viewed pornographic videos, and if so, what was your response?" was another. She laughed out loud at "What are your thoughts toward so-called perverted forms of sex, i.e. oral and anal sex?" There were a lot of psychology and sociology based ones as well, and she wondered briefly what he was trying to test. Laughing, she decided to have a little fun with the test. It was confidential, after all. Stacy had always been part of a group of pranksters, sometimes the instigator as well. It was part of the "in" crowd syndrome - she had to put others down and pick faults in them to make her look better and more important than everyone else. And Stacy was definitely one of the "in" crowd. She was perfectly groomed, always wore the latest fashions, which, at the moment, being summer, was blissfully little. Perfect white teeth, natural(ish) looking make up, shiny brown hair. However, unlike her friends, she didn't get offended too easily when she was insulted; and she liked to have a laugh. Looking back to the form, she began to methodically fill-in the paper with bullshit, surprising herself at her slutty responses. Soon engrossed, it took her the rest of the afternoon, mainly because she had fun having a good think about what she was writing. She knew she was slowly getting horny. She had quite a diverse and thorough sexual knowledge, which was obviously a huge advantage. She was also a very sexual person - not sluttish, mind you, just someone who pretends she enjoys sex. A couple of the things that she wrote were true, but most of it (including the 6-man gang-bang and the lesbian affair with her drama teacher in high school) were pure fantasy. Soon, she realized she was quite moist. I could fuck anything, she thought. Finishing the survey quickly, lest her lascivious thoughts dissipate, she threw it into her bag and walked quickly to the toilet. Stacy looked around to make sure the other cubicles were empty, then entered and locked the door of the end one. She sat on the porcelain and dragged her skirt up to her waist, stuffing a hand in her panties to massage her stiff clit. She was imagining getting fucked by six guys, one after another, using every hole in her body, her ass, her cunt and her hot little mouth, her fingers were working furiously on her cunt, her orgasm rising in her body, her mouth emitting tiny high-pitched whimpers. Biting her bottom lip, and scrunching her face up, she orgasmed heavily, moaning and creaming all over her roving fingers; her fingers slowed, playing lightly with her clit. After pausing for a moment but still breathing heavily, she reluctantly dragged her hand out of her panties and with weak legs, walked unsteadily over to the psychology block, after washing her hands. She dropped in the survey, before catching the evening bus back to her tiny flat, where she promptly fell asleep. *-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-* Waking up the next morning, Stacy had no real idea of what she had done the day before. Like most Uni students, she was living in the moment, just trying to concentrate on her work, and just get it done. She had a good day at Uni today; well, as far as good days go. She had piano practice, which she always enjoyed (even though she had to attend as soon as she arrived), and another (!) hour-long tutorial on Chopin, which she imagined she would enjoy. She wasn't looking forward to it, but she didnÆt fear it either. She also remembered that she had to go to the bank. She couldn't afford a piano, and she needed to practice. She was paying off her final fifty-dollar installment on a new Yamaha keyboard. She gave no thought to Questionnaire Boy, as she was concentrating on her work. It had just been a bit of fun. She might have a laugh about it to one of her friends later in the day. On her way to Uni, she stared out the window of the bus, wishing her degree could just be finished tomorrow. She didn't have a job at that stage. She was looking, although half-heartedly. Other than that, she was just sitting at home, bored. She read a bit, usually some light philosophy. There was only so much you can do at home by yourself. She had no steady boyfriend, but she had stupidly agreed to a number of one-night stands. They usually left her disappointed - kind of a "Is that all there is" feeling. Arriving at Uni, she headed for the cafeteria. She had five minutes before the start of her class, so she decided to drop in to see if any of her friends were around. She spotted Cat and Lizzie talking animatedly across the room, and passed through the tables and chairs to see what they were chatting about. Catherine, or