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How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio?

By: leBonhomme



"How did you learn to love cocksucking?" That is an indiscreet question to ask a woman, as I discovered when I asked the first young woman who sucked mine – but it didn't keep her from doing it again as long as we were together, many years ago. She always said it tasted strange, but she must have enjoyed it. I certainly did. A couple of others didn't say that. One only tasted it once and never let that happen again. Another one must have known that she didn't like it, stopping me, when I started to lick her pussy with my cock in front of her face. 

Recently, I wondered what some of the answers to the question could be, what women would reply. In all my stories, the girls and women do love to suck cocks, and in most of them, the question would be superfluous, since the stories tell about girls' first experiences. What if I imagined, however, how other girls and women would reply to a later lover's question? I had fun and hope readers do. 

The stories will start with the question and immediate response, then shift to the scene of her first cocksucking, returning to the questioner's response. 

There is mention of preteen girls' recollections of seeing cocks, but no under-aged activity.

* * * 



"How did you learn to love cocksucking?" 

I thought we had known each other long and well enough to venture to ask. It was too obvious that she did, now lying together in bed after the umpteenth time she had. There was a long silence. I was regretting my having asked, but then she snorted with a hum and slapped my ass and then replied: 

"Shouldn't tell you; you shouldn't have asked."

"But you do."

"You know that! But I shouldn't tell you."

"Why?"

"Hmm! Hmmmm? You really want to know?"

"I asked."

"I shouldn't tell you, but it was so good."

"Mmmm! Sounds like you want to tell."

"If you aren't too shocked."

"I won't say anything."

"Promise?"

"Promise." 

She turned around on the bed and gave me a smirk. I waited. She drew a deep breath and said: 

"Well, you know that I grew up in Scandinavia. All pre-school kids run around naked in the summer at the beach. No one thinks anything of it. You don't know that I have twin brother." 

I caught my breath, anticipating how her story could continue, but managing not to say anything. She continued: 

"So, of course, I knew what little boys looked like, not just my brother, and knew that it sometimes stuck out, just thought it funny. Hmm? Well, not just funny." 

I held my tongue again, with some difficulty; was she going to tell me that she had started sucking cocks back then? She seemed to appreciate my reticence. After another deep breath, she continued: 

"Tell you what happened." 

I nodded, waiting.  

* * *

When we finished school, eighteen, no, nineteen, summer vacation, we were at our family's place in the country, very rustic, sent to spend a week there to open the place up before our parents joined us. One day we hiked to the nearby lake; nice warm, sunny day. I asked him if we wanted to go swimming. 

"Skinny dipping?!" he replied in surprise. 

I hadn't really thought about that. We could go in our underwear, nothing more revealing than our swimwear, but if he had asked that, thought that was what I was suggesting. I replied: 

"Why not? We always used to."

"When we were little kids."

"Lots of people do," I replied, which was true, whole families, just not ours. 

He knew that too. Did his glance at me suggest he was wondering how I looked naked? Would I mind if he did? It would be kind of fun, and a first time for me – for him too? He must have also heard that a few of our classmates had dared to do it. He didn't say anything. As usual, I couldn't resist teasing him: 

"Yeah, that was funny back then, sometimes it stuck out." 

It took him a moment to realized what I was talking about; then he snorted slightly and said: 

"It did? I don't remember that."

"The other boys' too." 

"You were looking at theirs too?"

"Not really looking, just noticed that they sometimes stuck out."

"And remembered?"

"Thought it was interesting that they could. Funny: I remember thinking that they looked like something to suck." 

"You did?!" 

That was really true, but only after I had said that did I realize what he could be thinking, as I now suddenly was. We all were pretty innocent back then. I was pretty sure that he also hadn't done any more than make out, but he must also have heard somewhere about oral sex. He had immediately replied, but now added: 

"You wanted to suck it?"

"I didn't say that, just that it looked like that."

"Hmmm?! And you want to go skinny dipping with me?"

"I didn't say that either; that was your suggestion."

"It was a question."

"But if you thought that was what I meant?" I replied with a shrug. 

By now I really wanted to. I guess I was wondering if it would stick out again. I had only felt one stiff – not with my hand – when I had been making out. He glanced at me again. I wondered if he could see that my nipples had popped out. Probably not, bras back then weren't supposed to let that show. 

"And you want to go skinny dipping after telling me that?" he asked. 

"It doesn't have to stick out. My nipples probably will." 

I was surprised that I had said that. This wasn't teasing, now enticing him. 

"Hmph!" he responded. 

"Hey, I'm just your sister, not your girlfriend. Just forget it, what I said."

We were at the lake, obviously going to the place where we often swam. He looked very dubious. He was going to need more enticing. I started to pull my blouse out of my pants and said: 

"Well, I will, anyway. You don't have to." 

He watched me start to unbutton my blouse. They were going to stick out, they were already, and I knew I was blushing a little. He noticed, grinning and saying: 

"At least, you're blushing." 

"Of course, with you staring at me." 

He continued to stare, until he saw my bra. Had he thought I wasn't wearing one? I tossed my blouse aside and started to unbutton my pants. Finally, he nodded with shrug and murmured: 

"I guess, if you do. Don't you look either," and unbuckled his belt. 

We turned away from each other and took off our clothes. Maybe he hesitated, waiting for me to go in the water first, or maybe it just took longer for him to take off his things. Maybe he did look at my backside when I got in the water, but that was all right; we were eventually going to see each other all naked. I didn't look back, didn't want to embarrass him by seeing him from the front first. 

I waited in the waist-deep water. Yeah, my nipples were very erect. He was going to like seeing my breasts. I liked them, knew that they were quite nice, having seen my classmates' after sport since they all started to swell out. A couple did have Playboy figures, but some had less than I did, his girlfriend too. Had he done more than maybe squeeze hers? Her nipples were too large for her breasts, would have fit better on Playboy-sized breasts. 

I heard him get in the water, and then he splashed my back. I squealed – all that cold water! I had wanted this? At least, that suggested that I splash him back. I swept my hand over the water as I turned around. He seemed have been expecting me to, just standing there, grinning at me, immediately splashing me with both hands in return – cold water on my breasts! In a reflex, I clapped my arms over them. He just grinned, then I did. 

Fair enough, it had been my idea, and now I wanted him to see them. I splashed him again, like he had, and stood proudly, letting him look, watching his eyes and waiting for his expression. His eyes found them. He grinned, then immediately just smiled with a slight nod. I thought that was polite of him. Had I been expecting him to say anything? Wow! You have great breasts! Of course, he wouldn't. Then he splashed me again, and said: 

"Like when we were kids," and grinned again, waiting for me to splash him. 

I did, liking his having suggested that this was being just as harmless as back then; it was supposed to be. When the surface of the clear water smoothed out, I looked down, but could only recognize where his pubic hair was. He couldn't see more than that either, of course. We stood there, letting each other look. If my nipples weren't still sticking out, when he looked at them again, I felt sure that they were. He smiled slightly again. I was tempted to say something about his girlfriend's, but didn't, remarking: 

"We couldn't swim back then." 

He nodded and accepted my suggestion, and we both swam as much as we could in the small lake, back and forth, turning when it was too shallow, chuckling, when we both only crouched to turn, not raising our hips above the water. We took a couple of more laps. Sure, we were going eventually to get out of the water and see all of each other, but that seemed hardly a problem by then. When we did, he shrugged with a bemused expression when my eyes dropped down.

I was disappointed. Of course, I knew that he had pubic hair, but what I wanted to see was so small! Did he chuckle – at my disappointed expression? He had also looked down, but I knew that he could hardly see anything but my little patch of hair.  I liked it too, not like those of the girls with a big, thick patch. I murmured: 

"Just like when we were kids, no big deal."

"Cold water," he murmured and smiled, looking pleased, and then glancing at my breasts. 

My nipples popped out, and I unconsciously wiped my forearm over them, replying: 

"Not quite just like when we were kids." 

"No, but it was your idea."

"I guess so. Want to sit down?"

We sat down on the mossy spot we knew, and didn't say anything for a while. My eyes stole glances down between his legs. It wasn't so small any more. He must have known that it wasn't. Or had he noticed my glances? He murmured: 

"The sun, nice." 

It was nice and warm in the sun, or was he apologizing for his cock's being larger? I stole another glance: it was, larger than before. Before I realized what I was saying, I murmured the first thing that came to mind - started to: 

"As long as it doesnt' ...."

"Shut up!" he interrupted me. 

I did, but it looked longer than before. Was he afraid that it would stick up? Oooh! This was interesting, his skin rolling back, a round knob beginning to appear. Yeah, that is what had intrigued me when we all were small. I had forgotten; I had seen that sometimes happen – his cock or that of one or two of our little friends?  I glanced over at his face. He looked a little uncomfortable. I murmured, thinking it would be relaxing, understanding remark: 

"Doesn't matter if it does."

"We shouldn't have done this," he replied. 

I didn't know much about boys, but Mom had once warned me to be careful, that they could lose control of themselves. Had she been talking about my brother's cock? Not his, of course, but it was the one I was watching. He obviously didn't have control of it: the roll of skin slipped off the knob. 

"You're looking," he complained. 

"Sorry, can't help it."

"I can't either." 

"That's all right, even if it does."

He groaned. It began to rise up. I tried to say something innocuous: 

"Like when we were kids; looks sweet like that. Now I remember, thinking it looked like a little lollipop." 

His now looked like a big one, twitching a little higher, and then it really twitched. That had apparently not been innocuous; he grunted, and it twitch again, and he repeated: 

"Shut up!" 

Damn! I realized that I had licked my lips, and felt my fingers wanting to hold it. Was I really thinking about wanting to hold it, maybe even lick it, suck it?! And not just my nipples were aroused – that funny, nice feeling down between my thighs, which twitched together. He could have put his hand over his cock, hidden it from my view, but he hadn't. He didn't really mind my seeing his cock so aroused? My thighs twitched again. I chuckled and said: 

"That's all right; I don't mind. Funny, remember when we used to use the bathtub together? I guess we were older, already in first grade? I asked Mom why it sometimes stuck out. Hmm? What did I call it?"

"Wee-wee? And you asked her?" he replied.

"Yeah, wee-wee." 

"Hmm! And what did she say?"

"That I would know, when I was grown up."

"Guess we both do now."

"Um-hmm. After that, I was thinking that I wanted to touch it, if it stuck out in the bathtub."

"You didn't."

"No. It didn't either, and then she said that we were big enough to take showers by ourselves."

"Hmm! Hm-hmm! Saved by Mom."

"You wouldn't have wanted me to?"

"I don't know. Hmm? I had."

"Held it, when it stuck out? Hm-hmm! It isn't so much now."

But then his cock twitched and rose up again. He just chuckled and replied: 

"Shouldn't have told me." 

"That I wanted to hold it, or that it isn't, wasn't?"

"Both!" 

We both chuckled, exchanging smirks. He wasn't so embarrassed about my seeing and talking about his aroused cock. Why should he be, if we could chuckle about? Oooh! It twitched again. Did he, could he make it do that? I hummed and asked: 

"And if I still want to? I replied, smirking again and adding: 

"Since it now is."

"Don't have to tell me. Maybe I would have let you back then."

"Hm-hmm! But I couldn't 'back then'. Mmmm! But you would have?"

"Don't ask!"

"It felt good?"

My twin brother nodded slightly. I smirked and added: 

"Even back then?" 

He smirked slightly and replied: 

"Not as good as a few years later." 

We chuckled again. This was being so good! I had to share something with him: 

"Took me a few years before I discovered what felt good, feels good."

"Girls do too?!" 

"Most of them, I guess."

"You know?" 

"Know that other girls do?"

"Yeah."

"A couple, just assume that the others do too."

I liked this, that we could talk about it. His cock was sinking down, but that was all right. Maybe we could get back to it.

"Never thought of that," he murmured, then asking – superfluously: 

"And you do too?"

"Told you already."

"And you wanted to hold it?"

"Still do." 

We both looked down and saw his cock begin to climb back up. I felt my itchy fingers move and murmured: 

"If you'll let me." 

Then he completely surprised me: 

"You don't want to suck it?!"

Was he afraid that I did – his big lollipop?! He imagined that I could really want to? He must know something about oral sex, if he had asked that. Or was he suggesting that he wanted me to?! What had he heard about cocksucking?! That it was so good, that he could spontaneously have suggested that that would be better than my just holding his cock?! For sure, he hadn't objected to my saying that I wanted to hold it. 

"Don't know yet," I murmured, rolling closer to him and grasping his cock. 

Finally! It felt like I had been imagining: warm and stiff in my hand, with thin skin that I could move up and down. He moaned, not objecting; he had wanted me to, my dear, aroused twin brother, with his nice cock! Did I also want to suck it? This way first; I knew something would shoot out – just dribble? Something would, else there wouldn't be any babies. If that happened in my mouth, what would it taste like, look like?  

It was great gobs of white stuff. That happened before I had really had time to enjoy what my hand was doing. Great globs shooting up on his chest and then the last couple dribbling on my hand. He had moaned and then groaned, when his hips twitched, then rocked up, when he had grunted, thrusting his cock in the grasp of my hand, as the white globs shot out. 

He groaned and grasped my wrist, holding my hand still on his twitching cock. I was afraid that he was going to complain again that we shouldn't be doing this, but he didn't. After a gasp or two and moaning sighs, he murmured: 

"God, that was good!

"Um-hmm!" I agreed emphatically, squeezing his cock, and watching the white globs spread out. All those little things with wiggly tails I had learned about, millions of them, that could make a girl pregnant. Were they squiggling out to find where? What did they taste like? I let go of his cock and licked my hand. A nose-wrinkling flavor; did I want to let him do that in my mouth? Did I want to suck his cock and let it shoot in my mouth? 

What had I said: "don't know yet." But if he asked again, if he wanted me to, I had to decide. If he wanted me to, I couldn't disappoint him. And! I had been wanting to suck a cock since I was four or five – with long years before I remembered that. I wanted to. Just ask me, brother. I grasped his cock again, now soft in my hand. 

"Sucking it couldn't be better," he murmured. 

He really had been thinking that I might suck his cock! It hadn't be a question or request, a challenge. And he wasn't going to object, if I tried to prove him wrong, maybe be very surprised, but not complain. 

When I rolled further towards him and scrambled between his thighs, still holding his even softer cock, he only responded: 

"You really want to." 

It wasn't a question, but I replied: "I do." 

He only moaned in response, and then the head of his cock was in my mouth. He moaned again. It wasn't as firm nor felt as smooth – shiny smooth, as when he had come in my hand – but my tongue delighted at exploring, and then it was again so firm and smooth. And the taste of a couple of drops at its little slit didn't bother me. He could come again like that and shoot in all in my mouth. 

I remembered the expression "cocksucking," and sucked, getting another taste of his white stuff, but now liking it. If it tasted like that and was so good for him, I liked it, wanted all he could give me. Where did it come from? His balls; I had to fondle them too. He responded with an appreciative moan. He liked everything I was doing! This was so good; I had never done anything so nice for him, and I was enjoying it. More than just enjoying it; it was arousing for me too, that feeling down between my thighs – in my pussy! 

It was so wet! If cocksucking was so arousing, it must be just the nicest thing a girl could do for a boy, a man, my brother! I loved it, the sensations on my licking tongue and feeling his cock twitch and hearing him moan; he loved it too! And when his hips jerked – fucking me in my mouth! – I felt my pussy juice running down my thigh. Did his cock want to fuck me in my pussy?! My pussy wanted it to! 

Then he came, those white globs shooting deep in my mouth. The first one hitting so far back in my throat that I had to gulp. I love it, that I had made him come so good, and now I loved the taste. 

* * * 

She grinned at me, waiting for my reaction to her so delightful story. She had heard many encouraging hums, while I resisted saying anything.  I grinned back and said: 

"Better than anything I imagined, except for already knowing how much you love to suck cock."

"Not just his and yours, of course."

"I can't complain, lots of years in between. And the others? No, won't ask that. And then with your twin brother?"

"Mmmm! Every time we could, and he did too."

"Lucky twins!" 

"Very! You do it better than he did." 

"Hmm?! Either you're just being polite, or he was just a beginner."

"He was, but with experience ... Well, then it's always good." 

"And ...?"

"Hmm? If we did anything else?" 

I nodded. She nodded and replied: 

"Of course,  I had to ask him to, after we were back home and I had protection – all those little wiggly things. I guess I am the wicked one, seducing my brother, both ways, all three ways." 

"'I am'? Not 'I was'?" 

She slapped my ass again, but snickered and replied: 

"It's been years, but if it happened again ...."



* * * 

Different, younger guy, Different. young girl 


How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 02



"How did you learn to love cocksucking?" That is an indiscreet question to ask a woman, as I discovered when I asked the first young woman who sucked mine - but it didn't keep her from doing it again as long as we were together many years ago. She always said it tasted strange, but she must have enjoyed it. I certainly did. A couple of others didn't say that. One only tasted it once and never let that happen again. Another one must have known that she didn't like it, stopping me, when I started to lick her pussy with my cock in front of her face. 

Recently, I wondered what some of the answers to the question could be, what women would reply. In all my stories, the girls and women do love to suck cocks, and in most of them, the question would be superfluous, since the stories tell about girls' first experiences. What if I imagined, however, how other girls and women would reply to a later lover's question? I had fun, and hope readers do. 

This story starts with the question and immediate response, then shifts to the scene of her first cocksucking, returning to the questioner's response. She gets carried away in her story, telling much more, unplanned food for the long conversation in the last part, when the questioner's, further questions entice her into telling much more.

* * *

"How did you learn to love cocksucking?"

"Who said I do?" my then companion replied with a grin, a young assistant professor in French.

"My cock."

"Hm-hmm! He's right! Didn't know he could also talk."

"Sent me a coded message up my spinal cord. So how did you, now that you've admitted that you do?" 

She chuckled, smirking slightly, then replied: 

"In France, of course."

"From a Frenchman?" 

"He didn't teach me, just made it easy for me to learn by myself."

"Yeah, well, of course, but a Frenchman?"

"You really want to know? I haven't told anyone - I don't think. Oh, I've told a couple of people a little about him, but not that."

"I won't let you, again, until you tell."

"Wasn't that good enough to last for a while? I love it, but I don't have to do it every five minutes."

"He's sending messages that he can't for a while, anyway."

"Hmmm! I didn't think so. But then you'd better do it to me; I love that too."

"Hm-hmm! I didn't know you also liked to do that."

She smirked and replied: 

"I didn't mean that, and if I had, I wouldn't tell you."

I scowled, she grinned, and then told about her postgraduate year in Paris. 

* * * 

I needed somewhere to stay while I looked for a room. Someone in the French department at college knew a man with a large flat in the area west of the Arc de Triomphe, old, high rent neighborhood. I knew that he was a widower, but not yet fifty. With that introduction, I wrote him in French. He replied in English - with a couple of errors - saying that he would be delighted to help me and to return a favor to his friend, telling that he had stayed with him in the States. 

At least, he spoke English. Despite all my reading of literature, I wasn't very fluent at speaking French. I wrote him again, this time in English, thanking and telling when I would arrive. He replied that he would pick me up at the airport, saying that he would have sign with my name. 

So there I was early one Sunday morning, a little apprehensive, curious, tired, and there he was: looking his age, but fit - no paunch - smiling. We shook hands and got my bags. He spoke English with a nice French accent. We drove to his place. I hadn't seen that part of Paris before, impressive, turn-of-the-century apartment buildings with the old kind of elevator one has seen in movies. 

He opened the door and gestured formally for me to enter, a front hall. Then it was funny. When he followed, about to show me into the living room, he exclaimed softly to himself: 

"Mon dieu! I forgot!" in French. 

Forgot what, I wondered, but then saw a towel on the armchair I could see. He rushed ahead of me and picked it up, and then hurried out of my sight, suggesting that there was another towel somewhere. He came back with abashed expression and remarked: 

"I got up too early this morning." 

"Thank you, that you did."

I suddenly remembered my aunt's and uncle's place in Florida, in a naturist community. They also had towels on chairs. Was he a naturist, in the middle of Paris? He was still smiling a little wryly. I was going to cramp his lifestyle, or was I? I had enjoyed visiting them. I had to say something: 

"Reminded my of my aunt's and uncle' place in Florida - the towels."

"Oh?" he replied, then shrugged with an apologetic expression, then asking: 

"You visit them?" 

"Have, a couple of times." 

I hoped we were talking about the same thing and added: 

"Oh, it was a little funny the first time, of course, and I was only a teenager."

"Of course," he replied with a nod and more relaxed expression. 

We were talking about the same thing. I chuckled and said: 

"Got a bad sunburn." 

He chuckled with a grin, and I did. Did I want to join his lifestyle? At least, I wanted him to know that I didn't mind it. I added: 

"After that I was more careful, and, well, it was fine, enjoyed it. Might have been different if had been boys my age around, but there weren't."

He nodded again with an understanding smile and replied: 

"Yes, like that. We - the rest of my family and I - have vacation like that, after my wife died."

"Oh, sorry about that. Your friend told me." 

He nodded with solemn expression, then smiled slightly and said: 

"Well, I guess you understood the towels."

"Um-hmm. Sure, why not?"

He looked at me quizzically. Had he understood that I was suggesting I would join his lifestyle? Even when people speak a foreign language well, they sometimes understand an expression differently than it was intended. Or had I intended it that way, subconsciously? He saved me from answering my question: 

"Let me show you your room. It has its own bathroom. You probably want to freshen up." 

I agreed, and we carried my bags to my room, down a long hall with a couple of other doors to rooms. Before he left me, he said that it was best after a long flight to stay up all day to overcome the jet lag, and said that he would make us good breakfast. 

He also left me with my question - maybe his too? I took a good shower, wondering what I should wear, something that suggested I could easily take it off? No bra? Was I wanting to spend a week with him going nude? With a strange man - just alone - in his apartment? But I was his guest, shouldn't upset his normal lifestyle. I must have taken too long. As I was pulling on clean panties, he called that breakfast was ready. Okay, no bra, that summer dress with breast pockets. I hurried to join him. 

The table was set. It looked more like brunch than just breakfast, even with a half bottle of champagne. When I looked at it, he shrugged and said that we didn't have to open it, that he just didn't want to disappoint me, if I expected a festive start of my year in Paris. Could I refuse? 

I didn't. We had a delightful breakfast with the champagne. He told me that he had already looked for rooms for me, and something about his work schedule, that he could find time to talk to landlords. I told him that he was being too helpful. I think I told him that he was being "too good." 

I wasn't tipsy, just tiredly relaxed. When we had finished the meal, I insisted on helping clear the table. In the kitchen together, when I couldn't do anything to help, without looking at me, he said: 

"Sorry about the towels. We didn't have to talk about that."

"But it was funny that we did, that I immediately understood. You would have had a lot more to explain, if I hadn't."

"I sure would have!" he agreed, giving me a smile.

"That would have been funny too. Maybe I should have just stood there and let you try."

"I liked it better the way it was."

He smiled at me again, and I smiled back, agreeing:

"I did too." 

We both nodded, and he turned back to what he was doing, while I wondered if we were agreeing about more. He could only be pleased and surprised - very surprised - if I told him that I wanted to join his lifestyle. He couldn't ask me. He saved me from my question again: 

"You should get out in the fresh air and sunlight to help overcome your jet lag. We can take drive, maybe to Versailles or the Bois de Bolougne and take a walk. Then I'll fix dinner. I'm not a French chef, but I get by."

I agreed, of course, relieved at being able to postpone the question about being nude with him. It was a nice day together. Doesn't matter where we went. He was good company, and seemed to enjoy my company. I had never been with an older man. It did occur to me, that maybe he enjoyed being with a young woman, with a couple of thoughts of what people who saw might think, certainly not that I was wondering about whether to be naked with him. Or maybe just that?! Was he wondering the same thing?

We returned to his flat. When he suggested that I might want to freshen up again, I agreed, then surprising myself, and said: 

"I'm just your guest. If you want to - like that - I don't want to upset your lifestyle, said that I have too, can too, will too." 

He was surprised, not flabbergasted, but wordless for a long moment. Then he replied softly: 

"You don't have to. Don't think you have to."

"I know, thank you. But if you want to?"

"Really? Not unless you really mean it. I don't have to, either."

We exchanged quizzical expression, both then shrugging. Suddenly I began to laugh, just had to, and said: 

"I'm never going to be able tell anyone about my first day in Paris!"

He laughed with me, pure nervous release. When we had caught our breath, grinning at each other, he replied: 

"I sure hope not, if you mean it that way?" 

"I do! Really have to freshen up now."

"Me too," he agreed with a grin. 

Had he understood that my panties were all moist? We both had to go to the hall to our rooms, mine at the end of it. We chuckled with smirks. Then he called after me: 

"I'm not one of those teenaged boys you were worried about."

"Good thing," I called back cheerfully. 

A moment later, I was questioning my cheerful response; I was just going to take of my shirtwaist and panties and meet him again, both of us naked. Yeah, I was going to feel very "naked." "Nude" is when it doesn't bother one in the least. 

After a few minutes, my pussy and armpits washed, I returned to the hall wondering where I would find him. He wasn't going to be surprised that my nipples were so stiff. Rubbing my arm over them didn't help. Had he noticed that I hadn't been wearing a bra? They had popped out a couple of times during the day, and then really, when I had told him that I was just his guest. 

He was in the living room with a handful of towels. We both smirked. I remembered naturist etiquette and tried to only look at his face. If he wanted to look at my boobs, that was fine; they didn't really need a bra, hardly a crease under them. We both had to chuckle. He shrugged and said: 

"I guess you really wanted to."

"You see that I did, but I sure hadn't anticipated that I would."

"Nice, ... that you do, too." 

His eyes had dropped down before he completed the sentence, letting my think that "nice" referred to his glance at my body. I murmured: 

"Um-hmm, been thinking about it all day - the towels."

"Um-hmm! And if I had remembered them in time this morning?"

"It wouldn't have been so 'nice'."

"I think so too," he agreed.

We smiled and didn't hesitate to look at each other. Had I ever seen a relaxed cock before? Not the couple I could remember. He said that he would start cooking, and I followed him to the kitchen, asking if I could set the table. He showed me the drawer with the silverware and cupboard with plates. Limoges porcelain I discovered at the table. 

Then I was back in the kitchen with him, now feeling more relaxed, this was like with my aunt and uncle. He had also glanced at my body, of course, but I liked that, tight nipples and all. Once, my thighs had twitched together. They did again at the recollection. Without looking at me, he said: 

"No one knows about this, that I like to be like this."

"My good luck then." 

"Mine too," he agreed, then after a moment added: 

"No, that's not quite right, my niece knows." 

"Your niece?" 

"Hmm? Shouldn't have remembered that she was here."

"If she was on vacation with you like that, like this?"

"Oh, she was, of course, so not so surprised about the towels."

"I hope not."

"I remembered them in time, when she came, but, well, as she said, we've seen each most often like this, with the rest her family, of course, and that of my other sibling." 

"Of course. But then she discovered the towels somewhere else?" 

"Hmm? Sort of. I shouldn't have mentioned her. Can you open the bottle of wine I put out?"

He pulled open a draw, and I found a corkscrew. I managed to screw it in, but then he turned and took the bottle, holding in between his knees to pull the cork out. A naked man doing that, just below his cock; I could look. Those Americans had all been circumcised. So that's how the other kind looked. The cork popped out, and he looked at me. Had he seen that I had been looking at his cock? 

He handed me the bottle and suggested that we could have drink while he cooked, gesturing at another cupboard. I found glasses and poured.

"Too full," he remarked as he took one, raising it, and we drank. 

"About there," he added as he set down his glass." 

I took another drink to bring the level in my glass down to where it was in his, and then said: 

"So your niece was here. I guess she just sort of assumed that it would be like on your holidays together."

"She did."

"Nice, like with us. How old was she?"

"You shouldn't ask. That was a couple of years ago, after her baccalaureate, probably nineteen."

"Old enough. Why shouldn't I ask?"

"You shouldn't. I shouldn't have mentioned her."

This was intriguing: he had mentioned her, but kept saying that he shouldn't have. They seemed to have seen each other naked for years, so why not? I didn't have to wonder for long to imagine what an uncle and niece could do together. Really?! 

"I won't then," I replied: "sorry. You mentioned her."

"Hmm? I guess so."

"Favorite niece?" 

"You weren't going to ask, and favorite uncle, well, the only one."

"More nieces?" 

"A couple, younger." 

"Hm-hmm! I have an uncle, by marriage, that one in Florida."

"Hmm! He must have liked when you visited."

"Just thought of that. I think he did, and I kind of liked that he did, looked."

"When you were a teenager? Who wouldn't have wanted to? ... Not just then."

