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The Mouth

By: luxzakari



We called him The Mouth.

He was unattractive, tall and lanky and weak, with pale, noodly arms and knobby knees and ice-pick elbows. His face was splotchy with acne scars and patchy in places the razor missed, and his eyes were a flat, periwinkle blue, made more dull and lifeless by the thick-lensed glasses he wore. I remember when he'd tried contacts for a week; they actually made him look worse, lending him a heartless look reserved for lonely, jaded men sending bombs through the mail. His nostrils flared and his ears stuck out, a fact his short, hedgehog haircut refused to hide. 

But his mouth...

It was an out-of-place feature gracing his face. So unusual and startling sensuous, it was disturbing, like playing a game of One of These Things Is Not Like the Other. Yet we never might've noticed if we never learned what it could do.

His talents were discovered during a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven during our junior year of college at a frat party. We were drunk and giggly from Bartles and Jaymes and had our hearts set on making out with the guys we liked, the ones who excelled in Flip Cup, had doctor fathers and socialite moms, and told fag jokes with their every breath. 

I have no idea why The Mouth was there. Maybe he had just wanted to see how the cooler half lived. The boys we loved humored him. They found his being there amusing if not easy to ignore. They palled around with him, high on the novelty of his presence, and plied him with cans of Natty Ice. It was hard to tell if The Mouth was drunk at first; he pounded every beer they passed him and kept pace with our boys, but he didn't shout like they did, didn't shove anyone, didn't initiate stupid stunts. He wasn't like Billy Petrucelli, who, at the last party, got most of the other guys to defecate in an empty plastic pretzel tub and left it in a roommate's bed. But The Mouth did sway a bit when Catelyn, who was dying to kiss Billy-of-the-shit-jar because he had beautiful eyes and drove a BMW, suggested Seven Minutes in Heaven "for old times' sake."

The boys tugged The Mouth to his feet and teased him, saying how this was his big night; they were gonna get him laid at last and he could kiss his virginity goodbye. We girls shot each other looks that said I'm not doing it. Then who is? The guys plopped him on the floor in our circle and Catelyn spun an empty wine cooler bottle. It landed near Billy, but he must not have wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him, or else he just wanted her to kiss The Mouth more. Billy argued that the bottle was totally not pointing at him and drew a dubiously straight beeline from the bottle to The Mouth, who sat next to him, expressionless and ugly as ever. Catelyn didn't mask her total revulsion at the concept as the boys continued to shout, each one taking a turn at describing the spin, inching it further toward The Mouth with every liberal reenactment. We girls tried to insist otherwise, but there was no talking sense to this wolf pack.

Finally, Catelyn stood, her fingers fists. "Just come on already," she muttered, huffing and puffing her way to the nearby half-bathroom—our Heaven. That was the thing about Catelyn. She could be cruel but her word and her spin were always good. 

Our whooping, giddy boys clapped The Mouth on the back, propelled him to a standing position, and aimed him toward the bathroom. Catelyn, her face a storm cloud, scowled and tugged him in after her. The door slammed. We hooted and we speculated what sort of deals she was striking up with The Mouth in there. Maybe she was going to buy her way out of it with fifty bucks. After all, she wasn't actually going to go through with it—he was The Mouth, although that wasn't his name then, not yet. I actually don't even remember what we used to call him. Maybe nothing. 

We kept our eye on the time and laughed about how we weren't going to tell her when the seven minutes were up. Now that she was in there with him, we had no plans to save her; it would be funnier that way. But soon we forgot to clock-watch, distracted once again by the boys' pranks. This time Chris Watts rallied everyone to scale the fence wrapped around the nearby apartment complex's pool for a moonlit skinny dip. The majority of the party took off after him, taking the shortcut through the woods and shedding clothes as they stumbled along. I lingered behind with a few other girls on the front porch, smoking and laughing and predicting the outcome of the swim. They were so gonna get busted.

Then Catelyn came out of the house and we fell silent, watching her as the realization that she still existed fought through our drunken haze. Then we relaxed and asked where she'd been and teased her, wondering how it was. 

She stepped closer, and in the sick yellow light hanging over the front door, I saw the look of pure distress on her ashen face as she demanded a cigarette. 

We stopped laughing and got riled up and indignant. What the hell happened? What did he do? Where was the scumbag now?

"He left." Catelyn lit the cigarette one of us bummed her with a borrowed lighter and tucked a strand of her long blond hair behind her ear, sighing like she released all the air from her lungs. "He went home, I guess."

More questions resulted. Well, what the fuck went on in there? Did he actually try to do something to her? Did he get crazy? Did he hurt her? We blamed ourselves. We should've stuck around. We never should've made her go in there with him. We should've sent him on his loser way the second he stepped foot through the door and tried to infiltrate our world.

"No, no." Catelyn waved her hand, the cigarette sandwiched between her middle and index fingers as she rubbed her creased, worried forehead with the back of her other palm. "I'm okay. It's fine, really."

We stared at her with expressions of doubt.

"Actually." Catelyn squeezed her eyes shut. "It wasn't fine." She gave a pathetic whimper. "It was fucking incredible." Then she sat on one of the porch steps, like she wasn't capable of standing any longer, and tears dripped down her cheeks.

We continued watching her, waiting for the punch line. Instead, what lapsed was her detailed account of what happened, punctuated with her sniffles and watery gasps. 

"I insisted on keeping the light off. He's so ugly, you guys, I had no idea how else I was going to get through it," Catelyn said. "He just shrugged and I hit the switch right before I kissed him. Naturally, I expected him to be all gross about it—too much tongue, too much slobber, too much teeth, all grabbing my boobs and stuff. But he wasn't like that at all. This is what he did."

She stood and turned to Lindsay, the friend nearest her, and slowly looped one arm around her neck while pulling her closer by her jeans' waistband. Then she angled her head, and for a moment, we thought Catelyn might actually kiss her. Lindsay's eyes even fluttered shut in reflex, in anticipation. But we said nothing, too stunned and too intrigued to intervene.

Catelyn drew away just before the kiss could commence, and Lindsay blinked and stumbled backward, flushed and nervous. Catelyn didn't seem to notice as she continued, "And then he kissed me. Softly at first. Gentle. He, like, kissed each lip by itself, and then he did this thing where he bit my bottom lip and tugged it, then he would stop and kiss it better." She took a deep breath. "It was honestly the best kiss I've ever had. Which is probably why I let him do what he did next."

As we listened in riveted silence, she said, "He started to unbutton my jeans, and I tried to tell him to knock it off, but his tongue was in my mouth and, well, it was making me sort of not want to stop. Then my jeans were on the floor, and somehow I was sitting on the bathroom counter, and before I knew it, his head was..." She swallowed hard. "Just... Oh my God, you guys. I didn't know what else to do but just let him...you know. It's like I suddenly didn't know how to do anything else."