Cat, was in a lot of the same classes as Stacy, and was nearly as gorgeous as her. She was quite tall, over 5' 9" had jet black, nipple length hair, cold, azure-tinted eyes, and a fairly pale complexion. She was younger than Stacy by three months, and Stacy usually considered Cat to be her best friend. Saying the idolized Marilyn Manson would probably sum up her temperament pretty well. Lizzie, or Elizabeth, as she hated to be called was quite the opposite. She was tiny, 4' 10" in fact, and was the youngest of all three. She had just turned 18 the week before, and showed off the fact at every opportunity. Always the attention seeker, she was probably making up for her lack of height, by being a natural exhibitionist. Long blonde hair, down to her ass, often neatly bisected into pigtails; dark hazel eyes and a tiny button nose, shiny lips and perfectly straight teeth got her a lot of attention. Despite their beauty, both girls steadfastly remained virgins. "Stace!" Cat cried when she saw her. Leaping up, Cat and Stacy embraced in a tight bear hug. Cat's eyes widened, "Oh my god, Stace, guess what happened yesterday?!" Barely giving her time to ask, Cat dragged her down into a chair and started talking a million miles a minute. "I went down on Carl! How cool is that! It felt so nice! And then he came, and like, OH MY GOD. He's sooo cool. He even said thanks!" Stacy looked at Lizzie, who was grinning widely, also obviously having already had the "benefit" of Cat's verbose monologue. "That's great Sweetie," she began, remembering her feelings from when she gave her first blowjob - the apprehension and the uncertainty and then the satisfaction and the pride - "Bet you feel proud!" Cat nodded enthusiastically. Stace glanced at her watch, "Anyway, I better head off to class, Sweetie, I'll be late otherwise." Cat pouted, "'Cause that would be such a shame!" Stacy laughed. She had never skipped a class in her life, unlike her Goth friend, who avoided class as much as possible. "I gotta go," she said, standing up to walk off to the piano room. She paused, shocked to see Questionnaire Boy staring at her again. As soon as he noticed him, he grinned, winked at her, and wandered off. Stacy felt her legs go a little weak, and her face felt hot. She offered a quick "Good-bye" to her girlfriends and hurried to where he had been standing, searching the corridor. Where had he gone? She spotted him down the corridor, but she was dismayed that he had been on his way to class, watching as he walked into one of the lecture theatres. Or did he know he was being followed? Had he hidden? A billion thoughts rushed through her head as she rushed off for practice. She felt an unfamiliar feeling rise in her. She wanted him. Questionnaire Boy. She desired him, needed him. It was like an itch, but she didn't know where. But she knew that he - and he alone - could scratch it. She had never felt like this before, the sex had always come looking for her. She wanted to look for him. She wanted him to fill her up. The thoughts scared her. She pushed them from her muddied brain and hurried off to piano practice. *-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-* The quiet, lilting notes of Tchaikovsky's Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairy rained from the Steinway & Sons piano as Stacy's fingers raced across the keys. It was one of Stacy's favorite songs. It was largely upbeat, but she always thought there was something sinister about the melodic Celesta bells. Even the gorgeous Steinway Grand could not do those bells justice. She had always loved pianos, - the range of expression and depth was unrivaled by any other instrument. She had been very musical throughout her life, and this degree was the culmination, the peak of her musical education. She began thinking about Questionnaire Boy again. What did he want from her? And more importantly, what did she want from him? Her hands skidded suddenly across the keys, hitting a series of wrong notes. Angered, she struck at the keys in frustration, sending a loud inharmonious chord to resonate harshly through the music room. Her mind hadn't been on the music, she mused, and she turned the pages back to the beginning of the song so she could start again. "Concentrate, Stace," she reprimanded herself, "Forget about him." She placed her hands back on the ivory to start again. "Forget about who?" Stacy leapt three feet in the air, spinning toward the door to identify the intruder. It was, thankfully, just her music teacher, Mr. Adamson. Grinning, she replied that he should mind his own P's & Q's. Mr. Adamsons' face grew