"Don't embarrass me." 

"Didn't want to, just a compliment."

"Thanks."

My nipples had popped out. He turned and gave me a smile, and we had another sip of wine. I hoped that he had seen them. Jet lag and a long flight, but now it was midday in USA, and I was wide awake, plus a good half glass of wine. I grinned and replied: 

"Want me to tell you that you look better than all those fat men in Florida? You do."

"Oooh! Well, I hope so."

"You do."

"You do too, better than my niece. No! That's unfair! She has lovely figure, just, well, more slender than you."

He was looking at my breasts and again erect nipples. I glanced down at them to show that I appreciated that they had popped out. 

"Hers are smaller," he murmured. 

Her breasts or her nipples? If he could mutter that, I could say something about her: 

"Nice that she has a favorite uncle. Why did she visit you?"

"Also looking for a room, first year at the Sorbonne."

"We have something in common - besides enjoying your lifestyle."

"I've got to stop letting young women visit me."

"I don't know why? Seems like ..., well, maybe just not ones that ... appreciate your lifestyle." 

He snickered, nodding with a grin, and said: 

"Should I ask them first?"

"Hm-hmm! Maybe I could send you a couple from the States."

"Oooh! Which kind?" 

"I can just warn them: 'He is very nice, but likes to run around naked."

We both chuckled, grinning. He nodded, but then shook his head and replied: 

"Enough, that you and my niece know."

"Don't know why you don't want me to ask about her."

"Don't! If I told you, you would get the wrong idea."

I shut up and let him finish cooking, but his last remark burned in my mind. What wrong idea could I get? Not just about going naked; we had settled that, now I was quite comfortable with it. There wasn't much else that an uncle and niece could do, than what I could imagine. Why shouldn't they have, favorites and she nineteen? Lucky if she had; probably - surely - better than what I had done at that age. Of course, he couldn't admit that. 

He finished cooking, and we sat down to eat. He served, and we raised our glasses. My nipples popped out again, and he nodded with a slight smile, before we drank. If he and his niece had done what I could imagine, ... My thighs twitched together under the table. 

He led our conversation to other subjects, and we ate and drank. I wondered if he was also trying to avoid further mention of his niece, and if he was, why? Before I emptied my glass, I smiled at him and said - in as harmless a tone as I could manage:  

"You don't want to tell me about her, but you have a little, as though you really wanted to. I won't get the wrong idea."

He snorted softly, nodding slightly, a little smile play at the corners of his lips. I nodded. He nodded and then shrugged. After long moment's silence, he nodded again and almost whispered: 

"We shouldn't have. You probably already thought that."

I just nodded understandingly. He nodded and took a deep breath: 

"It was her idea. She was looking for a room, but she eventually told me - I guess it was the second or third day - about her boyfriend, admitting that they slept together. That didn't surprise or bother me. All girls that age probably do. But she had another problem, he wanted to do something else with her. Hmm! She admitted that she really liked that, but, of course, he wanted her to do it to him." 

I nodded again, understandingly; I could so well understand her problem. He nodded and continued: "Well, after she had finally managed to tell me that, she asked if she could try it with me, explaining that if she really didn't like it, she didn't want to have a bad scene with her boyfriend." 

I nodded again, understanding her problem, then venturing to murmur: 

"What's a favorite uncle for, if a girl can't ask him something she can't ask her parents."

He almost chuckled with a nod, continuing again: 

"Sweet of you to say that, my only excuse. I let her. Hmm! Don't have to tell you that it was good for me, and she liked it, delighted."

"Lucky niece!"

"Sweet of you again,"

"Don't have to tell me more." 

"If I've admitted that? Of course it wasn't only once, and, well, I couldn't resist wanting to, too."

"Very lucky niece!"

"She thought so, and I did; I had forgotten how lovely a young girl's is. Oooh! I really shouldn't have said that!"

He was almost blushing as he looked at me, shrugging with an embarrassed smile. I raised my glass, and he did, and we emptied them. I hummed with mild smile and replied: 

"I have more in common with her than I thought."

He had a quizzical expression. He had told me about his niece; I had said that I wouldn't get the wrong idea, now understanding that I shouldn't think he was trying to seduce me. I didn't, and even if he did? I tried to diffuse my thoughts, murmuring: 

"In America, people think - like to think - that all French girls do."

"Hm-hmm! I haven't slept with all of them. Maybe some of them don't. Not all of them really like to, not as much as my niece."




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 02



"I'm glad that she does. Wish I knew if I would."

"Hmm! You weren't suppose to get the wrong idea."

"I haven't, not the one I think you're afraid I could have. Oh, my idea is also wrong, but ... Too late, you really shouldn't have told me, but you did. Not your fault."

"I'm not your uncle."

"Next best thing to being one; better, tried and tested."

"We've had too much to drink!"

"Maybe, probably, but 'in vino veritas'."

My thighs had been twitching together. I wonder if his cock had moved under the table. My nipples were permanently aroused. Worse! I felt my hands sliding up under my breasts, my fingers slipping around them. 

"Don't!" he murmured. 

But my hands did, squeezing the sides of my breasts. What was I doing?! 

"We have had too much to drink!" he repeated more emphatically.

"Yeah, maybe," I agreed, and let my hands slide down. 

His expression relaxed a little, but then I recognized that his "we" suggested that he was including himself, wanting to blame the wine on how he was feeling. How? Just saying that he wasn't my uncle was the weakest excuse for not letting me suck his cock.!! Now I had really said it to myself! 

"Yes, maybe," I repeated, this time remembering not to use the slang yeah, adding: 

"Maybe, but maybe a good thing: you wanted to tell me about her - sweet - ..."

He nodded slightly with a little smile as I continued: 

"... just couldn't anticipate ... Oh, I didn't get the wrong idea! I know you weren't wanting to suggest anything; you just couldn't anticipate that she and I had the same problem."

I liked my explanation. He seemed to, too, hardly smiling, but nodding. After a moment, he replied: 

"I sure could not. Hmm? Hm-hmm! Kind of funny." 

I nodded, chuckling with a cheerful smile, and he also did, and then we both laughed, releasing a lot of nervous tension. I liked his laugh, heard it often. Feeling very relaxed, I remarked: 

"So, I don't have the wrong idea, and you're not my uncle, but, well, I said that already."

He nodded, then frowned slightly, looking past me. Then he looked back at me. I was looking at his eyes. They glanced at my breasts before they met mine. The corners of lips moved slightly, and then he murmured: 

"You really want to." 

It wasn't a question, sounded like he was just saying what he thought, that he had understood that I really wanted to. I nodded with a soft "um-hmm." The corners of his lips moved again. He murmured again: 

"Maybe we haven't had too much wine."

"Maybe just enough," I murmured. 

"Enough to tell each other all that, for sure." 

"Not just a lot of words, what they said."

"You're good with words."

"Want me to say it?"

He nodded with slight smile. I felt my cheeks flush. They must have a couple of times before, but I hadn't noticed. I nodded, my hands slid up out of my lap, but stopped below my breasts. Of course, his eyes dropped down to my stiff nipples. 

"I really want to," I murmured, as our eyes met again. 

I heard a very soft, deep hum. Then he smiled slightly with a silent snort and said: 

"No one ever said that to me before."

Why did my pussy feel so moist, when I was hoping that I could suck his cock? Oh, but I had licked my lips! He smiled a little better and added: 

"May she would have, but I guess I acquiesced before she had to." 

I was about to say that I hoped he would now, but he shrugged with a nod and put his hands on the table and stood up. I didn't have to say more! And his cock looked about as big as it could be without rising up. I must have looked at while I was standing; he smiled, when my eyes found his again. He chuckled with a grin and said: 

"It told me that I should." 

I must have been blushing down to my nipples, but I managed to smiled and reply: 

"Tell it thanks from me." 

We had to laugh again. He nodded towards the living room, and I followed him. He sat down in the armchair with a towel, an antique "fauteuil." a word I knew from classical literature. Was this how I could have ever imagined my first time would be, I thought, as I dropped to my knees on the thick oriental carpet. I looked up at him, and he smiled with a nod. I looked back down at his cock. 

Nice cock; I was going to have to pick it up, even though it moved slightly. This was crazy! I had only shaken his hand at the airport several hours before, and now I was going to hold his cock! And at the moment, I couldn't even remember his first name! One's suppose to know a boy - man - be on a first name basis with him before one does this. Did he remember mine? 

"It wants you to, too," he murmured. Had I been hesitating so long? Too strange! I had to chuckle and ask: 

"Really?"

"Hm-hm-hmm! Really! It really wants you to." 

I looked up at him with a grin, and we both almost laughed again. 

"If we both want to," I replied and looked back down and picked it up, a little heavier in my hand than I had expected. 

I licked my lips, and then they slipped around his cock, pushing his foreskin the last bit off his knob. How could I ever have questioned that I would want do this?! Of course, it was meant to fit in my pussy, but it fit so well in my mouth, so nice and round, its head, and so nice to caress with my tongue. I knew where, from using my hand back in high school, but my tongue enjoyed feeling that place much better than the tip of my finger or thumb could. 

His cock really had wanted me to, twitching in appreciation. I heard him - what was his name? - moan softly. How could he have been so difficult about letting me; he knew it would be good, even if I was a beginner? Or did his niece and whoever do it better with experience? That's what I wanted now, experience, not just to discover whether I could, whether I wanted to. I did! I knew that now already. 

Oh! Yeah, I fondle guys' balls too. Did his hang down longer than theirs had? It felt like it for my fingers - nice, his sack so loose, and his balls seemed bigger than the ones I remembered. He chuckled; he liked that too. 

Did girls bob their head with a cock in their mouth, fucking it with their mouth? His cock and he liked that too, twitching and moaning, respectively, but I couldn't enjoy licking it that way. Oh, of course, "cocksucking;" I could lick and suck at the same time. He and his cock liked that too, all three of us enjoying it. 

Oooh, his sack was drawing up, a tight ball filling my hand. Already? I knew what that meant. Pity; I wanted to enjoy this for longer. He moaned deeply and mumbled something in French, then in English: "You don't have to." 

I nodded and shook my head, understanding his suggestion, but indicating that I did want to. If I was going to do it, I wanted it all, no matter how strange a couple of girls had said it was going to taste. If his niece and other liked it, I was going to. And if he had first mumble in French, he must have forgotten that I was silly American with no experience, was doing it good. It must be, if he was about to let me taste it. Oh! He couldn't think I was his niece, but must have remembered that it my first time. Was he so aroused that he was thinking in French? Or had there been other girls doing it for their first time with him?! 

I wanted it, sucking bobbing my head, licking when my tongue could. He moaned, and his hips twitched, helping to move his cock in my bobbing mouth, his cock trying to fuck it. "Ahhg!" Almost too fucking deep in my throat. I grasped his cock with my other hand to keep that from happening again, clutching his tight sack. He groaned, as his hips thrust up again, and my hand pushed my head back. Then he grunted, and his hips thrust up again. 

It wasn't the head of his cock in back of my throat. A great spurt of liquid hit my soft pallet. I must have bitten his cock when I had to swallow; he gave a pained "uhn!" but his hips kept moving, and more spurts shot in my mouth. 

I had made him come! But I hadn't tasted it yet, but then I did. Very strange, like nothing I could have imagined. I could understand that other girls didn't like it; I wouldn't have, if I had had to taste it somewhere else. But I had wanted it, wanted it this way. I realized that I was also moaning, when I recognized that he was. He fondled my hair, and I move it around in my mouth, tasting it, yes, savoring it, now that I had decided that I liked it, suddenly recalling the first time I had tasted a very pungent French cheese and not liked the taste. I did after that, and now I liked what he had given me. 

He fondled my hair again and murmured, first in French, then in English: 

"Come, kiss me." 

I raised my head, letting his cock slip from between my lips, and looked up at him, nodding and licking my lips. His hands urged me to rise up. When I did, they slid down and drew my hips closer. The seat of the chair was wide enough that I could slide my knees up between its arms and his hips. He drew them closer, my pussy sliding up on his cock, and we kissed. 

The French don't better French kiss than men elsewhere, but no other man had wanted to have his tongue in my mouth, while I thought it still tasted from his semen. He did. I still couldn't remember his first name. As our tongues caressed, it occurred to me that if I spoke French with him, I should use the familiar forms: "tutoiement." I had learned them, but not so well that I could really use them. Before he could forget and use French again, when I had recovered my tongue from his mouth, I murmured: 

"Thank you. I really wanted to." 

"And thank you! It did too, I did too, just difficult to admit." 

"Hmmm! It sure seemed like it, but thanks, that you both then did."

"Um-hmm. Maybe better that it took so long for me to admit that I did."

"Or I could have thought that you had the wrong idea," I murmured.

"I didn't! But that occurred to me too, that you could think so."

"And that you could, about me."

"Better not ask! I began to have my doubts about your saying you were like my niece."

"I was! Funny. Not that, that I had to ask myself why I had questioned that I wouldn't want to."

"My good luck." 

"Mine especially."

"And without my niece?"

"Hmm? How? If you hadn't mentioned her? Or if I hadn't needed your having told me about her?"

"Hmmm? We wouldn't be here like this, for sure."

"Not tonight," I agreed.

"If I hadn't mentioned her, but we had all our clothes off?"

"We did, without her."

"You didn't have to tell me that you'd done that."

"You could have remembered the towels, so that I didn't."

"I really wanted to," he replied. 

We chuckled heartedly at his reply. When I leaned back a little, his hands slid around and found my breasts. I smiled with a hum and said: 

"Better than my holding them." 

"Oooh! That was when I started to worry about whether I wouldn't."

"That's good! And without her - and clothes?" 

"Wouldn't we have wanted to, somehow?" he suggested.

"Maybe wanted to, but one of us would have had to say, do something."

"Not me!" he replied with a grin. 

"Good thing that you have a niece. You can tell her thanks from me." 

"And from me," he agreed with a smile, squeezing my breasts, his thumbs rubbing over my nipples. 

I purred and murmured: 

"Maybe I could have done that, just inadvertently, you know, when you had looked at them, just to let you know that I liked that you had."

"You would do that? A nice American girl?"

"Wouldn't a French girl?" 

"Hmm! Probably! Just never happened - to me." 

"Because your hands were there first."

"Not this time," he replied with a grin, his fingers doing nice things to my nipples."

"Feels good, but I didn't do that to them." 

"They feel good too." 

"Mmmm! Not like they do for me. 

My thighs twitched against his hips. He smiled in response. That twitch had been a reflex, the next one wasn't. He hummed, looking in my eyes with a serious expression. My thighs twitched again, a reflex. He murmured: 

"I like to do it too, owe you something."

"Mmmmm!" I responded, wondering if I had really felt his cock move under my pussy. 

"I really want to," he murmured.

His cock had moved. Anything he wanted to do. I nodded and murmured: 

"Pill."

"Not that way," he murmured, nodding. 

I moaned again with nod. Somehow, we changed places, me sitting on the chair, he dropping down between my legs. A couple of guys had licked my pussy, one once all the way, but not like this, in bed, not so that I could look down and watch him. And when they had, I had always been worried that they wanted me to suck their cocks, why I hadn't let them finish licking my pussy, but he wanted to! 

His hands urged my thighs up over the arms of the chair. I saw him looking at my open pussy. Did it look as good as his niece's young pussy that first time? Good enough that he moaned as he lowered his head. I moaned at the first touch of his tongue. 

Maybe cocksucking came naturally for girls - if I could my first time - but I knew guys' tongues didn't intuitively know what a pussy wanted, and I had been too reticent to tell them. I didn't have to tell - his name suddenly came to me, finally - Étienne, the French form of Steven/Stephan. 

Étienne's tongue knew, knew how and where! This was going to better than many missionary style fucks, just lying there and letting him screw me. I moaned and grasped my breasts; it was going to be better than all of those. When I moaned again, his eyes glanced up at me, and he moaned, letting me feel vibrations on my pussy. Had I earned this, deserved this?! At least, I knew his name now. 

Was I so much aroused from everything before that I was already so close? It was so good, what he was doing! I didn't want it to happen yet, but couldn't stop him. I groaned and almost cried out: 

"Oh! Étienne!" 

Hearing his name spurred him to greater effort. My hips twitched, and my fingers mauled my nipples. Imbecile kids' fucking was nothing in comparison! He was grasping my hips to keep his mouth on my pussy. Let it happen. I resigned myself to the inevitable. 

It happened, but it had never been like that before! My body was jerking uncontrollably. Had I peed?! It had felt like it, but he was moaning, sounding like he was pleased, and his tongue was lapping up from below my pussy; he wanted to taste it, like I had wanted to taste his semen. 

I moaned, trying to relax, but my pussy couldn't. Could I remember feeling it had contracted like that before? His tongue lapped up again. What did it taste like, what did I taste like? And again; he must like it. I hoped so with a long sigh, and heard him sigh - "my" Étienne. 

We both sighed again, and then - shock! - his tongue back there again! Don't! Not again! His tongue didn't hear my silent cries. My pelvis twitched, and my whole body convulsed again! Oh, fuck! It had been good, but I couldn't stand that. One fantastic orgasm was all right, and that one too, but I can't stand any more - I thought. His tongue flipped there again, just a couple of times. I grasped my breasts with a pained moan, and his tongue flipped again. My body jerked. Had I peed again? His tongue was lapping up the length of my pussy. 

Thank God! Enough, Étienne, I silently thanked him. Too soon! His tongue flipped up just once, and my body spasmed. Don't! I silently commanded, anticipating the worst. It was like waiting for another electrical shock. Don't know how I got that image, but it was, the waiting, and then the shock, his tongue flipping there again! 

"Oh fuck!" I cried out: "Enough! Oh fuck!"

He raised his head. My eyes had been clenched shut. They opened, seeing him nod. But he had misunderstood my desperate exclamations; he rose up, and his cock plunged in my pussy! 

I closed my eyes and let it happen. No one had fucked me so hard and fast. After the first couple of thrusts, my pussy wanted even still more. How could it?! It did. 

"Fuck!" I gasped, a resigned acceptance of what he was doing. 

He did, and somehow my pussy wanted it. I had another orgasm, and he had his. When his grunts subsided, I reached up and drew him down over me, just embracing him. We gasped and sighed. Had my pussy squeezed his wilting cock out? It slipped out, and I felt my pussy dribbling. Eventually, he raised his head and looked down at me. A slight, wry smile passed over his lips, and one, over mine. He hummed softly and murmured: 

"Maybe we shouldn't have done that."

"If you wanted to? I didn't know that I could - want to."

"You did?"

"Kind of had to, but then I did, before you stood up, and then ... It was never like that before."

"I shouldn't have, that much, 'and then'." 

"My fault, using that word. Should watch my mouth." 

He smiled with a nod and replied: 

"I told you that you were good with words."

"Hmm! Just one to be careful to use."

Did he or I initiate our kiss? Then we both had to go to the bathroom, the nearest. "Mine," he said and we rushed to his bedroom, to the adjoining bathroom. He gestured for me to use the toilet. I did. He was moving his legs like a little kid that had to go, then gave me an apologetic smirk and turned to the washbasin. After a few moments, he said: 

"I'll wash here," and looked back at the bidet. 

"Never used one," I replied, then adding: "but now know why the French do."

"Just because we didn't used to have so many bathtubs and showers."

I used the bidet, tried to, first spraying myself, but then washing my pussy and thighs. He offered me his towel, and I dried myself. We left the bathroom. In his bedroom, he stopped and glanced at the big double bed, then at me and said: 

"Maybe, probably we did much too much today, Dorothy, but, well, I guess you understand ..." He glanced at his bed again.

He had remembered my name; if he had ever forgotten it during the day, when his cock was in my mouth, my pussy, or his mouth there. I smiled and replied: 

"It would even be worse, if we didn't, terribly funny. Not really, but how would we look at each other in the morning?"

"You really are good with words." I replied: 

"I really want to ..." quickly adding: "be good," with a smirk. 

"You are." 

He held out his arms and we embrace, with a fond kiss. When he said that he had to turn out the lights, I said that I would clean up in the kitchen in the morning. He nodded, and went off, then I heard him clearing the table. I waited, and then ventured to get in the bed. I had never slept in double bed. I folded back the covers and waited for him, suddenly realizing how tired I was. When he returned, he smiled, apparently approving that I was already in bed. He turned out the light and crept in bed with me. We embrace again. I murmured: 

"Too tired even to talk."

"And I wouldn't know what to say. Good night. Bonne nuit." 

"You too, bonne nuit, about all the French I can manage right now."

I rolled over and he moved closer to me, sliding his arm over my side. I pulled his hand up on my breast. He held it with a hum, and I hummed, and fell asleep before I could think about anything. 

Oh, it was wonderful! Of course, we knew it was only for a week together, looking for a room for me. Then he suggested, however, that I take the cheapest acceptable room for a mail address and stay with him. It was wonderful for almost a year together. We both reassured each other that it was it was just for so long. That only made it better. We never did it again that much at one time, chuckling about that we had our first time. 

But we did other things. Once I wanted to suck his balls and sat under him. That was a little funny, not that I was sucking his ball, although he was chuckling. I suddenly remember the statue of Romulus and Remus under the she-wolf. When I told him that, we both laughed. Then I was sucking his cock again, and we were both moaning - like so many times before. 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 02



Then once - hmmm! - not just that time, the first time I was sitting on his lap with his cock in my pussy, his fingers reached down around my ass and rubbed my asshole. I was surprised, of course, but it felt so good.

Oh, he insisted that we had to speak French with each other for my language study. That was also real good, a lot of practice for my using the familiar forms. But there was one English word he always used: pussy. Ooooh! When he said it in his French accent with equal emphasis on both syllables, "pussie," pursing his lips for the P - oooh! - mine always went all wet! 

Of course, he had used the word in a situation when it would anyway, or already was, but then I told about that. He chuckled and then sometimes just looked at me and said it softly. The first time he did that - we were in the kitchen - he reached down between my thighs and checked that what I had said was true. A few seconds, it was even wetter; he had almost thrown me up on the kitchen table and begun to lick. That was another time, when he gave me multiple orgasm, not the only other time. He delighted in surprising me that way, and, of course, I was then more than delighted. That was fine in his flat, where we alone and naked. 

But then we were once at a gallery opening, a "vernissage." He had contacts for such events, and we both enjoyed them, not so much for the event, rather for the glances we got. He enjoyed being seen with a younger woman, and I would smile at him, letting people wonder about our relationship. Sometimes he would introduce me with the French version of my name, Dorothèe, and we would speak French, or we would speak English, he calling me Dorothy, and I would call him Stephan. 

Anyway, at this vernissage, very boring, after two glasses of wine, he looked at me and pursed his lips. I knew he wasn't going to kiss me, and then he said it softly: "pussie." My thighs twitched; it had worked again. I nodded with wide eyes. He grinned, and I did, and we took French leave. That was another time when we did everything we could, every way we could. 

* * * 

Dorothy grinned at me and asked: 

"That should be enough to let you know why I love to suck cocks. Oh? Yours especially, of course." 

She caught a fold of skin and picked it up, shaking it. Even after her long and erotic story, it just shook loosely. I snorted and replied: 

"Good thing you said that. I was having to think that his cock was the one you had most especially loved to suck." 

"It was, back then, and for a few since. Sorry about saying that, but if you had to ask?"

She shook mine again and added: 

"But yours is the only one like his."

"Oh, uncircumcised?"

"Um-hmm!" she agreed with a grin.

"My good luck. If that matters, why didn't you ...?"

"Ask them first?" she completed my question, grinning.

I chuckled and replied: 

"They would have lied." 

"For sure, and a girl can't ask that; it would sound like that was all she was interested in.

"Yeah, of course. Sorry, that I suggested it. But - hm-hmm! - you said he made it easy for you. Sounded more like you made it hard for him. Not just his cock." 

She dropped my cock and slapped my ass, but chuckled and said: 

"I knew you were going to say that, as soon as I heard myself saying that he made it easy. I did, and not just the first time." 

"You made that clear. If you still have contact with him, tell him my appreciation."

"Oooh! I do, but I don't thing I can tell him that. Hmm? Well, maybe, about his making it easy, and my making it hard."

"He would like that. Oh? Did you hear more about his niece? 

Dotty blushed, even evident in the half-light of the room. She snorted softly, then replied: 

"You'd have to ask."

"It sounded like that first time with him couldn't have been everything."

"It wasn't. Hmm? He admitted ... I asked him too. He admitted that they did again. Sounded like, whenever they could."

"Can't blame them."

"I couldn't either; I had her to thank that I could."

"Maybe just sooner than it probably would have happened."

"Probably, can't spend a week going naked with someone without something happening."

"I'll take your word for it, Where's that place where your aunt lives?"

"Oh, you beast! I really liked him, still do. Don't you still have fond memories about your first time?" 

"Very! Even though it wasn't good."

"Mine either. I have promoted him to being my first time."

"Lucky; how many do I have to skip over to put you at the top of my list?"

"You are a beast!" 

She slapped my ass very hard. I grunted, but then replied: 

"Only three."

"If I can believe you, then only three for me."

"None of them were good enough to really count."

"Hm-hmm! Then my answer, too," she replied.

"And his niece?" 

"I hope I did it as good as she did."

"I'm sure; no one could do it better."

"That's better, not a beast, just a horny anteater, you know, with a long tongue."

I stuck mine out, wagging at her. She chuckled, nodding with a grin, and replied: 

"Yeah, like that."

I remembered her having blushed when I had asked about his niece, and asked again: 

"And his niece? If you think they did it whenever they could, and you stayed with him so long, seems like she would have turned up sometime."

She blushed again and murmured: 

"You weren't supposed to ask."

"She did?"

She just nodded. 

"I guess you moved out to your cheap room."

She shook her head. Since she had blushed - now twice - and they both had been there together with him, it must have been interesting. I didn't think she would need to blush, if she could have told me that they just took turns with him. She looked like she was almost expecting me to ask another question. I shrugged and remarked: 

"Why not? You knew all about the two of them; if he didn't suggest that you move out for the weekend or however long, I guess that he assumed it would work out."

"I did offer to move out." 

"What was his name? Maybe he wanted to know which of you - no - wanted to know if you both did it equally good." 

"Hmm! You'd think he would tell us?"

"No!"

"He didn't, of course."

"But you both did?"

"Of course."

"Mmmm! How long did she stay?"

"A week; stole a week to visit him, before she went home between semesters in England."

"Did she know you would be there?"

"Um-hmm, he told me, when he said that I didn't have to move out."

"Hmmm? Well, I guess that gave him time to recover a little, spread things out. If it had just been for a weekend with two such good girls ..."

"It wasn't. Hm-hmm! Were we 'good girls'? Not like our parents would have used the expression."

"I hope not, but all three of you? One of you two having to watch?"

Dotty smirked slightly, shaking her head. My eyebrow shot up. She snorted softly at my surprised expression, then said: "You really want to know?"

I just nodded. She smiled wryly, then chuckled and said: 

"Before you start wondering how, what, ..."

"I am, already." 

"I was too. Oh, I'll tell you."

"Please."

"When she arrived, she immediately greeted me cheek kisses, like the French do with better friends. Good thing that he had told me that she knew about us."

"Anyone who sleeps with my uncle like I do is immediately a better friend."

"Yeah, but don't interrupt me." 

I nodded, pressing my lips together. 

"Yeah, so there we were, back in his flat after picking her up at the Eurostar station; you know, the express train under the English Channel. It suddenly occurred to me that she would be expecting to stay in his room. Did she assume that I always slept in there? Without setting down her bag, he immediately remarked that we both knew about each other, that his bed was big enough for three. It was.

"She and I both shrugged, exchanging wry smiles, then nodding. She could see the towels on chairs. He had laid out a couple more, since there was three of us. She plucked at a button of her blouse, and I did, and we both nodded again, this time with smirks. We all went to hall to the bedroom. Since I kept my clothes in the guest room, that I never slept in, I went further down the hall, hearing him explain that to her. Of course, I was curious to see her naked. He had told me that my breasts were bigger ..."

"And that he had forgotten what a young girl's pussy looked like," I interjected with a grin. 

"Shut up, or I won't tell you!"

I nodded, trying to look apologetic, and she continued: 

"Nice, like mine were when I was fifteen, looked just right with her slender figure, with nice nipples. They popped out, when we saw each other, mine too. Hers were more tan than pink, but that looked just right too. 

"Well, to avoid a blow by blow ... Don't say it! To keep the story short, of course we both did. Doesn't matter how we got to that, but we did, and she went first. Before I could wonder about just having to watch, he told me that he wanted me to kneel over his face."

I couldn't suppress a hum. She gave me stern look, but then nodded with a grin and continued: 

"Yeah, so we did it that way. I told you what happened when he licked my pussy - when you do too - but not that many times. And then, well, we changed places. Oh, not immediately - after a glass of wine, a meal. I can't remember what, that first time. 