She smooshed out her barely smoked cigarette. "Then I came, and it was like I'd never stop. It was the first time someone other than myself ever got me off." Her voice darkened. "None of those other idiots ever came close. They never even fucking bother to come close."

She meant our boys—Christian and Billy and the like. We darted each other uneasy glances. None of us had ever talked this way about sex, or the guys for that matter. Sure, we would all get together and dish, griping about all our gorgeous, clueless boys. Oh, them. They're so charming when they try. We love the effort they put in, no matter how wasted they are when it happens. Sex had never been horrible—okay, sometimes it was. But that was a part of life, that's how it was—until right then. Until The Mouth.

The boys returned, murdering our intense conversation and leaving me feeling like I'd been startled from a deep sleep. Billy led the pack, his wet black hair plastered to his forehead and droplets of water trickling down his bare chest and toned stomach. He looked so hot, fresh from an Abercrombie ad. Catelyn didn't seem to notice him at all. Instead she looked at us with eyes that seemed to beg Please forgive me for enjoying myself so much. 

But one of us girls—could it even have been me? I can't remember—let out a cruel, nervous snort that set off a domino effect and affirmed that we couldn't do that. It was uncomfortable to even look at her, knowing what we knew. She didn't belong to us anymore. Catelyn bit her lip and lowered her gaze to the ground, and seemed to keep it there until graduation day.

In the weeks following, we continued to titter with derision but also with envy. Catelyn's orgasm was something of a joke to us, one we hated. She experienced something we never had and left us behind, brimming with her secret womanly knowledge while we were stuck with the same fumbling jackasses we always were. We didn't want it to, but Catelyn's story changed how we felt toward our boys. She was right: As far as skill and stamina went, they were pathetic. They didn't even try to be good; they believed we had no other options, that we didn't even want other options. Lions fuck lions, after all. The guys all thought that, and until Catelyn disappeared into the bathroom with The Mouth, we'd thought that too. We still laughed at the boys' jokes and flirted with them, but privately we despised them, and Catelyn especially for showing us what we'd been missing. Now we couldn't be satisfied or, rather, pretend to be. It wasn't fair.

Then Kendra stepped up. She was the courageous, curious one, and deeply inspired and intrigued by Catelyn's reported experience. No one could hold her back when she had an idea, and this time her idea involved The Mouth. 

What happened, apparently, was this: Kendra sauntered up to The Mouth in the student union, where he sat at one of the long orange tables with the other gamers and geeks, and slammed her math book on the table. "Do you know anything about this stuff?" she'd asked him, cracking her gum. 

He'd nodded.

"Good. Meet me in my dorm at seven and tell me all about it." Then she flounced away in her short skirt, giving him no choice. She never gave anyone a choice, and when he'd showed up at her room that night, it'd been more of the same. She booted out her roommate, sat on the edge of her mattress, and gave her textbook the most cursory of flip-throughs before tossing it aside. Then she lay back and spread her legs and announced, "I've had enough trig for one night. What about you?" 

"He just dove right in there," Kendra later reported with a giggle. "He had a tongue like a dog, lapping away like he couldn't get enough of me."

It was then we realized the problem with Catelyn was that her delivery sucked. Her experience had been intriguing, but also frightening, alienating, and too tragic. Kendra, on the other hand, was all about spin. She didn't ask anyone for forgiveness or acceptance and made it clear she was the one in control. Having The Mouth go down on her was gift to both her and him. She would get the orgasms while he would get the privilege a loser like him could only dream of. 

Kendra never acted chagrined about what happened—that was key. If people were appalled by what she did with The Mouth, she would fix her cool gray eyes on them and poof, they'd disappear. No one wanted that, so we were at the mercy of Kendra, who called all the shots. However, she couldn't bear to do anything alone. She insisted we all had to be in on this, we all had to try it, what were we skinny bitches waiting for? Her decisions were fortified by others following suit, and so all the girls did, one by one. Kendra orchestrated everything, but how, I don't know. And the girls would come back raving, sounding so much like Kendra I began to get everyone's encounters with The Mouth confused. Was it Lindsay who got licked in the laundry room? Did Nikki say she peeled off her bathing suit bottoms and let The Mouth eat her out "for hours"? Was Becca the one who sat astride his face, warming his ears with her thighs? Everyone blended into one knowing, worldly, arrogant woman.

Except for me. I was the last one. To be honest, I was afraid. I'd had sex before, for sure, even with Billy, but that had never been a big deal. But all this with The Mouth sounded like quite the opposite. I kept thinking of Catelyn, still meeting us for dinner but never really saying much of anything, and how she went to all the parties but attended as a ghost. I didn't want that to happen to me. I didn't want to be on the fringe, trapped in my own head with thoughts too big for anyone to want to identify with. I didn't want to feel that much.

But Kendra gave me no choice. One Wednesday, she approached me on the quad, her coppery hair tumbling around her shoulders and her lips twisted in a smirk. "You still living with your parents?"

"Yes."

"And they don't get home until six, right?"

"Right..."

"Good." She looked very pleased with herself. "The Mouth will be at your place until five forty-five then." She wagged her finger at me. "Don't give me that look. It's high time you did something about that pesky O-ginity. You'll thank me later."

I later came home to a quiet house after a day spent feeling nauseous. My legs shook and my heart hammered as I stared uncomprehending at whatever was flashing on MTV and waited for the doorknob to bong, alerting me to The Mouth's arrival. But actually, he knocked, a sound that temporarily surprised the terror out of me as I ran to the front entrance to let him inside. I opened the door and we stood in silence for a moment, regarding each other, and I was reminded how hideous he was. He looked nothing like Billy, and yet I was supposed to let him touch me? I almost slammed the door in his face but I was struck still by my rage at having to be in this situation.

Finally, he cocked an untamed eyebrow. "Are we doing this or what?"

I nodded and, with numb arms, gestured for him to enter. He did so like he'd been at my place hundreds of time, moving with a bored confidence that dispelled some of my stress and annoyed me. Who did he think he was, strolling through my house like we were equals? He headed for the den, a tiny room with wood paneling and a large brown leather that dominated the small space. He threw his backpack on the rug and turned to me. "Well?"

My fears returned at his expectant tone, and I tried to shake them by remembering I was better than him. There wasn't anything to be afraid of. Kendra and the other girls were right; this was a privilege for him and a gift to me. With renewed confidence, I dropped into a sitting position on the couch like I was the Queen of Sheba and feigned ennui. "Well?" I echoed sarcastically.