sterner. "Seriously Miss Stacy, something is going on," he moved across the room to the wide piano stool and sat beside her: "You have been note-perfect with that song for the last six months, now you stuff up. Is something the matter?" She tried not to laugh at his word-perfect English, which sounded odd with his syrupy Jamaican accent. "It's just boy stuff, Mr. Adamson, nothing important." She placed her toned fingers back on the keyboard of the huge, black piano. She looked up at Mr. Adamson, who was also huge and black. Her mindÆs eye threw up a vision of her toned fingers playing across his cock. She shook her head, knowing she should get rid of these thoughts. They were beginning to freak her out. He gave an inquisitive look, as if to ask what sort of "boy stuff". Feeling obliged, she continued, "I've just been having silly little thoughts about boys," she repeated, feeling as though she was about 12 years old again. "It's nothing for you to worry about." She felt extremely intimidated, but aroused, sitting next to such a formidable man. She turned back to the piano, trying to ignore his questioning. "Sexual thoughts?" Shocked that he had even dared to bring it up, she snapped her head back around to face him. "Yes, sexual thoughts," she snapped, instantly regretting divulging such information, but he seemed to be listening. Continuing, "I have a crush on this guy, but I don't want to have sex with him. Jesus - I don't even know his name. I can't behave like normal people when I am around attractive people. I mean, I love the thought of sex, but I have never really had it, and-" "You're a virgin?" Mr. Adamson looked surprised, "A gorgeous young woman like you? I don't believe it." "I'm not a virgin." Stacy countered, eyes back on the piano. She began tapping out a quiet melody, making it up as she went along. "But you said- " "I didn't say that! I said I haven't had sex. Proper sex. Where I know what I'm doing. Where I can respond. I mean, people have had sex with me, if you know what I mean." She looked at him again, realizing that she was actually very confused and very aroused. "So how do you know what you want? No, we shouldn't be talking about this. I'm your teacher." "Why not?" she smiled, suddenly anxious to see his cock, "Like you said, you're a teacher. I want you to teach me." "Teach you to wha-- . . . Uh, no, I don't like where this is going. I don't want to have this conversation." "C'mon. Just teach me how to please someone. I want to enjoy sex." She turned her upper body toward him and looked into his eyes, "I just want to feel . . .something. I just want to feel loved. Wanted." Mr. Adamson quickly excused himself from the situation, "Miss Stacy, we cannot have this conversation. It would be improper." He stood and walked quickly from the room, leaving Stacy alone, dwarfed by the piano. Her embarrassment welled up inside her. Blinkered with desire, she had just begged a teacher to have sex with her, and he turned her down. Why shouldn't he? On second thoughts, why should he? Improper? There was nothing improper about getting a right royal fucking from a black, almost definitely well hung music teacher. Well, maybe a few little things. Angered and humiliated, she hammered away angrily at the piano, pounding out an astoundingly precise rendition of Chopin's Polonaise in A Major. There was always something soothing, therapeutic, about playing the piano thunderously loudly. If only piano's had dick's she thought. At least the thought gave her a smile. Jesus Christ, I'm horny. *-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-* She was gorgeous, Chris reflected. Heavenly and pristine. Though he could only see her from the back, he stared, transfixed, as her fingers danced and spun across the keys, her head following, her brain making hundreds of automatic computations regarding the pressure, and speed of the notes, as well as thinking about what she was going to play. He didn't even know her name - it seemed unimportant, redundant somehow. How much he would love to just be able to walk up to her and tell her that he thought she played brilliantly, or that she was beautiful, or if she would play something else. It was the same every time he had a crush on a someone. He just couldn't approach them. He couldn't stand to have them look at him, when they did, it was something about their eyes, and his knees went to jelly. He was reminded of the infamous maxim, "What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger". What did he have to lose? Still nervous, he stepped apprehensively into the room. Fuck it, his brain told him, you only live