"You're wondering if we really did, both fuck him?"

I nodded vigorously, pressing my lips together again. She grinned and said: 

"We did, of course, but not that first day and night."

Her expression suddenly changed, and she was blushing again, and gave a disturbed sounding hum. I waited. She looked at me with a very wry expression, and then murmured: 

"Yeah, we did, but I shouldn't have asked you if you were wondering."

"But you were right, and said that you did."

"Yeah, but ... Oh shit! I got myself into this!"

I shrugged, hoping my expression looked understandingly sympathetic. She snort with sharp "hmm." Then a wry smile passed over lips, and she also shrugged, then finally spoke: 

"Probably gave it away already, after saying that." 

I shrugged again, trying not to let show that I was beginning to think that it sounded like she and his niece had done something together. I shrugged again, this time in response to my thought: why not? She smirked slightly and murmured: 

"You haven't guessed?" 

"Guessed a lot, also about your blushing."

"Didn't know you could be so tactful."

"I'm trying to be. Funny, this kind of reminds me of your conversation with him that first evening."

"Oh, that is funny! Yeah, it does."

We both snickered, and then she laughed. She had told me about its releasing nervous tension. When she stopped laughing, she shrugged with another wry smile and said: 

"Oh shit! I'll tell you; can't make much difference, since you've probably already thought so. Yeah, she and I did. It was after the second night together. Hmm! Hm-hmm! All three of us in his big bed; of course, we couldn't get to sleep until, well, like I told you. 

"The next morning, after he left for work, we were cleaning up in the kitchen. Ha! It's all her fault! She turned and looked directly at me and said: 'I want to know why he likes so much to do that to us." Was I surprised already? I was, when she added: 'You don't have to.' There was no question of what she was suggesting. Her remarks set in; I then also realized that I had had the same question. Did I shrug or nod? Yeah, I nodded very slightly and heard myself reply: 'If you want to.' 

"She wanted to lick my pussy - his 'pussie'. Did I want to lick hers? If she did - could? I heard myself murmur: 'I will too.' She just nodded with slight smile. She had been washing dishes and I had been drying them. She dropped her dishrag and I, my dishtowel, and both almost hurried back to his bedroom. 

"Mmmm! Of course, she knew how he did it and that he didn't stop after my first orgasm, nor after the second, third ones. She didn't either. It wasn't better than he did it - couldn't be - but still a special thrill. Oh, I guess every girl would like to do it, if she knew how good it is. No, I haven't with any other girl, but I might. I did with her. And just as good as she had, and as good as he had. I had seen how her pussy flushed his face when she came. Could have told you that before. He loved it, and I loved it! Don't say anything." 

I didn't, smiling at her. Her expression suggested that she was still recalling the pleasure of what she had told. After a moment, she returned my smile, then asked: 

"You don't mind?"

"If I like it, and he likes it, why shouldn't you? Hope her pussy was as lovely as yours."

"You're dear! Oh, it was so good, knowing just what my tongue was doing for her! Anyway, then we were lying together. Yeah, we kissed, as good as with any guy. You know Courbet's painting, 'le sommeil', the sleepers, two naked girls lying together in bed? About like that. We also learned why guys love to lick and suck our nipples."

"Again, why shouldn't you? But you still haven't told how that led to what you then did with him."

"I guess not. Could sound like we didn't need him anymore, but we did."

"If I didn't know already, I could be worried."

"We do, I do," she replied and found my cock again and fondled it."

"That's reassuring. And so?"

"Hmm! That was wicked. We had all day, well, we didn't all day, couldn't have. Then she turned around on the bed. Funny, in that painting, most people probably don't notice that one of the girl's earrings and hairpin are down by their feet. Anyway, so we both did it, sixty-nine, same thing in French: 'soixante neuf'. 

"Wicked! I was a little surprised when her fingers found my asshole, that hers had, like his had. Then she stopped licking and said - in French - 'you too, mine too'. My fingers did, and then, well, that wasn't what was wicked; that we took turns giving each other more orgasms, almost competing, it seemed. I don't know how many, but more than with him, and my face was sopping wet. Hers couldn't have been as wet; I just don't come like that."

"But very good, and I love it, when you do."

"If you don't mind my telling how good she did it."

"You said that girls know better what their tongues are doing." 

"Yours does it just as good. You just don't know how it feels for me."

"Pity. Oh, don't think I want to find out with some guy."

"Hm-hmm! I hope not, but it would probably be about the same. So, finally, exhausted, with tired tongues, we lay there together again, like in the painting. I was a little relieved that she admitted a little surprise about all we had done. Then we could chuckle about it, telling each other how good it was. Not just how good it had been, tacitly we were agreeing that we were going to do it again, and we sure did."

"Making me envious. And with him?"

"Oh, yeah. Maybe it was good thing that we had to go grocery shopping, get dressed and out of his bedroom. Oh, his bed was soaked. We remade it with a fresh bottom sheet. When he returned, when we were in it again, he noticed with a snicker and smirk, and we told him, and told him what we had discussed. 

"Getting ahead of the story. While we were shopping, she smirked at me and said: 'Can't tell you here.'"

"Don't make me wait until you'd finish shopping," I remarked impatiently.

"I wasn't going to. Back in his flat, having put away the groceries, while we were undressing, she smirked again and said: 'I'm sure that can't be all you do with Étienne, and it's not all he and I usually do.' I nodded. Early that morning, I had woken up with his cock between my thighs, like many other mornings, when we had then had a nice, long, lazy, spooning screw. We hadn't that morning, but I wondered if she knew where his cock had been."

"Of course, probably; they must have done it like that."

"Yeah, well, then, after I had nodded, she smirked slightly and said: 'If we can tell him what we did, both of us at the same time, then he could.' I understood immediately, but the big question: if we could tell him?! Her suggestion solved the problem of what the other one of us would be doing." 

I grinned and interjected: 

"Licking her pussy with his cock moving in it." 

"Don't make sounds so much like an orgy." 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I always wondered what threesomes did together. Sounds like a good solution. Did you tell him? Oh, you already did, telling about the sheet. So, how did you figure out how to tell him?" 

"I told her that I couldn't see myself telling him, but that if she could, I would immediately support whatever she said. She also wasn't sure that she could, but then we remembered the sheet and agreed that he would immediately assume the obvious, as he did. We chuckled, almost giggled like school girls, when we realized that he was going to know what we had done without our having to say anything. We had a naked lunch with a bottle of wine, and I told her about the first evening with him. She had to keep from laughing to let me finish it, and I remembered to thank her for having softened him to the idea." 

I snickered and said:

"I won't say it again: 'easy', 'soft', 'hard'."

"You did. She also snickered and made that play on words in French. Oh, it was fun and funny. We agreed to try to take a nap, promising that we wouldn't do anything. We didn't, really! Don't smirk like that! We spent most of the time talking, however, not all about him, but most of it. She told me how she got him to let her suck his cock and what else they did; nothing he and I hadn't done. And she told me how pleased her then boyfriend had been, when she did it to him, also about the excuses she had to use to visit him. 

"When I asked about their family vacations, she chuckled and told me about them, first as a kid, and then when she was more curious about males, and then admitted that during the vacations after they had been together. A couple of times, they managed to get together with different excuses about why each of them wasn't with the others. She made French nudist vacation spots sound very 'interesting', if you know what I mean."

"That it wasn't just the couple of times with her uncle, with someone her age?"

"Yeah, sounded very easy, and that the parents could only have assumed the obvious."

"Like he was going to do, when he saw the fresh sheet?"

"Yeah, we remembered to tuck it in tightly again. When we got up, we agreed that if he suggested doing anything before dinner, we would have to tell him to wait. That suggested that we have an early dinner, and we started preparing it."

"Skip the practical details," I said: "and get on to when he discovered the fresh sheet." 

"Maybe, probably he suspected something, when we said that we wanted dinner first, but that only made it obvious that we had something in mind."

"I hope his cock knew." 

"Hm-hmm! Oh, it did. We all talked about something else at dinner, but a couple of times she and I glanced at each, and he chuckled, as though he understood that we had some sort of conspiracy. So when she said that we could clear the table later, and we stood up, his cock was like that first evening when he stood up. Then we were the bedroom, and you can imagine the rest. We told him, and we did it, she and I first. That was a little funny, just curling up together, knowing he was watching. We had left it up to him to decided where he wanted to fit in. He said something about guests before family. Oooh! That was good! I hadn't really thought about how it would feel that way, wickedly good! 

"Obviously, he was going to have to do it again with her. We had coffee and cognac and cleared the table and did it all over again. Then we lay there in the dark, telling each other how good it had been, he thanking us for a great idea and trying to describe what it felt like for his cock in a pussy - his 'pussie' - that was responding to its being licked, contracting on his cock, without his having to move it. Then I told her how I loved to hear him speak that word."




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 02



I hummed and asked: 

"Are you sure you don't have girlfriend?"

"Hmm? I might even tell you now, but no." 

"Pity. Anyway, so that's what you did for the rest of the week?"

"A couple of times like that, but also with one of us sitting, lying on him, while the other one licked, after sucking his cock and balls; difficult not to go all the way sucking." 

"I bet! Well, not that I am wanting to, but since you both love for him to come in your mouths ...?"

"Oh, we did that too, of course. Not just we loved for him to."

"Don't have to tell me!" I replied with a grin. 

She nodded with a grin and replied: 

"And don't have to tell you what else he loved to do. Remember, about an hour ago, you promised that you would, if I told you. In case you didn't before, now you really know what I expect."

I pursed my lips and tried to say pussy like he had, like she had: "pussie."

"Pretty good for a start, almost worked," she said with a grin and rolled back and spread her legs.



How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 03



The first two chapters of this series have an introduction that will be omitted here, since most readers will probably have already seen it. I will just remind readers that the chapter has three parts: the question and immediate conversation; the woman's story in answer of the question; the following conversation with the man who asked the question. 

The young woman in this chapter is based on someone I knew long ago. I never asked her, but she probably would have told me, since she was quite open about her past experience. What she replies to the question in the first part are things that she really did tell me. The rest is my idea of how it could have been, but maybe I could still ask her. :-) Recently, she found me via internet, and we have been corresponding, chatting about the past.

(You can believe all that, or not.) 

* * *

"How did you learn to love cocksucking?" I asked Annie [name changed], as we were lying together after she had demonstrated again that she did. 

"That's no secret, that I do, just haven't told anyone how I learned. I told you that when I was nineteen I moved in with a man twice my age, and that I learned to squeeze his cock out of my pussy. It wasn't just in my pussy, of course; I learned with him."

"I was pretty sure of that, but I have wondered how it happened that you move in with a man who could have been your father." 

Annie shook her head with a smile and began her story. 

* * * 

He wasn't a father figure, mine is a good deal older, then over fifty. Did he think of me as a daughter? I don't know, he didn't have kids, had been divorced for a few years. I didn't move in with him after a flirt or more; it wasn't like that. 

When I had job after high school, I moved in with two other girls, two of us sharing a room. His apartment was in the same building, and we all knew him. He was helpful with little things in our apartment, fixing stuff and the like. Then the other girls had boyfriends and wanted them to spend the night. I wasn't a virgin -- happened back in high school. So when they told me about wanting to sleep with their boyfriends, I was a fifth wheel, of course. 

I can't remember exactly how it happened the first time. Did the girls suggest it, explain it to him? I know that I didn't just go and ask him if I could spend the night. Anyway, he agreed, and after supper Saturday, with a bundle of bedding and my toothbrush, I went to his door. He smiled, glancing at my bedding, but didn't say anything about, just saying that he hoped I would be comfortable on the couch. We had a beer and watched TV and said goodnight. He had shown me the gust WC, and I used it, realizing that I had forgotten pajamas. I quickly spread out my bedding and got under the covers in my panties and polo shirt, without my bra. Then called to him goodnight. He called back that he would make breakfast, and said goodnight. 

His apartment was like ours: living room, guest WC, kitchen, bedroom with a bathroom and another room off the living room. I slept well enough, but awoke early, being in strange room, at first a little surprised, and then used the WC. 

This is getting too long. We had breakfast, a good one, and then I returned to our apartment. Oh, he had thanked me for my visit and said that I could come again, if it helped my flatmates. It did, I did, two or three more times like that, remembering my pajamas. It got to be a regular thing, he asking me about the next weekend, and we got into a comfortable routine: beer and TV, breakfast together, me then helping with it. 

Then one evening, no, in the morning over breakfast, he looked at me over the table and said: 

"Don't misunderstand me, but, well, if it is like that with the girls, well ...." 

He was hesitating a lot. He started again: 

"Don't misunderstand me, but, well, I'm not suggesting anything between us, but, I was thinking you could move in here. Don't misunderstand me; I just thought it might be more convenient, and -- you know -- three girls, always two against one."

He looked at me, looking almost embarrassed. He had been right about "three girls." I nodded and asked the first thing that came to mind: 

"On the couch?" recognizing that I was in principle agreeing with his suggestion.

"Oh! Oooh! There are twin beds. I could move one to the other room, though it's kind of full of my junk; and you'd still have to go through the bedroom to use the bathroom, of course. How could I have suggested that, that we share a room."

I almost laughed, wondering myself and about his obvious discomfort, but liking it; it was so honest; he really didn't want me to misunderstand him, the obvious; that he was suggesting something between us. I said the next thing that came to mind: 

"I can't pay any rent; I'm on the contract with the girls, all I can afford."

He looked more relaxed and replied: 

"I wasn't expecting you to; that's no problem -- just the beds." 

"I can do some cleaning, laundry, can cook a little," I replied. 

"He nodded with a smile, but repeated questioningly: the beds?"

This time I did laugh, had to. He did too, but couldn't know what had occurred to me. When I caught my breath, I told him: 

"If I had been worried about 'the beds', I could have been all along; lots of nights for me to worry, for you to ...." 

"I didn't!" he replied with a cheerful expression, adding: "I won't." 

"Then we can leave it in your room." 

"You want to? That would be nice."

I nodded, and we both chuckled with smiles. Then I said: 

"Don't know what the girls will think; they won't believe this, probably already been wondering. At least, neither of them have asked any leading questions."

"Oh, I hadn't thought about that. Yeah, funny, you here as often as they're with their boyfriends. They're probably never going to believe anything you tell them."

"No! Hmm?! Good for our reputations, our bad ones." 

"Don't want to disappoint them. Oh! I didn't mean it like that, just that you might as well let them think whatever they want."

"They probably, surely will, when I tell them that I'm moving in with you." 

"Bad for our good reputations," he replied with shrug. 

"Um-hmm!" I agreed, then asking: "Today?" 

"You want to tell them and wait and hear their comments?"

"Oooh! No!" 

So I moved in with him that morning, not yet having seen where I would sleep. The girls thought the worst or best with appropriate/inappropriate remarks. I just smiled, rather liking their assuming that I had been doing what they did every Saturday night. I had met their boyfriends, youngsters like us and like the couple of boys I had slept with. If their boyfriends didn't do it better than those two had, they should be a little envious at the thought that I had with a more experienced man.

I promised to keep paying my share of the rent, and was gone, after two or three trips to his flat. Finally, I saw my new bed, freshly made. On the carpet, I recognized that he had moved them apart, next to opposite walls. He showed me where I could put my clothes and in the bathroom, that he had cleared one side of the cabinet for my things. This was going to be nicer than arguing with the other girls about whose was whose and where in the bathroom. 

And I liked the feeling of being the only woman in a household, kind of more grown up, and he seemed to be treating me like that, especially when he said that he wanted to take me to dinner, explaining that he had to, since he hadn't planned for company. 

I wondered if he had anticipated that we would both have to change clothes, a first test of how we would do that. I had stopped wearing a bra, when I visited him, hardly apparent with my boobs. Anyway, he grabbed a better pair of pants and fresh shirt and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom, only returning after calling to ask if he could. 

Later, when he did that, he'd asked if I had clothes on, and then later: "Are you decent?" 

He took me to a nicer restaurant than I had been to before. It did occur to me, that if we hadn't clarified our situation so well, it could have seemed like that we knew each other better, if you know what I mean. 

Then we were back in his flat, now having to get undressed and go to bed. We managed that like we had in the past, my using the bathroom, returning in my pajamas, carrying my clothes. Then he got his pj bottom and went off, returning when I was in bed. I thanked him again for dinner, and we said goodnight. 

So, it was like that for the next day or two. He took his shower at night, and I, mine in the morning. As we got accustomed to that, we became less formal with our clothing. Did he or I start it? Was it his or my fault the first time he saw me and bra and panties? It didn't matter, just made things easier. Why not? He could have tried to get in my bed every night, not that I was fearing or expecting that he would. 

I just explained that now, not having thought about it back then. I didn't have any thoughts about him like that, but, of course, I had to play with my pussy sometimes. Then I realized that some nights his shower took a lot longer. Yeah, that was when I played with my pussy, while he was in the shower, how I recognized that it sometimes took longer. That didn't bother me, to the contrary, it let me enjoy myself better, but, of course, I wondered about why, until it occurred to me that he might be doing the same thing.

Of course, I thought, if I did, he must too. Then I did start thinking about him that way. And I discovered that the thing with my pills had been moved; he knew I was on the pill and could only assume that I wasn't a virgin, and wonder why I was still taking them. I had been wondering, myself, months after the last time I had needed them. 

He wasn't going to jump in my bed, but he needed what I needed. How long had we been sharing a room together by then? Weeks, maybe a couple of months. I began to think that this was a little silly, maybe talked myself into thinking it was. Why shouldn't two people do what they both needed, regardless of emotions and what we had agreed. Had I agreed to anything? I couldn't remember, or didn't want to. 

How many more nights did it take for me to get up the nerve to tell him he could shave while I was taking my shower? That had always been time constraint in the morning. He immediately agreed. Of course, a shower curtain that didn't let him see anything, but he liked it, talking with me a little while he shaved. If he had known how I washed my pussy, when we talked longer?! 

Did he offer to give me towel before he left the bathroom, or did I ask him to? Same difference, he did, with a soft chuckle and then bumped against the door to let me hear that he was leaving the bathroom. We had stopped closing it. Did he then steal a glance, when I stepped out of the shower? I never knew, but I didn't wrap the towel around me to keep him from seeing anything. After that, he always flipped my towel up over the rod for the shower curtain. Did his showers more often take longer? It seemed so. Oh, one evening I "forgot" to put my pills back in the cabinet. They were there the next morning. 

Then one evening, when I recognized that his shower was going to take longer, I managed to take my hands off my pussy. I couldn't stand this any longer, and went and sat on the toilet in my shorty nightgown. His shower was taking longer. Whatever I had been thinking till then, I suddenly realized that he was going to open the shower curtain and suddenly see me there -- with his cock still a little arouse?! 

I waited. Didn't seem like he was really washing. He turned off the water, and I flushed the toilet. 

"What are you doing here?!" he asked. 

"Had to go again," I lied. 

"You shouldn't be here."

"I'll give you your towel," I replied and reached out and caught the corner of it, pleased that I could, and tossed it over the rod. 

"Thanks, he mutter, then repeating: 

"You shouldn't be here. Why?"

"Had to go." 

"I don't believe you. Why?" 

He was drying himself behind the shower curtain. I hadn't planned this, whatever I had been thinking before, but I had to say something: 

"This is silly, you 'washing' yourself, while I'm in bed doing about the same."

"You do? You know?" he muttered.

"I do, just took me a while to figure out why your showers sometimes take so long."

"Shit!" he muttered softly, but then asked: 

"And what's 'silly'?" 

I felt better about how that was going, and replied: 

"That we both do, when, well, you know, like we talked about before I was here."

"We said we wouldn't."

"You said you wouldn't. I just indicated that I believed you, trusted you, since you hadn't already. I liked that, still do -- but that was months ago."

"Hmm? Have you got something on, at least?" 

"What you saw before." 

"No panties?" 

I blushed; I hadn't thought he had noticed, could have seen, but then smirked to myself at his confirmation that he looked, and replied: 

"You weren't supposed to notice. No, especially not, when I hear that your shower is going to take longer." 

"Hmm! Anyway, you're not going to see anything, if that was what you were expecting."

"Oh no! That's why I flushed, when I suddenly realized that you might pull open the curtain."

"Hmm! Very tactful of you." 

I checked that my shorty was on my thighs, and he pulled the curtain aside, holding his towel around his hips. He looked at me with a wry expression. I smiled sheepishly.

"You weren't supposed to be here," he muttered, adding: 

"And certainly not to tell me that, if I understood you correctly." 

"Too late now," I replied, realizing that he must be able to see that my nipples had popped out. 

Shit! I had involuntarily drawn my shoulders back a little! I wiped my forearm over my breasts. He murmured: 

"I think I did." 

"I hope so."

"Now go to bed -- your bed. If you do, talk about it some other time. I'm not going to ask."

I nodded and held down the hem of my shorty as I stood up. When I felt that I was stretching the cloth over my breasts, my nipples popped out again. He almost smiled, as he nodded towards the door. As I left the bathroom, I turned my head back and said: "Saturday morning." 

In bed, I wondered about my having said that, committing myself to return to the subject, and then tried to find a rhyme in our conversation: trying to recall his words -- and mine. At least, he had understood me, and he hadn't really said anything else. He could have said lots of things: a simple no, we won't; that we should move my bed in the other room; even that he thought it would be better if I moved back in with the girls. But he hadn't. 

He returned and got in his bed, murmuring goodnight, like he always did. I pretended that I was already asleep, wondering about Saturday morning. I had two more nights to think about it all. 

Oh, the girls: of course I saw them often enough, having to survive their pointed remarks. He had been right, denying everything just made them more curious and suspicious that I was lying. After the first couple of times, I didn't say anything, hoping my attempt at an aloof, superior expression let them think whatever they wanted. 

With hindsight, perhaps hearing their remarks had an influence on me. That just occurred to me, but maybe somewhere in my subconscious there grew the feeling that if they thought he and slept together, and surely anyone else would, he also could think it was strange that we weren't, my word that evening: "silly." But that is only hindsight. 

Next morning, Thursday, we stuck to our usual routine in the bathroom and dressing, silent until we were making breakfast, back on safe ground away from bed and bath. The same that evening. I wore panties under my shorty, and he had a brief shower; the same thing again Friday morning and evening. 

Both nights, I feel asleep wondering what I was going to say Saturday morning and wondering what he could be thinking, knowing that I had committed myself to talk about it again. It did occur to me that I could chicken out and not say anything, but that would be silly too; a little girl's way out of the situation, like a toddler covering his eyes and believing that what he had seen wasn't there any more. I wasn't a little girl: I had started something and committed myself to follow up, but how? 

Were we going to sit at the breakfast table, looking at each other -- or avoiding each other's eyes -- and I say something? What? Blatantly? "I think we should sleep with each other." "I want to sleep with you." More indirectly? "Everyone must think we sleep with each other, and we both now know what we do at night, just a poor substitute, don't you think?" 

That was nice; he couldn't deny that masturbating was a poor substitute; he would at least have to agree with that. And when he had, he would have to have a good argument why we shouldn't. I couldn't think of one; but I didn't want to, I admitted. But was I going to be able to sit at the table and just open the conversation with that line? And what was it going to be like before breakfast, both of us knowing we were going to talk about it?! Worse than my having surprised him in the bathroom to talk about it. I was still a little surprised that I had. 

I woke up Saturday morning, immediately recalling all my thoughts, trying to put them in order. I glanced over and saw that he was lying facing the other wall -- still asleep, or already awake and worrying about what I was going to say? Suddenly, I realized that I could at least avoid the tension of our waiting for breakfast. To hell with worrying about what I would say. I drew back my covers and went to his bed. As I drew back his covers and got in behind him, I said: 

"It's Saturday morning, good morning."

"What the fu..!" he exclaimed softly. 

I had to snort as his response; almost using the right word, even if he didn't mean it that way. 

"Don't worry; I've even got panties on; we aren't." 

"I sure hope so! But you want to talk now?"

"Why not? I didn't want you to be worrying about it until breakfast, and I didn't either."

"But not in my bed." 

"Hm-hmm! I know, you don't have to say it: I shouldn't be here."

"You shouldn't be."

"Couldn't think of a better place to talk about it." 

This was going better than I had expected, my words just coming to me. He snorted and said: 

"Almost said that again!" and rolled back towards me. 

I almost slid my arm over his chest. He turned his face to me with very wry expression and remarked: 

"And I've got my shorts on too."

"Didn't have to tell me; I wasn't planning to find out. Besides, I'm going to have to go to the bathroom, but not yet." 

He smiled with a slight nod and agreed: 

"Me too."

"Hopefully not yet?"

"Hm-hmm! I could cheat, tell you I had to and escape before this gets to sticky."

"Or I could," I suggested. 

"Not both at once," he replied, and we both chuckled. Then he looked more serious and said: 

"Now, since you're here, talk."

"Should be pretty obvious, after that evening, and now here: 'silly'."

"That isn't something 'silly', what you're suggesting."

"No, just the word I had used, but you know what I'm suggesting."

I waited for his response. My thighs twitched together; I was going to have to go. Had he noticed? He had snorted silently. Then he smirked slightly and said: 

"I think I have to go, before I saying anything more."

"Not before I do," I replied, my thighs twitching together again.

"Then go, it seemed like it." 

I rolled out of his bed and hurried to the bathroom. To my surprise, he joined me, while my pee was still hissing in the toilet, my panties around my knees. He smirked and said: 

"You do have panties on." 

"And you, shorts." 

I kicked off my panties, giving him a grin, wondering if I was going to wipe myself with him watching. He twitched his thighs, returning my grin and said: 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 03



"Hurry, shower, I won't look." 

I flushed and stood up. When he stepped up to the toilet, I stripped off my shorty and got in the shower, closing the curtain and turning on the water. 

This was being so good! Sure, he hadn't really said anything -- again -- but he'd let us get more familiar together; he could have waited for me to finish on the toilet. I had never peed with a boy with me in the bathroom. It could only have happened a couple of times, but we both had been to shy to do that. He wasn't, almost treating me like a woman he had slept with. Well, that's what I wanted to think. I heard the toilet flush. Was he going to leave, escape further talk, or stay and shave? 

I started to wash myself and asked: 

"Still there, here?"

"Yes." 

"Say anything more?"

"I'm going to shave." 

"I won't finishing my shower until you have. Hm-hmm! Or maybe I will!"

"Hmm! Your towel is too small."

"I know," I replied grinning to myself, liking his response and mine. 

"Better, you take a long shower," he suggested. 

"Like yours?!" I replied with a snicker. 

I liked his humor, had before, all along, but this was more fun. It was; he chuckled and replied: 

"If you want to," and chuckled again. 

This was really good! I could be more fresh and said: 

"Maybe, but better with a shower head on a hose. Besides, I wanted us not to have to do that."

"Ouch! I cut myself; you shouldn't remind me, while I'm shaving." 

"Oooh! Sorry, I didn't want that to happen. Hm-hmm! Didn't think my saying that would surprise you now."

"Maybe it shouldn't have, but it did," he replied. 

"Sorry. Okay; I'll take an extra long shower and try to forget about it all."

"If you really want to?" 

"The shower maybe, but not forget about it all." 

"Don't make me cut myself again."

One remark can lead to another in a conversation, sometimes an unexpected response, even one's own. I heard myself reply: 

"Then stop worrying about, being surprised; you know what I'm talking about, what I want us to do."

Had I really said that?! Did I have to put it in four-letter words?! I heard him snort and then chuckle. Then he replied: 

"Good thing I was rinsing my razor. Yeah, I know -- before you try to tell me in short words."

"I was afraid I'd have to." 

We both laughed -- all that nervous tension. If he hadn't yet -- couldn't -- say no, didn't want to, I wasn't going to use "short words," but he still hadn't said yes. Then, without more words, long or short; maybe actions speak louder than words: 

"Can you hand me my towel, please?" I requested, sticking my arm past the curtain. 

He put it in my hand. I knew how small it was. I could hold it over my breasts and it would hang down to my thighs. I held it over my breasts and pushed the curtain aside, that hand then clasping the towel to my pussy. He was looking at me in the mirror, wiping the soap from his face. 

"Told you it was too small," he said with a slight grin.

"Not quite." 

"Then I can look?" he asked, reminding me that he couldn't see all of me in the mirror. 

"If you want to; I guess this is sort of inviting you to," I replied, feeling my cheeks glow.

He turned around and did, looking me up and down, smiling, then nodding and remarking: 

"Statues, paintings of Venus, Aphrodite - with a towel. Don't drop it!"

I recognized that I was standing with my arms held like those of the goddess in classical art. I liked his remark, relaxing enough to ask: 

"Any one in particular?"