Without a word, he nudged the coffee table out of the way with his shin, grabbed my legs behind the knees, and yanked me to the edge of the couch. I whimpered in surprise and bit my lip, feeling vulnerable in this un-ladylike position, half-hanging off the seat with my neck bent and my head resting against the cushion. His stoic expression didn't change as he lowered himself to his knees and ran his hands up my skirt and down the outside of my thighs. He was all business, and I finally recognized I was in the presence of an expert. My breathing hitched as he pushed my skirt all the way up, revealing the flirty pink panties I'd chosen to wear that morning, and he dragged me toward him again, bringing my quickly dampening cunt to his face. Then he parted my thighs and leaned forward, giving my clit a lick through the satiny fabric.

I swallowed hard and grit my teeth in an effort not to make a sound, but a needy noise still came from the back of my throat. Okay, this was all right, not so bad. This was even pretty good. In an effort to forget it was The Mouth between my legs, I closed my eyes and pictured Billy going down on me, but it was difficult to hold onto the thought. Billy had never done anything remotely as good at this. No one had.

The Mouth licked my clit until the crotch of my panties was so wet, I didn't know whether it was because of his tongue or my cunt. Then he pulled away and peeled my panties off my legs in a move so smooth, skilled, and practiced my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, dry as dust. He spread my legs wider and for a moment did nothing but stare. I'd never been more exposed in my life, and I became wetter beneath his removed, studious gaze. My cunt twitched and clenched. I wanted him to just plunge his tongue inside me already. I wanted his lips nuzzling my clit. God, I couldn't believe this was happening. How had I gone from being unable to look in his direction to needing him to fuck me with his mouth?

Finally-finally-finally, he bowed his head again, but his teasing had come to an end. He licked me like his life depended on it, like he needed to taste every last drop. My hips bucked toward his face as he flicked my tingling clit with his tongue, and I forgot to be embarrassed of the mews falling from my lips. I forgot everything, really—Kendra, Catelyn, Billy, everyone was gone. I watched The Mouth eat my pussy and I sucked in a deep, trembling breath. This hideous boy had his head between my legs and was licking me toward an incomparable oblivion, and somehow that made him the sexiest person I'd ever seen. 

So when he slammed two fingers inside my slick cunt, it took everything inside me not to scream for him fuck me, truly fuck me, however he wanted. The urge was pure craziness. I'd never begged for anything in my life, let alone for a boy like The Mouth. Then again, I'd never needed anyone like this before. He continued to pump his fingers into me, and tears stung my eyes. My self-control was in tatters. I couldn't think beyond the moment, beyond my desperation to come on his tongue. It was confusing and scary and unbelievably awesome, and I wanted nothing more than to just stay on this couch and have The Mouth lick me until my parents came home, and if they walked in, I'd hold his head to my creaming cunt and make him stay there until I came...

The chaotic thoughts disintegrated as my mind went white and a cloudburst of pleasure exploded inside me. I arched my back and nearly fell off the couch, but The Mouth held me in place and continued to suck on my clit to the point where it felt so good it was almost painful. But again my legs quaked and I tumbled into the abyss of ecstasy a second time, the walls of my cunt squeezing his fingers tight.

My screams became whimpers as he licked me clean then sat back and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His cheeks were flushed but otherwise he appeared unfazed. Meanwhile, I felt fucking transformed. I stared at him, and for a moment, I hated him deeply. How was I supposed to go back to fucking Billy and his stupid friends now? How was I supposed to be satisfied with such boring, selfish mediocrity? I'd seen the alternative and was sold. In just one afternoon, The Mouth ruined me for other boys. The lions could go fuck themselves.


The Mouth



"You have a nice cunt," The Mouth said bluntly. "Not as good as Nikki's, but still. Nice."

"Excuse me?" I didn't think there'd be talking.

He stroked his chin, his index finger brushing his bottom lip, one of the two that just kissed me to the brink of insanity. He continued like he hadn't heard me. "Kendra's was the worst. Smelled awful, like she didn't know how to wash herself or something. At least she'd shaved, which is more than I can say for Catelyn..."

I could only stare at him agape and unblinking as he rambled on about my friends. A knot formed in my throat and my face burned as the numbing comprehension set in that for him, there was no differentiating between us. He saw and would remember us only as cunts. I'd never felt so judged.

# # # 



The Mouth of a Techno Goddess



"Oh fuck!" she screamed, thrusting a palm into his shoulder, "you're cheap!"

"Am not. You just suck," he said nonchalantly, rocking back into place.

"Then stop hiding, wuss," she mumbled. Her black ponytails bobbed as she turned to face him. He could see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. The sparkles under her eyes and on her cheeks glimmered in the light of the television set. 

"How about I use the pistol then? You can have any bigass rocket launcher you want, but I'll use this stinking pistol--just to make you happy," he said, turning to face her. Her emerald green eyes looked right into his, and Kris's heart skipped a beat. He turned back to the game.

He could feel her eyes on him, giving the sensation of being pinned down. "Game on," he mumbled. This was the closest he’d been to Arin; a night of gaming with the goddess from his computers class, friend and fellow graduate of last years class, and most intense crush Kris had ever known. 

He killed her again. She got a few lucky shots in, but he knew when to drop for her. She knew what she was doing, but obviously hadn’t wasted hours upon hours honing her skill on first person shooters like Kris had.

He bolted forward, eyes urgently scanning the room. "Oh shit, Arin... what time is it?"

She pointed a black fingernail to a clock on the wall, her neon bracelets jingling and sliding up her arm. Kris squinted to read the clock. No numbers to guide him, he began counting the lines. He turned on a lamp next to the couch.

"1:30," she mumbled.

"Oh man. Where's Steve? He's my ride."

"'Prolly left when everyone went to Kyle's," she said, quickly adding in a grunting "c'mon game!"

"I gotta go. I can't wake my 'rents up for a ride now, they'd freak," Kris groaned, standing and checking the clock again.

"Crash on one of the couches," she suggested, throwing an arm over the sofa.

"I got a driving lesson tomorrow morning. I test next week," he said, swaying and ringing his hands.

"You can hitch a ride with me, dude," she suggested, looked up at him. 

"Really?” Kris said, almost gasping, “Yeah, totally... thanks Arin, that's awesome."

He stood there, still swaying. 

"Do you want to go now?" she offered. 

He stole a quick look at her pink bra, visible under her thin black blouse. Taking his cue from her eyes, he sat back down. "Nah, I'm good for some more gaming."

"Sweet, let the raping begin,” she said, starting up a new game.

"You mean yours?" he said, glad to have redeemed some of his humor after that uncool display.

"Hell no," she almost yawned, easing to her feet, "want a coke?"

"Sure."

She arched over his knees, her plaid skirt rising up. She looked ahead, aloof and allowing him to look as hard as he wanted. His eyes traveled up her black fishnets, up the band of black fabric that held them up, and to the pale flesh of her milky thighs. I bet she wears black panties, he thought longingly. 