once. Make the most of it. He crept up behind her silently, and placed his hand over her eyes. She stopped playing instantly; a little scared, asking hopefully, "Mr. Adamson?" Saying nothing, Chris sat beside her, his hand still veiling her eyes. Now with them covered, he could do whatever he liked - she couldn't see him, couldn't make him nervous. He lifted his other arm, and tentatively caressed her bottom lip with his thumb, feeling the warmth and sheen. Stacy shivered at the contact. "Who is tha--" Chris placed a gentle finger over her mouth, silencing her momentarily, then trailed his finger down her perfect chin and ticklishly traced it down her throat, pausing at her blood-red bra. Stacy moaned at the intimate contact, desperate for some identification. He was totally anonymous. Now why did that ring a bell? "Oh, go on, touch my boob. Please. . ." Stacy groaned. Desperate as she was for identity, she was also desperate for his touch - a more intense touch. Realizing that he would have to close the door if he were to go any further, he stopped. She has to know. Feeling something brush past her ear, she winced slightly. It was his mouth. He whispered into her ear, "I suppose you're wondering who I am . . ." Stace froze. She knew that voice. Where was that voice from? Something in the back of her mind connected the voice with good feelings, so she shouldn't fear him too much. "Please tell me!" She murmured, become more and more aroused, "I want you so much." Chris's self esteem soared at this. I must be doing something right! This is it, he thought. Make a decision, dammit! What can happen? He pulled his hand back, and they stared at each other. Stace was shocked, but only for a moment, "Wow, it's you," she grinned, "I was just thinking about you." Chris looked suddenly pained: "Six guys? . . . You had sex with six guys?" Stacy was shocked, "What the hell? I haven't had sex with six guys?" The fog of confusion soon dissipated though, "Oh, the survey thing. Um . . . that . . . um . . . wasn't actually true." She looked upset. "But you want it to be?" "What? No! Why would I want that?" "How much psychology have you done?" Testing Stacy Ch. 01 "None!" "Well, I think you are a classical example of what's called "Observer Bias". "Have I done something wrong?" "Nah. Well, not consciously. Observer bias is a tendency to distort answers to suit the expectations of the experiment. It usually happens when the subject knows theyÆre part of the experiment. "Um, what?" "You wrote what you thought I wanted to hear." "I was just mucking around." She was visibly upset now. All amorous feelings had been stripped from her body. Chris grinned. "You have quite an imagination," he laughed. "What else do you think about?" "Different stuff," then glad he wasn't upset, "Boys. Being horny," she laughed. "Do you actually know where the word horny comes from?" he asked, continuing when she shook her head, "Well, you know the medical pictures of the uterus and fallopian tubes? How they look like a bull with horns? Well, the term was coined when research showed a woman's libido is at its peak when an egg is released into the tubes, or "horns." Thus, she is "horny". Fascinating, huh?" "Quite." Stacy looked at him obliquely, "So what are you studying anyway?" "Literature." "What do you mean literature? Don't you do psychology?" He grinned, "Nope." "Why did you give me the test then?" "Let's just call it a fairly complex pick-up line," "You did that for me?" "Yeah," he revealed, "It didn't work very well, of course. . ." "Oh my God. Of course it did," Stacy whispered, leaning forward, brushing her lips lightly against his. It was just the briefest of touches, but it was so perfect. Chris should have been happy with just that pristine contact. So pure. Instead, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her forcefully to him, tasting her mouth. Her apple-flavored lip-gloss. Kissing him back, she slid her tongue between his lips, feeling his tongue respond. Their tongues fought and battled, nibbling and sucking, kissing fervently. They kissed long and deep, their bodies becoming one, hands roaming through hair, across shoulders, over chests; hands everywhere. And still the lingering kiss continued. She placed her hand lightly on his leg, feeling the muscles, the slight wince as he felt the contact. The same leg pushing back against her hand as he realized he was enjoying it. Her torso pirouetting to escape his fingers as it playfully pinched a nipple through her thin clothing. Reluctantly breaking the kiss and breathing heavily, Chris rose, "If we're going any further, I'm just going