"Oh, lots: Botticelli's painting of Venus, lots of statues. The Medici Aphrodite is one I can think of."

"Didn't know you knew anything about art."

"Don't have to know much about art to enjoy looking at Venuses. Just don't drop it."

"I'm not Venus. And to dry myself, well, about the same as dropping it."

"I'd better get out of here, then," he remarked with a grin. 

As he left the bathroom, I responded: 

"Aw, I could have kept holding it, and you could have offered to dry me." 

"Too late; should have told me that before." 

"Next time," I called after him. 

As I began to dry myself, I thought that after our cheerful bantering, he couldn't really want to say no, just couldn't yet say yes. I had to chuckle about all my wondering and trying to decide what to say. This had all been much better; no need to try to plan anything. As I was picking up my shorty and panties, I heard him in the kitchen. I smirked to myself and hurried back to our room without putting them on. 

When I joined him, without a bra under my blouse, he chuckled and said: 

"I got dressed in here, afraid that you might return to the room with nothing on."

"I did," I replied with a grin, then adding: but only after I heard that you were in here."

"I hope so; I'm not so sure."

"Me neither," I replied with another grin.

When he chuckled again, I knew that I had had the right idea in the bathroom. I set the table, while he made coffee. A minute or two later, he chuckled again and said: 

"I was worrying about the wrong thing, thinking you were apprehensive that I might want to jump in bed with you."

He still wanted to talk about it! I looked around, seeing that he wasn't facing me, and replied: 

"I was at first, of course, our talk before I moved in, and still was a little, the first week. Then, well, I discovered I had time alone in bed -- in the room -- while you were taking your shower. Maybe if I hadn't been playing with myself, I would have fallen asleep and not noticed your longer showers, but I did, and liked them too." 

He chuckled softly, glancing around with nod, so I continued: 

"It took me a while, before it occurred to me why they could be taking longer, but that was a nice explanation. No, I wasn't thinking about you, not about much really. Those couple of boys in high school, first times for them, one for me too, of course, and a couple of times more with them. I could do it better by myself. I still wasn't thinking about you, just wondering what you could be thinking about." 

"Not you." 

"That's good, since I wasn't either, but then I began to think it was silly, both of us doing that, and at the same time, and well, ...."

When I paused, he said: 

"Can we talk about this at the breakfast table?"

"If you can?"

"I think so. I haven't been saying much." 

"No," I agreed, and we sat down and started eating. Then he looked up with a wry expression and shrugged questioningly. After a moment, he said: 

"You were talking."

"And you weren't. Where was I?"

"That it was 'silly', one of your favorite words," he replied with cheerful smile. 

"Oh yeah. And well, you know what I mean, both of us doing that." 

"Hm-hmm! Sort of like telephone sex, except that we weren't thinking about each other."

He was being really helpful! I nodded with a grin and said: 

"But then, well, I started to, not really about you like that, more wondering about what you could be thinking about, obviously with more experience, so better than anything I could think of. It all seemed more 'silly'."

I took a big bite to avoid having to say anything for a few moments, and looked up at him, hoping that he would. He shrugged again with what seemed a slightly embarrassed expression and replied: 

"If I had known what you were doing, I probably would have thought of you. Oh, I would have, maybe have also found it 'silly'."

"Now you know; I hope you do now." 

"Have to, after all your talk and everything else. Oh, I'll admit it; after I noticed 'no panties', I did think about you a little, but like you said: 'not really about you like that'." 

He smiled wryly, and I smiled sweetly, then replied: 

"Probably better things to think about than about me."

He nodded and agreed: 

"Just a little curious, any man would have to be, knowing you didn't have panties on and, well, like that evening, seeing you on the toilet, when you pulled down your top. Well, you know."

"And my nipples popped out -- again?"

"Um-hmm, didn't want to say that."

I snickered and said: 

"Maybe if you hadn't told me not to drop my towel, you really would have."

"Oooh! Good thing I did say that!" 

"Next time." 

He tried to repress a smile, but his eyebrows rose. I repressed a grin and said: 

"Anyway, I think this is too silly. You know I'm on the pill -- haven't been sure why for months. I've told you that I hardly have any experience, but, well, it's just too silly."

I couldn't have been more direct, I thought, aware that my nipples had popped out and that I was blushing. He looked at me with a serious expression, then finally replied: 

"I think you could be assuming too much; I haven't said anything about that."

"No, I know, and I don't expect that you will, ... but you did admit that you could find it silly."

He nodded slightly with small smile and replied: I guess I did." Then he chuckled and added: 

"You're going to be hard to live with after all this."

"I hope so!" I replied with a grin.

"Um-hmm!" he responded emphatically, but smiling. 

In a serious tone, I said: 

"Oh, I don't want to marry you; that's not what this is about, but as long as you let me stay here, well, maybe I wouldn't be so hard to live with." 

"Maybe you're right. I don't want to marry you either. Oh! This sounds really funny, both of us saying that and talking about this."

"At least we agree about that, also about what we're talking about."

"Agree that we know 'what we're talking about'."

"I know, you're not going to say that you agree with me."

"If I don't have to, then?"

"You don't have to 'say' it." 

He smiled wryly and murmured: 

"You're making it hard for me."

"Really?!"

"Not like that!" 

We both laughed as though we had heard an hilarious joke. When we had finally caught our breath, he shrugged with grin and then said: 

"We'd better get out of here, clean up and do the shopping, anything to get my mind of this." 

"Just for a while, I hope," I replied. 

He shrugged again with a non-committal "hmm." We cleaned up in silence, then only exchanging remarks about the shopping list, and left his flat. In the supermarket, we also only mentioned the things we were finding from the list, and then back in the flat were silent, while we put them away. 

I always did the laundry on Saturdays. When I stripped our beds, this time it seemed very suggestive. He glanced up when he saw me go to the kitchen with them in my arms. Then after a moment, he said that he would remake his bed. Till then, I had remade his bed, only thinking about him the last two times. Was he now thinking it inappropriate that I made his bed, wanting to suggest that I shouldn't have anything to do with it? I scowled to myself and tended to the laundry. He was back in the living room after I had turned on the washing machine. As I passed through the living room to go and make my bed, he gave me a slight, maybe sly smile. In the bedroom, I discovered that he had also remade my bed with fresh sheets. No, he wasn't going to say anything, he didn't have to! I almost wet my panties. 

I returned to the living room and said: 

"Thank you. That was nice of you."

He smiled, looking a little embarrassed, and replied: 

"That wasn't my original idea, thinking that you shouldn't make my bed after all our talk, but then, well, ...? Anyway, I made yours too."

"Kind of you, thanks. Hmmm? I sort of thought that was your original idea."

"You can think whatever you want," he replied with a nice smile. 

Oh, I did, while I waited to shift the laundry to the drier. If I shouldn't make his bed 'after all our talk,' but he had then made mine -- 'after all our talk,' it didn't matter who jumped into whose bed. I would in his after his shower; couldn't really surprise him, if I did again, and he had done enough to show that he expected that could happen. Or would he be expecting to find me in it already? Or would he want me to be in my bed, so that he could finally show his initiative to sleep with me? Moist panties! But till then what? I needed a panty liner, and would to need to wash more before I went to bed. Both of us together again in the bathroom? The "next time," for him to dry me, or me to just drop my towel? Panty liner couldn't wait till the laundry was finished and I took it to the bedroom. I went back to the bedroom again, appreciating that he had made my bed more carefully than I did.

Somehow, we got through the afternoon and making dinner together with as few words as possible, but exchanging mild smiles. I wondered if I needed a fresh panty liner; my pussy had never reminded me so often that I was aroused. Or is it the other way around; I was aroused, reminding my pussy? Sitting together at the table again was going to be difficult. 

He suggested having a bottle of wine, something that had never happened before, although I knew that he had a couple in a bottom cupboard. The wine made things a little easier. We were usually better at carrying on a conversation. Did my nipples pop out every time my mind wandered from what we were trying to talk about? Often enough, and he noticed, not saying anything, but not hiding that he had noticed, sometimes with a little smile. I should have gotten a fresh panty liner. 

We both saved a bit of wine until we had finished eating, and then drank together a little formally. But now what? It was too early to go to bed at our normal time, and I couldn't imagine that we could sit and watch TV with a beer, like we usually did. He looked at me as though he expected me to say something. Shit! I was about to tell him that my panties were all wet and that I need to wash. I didn't. Trying to look relaxed, I said that that I wanted to take a shower and change before we watched TV. He smiled with a nod and said that he would clean up in the kitchen, usually my chore. I thanked him and went off. 

Taking a shower, while wondering about the rest of the evening was not relaxing. What was he going to want to do? He just had to want to do something! What? What did a man with his experience want to do? I would do anything he wanted; I had to; I had started all this. Oral sex? I had heard good and bad things about that, all second and third hand. Had the girls done that? A couple of their remarks had suggested that they assumed that I had with him. If he wanted to do that to me, I could just hope that my pussy was clean; it kept feeling moist, not from the shower. 

I turned off the water. 

"Better give you your towel first," I heard, about to whip aside the shower curtain.

He was there with me in the bathroom! He thrust a fresh towel past the curtain. I took, managing to mutter: 

"Yeah, I had better."

"Um-hmm," he replied. 

It almost sounded like a chuckle. Then he murmured: 

"You'd said 'next time,' didn't want to disappoint you."

"Just terribly surprised me."

"Sorry. Do your Venus pose, and I'll open the curtain. Oh, I've got my shorts on."

I chuckled and held my towel in front of me, and he opened the curtain. He was smiling at me with another towel in his hand. Oooh! My pussy again! My hand clutched the towel between my thighs. He smiled more broadly and murmured: 

"Me too, a little. I'll dry your back, if you step out; you don't have to drop it." 

When I stepped out of the shower, and he held the other one up, I saw that his cock was pressing against one leg of his shorts. I turned my back to him, and he put the towel on my shoulders and began to dry me. 

It had all been so good! Everything I had said, unplanned, spontaneous, not entirely seriously meant, like my "next time"! It was being so good, feeling his hands rubbing down my back, under my arms, down my sides to my waist. 

"Don't tickle," I murmured, but he then did, of course, making me laugh and squirm, and he held my ass against his thighs and hips, still tickling. I squealed and said: 

"You're going to make me drop my towel." 

"Hm-hm-hmm! Hadn't thought of that. Mmmm! But then you can dry yourself, while I take my shower."

His towel left my back, and I began to dry my aroused breasts. I saw his shorts drop near my feet. Did he want me to see him step in the shower? Not yet; he hadn't seen me from the front. I turned away and then heard the shower curtain close. I turned back, continuing to dry myself, as he turned on the water. 

"You've got a cute ass," he remarked with a chuckle.

"You could have dried it too."

"Wanted to, but then didn't know what would happen."

"I would have enjoyed it."

"Thought I should take my shower first."

"Hm-hmm! Want me to dry yours?"

"You're too fresh!"

"As though you didn't know already."

"Took me -- no -- it took you a while to show me."

"It did; didn't know I could be."

"Hmm! Said it before: I hope so, just not so sure."

"I'm really not fresh, and don't like to be 'silly'."

"Well, I understood that."

"So don't take such a long shower."

"That was fresh." 

"If you want me to be; then am I supposed to jump in you bed again, or wait for you to jump in mine?"

"Oooh! That was worse than fresh! I don't know." 

"At least, you didn't reject either alternative."

"Sounded more like 'propositions'." 

"If you wish. I was thinking that you maybe expected me to jump in yours again, not thinking it would be like this. Then wondering if I should, before you finished your shower. Hm-hmm! Still not to late for that. Or if you maybe could think it was better if you finally admitted that you wanted to, and wanted to jump in mine with me."

"You think way too much! Does it matter now?"

"No. I'll do whatever you want."

"I didn't ask that." 

"Oh! I didn't mean it like that, about jumping, but I do mean it, I think, thinking most of the afternoon about it, what you could want. Since I started this, it only seems right that I should do anything you want, want me to." 

He was silent and turned off the water, then asked: 

"Are we going to be naked, or should I wrap my towel around again?"

"Naked," I replied, feeling my cheeks flush, as I drew my shoulders back. 

He drew the curtain back. He was also very naked, his cock not quite standing out. 

"Very naked," he murmured, his eyes perusing me. Then they met mine. He smiled a little apologetically and murmured: 

"Venuses don't stand like that."

"Told you before, I'm not one." 

"But could be." 

"Flattery will get you nowhere; I'm already there -- here." 

I glanced down at his dripping cock and added: 

"You need a towel, probably both of them," and handed him the one still in my hand. 

He began to dry himself, unselfconsciously drying cock and balls, flopping them around. Since he didn't say anything, I returned to what I had said and murmured: 

"Anything you want. I can learn. Hmm? Not even sure what 'anything' could be."

"That's sweet, promising something you don't know. Not sweet, bold of you."

"Well, I've heard a bit, seemed like anything I could have thought of. I'll try that."

He was drying the rest of his body. I picked up the other towel and handed it to him, and he used it. Then he murmured: 

"Sweet, bold; I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."

"Only one way to find out." 

He smiled with a nod, and murmured: 

"Both sweet and bold." 

"Hopefully good for me too." 

"I think so, I sure hope so, too." 

I moaned, feeling like a cat purring, and felt my thighs twitch together. He also moaned with an aroused expression and dropped the towel. Two aroused, naked persons standing so close together, drawing deep breaths. We both moved, just a step each, as our arms reached out, and we embraced. I felt his cock press against me and hoped he was aware of my stiff nipples against his chest. We kissed, and his cock pressed harder. He drew his hips back and let it spring up, and we held it between us. Finally, we retrieved our tongues. He chuckled and murmured: 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 03



"Just don't both of us try to jump at once." 

"Bottom one first, me or you?"

"Me; I love it that way."

We went to his bed. I flung back the covers, and he lay down, his wonderful cock bobbing over his hair. Something new already, since I had always been pinned under youngsters who didn't know how to satisfy a girl. I moaned and straddled him. Did he want me to guide his cock to my wet pussy? He nodded, waiting; he expected me to -- like the other women this way? I wanted to hold it, and did, moving my hips up over it. My first real man's cock in my hand, about to sink into my aroused pussy! He nodded again with that aroused expression and reached up to hold my breasts. I thought I knew where my vagina was, but had to rub the head of his cock a little to find it, then with a groan, my hips sank down and forced his cock up in my tight pussy.

It surged, and we both moaned. He squeezed my breasts and then fondled my nipples, making my pussy squeeze his cock. He nodded with another moan. Whatever those kids had been doing, it wasn't this! What did a woman on top do? Just fuck up and down on his cock? How many had? 

"Rock your hips, do anything that feels good," he murmured. God, he was great, recognizing my inexperience! I rocked my hips to and fro. It felt so good, feeling his cock moving a little in me, but enough to make my pussy clutch it and make it twitch; no wonder he wanted me on top. 

* * *

Annie suddenly broke off her story and looked at me and said: 

"This is getting way too long. You asked about cocksucking, and I haven't even really started fucking him yet."

"But it's been delightful getting this far, and it's sounded just like you. Pity that you didn't just jump in his bed weeks before."

"Hm-hmm! After him, I was a little faster. Hmm? I guess in that sense of the word too."

"Mmmm! My good luck! I didn't think you were 'fast', like that, but we didn't take as long, and, well, you let me think I was being more forward than I expected. Get on with your story, can't leave you two waiting in the middle of fucking. Oh, I was kind of hoping that in the bathroom, he would tell you that he wanted to lick your pussy and that you would have understood that he wanted to you to suck his cock, but -- respect -- he didn't."

Annie chuckled and replied: 

"I think that I was too, after my thoughts about what else he could like, but I couldn't bring myself to suggesting that I had an inkling about oral sex. I'll try to keep it short, until I get to what you want to hear." 

"Kind of a pity, but go ahead," I replied. 

* * * 

Yeah, well, you know how we fuck like that, and he and I did. My first time on top, experimenting, it had to be a special thrill. Our first time together; it seemed like it was for him too. Then we were lying together, and then I did venture to ask him what else we could do. 

With some hesitation, he asked me if I knew about oral sex, and I told him that I knew that it was something he could do and that I could do, just in those words. He said that he loved to do it, and I said something about loving anything he could do with my pussy. 

Oh, I did. Did I say to him anything about his going to have to taste himself? No, afterwards, after I had come all over his face, he told me that he liked tasting his own semen when he found it that way. Sure, I understood that he was suggesting that it didn't taste so strange that I couldn't also like it, indirectly suggesting that it was now my turn. 

As I was moving down between his legs, he told me that it was very selfish of him to want me to suck his cock. He didn't say it with those words, but I understood that he must know that it would be especially good for him. That was just what I hoped after all our talk and his finally having given in -- without ever saying directly that he would. Trying to make it especially good for him was the least I could do, all I could do for him. 

With that positive attitude, I was eager to do it. I wanted his cock in my mouth, wanted to caress it with my tongue, was so delighted and pleased when he moaned, especially when my tongue discovered that funny sensitive spot behind the head of his cock. I hadn't really seen a cock before, didn't know it was there. Oh, it was good! I just loved it, the way it felt in my mouth and on my tongue and that it aroused him so much.

Before that, those boys cocks had just felt good in my pussy, a lot more arousing for them, of course, but I didn't have the idea that I wanted to arouse them, and they sure did act like they were concerned about arousing me. We just fucked, each of us thinking about ourselves. But this was all different, his licking my pussy too, of course. 

Each of us was just wanting the give the other one pleasure, selflessly, but he loved to do, and I was learning that I did too. This is the wrong context to quote the Bible: 'better to give than to receive,' but that is the way I was feeling, still do. And as he had said, if was selfish to ask me to do it to him, but I was wanting to -- for him. But I was also wanting to know what it would be like when he had his orgasm; anything less wouldn't be giving him his full pleasure. 

I already knew the feeling of his cock twitching in my mouth, and then his hips rocked up once. It must be getting better for him, I thought. The moans I heard also sounded more aroused. A few seconds later, his hips rocked up again, and then again after a few more seconds. I thought it was like how my hips moved before I gave myself an orgasm. That was so arousing, the anticipation, the promise that I was going to have one. Then his hips began to twitch up in closer sequence -- like mine did. It was going to happen! I was going to give him his orgasm! 

If he had had any control of his hips till then, suddenly he obviously didn't. He groaned, and his hips thrust his cock deeper in my mouth, and a great shot of his semen hit the back of my throat, I tried not to bite his cock as I had to swallow, and then more shot in my mouth. So much, so good for him! I loved it, that I could make him come so much! 

Oh, it tasted strange, of course, but I had wanted it, maybe didn't want it to taste that strange, but since it did, I wanted it to, wanted to like it. Like I still do. 

* * * 

Annie looked at me with satisfied smile and asked: 

"Good enough description of how I learned to love to suck cocks?" 

"Mmmm! Um-hmm, look at mine." 

"Oooh! It doesn't want me to again, already?"

"You shouldn't tell such an arousing story."

"You asked for it." 

"I guess so, just didn't know it would be so good."

"Just the truth, nothing but the truth." 

We chuckled and then I said: 

"It would be unfair to ask, but since I know you stay with him two years, what happened?"

"Lots more of that, of course. Now I sometimes wonder if we did it so much because that was our main connection. Married couples start on a different basis, I presume, and then are hitched to each other. Oh, he had been married. We talked about that once, when he told that she had never sucked his cock, but that wasn't the reason for their divorce he assured me, different expectations of how it would be together. 

"Of course, we were only together for two years and maybe didn't get around to testing that sort of thing. That's what we did together, and we sure did, and probably unconsciously avoided the little differences that can upset married couples, wanting each other to be like they want them to be." 

She looked at me a little surprised, then shrugged and said softly: 

"Maybe something to remember." 

That reminded me that I knew she was engaged to man back in her country. I nodded, and we were silent for a few moments. She shrugged again and said: 

"Anyway, after a couple of nights, we pushed the beds together. At the end, we separated on very good terms. I had a better job and could afford my own flat. We gave it each other very nice presents, you know that brooch I have. I couldn't afford anything like that; gave him a very nice wallet with a picture of me, telling him that he didn't have to keep it." 

"Very nice, all of it. Remember our first kiss?"

"Of course! How many times had we seen each other before that?"

"Not many. Where did we get the wishbone?"

"I can't remember that either, just that we had it, sitting in your van, and that you won."

"And you didn't look like you would mind, if I wished for a kiss."

"Hm-hmm! You might have gotten one anyway, without the wishbone."

"Better with it -- not the kiss -- that I had an easy excuse to wish for one."

"You needed one? And I was all worried about what you could wish for."

"What would you have wished for?" I asked. 

"At least a kiss, and if we had kissed already, maybe then next better thing." 

Oh! What could that have been?

She smirked and said: 

"Well, I wouldn't have been fresh enough to ask you just to let me do something, so I guess I would have had to ask you -- selfishly -- to do it to me."

"Neither of us had to ask that first night when we were camping alone."

"Nope! And you were the one to turn around, before you could imagine how much I wanted you to." 

"Just so you could suck my cock?" 

"That's going to cost you! Not before you lick my pussy so good that I forget you said that!" 

Oh yes, the wishbone and kiss also happened with the girl whom I've called Annie here. 



How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 04



So far in this series, all the girls have shown the initiative; the one in this chapter also will. When I realized that, I recognized that almost all "my" girls are like that. Is it my chivalrous streak, or am I the more bashful type? Certainly, I don't like the idea of a father seducing his daughter, but then he may be very willing, when she makes the first move. Do women writers here prefer to have the man take the initiative? All rhetorical questions; maybe there is a discussion of this on the forum.

The girl in chapter 3 told a quite plausible story. The eighteen year old one in this chapter tells a rather fanciful one, after her friend tells all the background. "Fanciful" is related to "fantasy" and that's what everything on Literotica is about, even the possibly autobiographically true stories, fantasies for the readers. This story dates back, of course, to before youngsters could learn all about sex from the media and internet. 

This story is not for readers who quickly scroll down to see if there is hot sex on the first page. I hope that readers who enjoy a long, sympathetic description of an idealized first time will like it. 

I wish mine had been that good. 

Now that I have completed the story, I have to apologize for Mark's having wanted to tell in much more detail than I had anticipated. I enjoyed it and hope that readers also do, but only in chapter 5 will he be able to ask the question and hear Peggy's answer. That isn't quite true; he never really asks the question -- the title of this series. He and readers do hear from Peggy all he could want for an answer. 

* * *

My name is Mark. Peggy and I had our eighteenth birthdays a week apart in February. We've known each other since grammar school, never anything special between us, except that we both weren't part of the "better" crowd: both our parents working, no dancing school, no team sports, not outstanding in school. 

After Easter, kids started talking about our graduation prom. Of course, some were going steady, their date for the prom. Others were pairing up, a couple of them making up with their old friend so that they had a date. Peggy and I weren't the only ones to agree to go with each other for lack of someone better. That doesn't sound nice; we were quite pleased that we had agreed to go to the prom together. At the prom, we saw some very unexpected couples: she taller than him, pairs we had never seen together before -- desperate last minute choices. 

After we had agreed to go to the prom together, I invited her to a movie, nothing special, just our first date. Her parents wanted to meet me. That was a little sticky for both of us, but mostly in anticipation. I was invited to dinner, and it was all right. So we went out again, and I began to look at her a little different, not just seeing the Peggy I had always known. Maybe she wasn't good looking, but I had known her so long that her face was just her face. I suddenly recognized that she had a nice figure, wondering why I hadn't notice before. 

Eighteen: recognizing that my date for the prom had a nice figure, that was going to be in my arms when I tried to dance with her, and didn't everyone make out after dates? One girl in our class junior year had even gotten pregnant, at least, that was the rumor. If Peggy and I were going to date till June ...? 

Then next time in the movie, she had her hand where I could hold it, and she didn't take it away when I did. Just holding hands with a girl in the dark made my cock stir? Eighteen. When the movie ended, I let go of her hand, but outside, walking her home -- small town, just a couple of blocks from where I lived -- she took my hand and murmured: 

"Last time we held hands was crossing streets on a grammar school outing to the fire station." 

I had forgotten that, but if she had remembered? I squeezed her hand and nodded, and she squeezed mine. Eighteen, my cock stirred again. At her house, she turned to me, still holding my hand, and looked at me, tilting her head up a little and to the side. The girl in the movie had done that, and they had kissed. Nerd! She had to murmur: "Everyone does." We did, just a first kiss, really my first kiss. Had she kissed a boy before? I couldn't remember seeing her with anyone she might have kissed. 

After that, we always kissed, of course, and better -- French kissing! -- and embracing. I was embarrassed about my cock, but she just hugged our hips tighter together. Then the next time, I wasn't embarrassed, and she hummed, when it twitched between us. 

The following week, she suggested that we sit on the isle. Before the movie ended, she whispered that we leave. We hurried out of the theater and hurried to the darkest spot on the way to her house, in the shadow of a hedge. Then it was embarrassing again; my cock was stiff between us, and she wanted me to hold her breast. I can't remember how I knew that, but she did, and I did, just through her sweater and bra. She moaned, and her hips rocked against my cock, and I came -- all up in my jockey shorts, more than when I beat-off. I must have also moaned. Did she know what had happened? 

I was going to have to wash my shorts before I put them in the laundry, but I wasn't going to have beat-off, like I did after our other dates -- but I did. We walked to her place and kissed again. 

The next week, when I picked her up, she murmured that we didn't have to go to the movie. It was a warm spring night. She suggested that we go somewhere else, where I knew there were no street lights. As we walked there, I already anticipated having to wash my shorts again; my cock was already stiff. I hoped that she didn't notice that I helped it move around in my shorts. 

We kind of started where we had left off. When my hands on her back discovered that she wasn't wearing a bra, she nodded. Oh, the previous week, she had chuckled and murmured that it was good that she hadn't been wearing a blouse that would have been wrinkled. She wasn't again. My hands slid down and then up under her sweater -- on her bare skin! 

She hummed with a nod, and her hips pressed harder against mine -- and my cock -- when she leaned back. She could only want my hands to find her naked breasts! They did, and I moaned with her; it was so arousing to be holding her firm breasts, and feel her stiff nipples between my fingers. 

Of course I came again, this time letting my hips rock with hers, only afraid that it might soak through to my chinos. Her hands had been down holding our hips together. Then it was very embarrassing; she murmured: "Did you? Wish I could have." 

I could just nod; she had understood what was happening down there, and she had admitted that she had also wanted to come. What was that like for girls -- for a girl, for Peggy? What were we going to do now, only minutes into the start of the movie, where our parents thought we were? 

"I want to hold it," she murmured, and I felt her hand slid around my hip. Did she want to open my fly, pull down my jockey shorts, want to find out how wet they were, and touch my bare cock?! I was holding her bare breasts, but that wasn't sliding my hand down between us, like hers was doing. 

Her hand only held it through my chinos and shorts. It wasn't now so stiff, but when her fingers grasped it through the cloth, it was again. She moaned, and I did, feeling her fingers trying to creep in closer around it, having to pull the front of my chinos together to grasp around it. 

"I just had to hold it," she murmured. I hoped so, hoping that the wet part of my shorts was above her hand, and squeezed her breasts. She purred and murmured: 

"I've been wanting you to hold them, to feel your hands on them, on my skin." 

Was she suggesting that she wanted to hold my bare cock?! She squeezed and purred again, murmuring: "It's so big and stiff." 

It sure was, and twitching! Peggy, talking like that, squeezing my cock, and we were only closer because we didn't have anyone else to go to the prom with?! Was that how other couples were?! Did she know more about this than I did? She had an older sister, so maybe. I was an only child.

"Where's the park bench?" she murmured: "I want to sit on your lap." 

We both knew where, and I was relieved that she let go of my cock. We went to it. If she sat on my lap, she couldn't hold my cock. I sat down, wondering how she would in her skirt. Darn! She pulled it up around her hips and straddled my legs, and then told me to move my hips forward! 

I did. Did I understand that she wanted to straddle my hips so that her pussy was near my still erect cock? I didn't, but then it was obvious that she did. I knew that I and classmates were always horny, but were girls too, especially my Peggy? "My" Peggy? Till the prom.

She leaned forward and started another kiss. That was fine, and my hands slid back up under the front of her sweater. Were her nipples always so stiff, just inviting my fingers to squeeze them, and making her moan. How did that feel for her? Had that made her hips twitch? 

Oooh! She wanted her crotch right up against my cock, wanted her pussy right against it! Could she feel it twitch -- right against her pussy?! What did a pussy look like? It wanted to rub my cock? Did that arouse it, just rubbing there -- not in it?! Shit! Her crotch was rubbing my cock through all that cloth; I was going to come again! More yellow stains, and she had never moaned like that before! 