She swayed off into the aftermath of a once alive party. The smell of weed and spilt booze hung in the air. Kris watched Arin's sway, her hips rocking side to side, her china doll soundless steps, her perfect ass and the short skirt that covered it. The pit in Kris's stomach grew. Not leaving him enough time to turn and act casual, Arin reappeared with two cokes. She flashed him a mad, toothy grin, and chucked the can into his outstretched hand. 

This time she took the long way around the table, and Kris hid his disappointment. He pulled the tab, and sipped, the bubbles agitating his already tense stomach.

"C'mon sleepy head," she said, plopping herself on the couch and rattling him. This time, her leg nestled against his, and their arms brushed each others. "Game time."

“You’re a machine, didn’t we start at like... 11?” Kris mused.

“Something like that. I didn’t feel like getting drunk tonight. Besides, Danielle’s parties always suck. I have much more fun with you anyways,” she oozed, laying it on. 

“I know, I’m great,” he mumbled, blowing her up.

He killed her a few more times. Occasionally she'd groan and sock him in the arm; other times she'd just cross and uncross her legs. She equipped, and he lined himself up for another kill. 

"ARG! NO dammit!" she shrieked. She threw herself onto his lap, and slapped the controller out of his hands onto the tacky green carpeted floor. Her elbow rested in-between his legs, and her breast softened itself against his rigid thigh. 

Faded blood rolled down his screen as his character took a bullet to the head. 

"Fuck yeah!" she squealed, pulling herself up off his lap. Her eyes were pinning him down again. He realized that his mouth had been open, and he was gawking back.

"What?" he mumbled, pulling his jaw shut.

"You look hot," she purred with concern in her face. He gasped as she put a cold hand to his face, "you're all red."

"Oh..." 

"Here," she brought up her can of coke to his face. She'd warmed it with her hand already, but the moisture on his face felt good. Kris reveled in the warmth of her affection. She began to say something, her plush lips pulling back to reveal her front teeth. The can stopped its gentle caress, and began to slide off of his face.

"I want you so bad right now," Kris spoke in a low, hushed voice--surprising himself. Arin smiled, putting the coke on the table without looking away from him. Kris dove in, his lips guiding themselves right to hers. He pressed too hard at first, then backed off too far. Their lips barely touched. She leaned in to fill the gap, and the tip of her tongue lapped once at his softening mouth. He opened, and met hers with his own. She lead his tongue into her mouth, and he made sure not to prod too deeply too soon. She sucked his tongue in, ignoring his tentative nature. Arin nursing on his tongue, Kris felt his head swim.

Kris strained against his pants, his hardness growing uncontrollably. He placed a hand on her side, and ran the other behind the small of her back. She held his neck; her fingers warm now. Kris's hand began climbing. He found her bra under her arm, and traced the ridge with his fingers, following it to the mound of her breast. He ran his palm across it, his hand full of covered flesh. Running in-between her cleavage, he crossed to the other. 

Arin dropped her hands from Kris's neck, and slid them across Kris's own chest, and pushed him back. He rocked slowly into the couch, succumbing to her lead. The kiss broke, and she licked her lips. Her hands trickled down his stomach, and lifted his shirt. Fingers hooked into his pants, she undid the button to his jeans, and unzipped the fly. A finger found the black fabric of the boxer-brief's covering his erection, and massaged the head. The other fingers followed, and wrapped around his shaft. She squeezed and stroked, before her other hand found the elastic band, and tugged. She let go of him, and hooked her hands into both his jeans and underwear, and began tugging them down. His erection exposed, his ass in direct contact with the couch, he was as naked as he had felt under her warm glance. Now her eyes rested on his cock. She grasped on with both hands, and held firm. Licking her lips, Arin began to dip her head. 

Her soft, velvet lips met the tip of his cock, and she rocked her head from side to side. A hand left Kris's cock, and ran through his trimmed pubic hair, and curled under his testicles. She dipped further, and Kris watched the head of his penis disappear into Arin's warm, delicious mouth. Her breath ran down Kris's hip, and traces of her lipstick rubbed off on him. Her tongue found his head, and traced slow, deliberate circles around it. Kris inhaled sharply, and he shifted slightly without disrupting her.

Arin bobbed her head, her slick tongue exploring every inch of him. Her saliva coating his cock, and running onto the fingers that massaged his balls. Kris tried to hold back a twitch in his thigh, but failed. His eyelids felt heavy and his jaw hung loose. He watched Arin's head nod up and down, taking a little bit more of his cock in with each dip. Her lips closed close to the base, and she held it there; her bright eyes opening and meeting his. Kris's cock twitched in her mouth, and he began to worry about cumming against Arin's undulating tongue. She bobbed ever so slightly, her tongue rubbing him, kneading him.

"Oh Arin," Kris whispered, meeting her eyes, "I'm close."

Her mouth slid up and off of his cock. She smiled at him, and gave his cock a kiss. "It's okay," she said, "I like this."

Kris smiled, and high on the moment. Arin wants me, he thought to himself, I can die happy.

Arin licked again at the slit of Kris's cock. Saliva entwined with pre-cum held to her tongue momentarily before breaking. She dropped her mouth down, and nursed on him. Every time Kris got the urge to thrust, Arin rolled her tongue, producing rings of pleasure running up and down Kris's cock. Sensations Kris could never reproduce on his own, amplified by immeasurable amounts by the beautiful girl giving her affection and warmth to him. It was all too much, too perfect. Kris felt it growing deep within his loins, and rushing up his shaft. The engorged head, in Arin's velvet mouth, began to shiver with energy. Pulsing in tune with his heart, Arin sensed the impending orgasm, and worked twofold on him.

Bobbing and sucking with an ardor to make Kris cum, Arin pleased him with every nerve in her mouth. Kris broke, and a pearl eruption of cum spilled from him, and into her mouth. Arin held fast, and sucked harder. Her mouth filled quickly, allowing a rivulet of cum out of the corner of her lips, and down his cock. She smiled, allowing even more to spill from her mouth. Kris twitched, and moaned, and bucked another jet of cum into her mouth. Her eyes wide with surprise, she gripped tightly onto his cock with her lips, and his orgasm subsided, leaking the final remnants of cum into her already full mouth. She pulled off his cock, traces of cum still running down her lips, and off her chin. 

"Whoa," she said, revealing a mouthful of cum coating her tongue. Laughing slightly, and trying not to spill, she pursed her lips and swallowed. She ran her hand across her chin and removed the rest. 

Kris sat, chest heaving, elated and completely spent. "Oh... my... god," he whispered, trying to catch his breath. "This has to be a dream."

Arin still rested in his lap, like a cat. "You're cute, Kris," she smiled, and traced ran a finger around the head of his subsiding erection. Kris jumped, and shot her a lop-sided smile. 

"So, I guess I should take you home now," Arin said, slowly shifting her weight off of Kris.

