8 comments/ 47164 views/ 21 favorites Pussy Charming Pt. 01 By: PusseeCharming My cock sounded a bit like Samuel L. Jackson! I'd better explain that. The last thing I remembered before waking up was the tow truck swerving into my path, and then nothing else until I heard the nurse gently calling my name, "James ... James, can you open your eyes again for me?" I did as she asked, and everything was blurry, and for a long time it seemed as if her voice was coming to me from a long way away. "James, I don't want you to try to talk yet. You've been in an accident, on your motorbike. Don't worry if you don't remember anything just yet, your memory will start to come back. You've been asleep for a long time. But don't worry, you're going to be alright. You just get lots and lots of sleep, alright?" The blurry blue shape in front of me, which I assumed was the nurse, moved further away, and then there was the sound of a door clicking shut, what sounded like miles away. For a moment there was silence, and then much, much closer, a voice, which said, in a deep, American Southern accent, "Hell, I thought she'd never go! Well, lookee here! Seems like Sleeping Beauty just gone woke up!" I could hardly move my head, but I managed to turn slightly right, then slightly left. My eyesight had cleared a little, enough for me to see that there was nobody else in the room. "No good looking up there, boy. You getting' colder all the time." "What ... " and you have to understand that it was very difficult for me to find the words to say, and even more difficult to get my lips and tongue to make the right sounds, "wh ... who are you?" The voice, when it replied, sounded really rather pissed off, "Well, what the hell do you think I am? I'm your cock, you dipshit! " The effort of making even this little conversation proved too much. I don't know whether I fainted, or just fell asleep. Whatever the case, though, I didn't wake up for hours. I was awoken by the sound of someone, or something, shouting, "Hey, asshole, wake your sorry ass the hell up!" "Wha... " "Cut the jive, man! Call the nurse and get these tubes the hell out of my mouth. I wanna proper piss now that you're back in the land of the living. Push the button in your hand." Somehow I found the energy to do what he ... it told me. The Nurse came, and I told her I needed to pee... well, I tried to tell her. She said that I was better leaving the catheter in, but somehow I found the words to tell her that if she didn't remove it, then I would. Right at that moment I had no idea where those words came from. I found out soon enough. She looked highly disapproving, but in the end agreed to remove it. I was so little in control of my body at the time that I hardly felt anything, but as she pulled out the offending tubes I could have sworn that I heard an American voice screaming. The nurse clearly didn't hear anything though. After she'd helped me take care of emptying my bladder, the Nurse, who I could see clearly from her name tag was called Elaine, helped me back into bed, and warned me to try to get back to sleep. As soon as she left my room, that damned voice began talking again, and this time the voice sounded even deeper, and much, much clearer than before. "Well, now, ain't that a lot better now, boy? " "I don't ... " "No you don't, but you better believe me, you gonna from now on. One hell of a lot." "What?" "For chrissakes! Oh, well, since we ain't going nowhere for the time being, I suppose that I'd better fill you in. Right - you - we - been in a motor vehicle accident. You an that damn bike, we was slammed into the road by some dipshit driver of a towtruck. You been in a coma, man. Six weeks! Six weeks I been sitting here, filling our ballsack, waiting for you to come round - " " - so you're my cock?" "Damn straight. " "You're my talking cock?" "Hell, don't act so surprised, boy. All cocks can talk. It's just that you can't hear us. But you listen all the same. When I'm hard, you're listening - you know what I'm talking about." Maybe it was the painkilling drugs that I later learned they were keeping me on at the time, but somehow, what it was saying seemed to make sense to me, Yet even in my drug befuddled state I couldn't help asking one obvious question, "So how come I can hear you now?" "Shee-it - I don't know man. I ain't no neuro surgeon. Y'all got your brains scrambled bad, and maybe you got a couple of wires all tangled up with each other. Whatever. Still, seems to me this ain't happened a moment too soon. Because you, boy, ain't exactly been a big hit with the ladies, you understand what I'm talking about." I couldn't help being defensive, "What do you mean? I get my share of - " "Man, if you was getting' any less of a share, you'd be a monk! Hey - you just too damn shy, it ain't your fault. But I'm gonna change all of that. All you got to