I came. I could come that good again, so soon?! Her hips were still rocking, but then she gave a disappointed sounding moan, and they stilled. She sighed with another disappointed sounding moan and murmured: 

"Your lucky; I wanted to, but couldn't."

She had recognized that my twitching cock had come again and hoped that she could, that her pussy could? She had thought that rubbing it on me that way might have given her an orgasm? She sighed and kissed me again. We had lost lip-contact. Then she murmured: 

"Anyway, it was good for you, and better for me than before, but just frustrating."

This was unfair, I thought, her making me come, but not being able to, herself. I hugged her to me and murmured: 

"I'm sorry, unfair; maybe we shouldn't have done it."

"Oh, I wanted to, couldn't help myself," she replied and gave me a small kiss. Then she murmured: 

"Maybe another time, but not next weekend, you know, period." 

I didn't know, had never thought about that. Sure, I knew vaguely that girls had their periods, but never connected that to the girls in my class. She sat back and said: 

"We could go to the ice cream parlor until the film's over." 

We did. As I was walking her home, she said that I was maybe right, that we shouldn't have done that much, and we agreed to spend the next Saturday night at the baseball game, the big, final game of the season. 

That was fun too, letting me wonder that we hadn't gotten together long before. The next weekend was the prom -- Prom, with a capital P! 

Peggy had strapless evening gown. Of course, I was wearing a dark jacket and tie, my new dark jacket. In the decorated gym, I could appreciate that she had more to hold up a strapless dress than a few of the other girls in our class. We didn't try to jitterbug, but when music for slow dances started, we ventured on the floor, chuckling as we tried to dance. When there was a slow foxtrot, that was easy, dancing as close together as we could, like most of the other couples. At the end of the set, I had to hold one side of my jacket close to hide the bulge in my pants, but other guys were doing the same. I didn't say anything, but Peggy did, nodding at them with soft chuckle and murmuring: "Like you, like us." 

Then it was the last dance, and we all -- almost all -- were kissing in the darkened gym. Peggy murmured between kisses -- had my fingers brushed the zipper of her dress: 

"You can't unzip it; it's almost all I have on." We kissed again, and she added: 

"Wish you could." 

My fingers played with the tab of her zipper. She chuckled and rubbed her hips on mine and murmured: 

"Stop that! You want everyone to see me in just panties? If it were just you ...?"

"You want me to?"

"Hmmm? Guess I said that. You've seen the rest."

"Hmm! Just held it." 

"Not so loud!" 

We whispered, our lips almost touching. She whispered: 

"Then you can see them. Mmmmm! -- but I want to, too, I also just held it." 

My cock had twitched. She hummed and added: "Like that," and thrust her tongue between my lips. 

My cock twitched again, and I sucked and caressed her tongue with mine, hoping that all the other couples and the chaperones weren't looking. We kissed some more in the back of the taxi to take her home. When I paid, the cabby smiled and said: Like when I was your age." 

I blushed, that he had been watching us, but Peggy grabbed my hand and said: 

"If he did back then," and we kissed some more, embracing and immediately feeling my cock. She just hummed, when I reached down and moved it up, and then our hips were back together, and my fingers back on her zipper. It was late, and there was no traffic. She hummed and murmured: 

"If you want to, just a preview, really the right word."

I pulled down the zipper, down to her waist, and she stepped back and let the top of her evening dress flop down. I wondered if her stiff nipples had help it flop forward. She just looked up at me with pleased grin, then asked when my parents went to work. Suddenly a car came around the corner, it's lights giving me a better view of her nice breasts, letting me recognize that there was no crease under them, but only for a instant, before her hands flipped the top of her dress up over them. 

The driver honked. Peggy shrugged and murmured: 

"Hope he was only looking at them and didn't see my face. When do your parents go to work on Monday? Zip!" 

I zipped her dress up, and she jiggled her breasts in it, then repeating: 

"When?"

"Eight, nine, nine-thirty, latest for Mom," I answered.

"I'll be over at ten," Peggy replied.

"Sure, nice," I agreed, and we parted. Monday was the first day of vacation.

Monday morning after breakfast, before Mom went to work, I told her that Peggy was coming over. Mom thought that was nice, telling me that we could make sandwiches for lunch, if she stayed that long: "or to take to the pool, if you go swimming." 

It was only after she left for work that I remembered what Peggy had said about wanting see my cock, suddenly suspecting that that was she had in mind now. How could I have forgotten?! It sure was good that I had, else I couldn't have so innocently told Mom that Peggy was coming over, but Mom also hadn't suspected anything, thank goodness. Would Dad have? He didn't know. 

If that was what Peggy had meant ...? I went and straightened up my room, and went to the bathroom, not just shaking my cock, giving it a wipe with my washcloth. I straightened up little in there too, and then waited. 

The church bell struck the hour, and Peggy knocked. I opened the door, and she grinned at me, wearing a seersucker blouse and Bermuda shorts, but I suddenly recalled the view of her breasts when her top had flopped down and wondered what we were going to do. I must have just stood there for a moment; she said: "Aren't you going to let me in?" 

I stepped aside, and she came in. As I closed the door, I said the most harmless thing that came to mind: 

"Mom said we could make sandwiches for lunch."

"You told her I was coming over?" she replied in a surprised tone.

"Yeah. Good thing that I forgot what you had said; might then not have."

Peggy grinned with a nod, and said: 

"I didn't forget." 

"But then I remembered." 

"That's good. Where's your room?" 

As I led her to it, I realized that I had been expecting we would go there, but not anticipated that she would be so direct. If she wanted to see my cock, it felt like it wasn't going to disappoint her. In my room, she turned to me. At least, she now looked less sure of what to do or say, murmuring: 

"Yeah, I guess we don't have to close the door." 

She glanced at my bed, then smiled wryly and said: 

"Didn't really think how this would be."

"Me neither." 

We both chuckled. Her cheeks were rosy, and I felt that mine were warm. After a moment she said: "If we lie down, I don't want to get my blouse wrinkled, even if we don't," and pluck at the top button.

A seersucker blouse getting wrinkled? As good an excuse as any, I thought, nodding and agreeing: 

"I guess not, nor my shirt." 

We were going to get half naked, just like this?! She grinned with a nod and began unbuttoning her blouse, it open before my shirt was. She was wearing a bra. She noticed my glance and said: 

"Had to wear it, couldn't go to breakfast without it. Oh, you've got hair on your chest."

"Not much."

"I like that," she replied, slipping her blouse off, and looking around, then tossing it on my chair. 

I took off my shirt and did the same. Then she stepped closer and lightly ran her fingers over the hair on my chest and looked up at me and said: 

"You can take it off, unhook it." 

I reached around her with both arms. While my fingers fumbled -- I had seen Mom's bras in the laundry, not much help -- her hands slid down my sides, to the waistband of my pants. Was she also going to immediately suggest we take more off? She nodded, when her bra finally popped free. I slipped it off her shoulders. She had to take her hands off me to get it off her arms, a little to my relief. While I stared at her breasts and stiff nipples, she blindly tossed it in the direction of the chair. 

We stood looking at each other. She took a deep breath, making her breasts rise. I moaned softly, and she did with a little nod, her eyes dropping down to the bulge in my pants. She looked back at me and murmured: 

"Guess we'd better lie down first," and kicked off her sandals.

"Um-hmm," I agreed, wondering what came after "first." 

When she moved to lie down, I helped my cock move around and stumbled out of my loafers, then joined her on my bedspread, that settling my question about whether I should have pulled the covers back. We embraced -- her bare breasts pressed to my chest -- and she murmured: 

"This is nice, better now, just didn't know how we would get here."

"Faster than I thought," I admitted, adding: "but it is nice." 

We kissed, discovering that we couldn't both have our heads on the pillow. She urged me to roll back and rolled half onto me. We had plenty of experience kissing, standing up. This was better; her thigh slid over mine, then down between mine. After a few moments, her thighs twitched together on mine, and my other thigh drew up and held hers. She nodded with a soft moan. Then her hips rocked down, and the hold of her thighs loosened. In a reflex, mine thigh drew up higher between hers. They squeezed together on it, as she nodded with a better moan. 

We had to come up for air. She sighed and murmured: 

"Better than standing up." 

"Um-hmm," I agreed. 

Then she grinned and pushed her shoulders up and move her thigh over my other one, straddling both of mine, and pulled herself up higher over me, holding her shoulders up with her arms straight. She looked down at her breasts and then at me with grin and said: 

"I want to feel you suck them."

Of course, I thought, why hadn't I have thought of that; a guy was supposed know to do that without being asked. Too late, but not too late to do it, and they looked so lovely, and that was what they were for, to be sucked. 

Did suckling kids enjoy sucking and nibbling on them as much as I did. Did nursing mothers moan like Peggy was, then offering the other one to be sucked and nibbled? She moaned, and her hips rocked down, her thighs pressing mine together. She moaned again and then muttered: 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 04



"I'm going to have to take off my shorts before they get wet."

I released her nipple. She scrambled over me and stood up. After a glance at where my cock was, she looked at me with a sort of apologetic expression, as she opened her shorts. So, I thought, girls' pussies go all moist when they are aroused. Before she pushed her shorts down -- I had been wondering if I should watch her or politely look away -- she asked: 

"You too, before your chinos get more creases?" 

She waited for me to nod, before she rocked her hips to push her shorts down. I sat up and got up and opened my pants, something to do instead of watching her undress; I was going to see her in just her panties in a few moments, and she was going to see me in my jockey shorts with my cock holding out the front of them. Oh, and she wanted to see it without my shorts. 

We didn't really look at each other until we had hung our things on back of the chair. Then we did, standing like we had before, but now almost naked. Her eyes dropped down, and my cock twitched. She sighed with very soft moan, and her hands slid up under breasts and then on them, clasping them. My cock surged. She mumbled: "We'd better lie down again." 

This time I did draw back the covers. Back in bed again, we rolled together, but just with our arms around each other, not really embracing. We both took a couple of deep breaths, not saying anything. I felt better about her having asked me to suck her breasts; a guy shouldn't start anything the girl didn't want, before she let him know what she wanted. She took another deep breath, and then, as though she had read my thoughts, she murmured: 

"I don't know what we're going to do, but I want to hold it."

"I know," I murmured, as her hand started to slide down my side.

Her hand touched my elastic, then explored over my shorts on my hip, sliding back on my ass a little. I nodded again, hoping that my twitching cock wasn't already oozing. Her hand slid back over my hip and ventured down between us, just sliding over my cock, not yet holding it. It twitched, and I nodded, and then her fingers closed around it in my shorts. It twitched in her hand, and we both sighed with soft moans. Her hand moved up and down, just a little, once, just an experiment. My cock twitched, and she moaned. Then she let go of it. When I exhaled, I realized that I had been holding my breath. 

Her fingers slid up to the elastic. I nodded again. When her finger tips slipped inside it, just brushing me, I realized that my cock was holding it away from my body. She pulled it further back, had to pull it even further, since my cock followed. "Um-hmm," I unconsciously encouraged her. She pulled it as far as she could and then pulled it down, as though she were trying to avoid touching my cock, but it pressed against the back of her fingers. "Uhn," she responded, looking at me with wide, dilated eyes. 

"You wanted to," I murmured, now almost sure that she was going to find the head of my cock slippery. She let go of the elastic, and it pressed my cock against me. Her fingers touched it, just a couple and her thumb on it above the elastic. A finger rubbed over its head. 

"Oh," she whispered, and the finger rubbed back over it, and she whispered: 

"You have already?" 

"Hm-hmm, not yet, but like you, I guess, wanting to take off your shorts." 

"Hmm? Guess so." 

She held the elastic again, trying to pull it down further, then murmured: 

"Help me." 

I reached down and shoved my shorts over my hip down my ass, and rolled on my back, raising my hips. Her hand slid on the elastic to my other hip and pulled it down. We both snorted at how our hands cooperated to pull my shorts down past my ass. I was relieved that my cock had a few moments of respite.

"Thanks," she murmured, still looking at me, as her hand found it again. Her fingers just slipped around it. She chuckled softly for no apparent reason, but then I had to, too, and then we both did, louder. This was too funny -- more like too serious, being too solemnly serious. She grinned and said out loud: 

"I'm holding it," and squeezed my cock and grinned again.

"Like you wanted to," I replied, returning her grin. 

"Didn't you want me to? I wanted you to hold my breasts."

"And wanted me to suck your nipples."

"Oooh! Yes, that was good." 

Her hand jogged, luckily not touching its head, and she chuckled again, murmuring: 

"That's funny, the skin moving with my hand. May I look?"

Her so polite question was really just too funny, absurd. I laughed and replied: 

"Bet I can't stop you."

"No!" she agreed with a grin and sat up. 

She let go of my cock and looked at with a smile, then glanced back at me and murmured: 

"You can look at me too, but not right now." 

She stared at it, tilting her head to see it better. I made it twitch up, and she chuckled. This was fun, and she had promised that I could look at her pussy. Then she looked at my sack and murmured: 

"Can I touch them too?" 

"You 'may.' Please," I replied with a chuckle, then quickly adding: "Just don't squeeze them." 

She nodded, and her fingers slid down between my thighs and then under my sack. I knew that it must have been tight before, but it had relaxed a little; her fingers could move my balls in it. She hummed with a smile, and her fingers crept further under them, until she could raise them in her hand. I was very pleased that she could, that my arousal had subsided a little. She chuckled, as her fingers gently jostled them. Then she noticed that my cock was sinking down and looked at it again. 

"Want me to hold it again? Can I make you come?" and then looked over at me. 

"If you move the skin like that again."

"Oooh! I wanted to see that!" she replied enthusiastically. 

I wondered what I would have said, if I had been circumcised, but then she couldn't have moved the skin like she had. Forget it; she was holding my cock again and watching how she could slide the skin up and down, chuckling when she shoved it up around my knob. She experimented, watching that a few times. My cock was twitching and my hips began to rock up. I moaned. She looked up from my cock with an expectant expression. I had to moan again. She glanced back down and then at my face again, and asked: 

"What's going to happen?" 

Before I could answer, it "happened." She was still looking at me, but the first shot caught her eye, landing high up on my chest. She started with an open mouth and watched the next one land on my chest, as I groaned, and watched the next ones make a trail down my stomach. I had to hold her hand still, feeling more dribbling down on both our thumbs. She snorted: 

"Hmm!" then murmured: "Guess I didn't need to ask. Wow! That was good! Was it good?"

"Don't need to ask that either; very."

She grinned. I was wondering how I was going to clean it all up, more than I could ever remember. Before I could decide, she slipped her hand from under mine and murmured: 

"So much, all over you," and her hand started to rub the thick white blobs around. 

She apparently had the urge to spread them really all over me. I remembered playing with finger paint. So much for my having to clean up. .

"Having fun?" I asked with a chuckle. 

"Um-hmm! That was fun." 

She grinned and wiped her hand on her stomach and added: "Next time, I want it all over me." 

She looked back at my cock, and smiled, remarking: 

"I guess that's how it is most of the time."

"Um-hmm, most of the time, when you're not around."

"But when I am, like this?" and she dove down over me, supporting herself on her elbows, as she grinned with a snicker. 

"Not right now," replied, returning her grin.

"But you'll let me again? Please?"

I nodded, delighted with her attitude and liking my thought that a guy should wait for a girl to tell him what she wanted to do. She smiled, then chuckled. Feeling her stomach move on mine felt good. Then she said: 

"Oh, I just remembered something. When it was shooting out, I suddenly remembered a fountain at the Epcot Center. Two years ago, after my sister graduated from high school, we all went to Disney World. There was a fountain that shot out spurts of water, one after another, several in the air at once, in an arch, each of them just a clear tube of water, intriguing. That's what it reminded me of."

We both laughed. That felt even better on my tummy. I snickered and remarked: 

"If you could think of that now, what do girls think about who have already seen a guy's shoot?"

"Oooh! I know what I would think of!"

We chuckled, and I held her ass, remembering that she still had her panties on, nothing like the ones I snuck looks at in ads for women's underwear. I hadn't intended to suggest anything, but Peggy immediately said: 

"Oh, I said you could look at me -- without them. I did once with a hand mirror, after my hair started to grow, and Mom had tried to tell me a girl ought to know. Embarrassing for us both. Hm-hmm! Later my girlfriend and I looked at each others. She has more hair. Want to look?"

I nodded with what I hoped wasn't a lecherous smile -- however one like that looked.

"Okay," she agreed cheerfully and got up, while I thought: maybe my theory about letting a girl tell me what she wanted to do didn't apply to other girls, but it sure did with Peggy. 

She stood up, facing me with a smile, and pulled her panties down. They dropped to her ankles. Was she blushing? I wasn't looking at her face. So that's what her hair looked like: a little darker than that on her head, but not so much that I couldn't see her skin through it, and -- oh! -- I could recognize the start of her pussy, just a little crease that disappeared between her thighs -- nice thighs, not skinny. She just stood there, letting me look, then said: 

"You should take yours off. I'll help you."

She stepped out of her panties and leaned down to pull my shorts off my legs. Nice, very nice, how her breasts moved when she was leaning down and moving her arms. When they were off my feet, she looked back at my cock and smiled, murmuring: 

"Have to feel it when it's like that." 

She did, slipping her fingers under my cock, chuckling and saying: 

"Funny, the skin now hiding it. Hard to imagine that it could be that big."

Then her fingers slipped under my balls, and experimented with how loose they were in my sack. She gave me a smile, and murmured: 

"Nice, I like them, like this too." 

"So do I, and that you do too."

She smiled sweetly as she stood up, letting me look at her all naked again. She smiled again with a shrug and said: 

"I thought I was going to be terribly embarrassed, if you saw me like this."

"Me too. We were before, both of us, with you just half naked."

"Not terribly, just a little, but I was sure I wanted that; you'd seen them already."

"Not well enough. A little funny, probably shouldn't say it; I never noticed what a good figure you have." 

She wrinkled her nose and replied: 

"Just ol' Peggy, didn't even look?"

"Really shouldn't have said it, not that way, just that you do."

"That's better. I won't say anything about yours, just that I like what I see." 

She looked pointedly at my cock. I knew I had, at best, only an average figure, nothing like that of guys who were good at sports, then remembering that in the shower after sports, some of the guys with the most muscles didn't have more down there than I did. Peggy murmured: 

"Want to see more?" and turned around.

By then I knew she had a nice ass too, but it was delightful to see her like that too, reminding me of paintings and statues of women standing like that. None of them seemed now more attractive; Peggy as attractive as any artist's model? Did she know it? I remarked: 

"If they need models at drawing courses in the Arts Academy, you could apply." 

She spun back around and said: "You want other guys to see me?!" 

"Shit no! That was supposed to be just a compliment."

"Hmm?! I hope so." 

"You're not good at accepting a compliment," I replied with a grin, explaining: 

"Mom told that when she was growing up in the South, girls would courtesy with a smile and say thank you, even if they knew that it was just a compliment. That wasn't 'just' a compliment." 

She smiled wryly and said: 

"I can't courtesy, and don't girls hold out their skirt when they do?"

"I guess so. Hm-hmm!" I smirked, adding: 

"Maybe to suggest that they want to lift it up." 

Peggy grinned and replied: 

"Then I don't have to courtesy, if that's what they're suggesting." 

"I won't ask my Mom."

"You'd better not, bad enough that she knows I'm here." 

"But not like you are, like we are." 

"Thank goodness! Stop staring!" 

She dove back down on me again -- nothing more to stare at, but her bare ass to hold. But she had said that I could see her, not just naked, telling me that she and her girlfriend had looked at each other's pussy; she wanted me to. Her legs slid off mine, spreading her thighs and then pressing mine together. 

"Do I have to ask you to look, not just look?" she murmured. 

I shook my head, then nodded. She just smiled as she nodded, then sat up. She looked back and then dropped back on my legs. I got them apart, and she lay on the mattress and drew her knees up. I sat up and looked down at her pussy, better view of the crease I had seen before, with just a few hairs down between her thighs. They dropped to the side, the crease opened. Pink, not just an opened crease; now at the top, two little extra pink creases with a little swelling between them. 

She moaned and muttered: "I'll show you." 

Her hand slid down her stomach and over her hair, and her fingers drew the sides of her pussy apart. More pink, and much more interesting: a couple of little folds and what must be the mouth of her vagina. So that's what it looked like. A cock could fit in that little hole? Oooh? Did it look slicker than before? She moaned again. Was that why she had wanted to take off her shorts? Her fingers squeezed the sides of her pussy together and slid back and forth a couple of time, and then spread again. Yeah, the mouth of her vagina was definitely slick, moist. 

I noticed her other hand move and hold her breast, as she moaned again. What was I supposed to do: "not just look"? Well, of course, put my finger in it, if it would fit. Finger fucking, all guys knew that expression. 

Her fingers squeezed together again, and her thighs twitched. She moaned and demanded softly: 

"Don't just look. Do something, rub it ... like I do."

How was that? She rubbed her own pussy? If I beat-off, yeah, of course, girls did what they could. I touched it. Her hole was all moist, her thighs twitched, and she moaned with a nod, squeezing her breast. Did that odor come from her pussy? It was attractive, and where my finger was rubbing was even moister. Her fingers squeezed the sides of her pussy together again, also on my finger, and slid back and forth again. She moaned. The tip of my finger was wanting to probe, where it was was so slippery and moving a little. Her fingers were moving faster. She moaned and sort of gasped out: "Do it, stick it in!" 

She wanted me to finger fuck her! And the mouth of her vagina let my finger probe deeper. It did fit! Tight but slippery, it let my finger slide deeper in it! She moaned loudly with a nod. In a pussy! So arousing, and it felt so good! Oh, my cock was all stiff, standing up between our open thighs! 

Her hand disappeared. I glanced up and saw them in her mouth, and then they were back on the front of her pussy, just rubbing back and forth between its sides, rubbing over that little swelling I had seen. She moaned. Finger fuck! My hand jerked my finger in and out. She moaned, and her fingers moved as fast as they could. My cock was throbbing; it wanted to be where my finger was. Her pussy wanted my finger to do what my cock would in it?! It tried. 

Peggy was moaning and gasping with strained expression, her eyelids clenched shut, both our hands moving as fast as they could. I couldn't do more, but tried. Her thighs quivered, and her hips twitched. Like mine did before I came? I wanted her to. Come! I demanded in my mind, then realized that I had heard myself say it. Consciously, then I did: 

"Come! Come!"

Her hips jerked, and her thighs clapped together on our hands, and her body convulsed. I continued to finger fuck her, recalling how I had to continue pumping my cock after my first shot. Her body convulsed again, but then her thighs flopped open, and her hand stopped mine from moving. She was gasping and groaning, and I was moaning, I realized. 

Had it been good for her? As good as she had done it to me? I waited, watching my cock twitch slightly with my heart beat, very slowly sinking down, then wondering if she had been as aroused, when she had been making me come. Then I realized that not just my finger -- still in her -- was wet. Was that a sign that it had been good for her? She sighed. I looked up at her face. She snorted softly and pushed my hand further back. Did she feel that her pussy dribbled. She gave me a tired smile and murmured: 

"Fuck, that was good."

Her language completely surprised me. It looked like it most also have surprised her; she smiled wryly and said: 

"Guess I really said that. Hmm? Don't know if it was that good, but it sure was good, thank you."

"And thank you for letting me help, ... and thank you for before."

"Hmm?! I wanted to thank you for letting me."

We smiled at each other. She reached up her arms, and I helped her sit up. She looked down at my cock, still engorge but hanging down. She reached down and held it. That just seemed so right and familiar now. She looked up at me asked: 

"Aroused? Like I felt, when I was doing it?"

I nodded. We could say anything we wanted to now: 

"Very, like it wanted to be where my finger was."

"Mmmm! That was nice of it," and she squeezed my cock."

We smiled at each and both shrugged. Of course, we were talking about the obvious, she had used the word, but we just smiled again. Then she said: 

"I said before that I didn't know what we were going to do, just that I wanted to hold -- your cock." 

She squeezed again with smirk and added: 

"Now I've said that too."

"And your pussy."

"I don't think we have to, if we can do that so good."

"Better than I can; I don't think so either."

"And better than I can, either."

We smiled again, and she shook my cock, as though she were shaking my hand in agreement. I nodded and replied: 

"But we could that -- this -- again."

"Mmmm! You'd better let me! I want you to."

I almost grabbed her breasts, holding them enough to draw her closer, and we kissed in conformation of our agreement. Then her thighs twitched. She chuckled and said: "Peepee." 

I nodded and led her to the bathroom. We both started a little, when we left my room with nothing on. I hesitated at the door to the bathroom, letting her go ahead. She nodded and went ahead. I thought that she might nod for me to close the door, but she just sat down on the toilet with a wry smile and said: "If we do that?" 

I grinned with a nod, and twitched my legs like a kid who had to go. I did. She grinned and unselfconsciously wiped herself and flushed, nodding that I could. I wasn't so sure about going with her there, but asked: 

"If you want to watch?"

"Oooh, yes. Want see what else it can do -- your cock."

She did, not just seeing my stream, moving so that she could see it coming out of my cock, chuckling when I moved it a little, splashing down in the bowl and then just on the porcelain. I shook it, and we both chuckle, exchanging smirks. I thought to offer her my washcloth, still moist. She took it with a smile and wiped again, then watching me wipe my cock, pulling my foreskin to wipe better. Talk about being familiar! 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 04



"Lunch, sandwiches?" I suggested. 

"But not like this, she agreed, looking at mine and her nakedness. 

We returned to my room and put on the minimum: chinos and bermudas, her blouse and my shirt. On the way to the kitchen, I chuckled and asked: 

"And you were afraid that that blouse would get wrinkled?"

"Hmm! Had to say something, but in case I hadn't dared to."

"You did." 

"Um-hmm, but you don't know how nervous I was on the way here, wanting to, but not sure if I could, or how you would be." 

"Also nervous, when I remembered what you had said."

"Good thing that I did, when we were in the mood for that. If I hadn't, just said I wanted to come over, it would probably have all been different." 

"For sure; I certainly wouldn't have suggested that we go to my room."

We were already making sandwiches. She grinned and asked: 

"Didn't you want to?"

"Oh yes, but, well, long story. When you told me to suck your nipples, I kicked myself, thinking that a guy should know to do that without being asked. But then -- can't remember just when -- I changed my mind, thinking that a guy shouldn't suggest anything before she somehow indicated that she wanted him to."

"Hmmm! Glad that I did: telling you that, asking if I could, and then, well, whatever else I did." 

"All right, the words and what you did."

"And what you did -- without the words." 

"With yours," I replied, and we both smiled and nodded. 

We ate our sandwiches, more chuckling and smiling than talking. We cleaned up in the kitchen and then grinned at each other. I smirked and said: 

"Good thing you left your underwear in my room, or you might decide to go home, and I wouldn't have an excuse to suggest we go back there."

"You don't need one. My words: I already told you that I wanted to do it again. You nodded and said 'just not right now'." 

"And you said that you wanted it all over you." 

"Hmm? I was going to insist about that, in case you forgot."

We started taking off our clothes on the way back to my room. My cock was already anticipating what she wanted to do. When I opened my chinos, she hummed with a grin, when she saw it pop out of my fly. Naked again, I wondered how she wanted it to shoot all over her. I shook it at her with a grin. She grinned and insisted that she had to hold it. We agreed that she lie down with me between her thighs. She drew her thighs up, reaching out her hand. I crept up kneeling with my legs under hers, our hips close together. Then she could hold it -- "my cock," she murmured. 

She got it all over her, and we both enjoyed that it took longer this time. She discovered with her thumb where my -- her -- cock was most sensitive. "All over her:" between her breasts and down her flat stomach. She chuckled and rubbed it around and murmured: 

"Kind of my baptism."

"Maybe. I like that too, but one only needs to be baptized once."

"Oh, then not a baptism; I want it again, need it again. What could that be?"

"Absolution, after sinning." 

"Hmm? More like sinning and needing repeated absolution."

"I hope so," I replied with a grin. 

This time, I dropped down on her. She hummed, and we kissed. Her thighs drew up higher, clutching against my hips, then higher, squeezing my waist. Did all girls lock their feet behind a guy's ass like she did? And rock their hips up? Hadn't twice been enough for my cock? Even if it was also "her" cock, she didn't want it in her pussy, but now it and her pussy didn't seem to understand that. It was twitching up and down between her thighs, right up between them, brushing her there, right on her pussy! And her hips twitched up! 

She pushed me back and muttered: 

"Too fucking close! I'll do it again, or you can, and then do it to me." 