Putting a hand on her neck, Kris guided Arin up to his face, and kissed her deeply. Pulling back, Kris whispered, "Hell no," and returned to kissing Arin's perfect crimson lips, "how about your place?"

Arin smiled, her lips still against his. "Sure," she whispered, "let's go."



The Mouths of Babes



**I hope you enjoy my dirty story. Many thanks to grammarotica guru Estragon, who edited gently, leaving me begging for more. If you enjoy this sort of story, tell me, and I'll write more adventures for this little darling** 

Katie cracked open the door and listened carefully. The strange sounds of the McKinney house washed over her. What had seemed as first like silence was really many layers of soft sounds. A bathroom fan rattled somewhere far down the hall. Wheels whooshed outside on the street. The soft bong of a grandfather clock that told her it was three a.m. Was that what had wakened her?

She was a very light sleeper in the best of circumstances. But sleeping over at this particular friend's house had given her a case of restless legs. Lucy wasn't helping, either. She lay sprawled across a daybed inside her room, wrapped in the shared blanket she had stolen. At eighteen, the two were probably too old for sleep-overs, but Katie's parents had asked the McKinney family to see her to church in the morning in their absence. 

Sighing, Katie wondered why they couldn't trust her to see herself to church. She would have stayed home and been good. But no, they did not believe in leaving her unsupervised. Ever. Though she'd never broken their rules, the treated her every day like a parolee with a high risk of reoffending. 

The most ironic thing was that they had engaged the McKinneys to keep track of her. Only Katie knew they were not as straight-laced as they appeared. 

Her parents had a very high opinion of the Mr. and Mrs. McKinney. They approved that Lucy and her brother Trent were enrolled in nice private Catholic schools. Mrs. McKinney was active in youth ministry and Mr. McKinney was one of the Knights of Columbus and well respected at church. He had the kind of serious, grave expression that made it seem he was really processing the lesson of the sermon, so of course Father Shannon favored him as well. 

However, Katie knew someone in the house was a sinner. When she'd stayed the night last month, she'd found indisputable evidence.

Just like tonight, she'd been plagued by insomnia and had decided to wander the house. Prowling the strange house had given her a surge of adrenaline. After some time ghosting around, she'd begun to feel curious about this apparently perfect family. She'd found herself going through the bathroom cabinets and the contents of the roll top desk. She found picture after picture of Mr. and Mrs. McKinney engaged in wholesome activities. Mrs. McKinney was really quite pretty, if you liked the doe-eyed Madonna look. Mr. McKinney looked like a throwback to a 1970's cop show. He was swarthy with gaunt cheeks. His eyes were dark and serious, as was the full mustache that rested atop his upper lip. 

At first Katie had thought that mustache beyond ridiculous. It was the antithesis of cool; more than a few of the girls at church had joked about putting his name in for a make-over show. One of their friends, Ava, had said it was romantic. "Mrs. McKinney probably loves it that he looks exactly like he did the day they met. At least he doesn't have a pot belly like Mr. Sullivan!" The girls had all giggled nervously, looking around to make sure none of the Sisters were within hearing range. 

It was taped under the DVD player she found the contraband. It was a DVD, unmarked but for some Chinese characters. At least she thought that's what they were. But why someone going to such trouble to hide it? There must be a good reason. She burned with curiosity.

It had taken some time to gather her courage. She moved to the television in the den and inserted the DVD. With the volume off and door closed, Katie had witnessed the most shocking spectacle of her life. It was a home-made movie, apparently taken overseas. A Caucasian man she didn't recognize was surrounded by a bevy of young Chinese women. They were all pretty, all with long hair and compact bodies. She wished she could hear what he was saying. Whatever it was had the women nodding and smiling. They dropped their tops, baring naked breasts. They did some giggling and began to touch one another, tweaking nipples and jiggling their modest tops at the man wielding the camera. Soon his hand was in the picture, large and hairy knuckled. His dark grip swallowed their brown tipped breasts. He seemed to favor two of the four, alternating his attention and urging them closer. Soon the two women were entwined, kissing in an open-mouthed way that shocked Katie to her core. They were so wild, their tongues striking and retreating like dueling snakes. Just the act of kissing was so...savage.

Katie had always viewed sex with some trepidation. It had seemed so embarrassing. Really, she was just supposed to lie there while her husband jammed something between her legs? Certainly she had never felt the need to experiment with the boys that she only infrequently found herself exposed to. Her parents expected her to remain pure, and really Kate had never considered defying them. 

But watching that video made her start to feel things. Like her skin was suddenly too tight. Like her insides were going all liquid. She squirmed, felt her breathing hitch as the watched the two women be stripped by the others, revealing themselves to be slim hipped and hairless. Was that odd, wondered Katie? She herself had a thatch of dark hair covering her lady parts. Was she supposed to shave it along with her armpits every day? She wondered if Lucy shaved hers.

Now the women were focused on the cameraman. They overwhelmed him, pushing him down on some kind of shabby couch. His drawstring pants were drawn down and two women seemed to fight about who would be the one to service him. Their eager hands revealed his member, stroking until it was tall and straining.

Again, a first for Katie. She had a rough idea how the male anatomy looked, but she'd certainly never seen an engorged penis like this. It was ugly. And appealing. She could understand the urgency of the women as they pawed him. She approved when one of the women thrust her turgid nipple into the man's face. She thought she would die of excitement when the boldest of the ladies dropped her rosebud mouth to his manhood and began to—

A sound. A door opening upstairs. She lunged for the DVD player, stopping the scene. She ejected it, cringing at the perceived loudness. Frozen in place, she tracked the progress of the person moving about upstairs as they visited the restroom and flushed the toilet. Water ran, and then the steps retreated back down the hall. Though she knew it was probably Lucy's little brother, she still felt paralyzed by fear that someone might find her alone in the den, dirty movie clutched in her hands.

A few minutes later she was confident she was the only one awake in the house. She wanted desperately to watch more of the movie, but the worry of being caught was overwhelming. For sure she couldn't go back to Lucy's room with her body so super sensitive like this. She was liable to rub up against her friend improperly. She had to DO something or she really felt she'd be permanently damaged. The frantic feeling was taking over. Was this what pornography was supposed to do? Make a person feel like every nerve in their body was smoldering?

For the first time in her young life, she let her hand creep down and press against her wet nether parts. But she didn't know how to press and the clumsy touching just made her feel more unsatisfied. 

To her left she saw a pillow. Without pausing to think about her impulse, she grabbed it and rolled it up. Holding it firmly to the carpet, she clambered on top of it until her vagina was fitted against the seam of the decorative square. Another pillow hit the ground and she lay her head atop it, hands fisted beneath her. In her mind she pictured the movie. Pictured the pink tongues of the women flicking over the man's vein-stippled erection . She flexed her hips, pleasure washing over her. Now she thought of the women touching each other and of the man watching. Each idea was so bad, so forbidden, that it drove her to increase her rhythm. Soon she was thrusting, humping wildly. A warm gush of feeling swamped her. A mewling sound escaped. Oh god. Oh god. 