remember is this - I'm in charge. From now on, I do the thinkin'." Befuddled as I was, I wasn't going to be disrespected by my own penis like this, "Oh no you're not!" In response he said nothing. However I was suddenly aware of a strange feeling from my groin. I could hardly feel any other part of my body, and yet I was more than aware that I was getting a huge erection, a huge uncomfortable boner which needed immediate attention. "Yeah, boy," shouted my exultant cock, "how d'you like them apples? C'mon, grab holda me and jerk me off like it's going outta business. You know you want to!" Damn straight I did, to use his own words. But you know what? My cock might have been in full working order, my eyes, ears and voice might all have been on the mend. But my hand - well that just wasn't going to play ball. Literally. "Damn!" It appeared that my cock's powers, impressive as they were, did not extend to bringing my poor exhausted limbs back to their full youthful vigour. I couldn't help sniggering. "You think that's gonna stop me?" it shouted, and then suddenly it stood up straighter than ever, and all at once the air was filled with the sound of singing. "What the hell are you doing now?" I spluttered, The singing stopped, "Shut your mouth up coma boy!" it snapped, "I'm pussy charming! Now shut your goddamn mouth and watch me work." So that's what I did. The singing wasn't, well it wasn't exactly sweet, and it certainly wasn't tuneful. But it was sure as hell effective. I reckon that maybe three or four minutes passed, then the handle of the door to my room moved, and it opened to reveal Elaine, the Nurse. "Hot damn, yeah!" screamed my cock. Elaine, oblivious, approached my bedside. In all honesty, Elaine didn't exactly resemble any of my very few sexual partners up to that time. For one thing she was a good thirty years older, being, I would guess, in her fifties. Not that she looked that bad for it, her dark brown eyes were clear, and seemed to have a mysterious twinkle that I hadn't noticed before. Her figure could not, in all honesty, be called trim, but she was plump, rather than fat. Her ass was built for comfort rather than speed, and the buttons on the top of her uniform seemed to be struggling to contain her chest. She took hold of the blankets covering all but my head and shoulders, saying, "Nothing to worry about, I just need to check you for bed sores." She leaned over me, so close that her breasts were almost touching my face, so close that I could see the outline of her black bra through her thin nylon uniform. "Nothing to worry about at all, " she cooed, as she unbuttoned my pyjama top, and slowly stroked the hairs of my chest, moving her hand gently down my stomach. "Yeah baby! Come on! " cried my exultant cock. "Nothing to worry about," she whispered, and her voice sounded more breathless, as her right hand urgently unbuttoned my pyjama trousers, " just need to check your legs. Don't want you being sore, now, do we?" She yanked them down, way past my ankles, and my cock screamed with encouragement, and began singing again. It obviously had the desired effect, since she got off the bed, hoisted up the skirt of her uniform, and pulled down a surprisingly sexy pair of lacy black knickers. She deftly stepped out of them, unbuttoned her uniform, folding it neatly across the back of the visitor's chair, thenwalked across to the bed, placed a firm hand upon my cock, straddled me, and began to give me the ride of my life. "Ooohhh yeesss!" she moaned, "ooh you naughty, naughty boy!" I'll be honest, I had never previously considered anyone of my mother's generation as a potential sexual partner, but hell, this old girl could go! "Shit, bitch!" I screamed, "Get yo' titties out now!" Where the hell had that come from? If I'd been able to I would have clapped my hands over my mouth. I never, ever used language like that. Shit! It was my cock! It was his words, coming out of my mouth. Mind you, it worked. "Oooh," Elaine moaned, grinding away on her appointment with orgasm," oohh, yes, you dirty, nasty little boy, yes!" and she reached behind her, snapping her oversized sensible bra, freeing a wonderfully large and soft pair of breasts. "Down!" cried the cock monster out of my lips, "down here. Bring them to my mouth." She did just that, showing remarkable suppleness for a lady of her mature years, still continuing to bounce up and down, her slick pussy expertly pumping my screaming cock. It was a shame that my hands just weren't working, since it would have been incredible to feel the full , overripe roundness of her tits, but even as it was the feel of her swollen nipple on my tongue, was heavenly, and all the time the pressure in my balls was mounting to unbearable heights. "Geronimo!!" shouted the monster, and at the same time as he exploded deep within her, Elaine herself shuddered to