"I will," I murmured, too aroused to care about anything except that she had stopped us in time and the fastest way to make my cock forget that it was so close to fucking her. She nodded with a relieved sigh, and I rose up again and began to beat-off. She just nodded, while I was suddenly a little chagrined that I was showing her what I did by myself. Too late, I was saving us from doing what we didn't want to happen, and my cock wanted me to. 

It took longer than I had expected, having been so aroused before. So long, that I began to think that maybe we could have a little, just let my cock move in her pussy for a few strokes. Too dangerous, I consoled myself and fisted my cock. 

We were both relieved when it finally shot up again over her. Not as far and as much as before, but relief. She smiled with an understanding nod and again smeared it around, then chuckling and murmuring: 

"Going to have to wash -- two layers."

"Me too," I agreed.

We both chuckle with nods. I murmured: "And now you too." 

She smiled, but shook her head and replied: 

"Oh, I thought so, but ... just come and snuggle with me. Tomorrow."

I dropped down next to her, and we rolled together embracing, our legs overlapping so comfortably. She repeated, this time a question: 

"Tomorrow?"

"Um-hmm, if you want to, anything you want."

"Just not that, but everything else." 

"Um-hmm, tomorrow," I murmured. 

We hugged each other and dozed off, until the church bell struck the hour. How many times had it struck? Her left arm was over me. She looked at her wristwatch and said: 

"Three. How long have we slept?" 

"Not too long, thank goodness, but very nice."

She hugged me with a nod, then reminding me that we had to wash. We chuckled and got up. While she was using the toilet, I realized that my towel was going to be suspiciously wet if we both used it to dry ourselves. Then I had a brilliant idea: 

"I'll get a beach towel and can tell Mom that we did go to the pool. She'll like that."

"Oh, yeah!" Peggy replied, adding: "You'll have to tell her something -- get us out of the house. What we were doing to tell my Mom?" 

"Hmm? She doesn't know about the sandwiches; maybe I took you somewhere to eat, somewhere cheap."

"Sure," she agreed, watching me pee again. Then she snickered and said: 

"Since we have a towel, we could shower together." 

She gave me a sly grin. We did. She warned me that her hair had to stay dry, but we had fun washing each other. I had never washed my cock and balls as thoroughly as she did. Maybe they had never needed to be. 

Back in my room, dressing, I thought to get my trunks and wet them in the bathroom and got the towel, in case Mom was home when I returned. Peggy reminded me that if we had been out, I should walk her home. Then we both gave my bed a surprised glance, and I remade it. I picked up my trunks and the towel, and we left the house. She said we should walk around a couple of blocks, so that we approached her house from where we could have been in town. 

On the way, she had the idea of telling her mother that we were going to the pool the next day and make sandwiches for us. Then I could pick her up with my towel and trunks, and as she said: 

"Well, maybe we might even go there." We grinned with hums, and then were at her house. I said goodbye on the street and went home.

Mom and then Dad liked hearing that we had had a nice day. When Dad asked with a grin: 

"Wanted to see her in a bikini?" I blushed, but managed to nod with a smile. He nodded with smile, not knowing why I had really blushed. I then smiled and said that I was going to see her in it again the next day. 

I did, but not at the pool. I picked her up and we took our roundabout walk to my house, exchanging smiles, smirks, insinuating hums. Once she even moaned like she had in bed, giving me a grin. There was no question about what we were going to do, although we hardly spoke until we were back in my room. 

This time we just immediately start getting undressed. It was hardly arousing -- for my cock. When she took off her blouse -- the same one -- I saw that she was wearing her bikini top. She nodded with a chuckle and said: 

"Mom asked me if I really wanted to wear it, with a look that suggested that she thought I shouldn't. I told her that all the girls in our class wore bikinis. Don't know if that's true, but she didn't say anything more." 

"Not sure I think you should either, all those other guys looking at you."

"Hmm! Thought a guy would like seeing others ogling the girl he's with."

"As long as they don't have the thoughts I have, seeing you in it." 

She hummed with a smirk, remarking: 

"Probably what Mom was worried about."

Then I was down to just my shorts. She took off the top, smiling at me, and then we both stripped off the rest. She looked down at my cock and said: 

"It was more aroused yesterday."

"Just waiting," I replied and opened my bed. 

It didn't have to wait long. She didn't have to ask if she could hold it and watch it again, and then didn't have to tell me what to do. After I had, lying together, she said: 

"It's better with you than what I can do, even last night, thinking about you and your cock."

"You did, last night?"

"I did it to you twice yesterday. Just lying there in bed, thinking about it all, I just had to again."

"Hmm? Fair enough." 

"Even with two of my fingers, but they're not as big or as long as yours." 

We held our hands together to see. I chuckled and asked if she wanted me to try with two of my fingers. She moaned and replied: 

"Oooh, tight, but I guess so, still not as big as your cock." 

She grasped two of my fingers and jogged her hand, grinning and shaking her head. Then she said that she had to make sure, and reached down and held my cock. 

"Not like that, now," she remarked, and we both chuckled. 

Soon, however, it was like she had meant. She chuckled again and held my fingers again, murmuring: "I was right; it's a little bigger." 

Then she was holding it again, with the obvious consequence, then smearing it around on me. Her finger found a little puddle in my belly button. She looked at her finger tip and then put it in her mouth, then scowled and said: 

"Don't know why I did that; it doesn't taste like something one would want to taste." 

Her finger found my belly button again, and she offered it for me to taste. It sure didn't. 

She had found an excuse to hold my cock again, now it was my turn. Would two of my fingers fit in her pussy? One did, of course, and then she told me to try two. She gave a soft, pained sounding moan, but nodded, and then two were in her so tight pussy. Then she moaned as though she liked to feel them both moving in it: rubbing around each other, twisting together when I turned my wrist. 

Oh, she liked it, and my fingers did too, exploring, discovering softer and less soft places in her pussy. Why did it occur to me that my cock couldn't be able to feel them like my finger tips could? But could it make her moan like she did when they found a funny, spongy place when I drew my hand back a little? 

She didn't just moan, she groaned, and her fingers rubbed like never before, and her hips twitched, and her pussy was squeezing my fingers. Then her body convulsed, and my hand was all wet. She grasped my hand with her other one, holding it still, as her body moved again, but then her hand was jerking mine, up, against the down twitches of her pelvis, and she convulsed again, her head and shoulders jerking up, as I heard pained, whimpering groans. Was I hurting her?! But she had wanted it like that! She held my hand still again, as she gasped and moaned. But then she started to jerk it again. She still wanted it, more, again?! My hand was dripping. Where did that all come from? 

Finally, she held my hand still again. Her body twitched a couple of times more and then was still, except for the heaving of her stomach as she gasped and moaned. Her hand's grip on mine relaxed, and I slowly pulled my fingers out of her pussy. She just nodded. What had I done, what had we done?! 

My once aroused cock was limp before she spoke, her eyes still closed: 

"Shit! I think I peed all over you. Sorry!"

"If you wanted to, if you had to," I murmured. 

She opened her eyes -- wide -- and replied: 

"If I did, I sure didn't want to, just had to. It was so good, like never before. I just don't know what happened, but I just had to have it again. Hmm?! If that was an orgasm, what was before wasn't."

She looked at me with wide eyes and a quizzical expression. I should be able to answer her question? I murmured: 

"It sure must have been good. I was afraid I was hurting you -- sounded like it -- but you just wanted more and more."

"I did, couldn't help it. It sounded like that?"

"Whimpering like a kid."

"Hm-hmm! Really? Oh, I wasn't in pain, just didn't know what was going on. Sorry about the pee, if that's what it was." 

"Maybe not; I can't, when I'm aroused, have to wait for it to relax a little." 

Peggy chuckled and remarked: 

"Learn something new every day, both of us. Mmmm! You won't mind if that happens again?"

"Hm-umm, no. Kind of envious, if it could be that good, and again and again."

"It was! Thank you."

She sat up, then smirked and said: 

"Let me lick your hand. As a kid, on a dare once, I tasted my peepee. Maybe it isn't." 

I held up my wet hand with a chuckle and said: 

"Sounds like you, taking such dare." 

She licked, then smirked and said: 

"I don't think it is. Try it."

I did. I didn't know what peepee tasted like, but I didn't mind the taste of what was on my hand, and rather liked that I had tasted how her pussy could taste. She had watched me grinning. I shrugged and said: 

"If you say so."

"Tastes a lot better than you do."

"Sure does," I agreed, remember how she had put her finger in my mouth. 

We chuckled and then agreed that we really should go to the pool. In the bathroom, when she reached down between her legs on the toilet, I knew what to expect. She tasted her fingers and smirked, shaking her head, and quickly reached back down and held her fingers up for me to taste. No, it hadn't been peepee that we had tasted before. 

We washed a little, no shower, and went to the pool. I had been right; guys did look at her, and she had been right, that I was a little pleased, admitting that they were mostly younger teenagers just ogling any bikini. The guys our age mostly had a girl with them, most of them also in bikinis. When another youngster wandered around with his towel in his hand, I chuckled and told Peggy that he had it to hold in front of him in case he got a hard-on. She snickered and asked how I knew. I just grinned, and then we watched the others, several also with towels, a couple holding them like I had suggested. 

I hope no one is disappointed that Peggy hasn't yet sucked Mark's cock or even thought of the possibility of doing so. She will in chapter 5, which will be posted very soon.



How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 05



Mark continues his telling what he and Peggy do, now after their second morning in his room. She does finally suck his cock and then tells him how she was inspired to do so. He doesn't have to ask if she loves to or how she learned to.




We washed a little, no shower, and went to the pool. I had been right; guys did look at her, and she had been right, that I was a little pleased, admitting that they were mostly younger teenagers just ogling any bikini. The guys our age mostly had a girl with them, most of them also in bikinis. When another youngster wandered around with his towel in his hand, I chuckled and told Peggy that he had it to hold in front of him in case he got a hard-on. She snickered and asked how I knew. I just grinned, and then we watch the others, several also with towels, a couple holding them like I had suggested.

We ate the sandwiches she had brought and swam a little, but mostly lay in the sun smirking at each other. When we saw another couple kiss, we kissed, but only as much as one could in public. On the way back home, we agreed reluctantly that we shouldn't see each other every day, agreeing "to go to the pool" again on Friday and a movie Saturday evening. 

On Friday, of course, we only went to the pool after doing everything we could in my bed and as good as we had. She insisted on making me come again, a third time, since her orgasms had been so good. I was surprised that she again tasted mine, this time without commenting. 

Saturday evening, we went to the movie, sitting in the back with other young people. When I put my arm around her, like a couple in the row before us, her hand landed in my lap. She had fun discovering how to move my cock around to let it stand up, but that was as far as it could go, of course. On the way home, we stopped again in the shadow, and immediately did as much as we could with our hands, but not enough. When we stopped and were continuing to her house, she hummed and said: 

"Monday, we're going to the pool again. If it rains, I'll just come over. You can tell your Mom that we'll make sandwiches again. You'll have to make them, if the weather is good and pick me up."

"And if it isn't?"

"She shouldn't mind that I come over again, after a week."

"And then what will we do, if it's raining?" I asked.

"Mmmm! Even if it isn't! But we can worry about that then." 

We parted with a kiss our parents could have seen, and I walked home, hurried home, eager to get in bed and anticipate what we would do on Monday. It was a lot more pleasure now, having fantasies about what we did together. 

It wasn't raining Monday morning, but thunder storms were forecast. When Mom asked if Peggy and I were going to do anything, I told her that we were thinking about going to the pool again, which she thought was nice. I asked if she could come over if it rained, which Mom also thought was fine, again suggesting sandwiches. She went off to work.

I wondered if Peggy thought it looked so much like rain, that she would come over, or if I should grab my towel and trunks and go to meet her, just a couple of minutes walk. Since the weather was questionable and Mom had agreed that she could come over – she was going to, anyway – I didn't have to make the sandwiches. Before I had to leave to meet her, she knocked. Questions settled. 

I opened, and she grinned, glancing at the bag with her things for the pool, and said: 

"Told Mom we were going to meet there; thought that sounded less like a date. And yours?"

"Thought it was nice that we were going to the pool, but that it was fine if you came over, if it rained. Good idea of yours." 

"Hasn't rained yet," she remarked, adding with a grin: "So here we are." 

"Um-hmm," I agreed with a nod and smile. 

She immediately nodding in the direction of my room and took a step in that direction. As I followed her, I wondered if I shouldn't have kissed her after closing the door, then wondered that we hadn't when leaving the house the previous week. Did we only kiss in the dark or in bed? It seemed so, but if she had looked like she expected a kiss, we would have. She was already starting to unbutton her blouse – a different one – by the time we were in my room. She dropped her bag, and we took off our clothes. 

No, I thought, we only kissed when it could be arousing. She had on the same bikini under her clothes, one with formed cups that didn't let her nipples show, not like those with just triangles of cloth that did, sometimes even if the girl's nipples weren't aroused. Yeah, I had once been like those boys with their towel at the pool. I didn't have to look and wonder about nipples any more; Peggy had taking off her top and was stripping down the bottom, as my shorts came off. 

After three days together, we had a pattern: she did it to me first, and then I made her come as good as I could, now usually as good as the first time I had used two fingers. I drew back the covers, and we lay down and cuddled, our thighs overlapping, just very familiar by now, my cock hardly anticipating what we knew we were going to do. Peggy rubbed my back and and said: 

"Nice. Last night, no, this morning – well, both – I was wondering if there was anything else I could do, do it differently." 

"I don't know," I replied: "I can't think of anything better; it's always better than what I do."

"And what you do, too, than what I do." 

"Should be, well, I mean, not that I do it better, that we both think it's better with each other."

"Yeah, like that, too, but you do do it better – mmmm! - your two bigger fingers."

"Glad yours are so slender, then." 

We chuckled, rubbing each others' backs. I liked that we just didn't immediately do anything; that would have been too "something," not so nice. 

"Me too," she agreed, but then chuckled and added: 

"But maybe if I used three?" 

"Hmm? Could have thought of that last night or whenever." 

"Maybe; didn't want it to be as good as with you."

"Kind of you. Already said that I can't do it better than you do."

"But I want to do something else. Can't you think of something?"

"Hmm? Hmmm," I thought for a moment and then chuckled: 

"Once I just rubbed with one finger, on that funny place behind my knob."

"Where it's so sensitive? And?"

"Um-hmm! It worked. Only did it once, because it really likes to be held and squeezed."

"Hm-hmm! I can imagine why; wants to be where it should be, if we did that."

"Probably," I agreed. 

"I want to do that, just to see if it 'works'."

"It will." 

My cock was beginning to think it would too. I expected Peggy to reached down, but she hummed and moved down the bed, urging me to roll back and spread my legs so she could crouch between them. Any way she wanted, I thought happily, as she did, thinking that she wanted to watch. She looked at my swelling cock and glanced up at me with smirk, then looked back down with a cheerful chuckle and murmured: "Just one finger."

One touched my cock there. It didn't immediately feel arousing, just rubbing, my cock still resting on it, but then it did begin to feel better, and her finger had to follow it, as it rose up. She chuckled and rubbed. For a moment, it was standing straight up, but then her finger had to follow it, as it tilted forward. 

"Good?" she asked with another glance up at my face. I moaned with a nod, and made it twitch. I didn't have to make it twitch again; it did by itself, as her finger rubbed. She chuckled, obviously enjoying what she was doing, but not as much as my cock and I were. She pressed it down, and then took her finger away and watched it bob up, chuckling again, as we both watched it rise and fall a little with my pulse. She stared at my cock, then murmured: 

"Oooh! I almost wanted to lick it there. Hmm?! Just looked like it would feel good with my tongue to tease that funny place." 

"Oooh! Hm-hmm! That little ridge of skin and where it ends?" 

"Hmm! You know, just there! Must feel funny for my tongue, and good for you."

My cock really twitched. She wanted to lick my cock?! At least, she could think of it? Had she heard about oral sex? I had just heard the expression, written it off as something that, well, that kind of women did, or French women. Yeah, boys' jokes and fantasies were about French girls all doing it. But Peggy got the idea of wanting to lick my cock just from looking at it?! Her tongue where her finger had been would feel just as good, of course. Anything on my cock would at this point. Shit! I could almost imagine how it would feel for her tongue ...! My cock had twitched a couple of times more. 

All that went through my head in a rush, a lot faster than putting it in words.

Peggy was looking up at me, shrugging at what she had said, looking like she expected me to say something. I couldn't tell her that I wanted her to, and certainly couldn't admit that I had thought how it would feel for her tongue. 

"Where'd you get that idea?" I asked. 

"Just looked like it, like I said. I guess I was thinking that my tongue would be more sensitive than my finger. Hmm! Of course, two sensitive places touching, like when we kiss." 

My cock was twitching. I entirely agreed with what she had said, but only replied with a shrug: 

"What you can think?"

"Um-hmm, wanted to do something different." 

"That different?" I asked.

"Now that I've thought of it." 

My cock twitched again. Hadn't I said – at least thought – she could do anything she wanted?

"I won't stop you," I murmured. 

She hummed with a nod, moving the tip of her tongue between her lips and looked down at my twitching cock. As she lowered her head, and it twitched up again, I murmured: 

"I told you that it 'worked'." 

She nodded, and then her tongue touched my cock. I hoped she wasn't surprised that it twitched up again, pressing against her tongue. She hummed. Yeah, she knew my cock well enough to have expected and wanted it to respond. And the tip of her tongue so delicately and arousingly explored there. Her hand grasped my cock to keep it from twitching away from her tongue, pulling it back past the horizontal, so that she didn't have to lean down over me. 

She moaned. I heard her and felt the tip of her tongue vibrate. Oh no, I wasn't going to stop her! She could do anything she wanted to do with my cock! 

Her tongue suddenly slid up from where it had been, then disappeared. Had my cock been oozing and she had licked up a drop? 

"Tastes good," she murmured. It had, and she had liked it! 

I felt her tongue lick up again, and then that it licked over my little slit. She really liked it, wanted to taste more of it! Her tongue disappeared again, and then was teasing my slit to let her taste more. She had to grasp my cock tighter to keep it from twitching. 

Then not just the tip of her tongue was touching my cock, her lips were, slipping down around the head of it! What was she doing?! My cock in her mouth, and her tongue back where it had been, where it was so sensitive! Fuck! Didn't she know what would happen?! And her hand clutching and jogging! She knew what she was doing, like all the times before, but now with my cock in her mouth! She must know what was going to happen, and from hearing my groans, she knew that I was passed not just moaning! 

I wanted to warn her, to tell her to stop, but too late! My hips rocked up and I came. She gave a surprised "Uhn!" What did it feel like in her mouth; it must have shot up in her throat? But her hand jogged again, and she moaned and nodded, bobbing her head on my cock. 

I could only hope that she really wanted it; my cock spurted again and again. Did her moans each time mean that she had? At least, she had known that there would be more than one spurt. She had wanted me to come in her mouth, had wanted to suck my cock?! 

She had! Almost in response to my question, she nodded her head with another moan, and I felt her tongue slavering my semen around in her mouth. What had got into her to want to do that?! It had been so fucking good – just too fast. Did she know more about oral sex than the little I knew and had wanted to do it? Or had it been just – just! - from seeing my aroused and twitching cock?! 

I couldn't think of anything to say. Of course, I wanted to tell her how good it had been, but she knew that – her mouth still full. Oh, was that why she had tasted it again on Friday without saying anything, anticipating that she would want to do this? Questions, questions?! 

I felt her tongue moving, and then she raised her head. My cock dropped down, and I saw her swallow. She had swallowed it all! She looked at me with funny expression. It almost looked like she was abashed at what she had done. She licked her lips and shrugged, then murmured: 

"I didn't know that I wanted to do that, but, well, I guess I did. Surprised?"

"Very! I was just looking forward to your finger."

"Um-hmm, intrigued that that could 'work', but then, I tasted that, and then, well, I just wanted to see what would happen. It hadn't tasted so strange on Friday, didn't now." 

"That sure was a lot more 'something different' than I expected."

"Um-hmm, for me too, but then, I had licked, and ... why not?"

She rose up and dove down over me with a grin and kissed me. She tasted a little different when my tongue was in her mouth. Then she raised her head and asked with smirk: 

"Didn't you like it?"

"Fucking yes!" I replied. She snickered and asked:

"That good?"

"Didn't mean to say it that way; I don't know, but as good as I can imagine it could be – that way."

"That's good, then we don't have to. Just let me."

"You really want to? Liked it?" 

"If it was that good for you." 

"Hmm? Almost said that again," I replied with a grin.

"Want to? I do," she replied softly, completely surprising me.

"We can't. 

"I know; just said that."

We looked at each other. I wanted to change the subject. I asked: 

"And you didn't know anything about what you wanted to do, 'oral sex'?"

"Heard the expression; didn't know that I would want to do it. You have too? Know what you can do with me?" 

Did she want me to lick her pussy? I knew how it tasted, but was that what she was really suggesting? I nodded and murmured: 

"Vaguely. You want me to?" 

She looked slightly embarrassed by my question, but nodded, then murmured: 

"Then I'll tell you more." 

What more could she tell me? Had she heard more than just the expression, something about what she had done; something about what I should do? At least, I already knew enough about her pussy to know where I should lick, could lick – there where she rubbed with her fingers.

"I want to," I murmured. 

She just nodded without smiling and drew her knees up and sat up, then dropped back between my legs, drawing her thighs up. They flopped open, as I shoved my hips back and drew my legs back so that I could crouch down over her pussy. Looking at it, recognizing that she was already a little aroused, I wondered that oral sex hadn't also occurred to me. I had seen her pussy before, but only now did it look so attractive to lick. Like she had said about where she wanted to lick my cock, now that swelling where she rubbed herself seemed so inviting to be licked, to have my tongue explore, like hers had wanted to. 

She moaned deeply at the first touch of my tongue, and I moaned. I just loved it! Her pussy offered so many delicate and delightful places to explore with my tongue. And tasted so good, when my tongue probed in her opening, and I heard her moan. She loved it too! Why hadn't I thought to do this before? I had had to wait for her to want to, for her to tell me that she wanted me to? Now she had, and had said that she would tell me more. What? She would. 

Could she come like she did with my fingers in her pussy, just from my licking? I could only lick where her fingers rubbed. A finger probed below my chin. She moaned with a nod, as her pussy almost sucked it in. Another finger? She moaned. Could I lick as good as she had rubbed and my fingers do what they should in her pussy? Fucking, just pumping my cock in her pussy, must be simpler. When she grabbed my head, holding it to her twitching pelvis, however, I felt more confident that I could satisfy her, her twitching pelvis accentuating what my fingers were doing. 

We did it: my tongue and sucking mouth, my fucking fingers and her then uncontrollably moving hips. She tasted so good! I had to lap in the cupped palm of my hand for most of it, as much as my tongue could find. What was she going to tell me? 

I waited. She sighed a couple of more times, nodding without opening her eyes. Then they opened. She smiled mildly, nodding again, then murmured: 

"I knew it would be good, that you could do it good. Didn't you love it as much as I did?"

Love it as much as she did? Did she mean that she loved what I had done, or loved having sucked my cock? Or both? I had loved it both ways; it didn't matter. I nodded with a hum and replied: 

"I hope you loved it as much as I did." 

"Um-hmmm! Both ways. Thanks for telling about doing it with one finger, kind of triggered my wanting to do it." 

"And I thought that was all I was looking forward to. You were going to tell me more – what you knew, know about oral sex?"

She snorted softly, looking a little embarrassed, and said: "I guess I did." 

She sat up and turned around, lying beside me on her back. I stretched out next to her on my side with my hand on her breast – such a nice firm handful. She looked up at the ceiling and began her story.

* * * 

My sister came home from college last weekend, a week ago. After we had been together Monday and Tuesday, that evening in the bathroom .... We each have a room, share our bathroom. In the bathroom .... I guess she was a lot more savvy about what we could have been doing. We had talked about boys earlier. She had answered the questions I couldn't ask Mom. So, in the bathroom, she asked about you, about us. Oh, I was a little embarrassed, but she looked like she was already assuming we had done something. I told her that we hadn't, just everything else we could. She nodded with an understanding smile and asked if I wanted to tell her. 

Yeah, by then, I did. Why not, if she had already assumed as much – more. Oh, I knew, she had told me after her freshman year, that had slept with a couple of guys. So we finished in the bathroom. Had we before ever seen each other washing our pussies? Anyway, we turned off the lights and went in her room, sitting on her bed in the dark. 

Funny, we both had forgotten to put anything on. That just occurred to me now. Of course, I knew it, but for some reason – I guess, talking about you, about us – it just seemed natural, and then in the dark. 

She asked: "Everything else you can?" I told her, not how long it took us Monday morning, but what I did, and what you did. She thought it was very sweet, also of you, not like boys who want to stick in the first time they're in bed with a girl. We talked a little about bad first experiences. Her hadn't been so good, and we both had heard about a couple of others. Oh, back when, she had warned me that it often wasn't good for the girl her first time. But you and I hadn't. She said she thought that you were real nice, that we were lucky. I do too.

Then she asked again: "Everything you can do?" I enjoyed telling her how much better you had done it that morning. She really liked that, but then said: "That isn't 'everything' you can do." 

I thought she was suggesting that we really do it, and said that I needed the pill first. She liked that I wanted it first, before anything happened, and offer to get it for me on her prescription. "Just wait a few days first," she said. That was real good. Just wait a few days. 

Then she said that that wasn't what she had really meant, that we could do something else till then. Like I told you, and you told me, we had heard about oral sex, but I had never really envisioned what it was, and never connected it with something I or anyone I knew would do, maybe all those French girls – whatever it was – but not here in our little Middle America town.




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 05



I think I just blurted out: "What?" She chuckled and rubbed my thigh and said she thought it was sweet that I didn't know, and then asked if I wanted her to tell me. Of course I did; anything else you and I could do. She hummed and thought for a moment or two, then said: "He can do what girls do with each other."

That wasn't much help. I hadn't ever thought about that. Okay, they could do to each other what they could do to themselves, but you were already doing that, and better than I could. I think I asked: "Isn't he already?" She probably shook her head in the dark, then said: 

"He likes to kiss you; he could kiss you there, too." 

"Kiss me there? Girls do that? You want him to kiss me there?" I asked, or words to that effect. 

She chuckled at my surprised response and said that some girls do, and chuckled again and said that I and not she should want you to kiss me there. Then I began to think about it. I hadn't told her about our tasting each other, but recalling that we had agreed that I tasted good; would you want to kiss my pussy? I didn't say anything. 

She murmured: "Like French kissing, licking. Sounded like he would know where." 

Oh, you would, I thought, but how did my sister know? I asked. She hesitated with "Hm?" then said: "Good think it's dark." Was she blushing, I wondered. Then she said: 

"My roommate does." 

"She told you?" I asked.

"Hm-umm, I just know."

"She did it to you?"

"Um-hmm." 

"Really? ... Oh? You didn't do it to her, did you?" I asked.

"We both did," she murmured.

"Really? And you liked it?"

"Both ways, why I know you and he both would." 

"Oh?!" was all I could say. My sister licked her roommate's pussy and liked it, liked to do it!

How was I going to tell you to do that? If she had admitted that it was good, it must be, but how was I going to suggest that you do it to me? 

My thighs must have twitched. Her hand was still resting on one. She hummed and murmured: 

"Yeah, it's good, even just thinking about it." 

I don't know if I said anything more. She rubbed my thigh and suggested that we go to bed. I returned to my room and bed. Don't have to tell you what I did, wondering what your tongue would feel like, doing what the fingers of one of my hands were doing.

In the morning in the bathroom, when I shrugged with a funny expression, she just said: 

"I did too, almost as good as she did." 

"Almost as good as he does," I murmured, blushing.

Did I think about it all day on Wednesday? Often enough, too often, so much, that when we were in the bathroom together that evening, I almost immediately asked her: 

"How am I going to tell him that I want him to?"

She smirked and replied: 

"I don't know. Oh, if I were you, I would do it first."

"Do what?" I asked. 

Jeez, was I ignorant, innocently ignorant! She chuckled and said the obvious – what I could have thought of: 

"Lick him too." 

"Lick his cock?!" Yeah, I really said that! 

She nodded, tactfully not chuckling or snickering. She was washing her pussy. I washed mine. As we were about to leave the bathroom, she looked at me. Her nipples had popped out, and the way she was looking at me, mine did. She took a deep breath and sighed with almost a moan, and took another breath and murmured: 

"If you want, I told you I like to, I could show you. You don't have to."

She wanted to lick my pussy, her little sister's pussy!? She had been right, just thinking about it made my thighs twitch again. She nodded just slightly and murmured: 

"I want to. Why not? You don't have to."

My thighs must have twitched again. Why not, if she wanted to, and she had said it was good? I didn't think it could be better than what you did, but if she wanted to, it would be impolite not to let her. I nodded, wondering if you would like to; yeah, a little wondering if I would like to. Oh, if I did, I wasn't going to tell you. Too late, I have already and I did. 