Afraid to clean herself up, afraid to do anything but rush the DVD back into the hiding place and toss the pillows back on the floral tapestry couch, she sneaked back upstairs. She slipped back into bed with Lucy just as the first rays of sunlight stroked the sky. And slept like a baby.

It had been impossible to get those images out of her mind. She dreamed them. She sketched them, and then burned the evidence in the fireplace. She found herself inspecting the crotch area of men in the parish and wondering if each of them had a jutting penis like the man in the movie, and if every married woman became accustomed to taking it into her mouth. 

And...she wanted to try it.

How awful! This was surely the path to hell. But the more she tried to repress it, the more the visions surfaced involuntarily. Soon she was obsessing about who in the household owned that movie. 

It had to be Mr. McKinney, didn't it? Trent was too young. Lucy was Lucy, possibly more innocent than Katie. Mrs. McKinney was too busy thinking about low-fat lasagna and lessons for bible study. Mr. McKinney was the only possiblity. 

She watched him from afar. He was always at church, seemingly engaged in the message. But did his gaze linger on the prettier young girls in the parish? Did his mustache twitch a little when the priest lectured about the dangers of letting lust into their lives? 

Yes. He was not like the others. He was some kind of primitive man. The kind that needed more than what a single, prairie-skirt-wearing wife could provide. 

At night she dreamed of him. She dreamed he wanted her, pursued her. She dreamed he touched her breasts and lower. Always with light, teasing caresses. Was there something wrong with her? A devil that needed to be exorcised? 

When her father announced she would be staying the night again, she wanted to howl in protest and scream in anticipation. Would the movie still be there? Did she have the nerve to risk discovery by watching it again?

No. She didn't. She acknowledged this to herself over dinner, as she watched Mr. and Mrs. McKinney exchange normal family conversation across the table. Mr. McKinney barely looked at her, seemingly unimpressed by her dark, glossy hair and creamy skin. He called her Kelly without thinking. Mrs. McKinney, of course, corrected him, smiling at Katie with her satisfied, pink-lipped smile.

Was she smiling like that because she knew the secrets of pleasing a man like Mr. McKinney? Was she accepting of his imperfections out in the world because at night she was his sexual servant? Katie fought back waves of jealousy. She wanted to know what went on behind closed doors.

So now she was back, at the scene of her limited sex education. Alone again, contemplating a trip to the den, knowing it would be folly.

But this time she was not satisfied to merely skulk around the McKinney house in her jammies. She felt a deep need to up the stakes. She shed the penguin printed fleece pajama pants she'd been wearing, leaving nothing but a pair of pink string bikini panties on her bottom half. How wicked! The cold air on her thighs drove her into a state of hyper-awareness. Her belly prickled too, exposed by the abbreviated t-shirt she'd chosen. It was blue and worn, revealing a large slice of her tummy. 

Barefoot and silent, she moved through the house. A faint sound surprised her. She plastered herself to the wall and listened. Yes, a noise. Was it...talking? Oh gosh, were their people awake in the house? 

Her first instinct was to run back the direction she came and burrow under the covers with Lucy. But the sounds didn't sound like talking. And her damnably curious mind was urging her to investigate. She crept down the stairs until she could make out a line of light under the closed door of the den. 

Someone was in there. Watching the video. No, surely not. But what else would a family member be watching secretly? She moved closer, wishing she could see who was in there through the door panel. Was it Trent? That would be so gross. The last thing she wanted to see was a kid like Trent with his wang out.

A lightening bolt of excitement zagged through her as she realized it might be Mr. McKinney. She had to see. Had to. 

The door was closed, but she knew that it would open silently if she turned the knob fully and pushed. It was like an invisible hand took a hold of her and pushed her over the threshold. She was inside. 

The movie was playing on the 60 inch screen. It was almost the same part she had seen, with the women touching one another and preening for the man's attention. But she didn't immediately see anyone in the room watching. The inhabitant could only be on the couch, stretched out flat. Probably touching themselves the way people did to these videos. 

Her vagina contracted almost painfully, tightening and relaxing in two quick squeezes that almost made Katie gasp aloud. She felt a bond with the unknown person in the room. Like her, they were bad. Unnatural sinners, aroused by pornography.

She drew into the room, shutting the door behind her. Turning over the lock. Wondering why the person inside hadn't thought to bar the door. She paused, waiting for her courage to desert her. No, the devil on her shoulder was far more vocal than the angel. She moved toward the couch. 

Her first glimpse of him nearly brought her to her knees. He was propped against the arm of the sofa, one leg on the couch and the other braced on the floor. He was shirtless, wearing only sweat pants that said "World's Greatest Dad" down the leg in yellow lettering. But they were pulled down, and his hand was gripping a glorious hard-on. Stroking, without much hurry.

Her mouth went dry. It was an impressive penis. That was a weird word. What else was it called? She'd heard 'cock' before, but it was almost to mortifying to think. However, it seemed fitting. Only a cock could be this arrogant looking. This long and curved and pinkish brownish purple. She did not wonder why Mr. McKinney had left on the light, he had much to be proud of. 

He didn't notice her for long minutes, just continued to tend to himself. How he could not feel her standing at the foot of the couch, she had no idea. Her every pore on her body was on high alert. She could practically taste his light perspiration in the air. He was watched the television, baring his teeth a little as he watched the women begin licking the man's penis with long laps.

Finally he saw her. "FUCK!" He jumped, his soft exclamation sounding thunderous in the small room. "What are you...Kelly?"

"It's Katie," she managed to correct him, unable to take her eyes off him as he snapped his pants back over his rod.

"What are you doing down here?" He scrambled for the remote, stuffed someplace in the couch cushions.

"Don't!" Katie exclaimed. "Uh, just don't okay?"

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Look, just get out of here! You shouldn't be down here." He threw up his hands, apparently exasperated with the missing remote. The movie still played -- and he had the volume on. Just a little, but she could hear the Cantonese chatter of the orgy girls who were now fully involved in pleasuring the man. He had propped his camera up on some shelf and the view was from above. The man was relaxed, accepting the worship comfortably. 

She ripped her eyes from it and back to Mr. McKinney, who looked ready to pull out his hair. He had gained his feet but his pants were tented hugely. He used a forearm to cover the turgid line of his erection.

"Why do you watch this?" Katie asked. "Don't you have a wife upstairs that you can make love to if you want to?"

Mr. McKinney was like a scratchy recording, "You need to go. If my wife came down right now it would look really bad. Go."

Katie was indignant, "If she comes down it's because you are raising your voice! None of this is my fault. In fact, you ought to be nice to me, so that I don't scream for help."