a shattering climax, before falling exhausted onto my chest. There was silence for a minute or two, then sounding much quieter, and more breathless, my cock, gave a satisfied sigh, "Now, that's what I call good pussy!" After a moment or two Elaine disappeared into the bathroom area attached to my room with her clothes to clean herself up. She emerged fully dressed a couple of minutes later. "Well, James," she smiled, "that was absolutely lovely, dear. And you're perfectly clear of bed sores as well. I'll be back to see how you're getting on later." She leaned over me, and for a moment I wondered if some 'afters' were on the menu, but all she did this time was plant a little kiss on my forehead, before turning, and wobbling her way out of the room. I was at a bit of a loss as to what to say, and it seemed as if my cock wasn't in his previously talkative mood. At length I asked, "So... that's... pussy charming?" "Damn straight, baby." "So what is it, some kind of magic?" He snorted, "Ain't no magic about that. Or if there is, it's the oldest magic in the book. No, see, what it is, is telling the pussy that you is here and you is ready, if the pussy is interested. Some times pussy don't want to know... but a lot of the time pussy do." "So ... er... pussies... talk as well, then?" "Man, do they ever?! They never stop talking. Man, if you could only hear what that pussy was yelling as she was bouncin up and down on top of me and the boys here. I tell you something, that was one hungry pussy, and she weren't no lady neither!" It was becoming all too much for me to take in. Besides, I felt incredibly tired, happy, yes, satisfied, absolutely, but exhausted. "I can see I have a lot to learn." I mumbled. "Yeah, you ain't just whistling Dixie, bro. But luckily, you got me to teach you! Cos man, I am the professor of pussy!" As I fell asleep I could have sworn that he was still laughing. Pussy Charming Pt. 02 What you missed in Part 1: I woke up from a coma after a motor cycle crash, to find that my penis could talk, and more than that, when it wanted, it could take control of the rest of me. It was able to sing in a way which it called 'pussy charming' in such a way as to entice nearby females to come and shag me, which it demonstrated for me with a 50 something overweight nurse called Elaine. Well, considering that I had been knocked over by a giant tow truck, and only awoken from my coma after 6 weeks to find that my own penis had now taken on a personality of its own, and a voice and vocabulary like a pimp in a 1970's Blaxploitation movie, I can't say that I was unhappy about the way things were turning out. Now it had a voice and a personality I couldn't keep on calling it 'cock, or 'dick' or 'prick', because it just made me feel self-conscious, so I'd christened it Marlon, after Marlon Jackson, Michael's next oldest brother, who it resembled a bit when it was resting. When Marlon had told me earlier that I wasn't exactly a hit with the ladies because I was too shy, I had reacted angrily, but the fact was that he was actually pretty much right. I was painfully shy, and this in turn made it nearly impossible for me to read the signs that any lady of the female gender might actually not find me physically repulsive. Or as Marlon himself put it, "Yo problem is, bro, that you just' don't listen when the pussy talkin' to you." Now, though, with Marlon doing the listening for me, it turned out that a lot more 'pussy' was a lot more interested in me than I thought. The doctors were pretty surprised at how quickly I was recovering from my head injuries once I'd fully awoken from my coma. I wonder how much more astounded they might have been if they'd known about mine and Marlon's escapades with Elaine, the nurse, her colleagues Rita, Susan and Vera, Jan from the canteen, and Doris the Cleaning Lady. Now, grateful as I was for the attention, it did begin to strike me that all of these friendly and accommodating ladies were the wrong side of fifty (with the exception of Jan, who claimed to be 47- when her mouth wasn't full, that was) and all of them were pleasantly overweight. Doris the cleaning lady was a typical instance of what Marlon was getting up to in the hospital, whether I liked it or not. Oh, don't get me wrong, I liked it alright. Doris used to come in and clean pretty early in the morning, often about 6 am when I was still sleeping. To be honest, she was a little older and a little bigger than the other ladies who had given so generously to my sex appeal, but waking up with a bad case of morning wood, that really didn't matter to Marlon. I awoke to the sound of him singing his 'pussy charming song' , and the sight of Doris winking at me as she removed her overall, pulled her massive T Shirt over her greying hair, and her massive skirt down over her massive thighs. Her breasts reached down across