She did in my room. Of course it was good. You know that now. Hm-hmm! That it's good both ways, well, not like she and I know, but you know that I love it. Of course, I then wanted to do it to her. My tongue was slobbering around in my mouth, while hers was slobbering around on my pussy. You can't know how good it was then: knowing just how it felt for her where I licked. But you did it just as good without knowing. Oooh! I was aroused again, almost asked her to do it again. Hope you don't mind hearing about that. 

Anyway, I still didn't know about licking your cock. She went back to her room. Yeah, we promised to do it again. Sure, I lay in bed wondering about what we had done and liked, and wondered about licking your cock. Had she done that? She had suggested that I do it as a way to suggested that you lick my pussy. She must have! Licked it – whose! - so that it came like yours does? Did I want to do that, so that I could ask you to lick my pussy? If that's what I had to do, I thought, to give us something else to do together. I told you how good it was that you had told me about doing it with just one finger, letting me think that I could do that with my tongue. Of course, that wasn't all I then did, but I didn't know about that yet. 

Then next evening, Thursday, it was a lot like with us Tuesday morning. We knew what we wanted to do, in her bed this time. When she suggested that we both could at once, we did. Hmmm! That was good! Sometimes, when we both were licking the same place, I suddenly felt almost like I was licking my own pussy. Oh, it was good! 

Afterwards, she said that it had been like that for her too, admitting, not just with me. I couldn't tell you all this, if it hadn't been so good with you, sucking your cock and then your licking my pussy so good. It had been so good with my sister, that I was worried that it wouldn't be with you. She had said that I should lick your cock to let me suggest you could lick my pussy. Could you, as good as she did? You can, said that before. 

Anyway, after we had, worried about that, I asked her about licking you. She hummed. We were lying together like you and I do. Hmm? Wicked, incestuous sisters? Can't really be anything wrong about that. So, she hummed and then said that it wasn't just about licking your cock. Yeah, she was personally direct - "your cock" – that I should take it in my mouth and lick and suck it. 

I was shocked; I knew what would happen if I did that. Guess I said something about that. She nodded. I just had to ask if she had. She nodded again. Was I shocked, or had I expected that she had? A little – a lot – of both, but if she and her roommate did what they did, it was a little reassuring that she also wanted to do something with guys. I asked her: 

"And you let him, in your mouth?"

She nodded again, then snorted and said: 

"He loves it. Tastes really strange, especially that first time, but since he loves it so much ...."

"Real strange, tasted it once," I agreed: "little puddle in his bellybutton after I smeared the rest all over him."

"Then you know," she replied with a chuckle. 

"And you want me to do that with him?"

"Hmm! Like before, you, not I, have to want to, but he will love it, do anything you ask him to."

I was asking myself if I was willing to let you come in my mouth just so that I could ask you to lick my pussy. That's why I tasted it again on Friday. I still wasn't sure. Wasn't what we had done been good enough? Yeah, and after I had the pill for a few days, I could tell you, and we could prove that your big cock fits in my pussy. Hmm? Now you know that I want it to. But till then? Suck your cock so that you lick my pussy? 

Yeah, I told her what we did Friday, that I tasted you again. Of course, she and I had again. It was so easy and good, but also made me worry about how it would be with you. Hmm! Well, now you know that I didn't have anything to worry about, and she didn't want me to. Told her about that too. She really wanted me to think that it would be good, sucking your cock. She was right. 

Oh, she really worked at it. Sure, we hadn't just been licking, fingers too. This was going on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. Sorry, if that bothers you, just alone in your bed. Hope I made up for it this morning. After we had one night, she was describing in intimate detail how good it was to suck a cock. Hmm? It wasn't one like yours. When I had told her about sliding your skin up and down, she had sounded a little disappointed when she said that she had never had one like that. I asked: three in her pussy and two before, when she was still a virgin, two she had sucked. 

Anyway. She really wanted me to suck yours: telling me about how arousing it would be for you when I licked where I first did; and how nice it would feel to have the firm head of your cock in my mouth, how silky smooth it would be, that it would fit so well in my mouth. I already knew about 'silky smooth', seen yours all shiny, like a piece of silk with pink threads one way and blue ones the other – pink, purplish, almost iridescent. She loved that description and told me how arousing it would be for me, when I felt you cock twitch in my mouth, its telling me how aroused it was, that I would be even more aroused, when your hips twitched, that my pussy would be so aroused, going all wet, wanting your cock to be moving in it. 

She was right; it was like that. It almost was, while she was telling. She had her hand down between my thighs, when my hips twitched, well, we did it again. By now I was sure that I wanted to do it to you, but how could I start? It was just perfect, your telling about doing it with one finger!

* * *

During Peggy's telling, her hand had found my soft cock and balls, just gathering them up in her hand. Maybe she wanted to reassure me that she hadn't forgotten them during all her talk about what she and her sister had done. That hadn't been arousing for me, until her sister started telling her all about cocksucking. When my cock began to stiffen, her fingers unconsciously let my balls slip away and just held my cock. By the time she was finishing telling so much about how her sister said it would be with my cock in her mouth – just like it had been – my cock was all stiff, and her hand was gently jogging on it, down on my hair, not touch its head. 

When she stopped talking, it seemed that she first realized where her hand was, what it was doing. She snorted and murmured: 

"Oh! Hm-hmm! It wants me to again." 

"Um-hmm, and so do I," I enjoined. 

"Mmmm! Then let's, both of us, like she and I did."

We did. She couldn't lick my cock's favorite, most sensitive spot that way. When I was trying to plunge my tongue in her opening, however, I glimpsed her little asshole – sweet – letting me think that if it could stretch to let a BM pass through it, my cock could certainly fit in her pussy. She didn't have to lick my cock there for the result to be just as good as the first time, and her orgasm was also equally good. 

When we had recovered, I said: 

"Maybe I have to thank your sister for her help."

"I'll tell her," Peggy replied, snickering and adding: 

"I don't want you trying to show her how much you appreciated her help."

"Hmm? If I had been thinking that, I wouldn't have told you."

We chuckled and agreed that we had to go to the bathroom, joking that we didn't have to take a shower, that I just needed to wash my face and she, her pussy, that she had licked my cock clean. 

I can't remember if we went to the pool that day, confused by the fact that during the next weeks, we were so many time in my room and then did go to the pool or somewhere. The following week, after she had started taking the pill, of course, we really did it. Had her sister also recommended that Peggy should be on top, or did we decide that? Whatever, she was and could control how fast and how deep she wanted to let my cock go in: slowly the first time, but then all the way, her hips resting on mine. 

We couldn't do it every day, of course, but when we did, we did everything, even just with our hands. Peggy wanted to see her Epcot Center fountain again, but then didn't smear it around, licking up all the blobs. She really liked it, and then would kiss me. Of course, she also had her periods. She said that she still wanted to suck my cock, but we agree that we each got so aroused when we did it to each other that it would be unfair for her to be so aroused and not be able to let me satisfy her. 

Her sister was all in the know. Peggy said that she was a little envious of us, even though they did what they could together. She was the one who suggested that it would be suspicious if we didn't see each other at all during Peggy's periods, so we did, also, of course, not every day. 

Did we love each other? We never said so, just how much we loved what we did, and we still never kissed when we met or parted, except in the dark, when we could arouse each other with our hands. 

I guess we didn't. I hope she didn't. One day when we weren't together, I was at the mall, enjoying the air conditioning, just passing the time looking at girls in hot pants and halter tops, tank tops, blouses tied up under their breasts. Of course, I wasn't looking at their clothing, looking at legs and whatever skin I could see. Suddenly, an older girl approached me and said: 

"Aren't you Mark, Peggy's boyfriend?"

I nodded, wondering if I had been caught girl watching, then recognizing that she was Peggy's sister, whom I hadn't seen since she was a high school senior, two years older than me. 

"You must be Peggy's sister," I replied. When I said that, it all came to me a flash, maybe a flush – my cheeks. She knew all about us, everything! She nodded with a smile. What kind of a smile? A "knowing smile"? Of course she knew that I had heard about her advice, and Peggy had told her that I thought I should thank her. Did she know that Peggy had told me what they did together?

"Yeah, I am," she added to her nod, then remarking: 

"Sounds like you two really enjoy yourselves; I'm glad."

I nodded before I could reply: 

"Um-hmm, I guess you know. Er, uh, I guess we owe you a lot of thanks, uh, that I do too."

"Don't mention it; I thought it was so nice how it started, that you didn't ... well, you know."

"Hmm? Me? I was too shy."

"It didn't sound like it, well, maybe 'were'."

I shrugged with a wry expression. She nodded with slight smirk, then said: 

"Didn't sound like you were after that."

Another wry expression. Did she want to talk about it? Hadn't Peggy told her everything she could want to know. She said: 

"Maybe we shouldn't talk here; want to go somewhere? I've got the car." 

She did want to talk. Go somewhere, car? I guess I shrugged again, don't think I nodded. 

"Come on," she said, and I did, walking with her in the direction of one of the exits to the parking area, wondering if she wanted to hear my version of everything. What could she want to tell me that she hadn't heard of already? Outside in the sun and hot air, she slowed down, looking around to find the car, speaking without looking at me: 

"I guess she also told you what we do." 

She wasn't looking at me, I couldn't just nod, replying: 

"Yeah, she did, afterwards. I didn't ask her that, but, well, then she told me, sort of to explain why she wanted me to." 

Had I really said that?! She nodded before she looked at me and said: 

"I had hoped so, not that she would tell you, but that's all right. I just wanted to be sure that she wanted you to enough, well, to do what she did."

"Oh, she did," I replied more enthusiastically than I had intended, trying then to cover that by asking where the car was. She led me to it. Where were we going? Where was she taking me? 

As she unlocked the car, she looked over it at me and said: 

"I'm glad; I wanted her to like it as much as I do." 

The car didn't have central locking, I had time to think about what she had said, while she got in and reached over to unlock my door. I need the time. Sure, she had said that, of course she wanted Peggy to like it – sucking my cock – but why did she have to tell me that she liked it so much? 

I opened the car door and got in, hotter than outside. Too hot to think properly, or could I just not think properly? She started the car. 

I glanced over at her , for the first time really conscious of what she had on, a sleeveless blouse and bermudas. Was she wearing a bra? I had been training my eyes to recognize that. Her breasts were smaller than Peggy's; she could certainly get away without wearing one. Before she shifted into reverse, she glanced over at me with a slight smirk and said: 

"Yeah, I'm wearing one. I saw you girl watching before I spoke to you." 

"You don't need to," I heard myself say. Shit! How could I have said that?!

She just nodded with grin and then looked in the mirrors and backed out. When she was on the straight, she chuckled and said: 

"That didn't sound like you're still shy."

"You caught me. Didn't mean to say that."

"Just said it, too much girl watching. I won't tell her." 

At least, she was keeping her eyes on the road, didn't see me blushing. When she turned onto the street, I murmured: 

"Where we going?"

"Anywhere you want, back home if you want, but I wasn't thinking of that."

"What was that?"

She didn't immediately reply, almost looked like she could be blushing, but it was so hot that she could just have a red face. She didn't look at me, then replied: 

"Sort of told you over the top of the car." 

What had she said; that she liked to suck a cock as much as Peggy did! She wanted to go somewhere and suck my cock?! Stupid me! Maybe I wasn't now so shy, but I sure didn't think about what I was saying, the implications of what I was saying. 

"Where?" I asked. 

The implications, her inferences only popped into my head, when she finally looked over with a grin and said: 

"Not in the car."

She did want to suck my cock, and my stupid question had implied that I had understood that already and was agreed, just the stupid question of where she wanted to go to do it. She nodded and looked over again with a smile and said: 

"I was right, you're not so shy any more. I think I know a place, out of town." 

She was looking at the street again, with enough traffic, thank goodness, that she couldn't talk, and I could think, try to. I got over my shock. It was going to happen, we were going to do it. We? Did she want me to lick her pussy? Did she want to really do it, fuck? I remembered that Peggy had once said that she was a little envious about what we did. Okay. I hoped there wasn't a skid mark in my shorts. Was her pussy just like Peggy's? How could pussies differ? I had seen enough nipples in girlie magazines to know how they could. 

When we were out of town, she said that she hoped that the car blanket was in the trunk; we were going to do outside somewhere. How did she know where? She slowed down at a wooded area, apparently the wrong one; she drove to the next one and found the dirt road into it. As she slowly drove on it, she murmured: 

"We were here last summer, but he has a summer job in his college town."

That answered my question, and I guess I could have expected that explanation. She parked, out of sight of the road, and we got out. The car blanket was in the trunk. She found the clear spot and spread it out, while I was wondering how we would start, obviously not like Peggy and I had the first time. Like she and whoever had done it, but obviously not their first time together?

She looked at me, and I looked at her. At least, she also didn't quite know how to start. She smirked slightly and said: 

"Here we are. I want to. Thanks for coming along."

"I want to too," I replied, thinking that the obligatory thing to say. 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 05



I did want to, but it was all a bit too strange. She smiled and began to unbutton her blouse, remarking: "That's good." 

We took off our clothes. Her nipple were like Peggy's, just on smaller breasts. As we were taking of our underpants, I murmured: 

"He doesn't seem to have gotten the message yet."

"Oh, that's good; I like to start when he's all small. Hm-hmm! Like she told me he is." 

I remembered that Peggy had told that her sister hadn't had an uncircumcised cock. I had something new for her, but hoped that wasn't the only reason she wanted to suck my cock. 

She really, really wanted to. As soon as we were naked, she dropped to her knees and took him all in her mouth. While she fondled my balls, she sucked, and he got the message. Then she experimented with his foreskin, until it had slipped all the way back, but then she could experiment with rubbing his skin on his stiff shaft. I was kind of proud that I could let her do something she hadn't done before, also a little proud that he didn't come as soon as I expected, despite her so eager efforts, but when he did, my hips thrusting him deeper in her mouth, her moans seemed almost as loud as my groans and final grunts, when he spurted her mouth full. She moaned, wanting more. I had to hold her head still, but then suffer her tongue's touching my cock there, as it swilled my semen around in her mouth. 

Finally, she drew her head back and licked her lips and looked up at me with satisfied expression and said: 

"I told you I liked it as much as she does." 

"At least! Don't know about 'liking' but you both sure do it good."

"'Cause I told her how." 

"Just maybe, maybe you're both just natural-born talents."

"Okay, and maybe she has caught up with me on practice."

"It was just as good the first time. But now I want to see if your pussy is like hers, ... and tastes as good." 

"Please!" she demanded with a grin and dropped back where she was kneeling, drawing her thighs up and letting them flop wide open. 

I thought that seemed a little too "something," but remembered that Peggy was always aroused after sucking my cock. So of course her sister also was, and I had said the right thing, immediately telling that I wanted to lick her pussy. 

Did it look just like Peggy's? It looked like it wanted to be licked, already moist. Did it taste any different? It just tasted so good – my second pussy! Before I really got going, she said: 

"And then I'm going to stick it in and sit on you. She told me that he always wants to then." 

She was right, but her saying that let me wonder if the other guys' cock weren't after they had licked her pussy. Bad luck guys, if yours aren't, I thought, and forgot about them, as I delighted in arousing her pussy, with as much success as with Peggy. Maybe my fingers had slipped more easily in her pussy, but they made her come with as many convulsions as Peggy. After her third orgasm, I was afraid that she wouldn't want to fuck. 

But she did, only taking a couple of gasps and sighs more, before she sat up, and I lay back, my cock bobbing. She grasped it and began to move over me, muttering: 

"I sure couldn't have taught you that; no one did it that good." 

I wanted to believe that was an honest compliment, but wondered if she could have just been flattering me. Fuck! It didn't matter; she was guiding my cock into her pussy and sank down on it with a growling moan. Was it as tight as her sister's? But it could squeeze as hard. She looked down at me with a moan, and it squeezed it again. Could she make her pussy do that? When it clutched my cock a third time, and she more chuckled than moaned with a slight smirk, I thought that she must be able to do that. Then her pussy was still, and she shrugged and said: 

"You must think I'm oversexed or worse. I'm just deprived. Oh, I love what Peggy and I can do together, but knowing what she does with you was getting frustrating. Hmm? Maybe I shouldn't have told her." 

She began to twitch her hips on mine, making my cock move a little in her pussy. We both moaned. 

"Glad you did," I replied and reached up and fondled her nipples. 

She nodded, and I squeezed and twisted them, and she nodded again with encouraging moan, then murmured: 

"I know, hers are bigger, but mine are just as sensitive."

For a few seconds, her hips continued to twitch, her pussy clutching a couple of times, then she dropped down over me, demanding: 

"Suck them. We both like that, both ways." 

Had Peggy told me that they sucked each other's nipples, I asked myself, beginning to suck and nibble. 

"Harder!" she insisted, and I sucked harder, and her pussy clutched. Anything she wanted. After that nipple had had enough and then the other one had, she sat back up and began to twitch her hips again, smiling down at me. Anything she wanted; this was delightful, not too arousing, just delightfully arousing. Then she smirked and began to circle her hips on my cock – more arousing! I moaned and my cock twitched, and her pussy clutched. She grinned at her success, nodding and murmuring: "Good."

I nodded. Peggy had never done that. She kept that up for a while, making cock and pussy exchange their responses, while both of us exchanged moans. How long could my cock stand it, her pussy? Her eyes were half closed, and she had a very intense expression on her face. 

"Oh fuck!" she suddenly exclaimed and drop down over me again, murmuring: 

"I can't wait any longer." 

Her hips rose and slapped down on mine, and we fucked! I dug my heels in blanket and rocked my hips up to meet hers. Sometimes I had thought that fucking Peggy had been almost desperate; fucking her sister really was! We were both groaning and grunting from our exertion. This wasn't "making love," we only wanted our orgasms. 

I got mine, the sensations kind of lost in all the movement of our hips, but I had to continue to meet the slap of her hips down on mine. Finally, she also came – wetter slaps – and then collapsed on me, her pussy still clutching. She gasped and moaned. After several moans, she rocked her hips to extend her legs, and my cock slipped out. She snorted with a nod and lay heavy on me, our stomachs moving against each other as we recovered. 

What the fuck, I thought, so I've done it all with her sister too, and so? She had wanted it, and how! I could only hope that it had been good enough for her. 

Finally, she raised her head and shoulders and looked down at me with funny expression, then said: "Oh fuck! That was good. I needed that. Shouldn't say that, but I really wanted it."

She kissed me, not just with her lips, and my tongue was just as active. She raised her head and chuckled with wry smile and said: 

"I guess most people kiss first."

"Um-hmm, but it would have seemed a little funny."

"It sure would have; I had already told you what I wanted to do."

"Well, I figured it out."

"Didn't seem like you minded." 

"After you'd said that you like to suck my cock as much as she does?" 

"I didn't say that, hadn't yet, but I do."

We chuckled. She got off me, and we sat up. We looked at each other and both shrugged. Without the physical contact, it all seemed a little strange. I grinned and said: 

"She doesn't move her hips like you were." 

"Hmm! Hm-hmm! A girl has to have a couple of secrets!" she replied with a grin, then adding: 

"Just don't tell her that you learned from me. I'm certainly not going to tell her – not just that."

We smirked and both glanced at our clothes. We put them back on without saying anything. She shook the car blanket and folded it, and we returned to the car. When the car was back on the road, I wondered about it all, wondering how it would end. I said the practical suggestion: 

"You can drop me off somewhere I can walk home." 

She nodded, but didn't say anything. Then after a couple of minutes, without looking at me she said: "Probably shouldn't say it: I would do it again." 

She didn't look at me, and I didn't look at her. That was a lot less subtle than her saying that she liked to suck cock as much as Peggy did. It wasn't subtle at all. I remembered my stupid question in the car, and tried to sort out my thoughts and maybe my words before I said anything. 

Maybe it hadn't really been so stupid, just seemed so at the moment; we had done what she wanted, and I certainly had enjoyed it too. But do it again? I almost chuckled at the thought that I could just ask: when, where? If that had occurred to me, I obviously wasn't thinking: no, we shouldn't; no, I don't want to. A blatant lie; of course, I would like her to suck my cock again, and to lick her pussy, and have her fuck me. I said what I could have immediately said: 

"I don't know, if you want to." 

She gave me a nice smile and said: "I don't know either."

Polite of her, I thought; she had just said that she wanted to. When, where, I asked myself, thinking that if she had found me in the mall – had she been looking for me, or had it all been by chance? – then she'd find me again, if she really wanted to. Maybe her "I don't know either" wasn't just polite, maybe she had recognized that "when and where" were big questions. 

When she dropped me off, she gave me a very sweet smile and murmured: "Maybe."

We did. One morning, she called and said that Peggy and their mother were spending the day doing something and asked if she could come over. She did, and we did. Did I feel a little bad about having sex with her in my bed, where Peggy and I always did? A little, just a little. 

The other time – we only did it three times – she called and said that she had an excuse to use the car. Of course, she knew when Peggy and I weren't going to be together. Probably that time, because Peggy was having her period. I left the house and she picked me up around the corner, and we went back to where we had been the first time. 

Oh, it was good, of course, the sex, but a little forced. After we had done it all three ways, we were lying resting. Then she said that she just had to do it one more time and moved down to suck my cock. Of course, that was good, even better, because it took longer after I had already come twice, but her remark suggested that it would be the last time with us, and I didn't mind that. 

At the end of the summer, Peggy and I went our individual ways. When we parted, we did kiss, very affectionately, thanking each each other for all we had enjoyed together.



How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 06



This chapter wasn't intended, but an anonymous comment on chapter 5 asked why Mark didn't ask Peggy's sister the question: "How did you learn to love cocksucking?" That had also occurred to me while I was browsing the chapter prior to submitting it. Their relationship didn't seem to suggest that Mark would ask her. I thought that maybe after she had sucked his cock for the second time their last day together, and if they had been lying in bed recovering, he could have, but they weren't. They just got dressed and returned to town. 

I find it intriguing that chapter 4 has been been clicked on by so many fewer readers than chapter 5, but better rated. The description doesn't promise cocksucking, and there isn't any. The ratings by those who have read it show that they enjoyed the build-up, as did I, writing it. But I can understand the greater interest with cocksucking, 

Since someone else also had the idea of Mark's asking Peggy's sister about that, I have given my fantasy free rein. There is no underage sexual activity in this story. If a reader thinks so: "Honi soit qui mal y pense," ("Shamed be the person who thinks evil of it."). After rereading, revising and expanding the story, I recognize that there could be women who might take umbrage at this explanation of her love for cocksucking, maybe even that she does. I doubt, however, that they would choose to read the stories with this title. My apologies, if a woman with that attitude does.



* * *

All toddlers have an oral fixation: suckling mom's breasts, then the bottle and pacifier, their thumbs. Peggy's sister didn't just suck her thumb. Her mom had to watch out that she didn't put other things in her mouth. She really loved to suck the pistol handle cheese knife. Mom let her do that, since it was blunt and too big for her to swallow. That was after she had learned to keep lipsticks and the like out of her little daughter's sight and reach. 

She sucked her thumb longer than most kids, even after she was teased about it in first grade, then just not doing it in public. She still did, however, when she was despondent, when she was enjoying reading her first grade "Dick and Jane" book. 

(I will assume that the authors of those books didn't imagine what the title suggests in the context of this website.) 

She seldom fell asleep without her thumb in her mouth. One morning, she saw a cock for the first time, just Dad's morning woody, about level with her face. Of course, nothing happened. It looked so big, that she didn't even think about sucking; it didn't tickle her oral fixation. It did leave a lasting image in her visual memory, however. 

She had a fantastic (this is all fantasy) oral fixation; everything long and round, especially with a knob at the end, looked to her like something to suck. The pistol handle cheese knife was a prime example. Mom probably didn't know why she liked felt-tip pens and highlighters so much. She preferred to suck them with the cap end in her mouth, so her tongue could lick around the clip. Once, she was doing that with her fountain pen, twisting it with her hand, and suddenly the cap came off. She almost swallowed it and was more careful after that. 

Then she was old enough that Mom had to tell her about the birds and the bees; not enough (why she later told Peggy more than either of them had heard from their mother). She suddenly remembered having seen Dad's cock, envisioning that it had grown with her, twice as big as it had been, when she was half the size she was. To explain that, although it wasn't her thought back then or later, that her fingers still couldn't reach around it. Of course, she knew it couldn't be that big, but her childhood image of it stuck in her visual memory, much too big to do what she thought Mom had been talking about, and much too big to want to suck; it was just similar to the things she had liked to suck. 

She hadn't sucked her thumb for years, but when she discovered what all girls eventually discover feels good, she started sucking it again, with more relish, her tongue rubbing everywhere it could. By then, she had revised her image of the size of a cock – not her Dad's, any cock, all of them – to something that might fit, now through girl-talk understanding what her mom had been talking about. That was much more interesting to speculate about; a cock wasn't something to be sucked, even if it was shaped liked that. 

And then – but then! – she saw her first one freshman year in college. They had gotten that far, and he was fumbling to get a rubber out of its wrapping. She stared at his bobbing cock, and suddenly it all came back to her in a flash – overcame her: something to suck, not too big to put in her mouth, so nice and round with an almost shiny knob! 

Before he could say "What the fuck!" it was in her mouth. No tentative licking, her lips slipped around it, and her tongue found where it had unknowingly been practicing on the clips of her felt tips. He did then say that, said it again, just a few seconds before he came. 

She knew enough to expect that. Sure, it tasted very strange, but sucking a cock was so much better that anything she had ever sucked before. This was it! This was what she had subconsciously always wanted to suck, and she continued to enjoy the ultimate realization her oral fixation. 

He groaned and complained, wanting her to stop, but she just couldn't. Then he repeated his words in a resigned tone and let her. She finally drew her head back after his second orgasm. She licked her lips, now embarrassed that she had so spontaneously surprised him, but then was aware that her pussy was aroused like it never had been before without her rubbing it. 

When she told him that she still wanted to fuck – without using that word – he was then embarrassed. He looked at his sagging cock and murmured that he couldn't. She wanted it, needed it, and sucked it again with delight. He was surprised: three different ways; that she had openly said that she wanted to; that she had then started to suck his cock again; and that she apparently thought it could want to after two orgasms. As his surprise about her again sucking it faded, he was still surprised that she had so openly insisted that she wanted to fuck, then wondering if she had more experience, if she knew that his cock could want to after two such good orgasms. 

When they had taken off most of each other's clothes, they had both admitted that it would be their first time. He couldn't know that sucking his cock and feeling him come in her mouth had made her pussy so aroused. When his cock twitched in her mouth, he forgot his questions about her experience and whether his cock could want to. Her pussy was again aroused, when she looked up at him triumphantly and told him that she still wanted to and that he now could. He didn't say it again – "What the fuck!" – just thought it, and they did.

It was, of course, much, much better than it would have been, if she hadn't sucked his cock, since it took so long and also satisfied her. Afterwards, they were both very pleased with themselves and each other, admitting that they had heard about bad first times, agreeing that theirs had been so much better.

(Don't expect him to ask the question. Poor guy, lucky as he was, for the next fifty years, his sex life was disappointed by the hope he would find a woman who was so eager to suck his cock.) 

She thought that she should love him, since they were having sex every Saturday evening, but she wanted to see another cock. At least, that was the way she thought about it to herself, telling herself that she was just curious to "see" another one, wondering if all cocks looked the same, wondering how they could differ. 

In one lecture course, she usually sat in the same seat, as did others, also the student who usually sat next to her. She realized that she had started to suck on her pencil, when she wasn't taking notes. Then she noticed that he was doodling in the margin of his notebook, sketching something that looked like the mushroom cloud of an atomic explosion. That related vaguely to the subject of the course. During the next lecture, she sketched her version of that and stuck her pencil in her mouth. 

He noticed and drew something that looked more like a mushroom, one with a flat top. She drew one with a more domed cap and a slender stem. 

This was going on between taking notes. At the end of the lecture, he quickly drew one like hers but with a thicker stem. At the next lecture, he surprised her by drawing three circles in a triangle, the one at the top larger than the other two. When he added mouth and eyes in the top circle, she reached over and put dots in the middle of the lower circles. They both chuckled silently. She drew another mushroom, this time with a thick stem and almost round cap. The lecture ended. As they were gathering up their books, they both smirked. They had never spoken to each other, didn't know each other's name.  

At the next lecture, although they had both started a new page for their notes, they slid them back to see their previous drawings, then silently chuckling again. When she drew three circles, he drew her mushroom with its round cap. Before she could add eyes and mouth, he reached over and put dots in the lower circles. She felt her nipples pop out. She reached over and added an inverted V to the bottom of the circle that was the cap of his mushroom. When she then drew a light line down from the vertex of the V, he hummed softly. Her thighs twitched, when she realized what she had done. He hummed again and added a vertical line below the three circles of his previous drawing. 