He sputtered, "No, don't do that. Jesus H. Christ, don't do that."

"Well, I don't want to," Katie confided. "But I don't want to leave yet. I'm...curious."

"You need to leave. This is stupid. I love my wife."

She snorted, "Obviously not that much, if you'd prefer to watch this smut rather than be with her." She was glad to see that his hard-on hadn't gone down one bit during the exchange. She thrust her shoulders back, popped her rear so that he could see that she wasn't that different looking than the girls on screen. 

"It's not like that. A man has needs. It doesn't have anything to do with loving one's wife. It's a natural function."

Katie was delighted by this defense. "I think so, too! I've been thinking about it, and I really believe that physical urges come from God. He wouldn't have given them to us if he didn't intend for us to use them. I...I want to know how it feels."

"How what feels?" Mr. McKinney asked, wild-eyed. He found a pillow and used it to shield his straining member.

Katie nodded toward the television, "To be like those girls. To give a man like you pleasure." She blushed furiously.

Mr. McKinney staggered back a step. "Look, this is just a movie. Yes, I shouldn't have been...enjoying it, but that's a damn site different that fooling around with my daughter's friend, in my own house, right under my wife's nose!"

Katie shrugged. "If anyone knew we were together like this, half dressed and watching your pornography, they'd damn you anyway. So, why not be damned for something you did, rather than something you just wanted to do?" It sounded very logical to her. They were already here, already allowing themselves to think forbidden thoughts. Father Shannon said that sinful thoughts were just as bad as sinful actions. 

"I'm leaving," said Mr. McKinney, moving toward the locked door.

Katie did not want him to go. All the same, she was surprised by her own voice that announced, "If you do I'll start screaming and tell everyone you tried to rape me."

He froze. "That is a very serious accusation, young lady. You wouldn't really do that. I know you're a good girl. You wouldn't do that to a man just because he-"

She moved closer until she could grab a corner of his shielding pillow, tugged it free. "I know you have lust in your heart, Mr. McKinney. I do, too. I just want to see what it feels like, to touch a man. This is the only opportunity I've ever had, maybe the only one I ever will have. I just want...to do things to you. All you have to do is let me."

He was breathing fast, almost hyper-ventilating. "This is wrong. I know it's wrong. I love my wife." But he allowed himself to be pulled back to the couch by Katie's gentle hand on his wrist. He sat down heavily and stared dully ahead.

"Don't look like that, Mr. McKinney!" Katie pleaded. "The man in the movie enjoys having all those women touching him. Don't you think you can enjoy my touch?" He shook his head, mute, staring straight ahead. 

Not really knowing what to do, Katie sat beside him on the couch. They watched some of the movie. Girls were crawling over the man like ants, urgently sucking and biting with their mouths and fighting for their turn with his hands and mouths. The man had his fingers buried in one of the woman and she was making sounds like a mama sea lion. Katie was surprised so many fingers could fit up such a small lady, and that she was so clearly enjoying it. 

She cast a look at Mr. McKinney. He had his hands fisted, but the front of his pants still showed evidence of his desire. Timidly, she reached over. Touched it through the fabric. She felt it jump under her awkward petting. She couldn't believe how this small act affected her. Suddenly her private parts felt heavy distended.




The Mouths of Babes



"Could you...could you pull your pants down, please?" she asked Mr. McKinney. 

Angrily he complied. His erection sprung free, long and kind of narrow. The top looked a bit like a half melted marshmallow, round edges at the top with a ridge dividing it from the brown shaft. Below that he had a dark pair of testicles nestled in wiry black hair. Katie had seen enough America's Funniest Home Videos to know that testicles are very sensitive. The man in the movie instructed one of the girls to lick his. 

Katie wasn't sure she was ready for that. She decided to start with the tip, which seemed to be straining toward her. She bent over and licked experimentally. It tasted salty and kind of tart. She opened her mouth again and covered the entire tip.

"Ow! Be careful with your teeth!" Mr. McKinney snapped.

"I'm sorry! Oh! Sorry. I haven't done this before."

"That's fucking obvious," Mr. McKinney spat.

Katie fretted. She was doing a bad job of this. She should have practiced on something. A banana. Something. She dropped to her knees, moving between his legs. His cock was at face level now. She decided to move her focus to the shaft, maybe he'd like that better. Tentatively wrapping her thumb and index finger around it, she dragged it up and down softly, feeling the elasticity of his skin as it moved with her fingers over the underlying muscle. 

"Harder," he grunted. She tightened the circle, pumping enthusiastically. She leaned forward to touch her tongue to the tip again. Holding her tongue out, she let the little divot on his head run along her tastebuds. She shifted, feeling the wet fabric of her panties stick and rub her vagina. She thought she would die of pleasure. 

Mr. McKinney still looked like he wanted to backhand her, but his straining body belied his distaste. His cold eyes and clenched jaw might be telegraphing his disgust, but soon his hand was rising to cup her behind the neck and ease her mouth down more fully. She complied. 

"Ouch, fuck, you did it again!" he hissed when her teeth grazed him.

Katie didn't know what to do. For a second it had been going so well. She looked over her shoulder at the movie and saw a woman had mounted the man differently. She had crawled over him in the opposite direction, aligning her face with his manhood and putting her sex near his face. From that angle she was able to easily take his penis deep into her throat. 

"Let me try it another way," she told Mr. McKinney. "Would you lay out on the couch again? Like you were when I came in here."

"I'd rather fucking not," said Mr. McKinney, even as he swiveled around and stretched back. Katie pulled his pants off entirely and inspected him. His entire body was covered in coarse, dark hair. She wanted to press her naked body against it. 

"Should I take my shirt off?" she asked, hopefully.

"No. Fuck no. If you have to do this, just get it done. I'm not doing a thing except laying here until you say I can go."

Katie drew herself up, offended. "Fine. Act like you aren't enjoying this. I know you are." She went around to the arm of the couch his dark head lay against. She put a knee beside his head, then the other. Falling forward, she crawled on her hands until her face was at his belly, the crotch of her panties a few inches from his face. She didn't move. She didn't know what she wanted or expected from him, but she thought he ought to know how wet this little exercise was making her. She wished he would touch her like the man in the show was touching his women. 

Oh, well. At least she could explore him at her leisure now. She moved forward a few more inches and settled down, feeling his chest hair on her thighs and belly. She writhed a little, letting it abrade her. She whimpered. 

His cock was right there. Like the woman in the movie, she opened her mouth and let it glide past her teeth, nudging the roof of her mouth. She let each ridge bump lightly against him until the head met the soft tissue of her throat. She didn't gag. It was too wonderful. Her face was stuffed full of man, her throat jammed with a throbbing man cock. She moaned again. Was she having an orgasm? Her vagina clenched and rippled. It felt empty. She wished he would touch her.