to shut the door." Then, laughing, "Don't you go anywhere!" "Look, we're going to be busted soon," showing him her watch, "I'm meant to be finished here." Thinking for a moment, she said, "Look, come back to my flat. There's no one else there. We can . . . um . . continue 'this' then." "Well, I have a class now." Stacy looked disappointed. "But I'm not really going to be able to concentrate with this in my pants, let alone walk to class." He grinned, gesturing to her to leave, "Lead the way, sweetcheeks!" Ignoring the disapproving look she gave him at her pet name, he followed her to the bus stop. *-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-* Alighting from the bus, Chris followed Stacy along the pavement toward her apartment. Still apprehensive about the situation, he began talking as they were walking, "Look, why are we going back to your place?" "I thought we were having sex? You seemed pretty keen on it before." "Yeah, but I mean, is it just sex? Or do you actually want a relationship? I mean, I don't want to *gulp* have sex with you if you are just going to dump me. I've been hurt before." Noticing his unease, she joked, "If you're crap at it, then sure, I'll dump you." He looked hurt, and she realized she should comfort him somehow. "I'm kidding. Look, I'm in the same position as you. I really want to fuck something. Well, I just want to fuck you. Let's just try and make the most of it, Ok?" He nodded, slightly relieved but not totally converted. Suddenly he smiled, "'What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger!' C'mon, I'll race ya!" Grinning maniacally, he tore off down the sidewalk. They startled a pair of sparrows, which whirled and whooped above their heads, twittering in unison with their playful laughter. "Here we are," she giggled, flouncing up the steps, key in hand. She shoved the heavy door open, grabbing Chris' arm and dragging him through. Chris heard the bolts slam home, feeling intimidated by the awkward silence. He nervously turned to ask Stacy if he could use the toilet. Stacy was panting heavily, a look of unadulterated lust plastered all over her pretty face. Stepping quickly toward him, she murmured, "I want you so bad!" She grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs, "C'mon, this is my room!" "Jesus," he exclaimed, looking around, quickly noting the piano beside the door, "You like pink, I assume?" "Shut up," she said, moments before their lips met. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, Chris lifted her into the air, delighting in her joyous squeals, all apprehension divested. And then they were kissing with passion, their tongues again struggling and warring for territory. Stacy wrapped her long legs around Chris as he leant back, supporting her weight. Stacy was the first to break the kiss half-worriedly: "Um, Chris, you're gonna fa-" Thumping down on the carpet, Chris had the wind momentarily knocked out of him as Stacy howled with laughter. "Nice of you to 'drop' in!" She shrieked. Heavenly peals of laughter, pouring all around him like rain. "I'm gonna ride you like a pony." She grinned, her crotch gliding backward and forward against his. He gazed at her. Reaching up, he pulled the clip from her hair, unfurling thick tan and brown plumage. Because she was straddling him, Chris could barely move as she reached back and fondled the bulge in his jeans. She leant her head down to his. "You know what I want to do to you, Chris?" She moaned seductively in his ear, nibbling the rim, "I wanna fuck your brains out. Until you can't stand up anymore and you go all cross-eyed!" She giggled again, and Chris joined in, laughing at her immaturity. He was in heaven. Trapped beneath this gorgeous young woman, having his hardening cock rubbed skillfully through his trousers, being told how potently he was going to be fucked. Suddenly, her hands were stuffed inside his pants, rubbing his cock with long strokes, stiffening him to a full erection as his hips pumped up against her lily white hand. She eagerly twisted her body one hundred and eighty degrees so she was facing his feet, and slowly unzipped his pants, all the while gently stroking his cock. After very little prompting, he lifted his arse off the floor so she could drag his jeans and boxers down to his knees. Stacy watched as his beautiful cock throbbed and bobbed about in the air, marveling as she slowly wrapped her tiny fist around the middle of his cock. Stroking. Pulling. Jerking. Open mouthed as it responded to every caress. Forming an 'O' with her index finger and thumb, she wrapped it around the base of his cock, forming