Her thighs twitched together again, and she nodded with a hum. They glanced at each other, shrugging but smiling. Their notes for that lecture were rudimentary. 

Two-timing, while she was sucking and fucking every Saturday would be a problem. She didn't really want to two-time, she told herself – just see another cock. 

Their notes for the following lecture were just as poor. When they looked at their sketches, she drew hips around the line he had added below the circles that she had drawn. With a silent chuckle, he reached over and added a slightly curved line to his first one. She hummed and added a tongue to the smile in the top circle. He hummed with a nod and then added some squiggles at the base of the mushroom that she had enhanced with the inverted V. They both more moaned than hummed, almost inaudibly, of course.

When he reached under his note book and fumbled, she smirked to herself and reached over and added two connected curved lines under his squiggles, an inverted MacDonald's sign. He nodded, fumbling some more in his lap, and her thighs twitched. That lecture also ended, but they smirked at each other as they stood up. 

At the next lecture, when they sat down together, they grinned and nodded and opened their notebooks. He shrugged with a smirk and drew an arrow from the "mushroom" in his book in the direction of hers. She grinned back and drew an arrow back, first one from where he had drawn two lines, then with a silent snicker from the face with a tongue. 

He almost snickered out loud. The lecture started. Between taking notes, he wrote in the margin: "S M T W T F S," and crossed out the last S. She nodded and also crossed it out, and they exchanged slight nods. His pencil pointed at one of the other weekdays, and then he drew a little clock face.  She nodded, then shaking her head at where his pencil pointed. It moved to the next day of the week. She thought a moment, and wrote a time on the margin of her notebook. He shook his head, and his pencil moved to the next day. She shook her head again. He shrugged, and his pencil moved further. She nodded and wrote a time. He hummed, and his other hand disappeared under his notebook. Her thighs twitched. He nodded, and she did again. 

She blushed at the realization they were agreeing on a rendezvous – or was it an assignation, a tryst? – without having exchanged a word, without even knowing each other's name, and not just for a date! His putting his hand under his notebook made it clear that he thought it was about what their sketches suggested. Her thighs twitched again. Did he have to notice so pointedly with an "um-hmm"? 

Her notes for that lecture were useless. When they closed their notebooks, they both held them for a moment so that the other could see their name, and he ran his finger under his campus address. 

So, they were going to do it in his room, she thought, nodding slightly. 

Their rendezvous was the following week. She remembered that he had immediately crossed out Saturday and that she then also had. Did he also have a regular date, and one like hers? This was too wicked! Was it better or worse that they both knew Saturday was scratched through? She rationalized that it was better, that whatever they did was just that, not more. But wasn't that really wicked?! What would his cock look like? What would it be like when they met at the next lecture, before the day they had agreed on? 

He smiled at her when he sat down. She smiled back, feeling that she was blushing. He opened his notebook to fresh page and wrote a question mark in the margin. She wrote one in her notebook. He looked at his and held his pencil over it, moving it to suggest he could cross it out. She shook her head and made a fat exclamation mark of hers, making a circle of the dot. She was really blushing, but thinking that if had gotten this far, and if he wanted to, why not, then realizing that he couldn't know that she just wanted to see his cock. If he let her see it like she wanted to see it, he was going to expect they would do more, and she had virtually committed herself to. Her thighs twitched. He was also revising his question mark to a fat exclamation mark, and worse, adding a small circle at the top so that it looked like that mushroom. 

Yeah, they were going to do it, she thought; it was going to be even more embarrassing to back out now. She drew two circles above her exclamation mark and put dots in the middle of them, and looked over at him. He nodded with a slight smirk and reached over and added hips around her exclamation mark. It suddenly didn't look like one any more. She wondered if the little circle at the bottom was supposed to represent her asshole.  

He wrote another question mark. She reached over and crossed it out, thinking: now or never; you wanted to see it, he wants to let you. He turned up the cover of her notebook and looked at her campus address, then wrote below their sketch a time fifteen minutes earlier than the time they had agreed. She nodded with a smile – and rosy cheeks – and her thighs twitched again. 

Before that time, washing her pussy, she considered that she could still back out, wondering what he would say when he met her. They would finally have to speak to each other.

He greeted her by name, looking a little embarrassed, and she greeted him by name, also looking a little embarrassed. They started walking, then he murmured: 

"I don't know if we should do this."

"I don't either, but, well, it seemed like we both wanted to."

He nodded with a shrug and admitted: 

"Yes, it did. Hmm? Funny, well sort of, flirting without words."

"Um-hmm, funny. We sure were flirting."

"For a couple of weeks."

"Longer than, well, some couples do – just flirt."

"That makes it sound better? We still don't have to; I can take you for a cup of coffee or something." 

"If you don't want to, but I was thinking we did."

"I was too, but .... Oh, this is too funny!" 

"It is!" she agreed, and they both chuckled, almost laughing. 

They walked on, both seeming more relaxed, she felt. To say something, she said: 

"We both crossed out Saturday."

"Hmm?! Um-hmm," he agreed with a nod, looking a little embarrassed again. 

"For the same reason? Like this?" she asked.

"Why we shouldn't – I, at least," he replied looking over at her questioningly. 

"Me too, 'like this', but when we were flirting, that didn't seem to bother either of us."

"It didn't, but did you think it would get this far?"

"No, but I began to like that it did. Oh, after the last lecture, it really hit me, what we were agreeing to. A rendezvous, assignation, the words popped in my head, also a tryst." 

"Hm-hmm! More like a tryst, sounds more surreptitious." 

"I guess that's the right word for it, a surreptitious tryst."

"If we call it surreptitious, then the other words are just as good."

"Um-hmm," she agreed, chuckling and smiling at him. 

They walked on, having passed where they could have turned to the shops for coffee. She chuckled softly and said: 

"I like that, 'surreptitious'. Isn't that what we were assuming, when we crossed of Saturday?"

"I guess so, not sure I was thinking so much." 

"Just flirting, like we never could have with words."

"Not in a lecture hall!"

"Oooh! I don't know what I could have said, would have dared to say, that our doodling suggested."

"I don't either! Oh, it was fun, not just funny."

"I thought so too," she agreed. 

When their hands brushed, she took his. He squeezed it, and they walked the last bit to where his room was, exchanging clasps. 

"We're going to do it!" she thought, wondering what he thought they were going to do. The obvious, of course, but what had he thought, when she had added that line from the face on her notebook in the direction of the "mushroom" in his? Had she really done that, suggesting to him, admitting to herself that she didn't just want to see his cock?  What would it look like? 

At the door to his building, she squeezed his hand. He looked at her, and she nodded. He clasped her hand and and opened the door and led her to his room. When he had closed the door, they looked at each other with quizzical expressions. She glanced around, taking in his bed and desk, then laughed nervously and said: 

"You want to know how this all really started? I wanted to see another one, see if they all looked the same." 

He laughed, maybe less nervously, and replied: 

"They don't, not in the locker room, anyway, and – shouldn't assume anything – but I haven't seen any of them like that – like you probably mean." 

"Just one," she replied with a nod, staring at his crotch. 

"If you just want to see it?" 

"Probably not," she replied and crossed her arms to pull up her sweater. 

"More like in the locker room," he murmured and found his belt buckle. 

They both shrugged with wry smiles and a chuckle. When he began to unbuckle his pants, her hands didn't pull up her sweater, grasping her skirt and twisting it around, so that she could unzip it. They stumbled out of their shoes and stepped out of their lower clothing. His shirt still hid his shorts from her view. When she then pulled up her sweater, he began to unbutton his shirt. When she could look again, she saw that his cock was only swollen in his jockey shorts.  

"Locker room," she murmured with a smirk. 

"Not quite, any more," he replied. 

"That's good," she remarked, reaching back to unhook her bra.

As she let the straps slip off her shoulders, she added: 

"Also 'not quite', definitely not," and her bra slid down, revealing her aroused nipples. 

He hummed with a nod. His shirt and her bra landed somewhere. She thought his cock was even more swollen, liking that it was. They looked at each other. She held her breasts, not covering her erect nipples. He hummed again. She saw that his cock was wanting to escape being down in his shorts. She murmured: 

"Looks like I maybe could just see it, ... to find out."

Her hands slid down and twitched at the elastic of her panties. His also did, as he replied: 

"I'm pretty sure," he agreed. 

When she began to shove down her panties, he shoved down his shorts. Before his cock was free to spring up, she murmured: 




How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 06



"But probably I won't – just want to see it." 

Her panties slid down past her hips and down over her pubic hair. She was staring, seeing his pubic hair appear, and then his cock sprang out. 

She moaned – another cock! But already so aroused; she had been hoping that it wouldn't yet be, that she would have an excuse to suck it. Their underpants dropped. His cock bobbed. Its head was even rounder than that of the other one, which she had thought was perfect. She moaned again; she had to suck it! She murmured: "I don't just want to see it," and dropped to her knees. 

She had more experience now and reached up and jostled his balls, as she licked her lips. Then they slipped around the so nice round head of his cock. He gasped and moaned and murmured: 

"I guess you don't," and then moaned; her tongue was already caressing his cock where it was most sensitive. 

She loved it; a cock couldn't be nicer than this one, she thought, hoping that his experience Saturdays would allow her to suck it for longer than that first time. Her Saturday friend now didn't come so quickly, letting them both enjoy it for longer. He moaned and murmured: 

"She never did that."

Peggy's sister nodded, very pleased, and jostled his balls, pleased that his sack was still loose. She had learned that her friend wouldn't come as long as his stayed that way. She closed her fingers around his balls, hoping she could delay his sack from drawing up, and moaned in pleasure at feeling his cock with her caressing tongue and feeling it move in her mouth, as she slowly bobbed her head. She loved to feel it twitch, telling her that it also loved what she was doing. 

He moaned, and she moaned, several times each, but then his sack began to draw up. He moaned louder and asked: "You really want to?" 

She nodded and sucked a little harder and licked even faster. He gasped and groaned and came. She nodded with a moan, counting the number of times his cock spurted in her mouth. Five, for sure, maybe six, or didn't its dribbling on her tongue count as a spurt? At least as much as her friend, and it tasted about the same. How else? 

He didn't let her continue. With his hands on her cheeks, he held her head and drew his cock out of her mouth. She was still sucking. Her lips slipped in and then out of his groove and then back over the head of his cock. He sighed with a moan and said: 

"Your friend is very lucky."

"I am too," she murmured.

"Hmm? I guess so. I didn't really believe that line from the face that you drew."

She looked up at him, licking her lips with a smile, shrugging, then saying: 

"Now you do. Guess you know how much I like it."

"Not more than I did. ... Uh, want me to do it to you? I never have, but wanted to. She didn't want me to." 

"Mmmm! He hasn't either. Hmm? Maybe if I asked him. If you want to." 

He did, much to her delight – and his. She wondered if his cock would be aroused, like her pussy was when he had come in her mouth.  It was, and they fucked. It was his suggestion that she sit on him. 

She and her friend had done it that way, but it was with her tryst partner that she learned to circle her hips on his cock, not that first time. They continued their surreptitious, clandestine meetings, which seldom lasted more than hour, hours of intense sexual gratification. 

Her oral fixation got new impetus and satisfaction with her roommate sophomore year, as mentioned in an earlier chapter. Her roommate also liked cock-shaped things, but not attached to a male, just licking her dildo before she used it.

By then, Peggy's sister had vaguely connected her love for cocksucking and pussylicking with her earlier oral pleasures. Her senior year, she took a course that had reading about oral fixation and was relieved to discover that she wasn't unique.

If this were a fairytale, it would end: And if she hasn't died, she still is sucking cocks.

* * *

This is just a male's fantasy, like the whole series. I hope, nonetheless, that female readers will enjoy it.  



How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio?



"How did you learn to love cocksucking?"  

She blushed deeply with frown. I had said something very wrong – stupid youngster! She was the first girl to suck my cock, only the third girl I had slept with. But she had done it so good! And it had been her initiative. It couldn't have been her first time. I would never have asked her to, so she must love to do it. How could I have been so tactless to ask?! 

She was still frowning, stuck her tongue out at me. I deserved that, but tried to disarm my question, remarking: 

"I know how good you do it; love it. Sorry for my question." 

"Shouldn't have asked then, she replied, her blush fading. 

"Too late, I know," I answered, then adding: 

"But I know you do."

She nodded, involuntarily I thought. She had a funny expression on her face. After a few moments, she murmured: 

"I do, but I shouldn't tell you."

"If it wasn't good; sorry that I asked."

"Oh, it was, but I shouldn't tell you."

"Then don't. Sorry – again – for having asked."

She nodded again and was silent, then a smile playing on her lips. I waited, terribly curious. Then she murmured: 

"Oh, it was good. You're right, I love to, but I shouldn't tell you."

Just "shouldn't tell"? She could, might? She had made it sound more interesting than a blunt answer to my so tactless question. After a long, silent pause, she sniffed and murmured: 

"Oh, it was good, but all wrong, with him."

"Then don't tell me."

"But one wants to tell someone. You're not going to criticize me – us?" 

I shook my head, very wondering about her last remark. Why could or should I criticize her – them – for what they had done, if I liked it so much. It had been much better than with those other two girls, probably my own fault. 

"Don't say anything!" she insisted.  

I nodded again. She was going to tell. She scowled and said: 

"You'd better not!"

I nodded again, confirming: "I won't, doesn't matter with whom."

She nodded and muttered: "I hope so, my father." 

I caught my breath, hoping my expression just seemed sympathetic, now understanding her hesitancy, but it had been so good with her father, that she wanted to tell someone. I would also have, tell someone how good she had sucked my cock. She snorted with a wry smile and started her story.

* * *

I shouldn't tell anyone. When Mom told me how babies were made, long before my first period, the next Sunday, or was it a week later? Anyway, Sunday mornings we had breakfast in pajamas, and then Mom went to church. She was on the church council, RC, not like Dad and me. 

Yeah, so Dad and I were in the kitchen like that, and I said: 

"Mom told me about babies. Can I see?"

I didn't think my question was anything funny. Maybe he did: he sort of smiled and said that he guessed I could. For sure, he understood, just standing up and letting his PJ bottom drop. It didn't look like anything I had anticipated from Mom's embarrassing lecture. It couldn't stick in anywhere. I stared. He smiled slightly, when my eyes glanced up at his face. He didn't seem to mind my looking. But then it moved. That was interesting, that it could. He shrugged, and I watched it grow, longer and thicker. If I had understood Mom correctly, nothing like that could fit between my thighs, where she had said it could. Maybe Dad's was now bigger than when they had made me, but still, it wasn't just bigger, beginning to stand up. Well, that looked more like how Mom had told it would be, but not where I had understood she said it would be. 

Dad looked a little funny about my staring at it, but didn't say anything. Then I asked: 

"May I touch it?" 

I remember saying 'may' instead of 'can'. I was looking up at him, but thought it twitched. He shook his head and replied: 

"When you're a big girl, if you still want to, eighteen."

I nodded and looked down at it again, wondering if I would remember how it looked. 

So then I was eighteen. Don't think I remembered how it looked, but I remembered what he had said. Till then, I had sort of forgotten about all that, maybe also because I was in a girls school, no guys to remind me about how babies are made. 

Anyway, there he and I were again, after Mom went to church. My birthday party had been all about becoming an adult, his "big girl." That expression had fallen a couple of times, his saying: 

"Now you're a big girl." 

Only that Sunday after my birthday, did it occur to me that he could be remembering what he had said years before. I did, and there we were again in the kitchen, Mom off to church. Did I dare ask him again, and really ask him if I could touch it?! We smiled across the table. I murmured: 

"I'm eighteen now." 

"I know, kind of hard not to see." 

My nipples popped out under my top, now a shorty nightgown instead of the PJs I wore as a kid. I gathered up my courage and said: 

"You said I could see again."

He smirked slightly and replied: 

"Guess I did. Sort of thought that – well – maybe you didn't have to now."

"Daddy!" I replied, blushing at his suggestion that I could have seen a boy's cock. 

Did he really think I could have done that much with one? He shrugged and replied: 

"Seen it before, not much difference." 

He stood up and let his bottom fall again, across the table from me. Yeah, like I remembered, except that it wasn't as small as it had been at first back then; but that didn't seem to bother him, nor my staring at it. Shit! Did he see that my nipples had popped out? If he was letting me see his cock, I guessed that was only fair, kind of liking that he could, wondering if he had been able to see them before, had wanted to, want now to really see them? Did I want him to?! 

Oooh! His cock wagged, now really standing up. Did it want me to touch it? Had he made it wag, wanting me to? I wanted to. Without glancing up at his face, still staring at it, I murmured: 

"You said I could touch it now."

"Did I? I guess so, but I'm not so sure now."

"You said so; why not?" 

I was still staring at it, seeing it twitch. He murmured: 

"Didn't know back then that you were going to be so grown up."

"But you said so. I want to." 

His cock was bobbing at me across the table. What was going to happen, if he let me touch it? 

"Want to let me see you too?" he murmured. 

Anything, if he let me touch it. I gathered up my shorty and pulled it up, hearing him hum, as it slid up past my breasts, feeling it flip my tight nipples. He was really going to get to see them! When my head slipped out of my shorty, he was staring at my breasts, and his cock was twitching, now even higher. He couldn't be more aroused than I was, I was thinking, but enjoying the feeling. 

He sighed with a hum and murmured: 

"Like your Mom's twenty years ago." 

Had his bobbing cock been like that twenty years ago? Probably, must have been; they had made me, and now I could imagine that it could fit, where two of my fingers did. I still wanted to touch it, more than before, but it was on the other side of the table.  We managed to look up at each other, and I managed to ask: 

"Are you going to let me touch it now?"

"I shouldn't," he murmured, but moved to the end of the table. I didn't dare to look at his face, as I moved to join him. I guess my hand was already extended. What was I going to do: touch it and make it wag even more; holding it, slip my fingers around it? It was so big and stiff. I stared at it. It looked so lovely; its round knob now so shiny and light purplish-pink.  I just stared, watching it twitch slightly up and down. He murmured: 

"You said you wanted to touch it." 

Did he really want me to now? I had too, had told him that I wanted to. I brushed my fingers against it, pushing to it to the side, then watching it spring back – and twitch higher once. It sounded like he almost chuckled. I did that again, pressing it further to the side and watching it spring back again. This time he did chuckle, and I did, glancing up at his face. He was smiling slightly. If he had said that he shouldn't let me touch it, he apparently didn't really mind that I had. 

I did that with my other hand, pushing it to the other side, with the same result and eliciting another chuckle. He really didn't mind, not at all; he murmured: "Having fun?" 

I just nodded. I wanted to see it closer up. I murmured: 

"Want to see it close up," and dropped to my knees.

It twitched up higher again. Oh, and his balls – I knew that much about male physiology – hanging down below his cock, and the back of his knob – funny, how the groove around it came up and the little ridge of skin. It almost looked like it wanted to be tickled. But first his balls: 

"Can I touch them too?"

"I guess so, if you want, may as well." 

Oooh! Nice, my fingers could move them. I watched them tap them from behind, each of them moving. He chuckled again. What did it feel like for him? He certainly wasn't objecting to my playing. Would he, if I held his cock? I warned him: "Want to hold it." 

It twitched up again, but he only snorted. My fingers slipped around it – so nice and firm – and it twitched again. Suddenly, I thought that it reminded me of the handle of my tennis racket, and chuckled. He also chuckled, and it twitched again in my hand. If he had also chuckled, I could tell him why I had: 

"Feels sort of like the handle of my tennis racket."

"Hmm! Never thought of that; I guess it does."

He also played tennis. Then he really chuckled, almost laughing, and said: 

"Maybe that's why girls like to play tennis." 

"I will, now," I replied, and we both laughed, looking at each other. 

Was he enjoying this as much as I was? Why not? I looked back down at his cock in my hand, seeing again the funny place behind its knob. It really did look like it should be tickled. Oooh! My tongue was twitching between my lips. Yeah, it looked just right to be tickled with the tip of my tongue. I glanced up at him again and murmured: 

"I almost wanted to lick it there, tickle it."

"Oooh! There?" 

"That funny place."

"It is ticklish, very, but maybe you shouldn't do that." 

Just 'maybe'? He had said that he shouldn't let me touch him, but he had had let me and enjoyed it, chuckling and laughing with me. I hummed with a grin and asked: 

"But if I did?" 

"You shouldn't." 

I looked back down. That wasn't saying that I couldn't, that he wouldn't let me, and his cock had twitched a couple of times more in my hand. I didn't want to do anything to make him say no and ruin my fun, but I wanted to know what would happen if I did tickle it, suddenly thinking that I couldn't be the only person who had had the idea. His cock twitched again. Without looking up, I asked: 

"Do you think anyone does that, wants to lick it there?"

He hummed, after a long pause replying: 

"Yes."

"Really?" 

"Um-hmm." 

"Hmm? Then it must feel good?"

"It does, anything there does."

"Oh, arousing?"

"Shouldn't tell you, but, yes."

"You know?"

There was another pause, before he responded: 

"Um-hmm." 

"You know; does Mom?"

"Hm-umm." 

He knew, but Mom didn't do it; someone else must have! It had never occurred to me that he had a girlfriend before Mom, and one that licked his cock! Well, at least tickled it there. They must have done everything else, if she did that. And he had said that it felt good, arousing, but Mom didn't do it. Why not? If it felt good, that must be a little disappointing for him. 

"Pity," I murmured. 

"Um-hmm," he agreed softly. 

"Why not?"

"She thinks it's only for procreation, you know, the church."

I don't know what answer I had been expecting, not that one, but it was good. Of course, he wasn't going to tell me anything about their love life, and the discussion was getting too ticklish – just not my wanting to tickle that place on his cock. It seemed less stiff in my hand. I looked up at him with grin and replied: 

"Then I should have lots of sibling." 

"Um-hmm, but, well, you could have; she's not quite that good of a Catholic." 

"Pity," I replied with a grin, liking this new topic, adding: 

"Would have been nice to have an older brother." 

He chuckled with a nod, then replied: 

"But then you probably wouldn't have had to wait to ask me." 

"Hadn't thought of that," I agreed with a grin, squeezing his softening cock, then adding: 

"But he probably couldn't have told me that." 

"Oh, he could have told you where it's ticklish; all boys discover that."

"Like girls do." 

"I didn't ask," he replied with a smile and shrug. 

"But we do too. But he couldn't have told me ... well, about licking."

"I hope not. I shouldn't have, either."

"You didn't, I just asked."

"Too much." 

"Whom else could I?" 

"Hmm? Yeah, I guess. If you asked your mother, you would have gotten different answers."

"And she couldn't let me touch you."

"No! Glad it's not so aroused any more."

"I'm not; I liked it the way it was. 

His knob had lost its shine and nice purplish-pink, but I was still holding his cock and wanted to

return to our discussion of it. Without looking up from it, I murmured: 

"So Mom doesn't, but, well, .... Hmmm! Someone must have; never thought about the fact that you could have had girlfriends before her."  

"Only a couple – that good. Oooh! Shouldn't have said that!"

"But you did – 'that good' – that, well, tickled you like that?"

"Too late to deny it."

"With their tongue?"

"Only one of them."

His cock was feeling firmer in my hand. Unconsciously, I jogged my hand on it. It was even firmer. I replied: 

"I like that, that she also felt like I do."

"Hmm?! I'm not sure you should, at least not with me – this way."

His cock was nice and stiff again. He didn't mind that I thought I would like to lick it. And I had learned that he was unlikely really to say no. He still could – if he wanted to. I murmured: 

"I want to, anyway." 

His cock twitched. His knob was all shiny again. He didn't say anything. I licked. His cock twitch stronger than ever before. He almost groaned. I licked again. That funny place felt delightful on the tip of my tongue. I had to hold his twitching cock to lick there again. He groaned again and murmured: "You shouldn't." 

I knew now that that just meant that I could, that he wasn't going to stop me, but what was going to happen, when I continued? I did, and he just groaned, and then I felt a drop of liquid ooze down on my tongue. It tasted good, salty. Was that it? 

"Stop!" he demanded. 

Reluctantly, I did, raising my head and seeing clear liquid oozing out of his little slit. I couldn't resist licking it up. He groaned again, and more oozed out. I had to lick that up too. She must have also liked that; why didn't my mother? 

"You shouldn't be doing this," he murmured. 

That "shouldn't" again, and "be doing this," not "shouldn't have done that." He wasn't saying – couldn't insist – that he didn't want me to do more. What? Had that girl done something else – this way?  Why shouldn't I, if he had liked whatever she had done so much, and Mom didn't do it? 

"You shouldn't be doing this," he repeated. 

"I wanted to, I want to, it was so good."

"Almost too good." 

"That tasted good." 

"But it wouldn't have, if you had done more."

"Oh? That wasn't 'it'?"

"Hm-umm."

"That doesn't taste as good?" 

"Why your Mom doesn't do it."

"But she did, that girlfriend?" 

"Um-hmm, said it taste real strange, but she did it."

"She didn't have to taste it – well, not much – licking like I was." 

"She didn't just lick." 

"Oh?" I murmured, and a light went on: she must have had his cock in her mouth. 

"'Didn't just lick'?" I asked: "It in her mouth?"

"Um-hmm," he responded very softly. 

"And that was good?"

"Too good." 

"Better than ...? No, but so good?" 

"Almost 'better than'."

"And Mom doesn't do it. I want to. If she did, and you said that, I want to. I will." 

He just moaned, as his cock twitched. He was going to let me! Should I have said "I shall," instead of "I will," I had already said that I wanted to, volition. My tongue was already lapping up that nice, ticklish place, finding more nice salty liquid that had oozed out, while we had been talking. He just moaned; he was going to let me do anything I wanted to. I pulled his cock forward, and my lips slipped down around his knob. 

It felt so nice in my mouth; why hadn't I immediately wanted to do this? And my tongue could still lick where his cock was so ticklish, and now its twitches couldn't escape my tongue. Why didn't Mom want to do this; it was so delightful! Oooh! And arousing for me too; my pussy felt like it did, when I started to rub it. And he was moaning. I loved it, the sensations and knowing he liked what I was doing. 

"Suck," he murmured. 

I did, rejoicing that he was past worrying about "shouldn't." He wanted me to; I should! What was going to happen? What was it going to taste like? She had said it tasted real strange, but if she had liked it; I would. 

He was groaning, his hips trying to thrust his cock deeper in my mouth. Boys' hips must move like that when they were about to come, not that I had ever thought about that before. How was it going to taste? 

He grunted, and his cock thrust deeper in my mouth, so deep that I involuntarily swallowed, just aware that a spurt of liquid had shot deep in my throat, but then I tasted it, when his cock spurted again and again, not so strongly.  Yeah, it tasted real strange, but I had wanted it; I did want it! 

He was gasping and sighing, my Daddy! I had done something so good for him, something Mom didn't do! He must love that I had, love that he had let me, as much as I loved that he had.   

* * * 

She snorted, barely smiling after her so heartfelt last sentence. I didn't know what to say, nothing about her having done it with her father. I could so well understand his compliance; I knew how irresistible her desire to suck my cock was, and now understood it even better. Lucky father! Lucky me! And anyone in between? Lucky him, if there was one. I replied: 

"That was too good."

"Um-hmm, she agreed, adding then: 

"It was. Hm-hmm! I liked that you asked. Well, not at first, but then I wanted to tell someone, it was just so good, have to tell someone."

"Mmmm! Guess you can't tell him how much I appreciate that he let you." 

She smirked, then replied: 

"Not sure I should."

"Hmm? Sounds like what he said."

"I guess so. I could, maybe. That was only the first time. After that, we didn't have to talk. Well, we did the next Sunday, his telling me what he did with her and then doing it with me."

"Hmm! And now I know why you like that too."

She grinned and replied: 

"You do it as good as he does."

"He 'does'?!" 

"Oooh! Sorry. Yeah, why he doesn't like me to have dates Saturday night."

"Oh?! But doesn't mind ones Friday night, tonight?

"Maybe, but when Mom closes the front door, we forget about that."

"Every Sunday morning?"

When I don't have my period, then I do it to him twice."

"Lucky Pops!" 

"Um-hmm, but most other Sundays we both do it twice."

"And nothing else? Shouldn't have asked. 

"No. We talked about that, you know, incest, but we don't do that."

"Sounded like he likes what you do even better."

"He said that too. Don't know if it's true. Especially not after being with you, and what he does is just as good. Oh, well, just almost."

"And what you do isn't 'just almost'." 

"I love it!"