Then, suddenly, he was. Just the backs of her thighs right above her knees, but he was touching! Squeezing and rocking her back and forth. Her mouth made a loud suctioning sound as his cock pulled free, then plunged back in. 

"Awwww, fuck," he was chanting. His hands moved up, to the backs of her thighs just beneath her panties. They clenched and pulled, the movement causing her sugar walls to shift and slide against themselves. She whimpered again. His fingers moved to her butt cheeks, sliding the soft cotton of her underwear to the center. Usually a wedgie didn't feel good, she marveled, but in this circumstance at least it was something to help soothe her drenched, tingling center.

Instinctively she brought her hand around to trace teasing patterns on his testicles. He almost bucked her off him. The litany of chanted cuss words continued. She thought that must be good. He was like a savage now, gripping her behind painfully. She brought her lower body down and ground against his sternum.

"You don't fucking deserve this, you little whore," he muttered. Then, without warning, he grabbed her by the hips and jerked her back. The triangle of cotton covering her weeping pussy was right in face. Through the fabric she could feel the first bristles of his mustache abrading her. He ground it against her experimentally. 

"Oh!" she released his cock from her mouth. It hit his stomach with an audible smack.

"Don't stop sucking," he told her. She rushed to comply with his demand. His thumbs were under her panties now, slipping into her delicate vaginal folds. They were blunt and calloused, flicking her intrusively. 

"Mmmhhgg," Katie moaned, wanting to jerk away at the overwhelming sensation but knowing she would do nothing to hinder his participation. He pushed her panties to the side, holding them with the fingers of one hand. Then he buried his head between her thighs, assaulting her with his tongue and prickly mustache. 

He pulled back enough to pant, "You're pussy...tastes like whipped cream," he said in detached wonder. "I've never tasted anything like it."

Katie tried to keep sucking him off, but it was so hard! He was using his facial hair to abrade her on the inside. She could hardly bear it, especially when he found the little pearl concealed at the top of her slit. He shined it with his rough tongue and she flew up like a jack in the box. She was sitting now, fully on his face. Facing forward, holding tightly to the side of the couch as she rode the wave of intense feeling welling from inside her. It shimmered, coalesced, and shattered. She let out a soft warble, like a baby lamb.

He only let her perch there for a few moments. Then he pushed her to the side so that her torso met the couch back. 

"Why did you stop!" she cried.

"I told you not to stop sucking." But he pulled out from under her entirely, gaining his feet behind her. She knelt awkwardly, her legs were like jelly. He pressed against her, a wall of horny hostility. Now his hands roamed her, starting at her stomach and going up under the t-shirt to her small breasts.

"Hardly anything here," he said cruelly. "You still look like a little girl. You'll never be a woman like my wife. She doesn't suck dicks. Only whores perform that act."

Katie didn't care. "I guess I'm a wh-whore, then."

He laughed shortly, "Yeah, it's pretty fucking apparent you are." He flicked the tips experimentally. Embarrassed by her A-cup, she swatted his hands away. "Don't fight," he told her, "You are the one who asked for this."

He had her there. She let him paw her. He was the first ever touch her little nipples. He was not gentle. "Is this what you wanted, whore?" He pinched her painfully, pulling and jiggling. 

"Yes!" she choked. It seemed to be the right thing to say. He released her and roughly inserted his knees between hers on the couch. He ripped off her underwear, actually ripped them from her hips, and discarded them on the floor. 

He's going to have sex with me, she thought. He's going to take me. I'm going to be his.

But he didn't, exactly. He began to stroke himself, letting his blunt head bump against her quivering pussy. He swirled the head around her pussy before bringing it back to press it between her butt cheeks. He didn't try to put it inside her so much as used her to create friction as he pleasured himself. 

"I'm not going to fuck you. I'm not going to take your virginity. I want no evidence of this. You could get pregnant, you could save my sperm somehow to implicate me...I'm not having it."

Katie didn't know what to say or think. She wanted to fall back on him, force his shaft inside her. Make him come as intensely as the man in the movie, who was shooting white sperm all over the chest and faces of his handmaidens at this very moment.

"Do that!" she offered. "You can do that to me. I want you to." She pointed to the television. His head swiveled around and he watched the big finish. 

"It's messy," he observed. Then he grabbed her roughly by the hair and pulled her sideways until she lay on the couch on her back. He sat on her stomach and began pumping his cock again. 

"Show me your tiny titties," he instructed. She lifted the concealing t-shirt and presented him with her little breasts, each the size of an apple half. She touched them tentatively, then with more confidence as he grunted his favor.

Soon his jerks were becoming urgent. He inched closer to her face, smacking rudely with his erection. "I didn't want to do this," he growled. "It's fucking sick and wrong. May God forgive us. Now open your mouth, I'm going to come in it."

He jammed his cock down her throat. She hardly had time to gag before thick fluid flooded her mouth. He kept himself fully seated, holding her head at an unnatural angle as he thrust savagely half a dozen times, until he was fully spent.

At last he pulled out. But he didn't move off of her right away. Instead he took his finger and carefully gathered the overflow of semen that leaked from the corner of her mouth. At his non-verbal command, she opened her lips again so that he could insert his finger. She sucked it clean for him a number of times before he was satisfied. 

She was disappointed when he lifted his weight from her. Why did it have to be over?

"Don't you dare tell anyone about this. Ever," he said, leaning over her threateningly. "I swear to god I will call you a liar and then arrange for you to have an 'unfortunate accident'. This never fucking happened, got it, Kelly?"

"It's Katie," she whispered, crushed.

"Understand, if you don't keep your mouth shut there will be consequences."

"I won't tell anyone. Not Lucy, not your wife...."

"Good."

"But this isn't over. I won't tell anyone as long as you promise me we can do it again." Her voice quavered. She felt so vulnerable. Her pride was in tatters. If he said 'no', that meant she wasn't even good enough to take a load of his semen in her mouth. Please let him think she was worth at least that.

"That would be beyond stupid," he told her, wiping at his mustache with a Kleenex. Katie wished she could taste it, see if it carried her scent. "I'm destroying the movie. We can never, ever do anything like that in my home again."

Katie saw that as encouragement. She sat up, searching with one toe for her discarded panties. She pulled them on and plastered herself to his side. Up on her tiptoes she leaned in to whisper in his hear. "I don't care if it's stupid. That was the best thing that ever happened to me. I want to do it again."

He shoved her away. "I'm not interested in small breasted virgins who give lousy head. Now go to bed." He moved to the DVD player and ejected the movie before heading for the door.

Katie smiled at his retreating back. Well, she couldn't make her boobs grow, but she could get rid of her virginity and find someone to practice her blow job on. Soon Mr. McKinney wouldn't have any reason to resist her.