a tight ring, and gently pulling her hand toward her in little jerks, fascinated at how hard he got. She loved having time better than any fumbling one night stand she had. She could enjoy herself. She could experiment to her hearts content. She could learn. And learn she did. Cupping his huge nuts in her hand, Stacy gently kneaded them, alternating the pressure on his cock; always gauging what was working and what wasn't. God, I want to taste it, she thought to herself. However, in order to get to him, she inadvertently moved her ass further up Chris' chest so she could reach his solid cock with her mouth. Suddenly confronted by the back of her denim skirt, Chris smiled. Two can play at this game. He watched as her ass came closer and closer, his attention momentarily stolen by the warm breath engulfing his balls, her tongue licking the head of his dick. Trying to remain focused, he deliberately pushed the figure-hugging denim upward, reveling in the sight as more of her toned physique came into view; first the bottom of the tangerine thong as it arced between her thighs. Contrasting strongly against the white of her thighs and the blue of the denim, it accentuated the bulge of her hidden pussy. He continued pulling at the opposing cloth, savoring the view of the rest of the thong's crotch, snug against the bulge of her pussy, the tapered fabric drawing the eyes upward. And upward he went. The thin floss squeezed between the perfect halves of her ass. Her butt was perfect, flawless; indistinct tan lines remained from a long forgotten tan; the vague lines pointing straight to her puffy cunt. His work was temporarily interrupted by a hot mouth devouring his prick, warmly bathing his crotch with saliva, but he recovered quickly. Hoisting the skirt right up to her waist, he ran his fingers lightly over her ass, drinking in the aromas, the textures of this gorgeous ass. His hips were on autopilot; gently assisting in the blowjob he was receiving. The only sounds in the room were Stacy suckling his cock, and a gentle rustling of cloth. 'Oh My God,' Stacy mumbled for the billionth time. She was well into his cock by this stage having discovered his sensitive spots - the corona and the glans - and though naive, she was learning surprisingly quickly. Her saliva-filled mouth was bobbing the length of his cock, her spit and his precum mixing and running down over his nuts. She could feel every ridge and bump and vein in his perfect cock, her tongue discovering new angles and new sensitivities while his cock throbbed hotly in her mouth. Her tongue swirled and twisted, polishing his bone, as hips tried to mash it into her face. Gently peeling the thong from her sticky cunt, Chris was dually struck by the strong, musky aroma, and the sight of her bald, aroused pussy. The musk was much more potent. Not quite alien, not quite recognizable, her open vagina exuded a powerfully enticing essence. "Come to me," it seemed to whisper, "Taste me. Drink from me". With Stacy now doing her best to deep throat him, and his heart thudding in his tight chest, he raised his head, and tentatively licked between her lips, then pulled back, his tongue running around his own mouth to analyze the unfamiliar taste. Deciding he liked it, he grabbed a pillow that had been knocked off the bed when they fell, and put it behind his head. Now propped up, his chin was gently tickling her clitoris, and his mouth was millimeters away from her aching pussy. Holding the thong aside, he began licking tentatively at Stacy's outer labia, his tongue rasped across the stubbled lips, gently swabbing and cleansing her vulva. He carefully avoided her clitoris, pleased and mildly amused as she pushed her hips back, trying to force him to it. Hearing her half-delirious mumbling, and feeling the dampness he was creating, he slowly moved toward the center, always taunting and teasing by not letting his tongue actually touch her clit at all. Lifting his arms up and over her buttocks, he gently pulled her cheeks apart so he had better access to her cunt. Finally, he gently began nibbling at her clit, licking and sucking on it. Then he would run his tongue the length of her slit, and back to her clit. Stacy was unsurprisingly delirious, "Just eat me out, stud," she moaned, forcing her ass back, her attentions diverted again by his cock. "I've never done this before!" Chris complained. He probed, and then slipped a finger into Stacy's cunt, gauging the heat and the humidity. Tiring of the game, he shoved a second finger deep into her pussy, attacking her clit with reckless abandon. Stacy felt her orgasm rise as she ground her cunt rhythmically against his invading fingers, his lapping tongue, her mind blank, focusing purely on her orgasm. She began screaming and shouting, her teenage body reacting automatically. She marvelled at the way it responded, always selfishly seeking the most pleasure. "Fucking clean me out!" She cried, pinching her stiff nipples. Then her orgasm was upon her, "Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck OHHH FUCK!!" Her cunt spasmed and kicked, her mind spiralling out of control, her arms flailing. Chris was getting his jaw smashed by her juddering pubic bone, but he couldn't give a fuck. "Jesus Fucking CHRIST!" At the height of her orgasm, he pushed his finger against her asshole, though not penetrating it, and felt her body go rigid, her mouth silent as her entire body shuddered with another huge orgasm, smack bang on top of her existing one. He let her down slowly, his fingers removed, his tongue lightly licking her sensitive clit. She collapsed, exhausted on top of him. "Oh. My. God." She panted, "That . . . was . . . incredible." She rolled off him skirt hitched up around her waist, thong skewed. She looked over at Chris. He appeared unchanged, except for the sheen on his chin, a huge grin, and his trousers around his knees. "Jesus, we haven't even got undressed yet!" She licked her lips as she saw his cock again. It was truly a marvellous instrument; she thought to herself, I want some of that. "I wanna eat you, Chris." Chris kicked off his shoes and socks, jeans following soon after. "I've got a better idea. Can we get into bed?" Stacy nodded and made to get up, "Please: allow me . . . 'M'lady.'" Chris gently put his arms under her knees and back, lifting her lithe frame in the air and dumping her roughly, humorously down onto the cosy bed. He gently and efficiently removed the thin orange thong from her sticky crotch, sliding them down her caramel limbs. She lifted her petite hips so he could unzip the denim skirt. He threw it on the floor. Then, in mock horror, "I haven't even seen your breasts yet!" "I can't think of a better time!" She giggled, thoroughly enjoying herself. Chris grinned back and slid his large hands beneath her scarlet skin tight 'Tickle-Me-Elmo' t-shirt. She sat up on the quilt, raising her supple arms to accommodate him. He raised it slowly, past her abdomen, her navel, watching as her blood-red bra again came deliciously into view; dragging his chilled hands across her fervent voluptuousness. Flesh upon flesh. He lifted the shirt over her head, sighing in relief that it didn't snag on her hair; sighing in disappointment that his hands had left her warm body. He dropped the shirt behind her, smelling the faint perfume she had sprayed across the tops of her alabaster breasts that morning. Blushing suddenly, he reached around her back and was about to pop the clasp on the scarlet lace. "Uh uh!" Chris was taken aback. "What?" "My turn," Stacy smiled, reaching for his shirt and unbuttoning it deliberately, staring into his sparkling eyes the entire time. She raised her head implicitly, gazing deep into his eyes: solid black irises on a dark azure expanse of starry sky. And yet the sun shone in his eyes as well; they calmed her. This was a pure and exalted activity. The possibilities are illimitable. The combination of physical, emotional and spiritual connection between the two transcended anything in this world. They were both in the same place at the same time, seeing the same world from the same angle. He lightly blew across her throat, raising small fleshy goose bumps. Nuzzling into his shoulder, she tugged the shirt from his wide shoulders, no longer caring for her odd and immature etiquette. Feeling her bra pop open, she held her bruised arms out for him to slip the bra down. Her nipples thickened slightly in the cold air. She leant across him, her tiny hand again working at his still erect shaft. "I didn't let you cum, did I sweetie?" She pumped his cock slowly and deliberately, licking her lips. The power she felt as she watched Chris' cock harden was unparalleled. Indescribable! She watched his hips pumping in tiny circles, pushing her finger across the smooth skin of his cock. To Be Continued. * Thanks for reading this story, it's one of my first, so could you please comment on and rate it, so at least I have some idea of what is working and what isn't. Constructive criticism only. Insults and defamatory criticism can be made, by all means, but all such comments will be deleted. Any positive comment will receive an email when the next story comes along (providing you don't give an anonymous comment).