her expansive belly as far as her navel, and I silently cursed the fact that neither of my arms was yet strong enough to lift either of them. "Blimey!" cooed Doris, just before she clamped her lips around Marlon's already swollen head, "this is a turn up for the books!" She ran her tongue all along Marlon's peehole slit, and proceeded to give us both the best blow job I'd ever experienced, which suggested that Doris was nowhere near as hard up and frustrated as her appearance might have led you to believe. I worried that the hospital issue bed would be able to take our combined weight as she lowered her almighty bottom down onto my only too willing face. I poked my tongue in, and began the long and difficult Hunt For Red Clitoris. Judging by her squeals and shudders, and the cascade of Doris-cum I took delivery of only a couple of minutes later, I found it. All of my liaisons in the hospital were governed by the fact that the ladies in question weren't supposed to be in my room for more than a couple of minutes at a time in the course of their duties, so after giving Doris a truly satisfying facial, and then a quick straight doggy-style, she, dirty cow that she was, put her clothes straight back on without bothering to clean up, and went to finish her cleaning round. After giving Marlon some time to recover, I tried to put into words what had been going through my mind. " You know. . . it's not that I'm not grateful for all the . . . pussy . . . and that, only . . . " "Only what, dipshit?" Marlon was always obnoxious after he'd just had sex – so he was obnoxious a hell of a lot of the time now. "Only, well, I can't help noticing. . . all of these women whose . . . pussies . . . that you charm, well, they're no spring chickens, are they?" "Say what?" "They're old. Not one of them is under 40, and most of them are over 50. And they're big. I mean not huge – well apart from Doris, I mean, she was a complete heifer – but they're none of them slim, are they?" Marlon didn't reply for a moment or two. When he did, his voice had taken on an accusing tone. "So let me get this straight," he said, "after having had just three women in the last 4 years, you now complaining when I'm busting my hump getting you laid once a day? In a hospital? And you're complaining because I ain't yet been able to pussy-charm you a supermodel?" "I'm not complaining Marlon." "What you calling me?" "Marlon. When you're . . . soft . . . you look a bit like Marlon Jackson from the Jackson 5." "Man, what is wrong with you?!" "I just thought it sounded more friendly than calling you . . . cock, or dick, or . . . willy. . . or" "Man, if I could only get me transfer to some other body. Look, you complaining that these ladies are a little wrinkly round the edges, right?" "Well, not exactly wrinkly . . . and not exactly complaining. . . " "Well, then you complaining because they a little thick aroun' the middle" "Well again, I'm not saying that they're fat, but –" For a moment Marlon flared up to his full height, as a sign of his exasperation, then subsided again. "Let me ask you something. You ever had a blowjob like that ole walrus Doris jus' give you? Take it from me, you ain't. And them skinny women you had back before you started listening to me, did any of them wrap me up in their big ole titties, and hump me until I creamed all over them like Vera and Sue and . . . who was that other one?" "Rita." "Yeah, Rita, and her big ole udders. Them skinny girls ever hump you like Rita's knockers? Like hell they did. You think any of them skinny young girls you used to go chasing around can ever show you the kinda good times these big old gals been only too happy to give you, then you, coma boy, are sadly mistaken." I stopped talking, and started to give what Marlon had said a little thought. You see, the thing was that when he wasn't being abusive or obscene, which wasn't often, Marlon did actually make some sense. My only long term girlfriend, Kylie, had been fashionably skinny, terribly flat chested, and boring and unimaginative the few times that I'd managed to entice her into my bed. As for the other couple of girls, well, one had been an alcohol fuelled fumble at an office party that had swiftly got out of hand, and was just as swiftly and disappointingly over, while the other, hell, the other had made such an impression on me that I couldn't even remember it. So, I made up my mind to just keep gratefully accepting what Marlon was providing for me in such abundance, and started to plan for my release from hospital. For the fact was that I'd been becoming stronger, and although my arms were still a little weak, I reckoned that I'd got back enough of my fine motor skills that I could look forward to going home any time soon. I happened to mention as much to Elaine, during a particularly satisfying evening session. "I'll . . . miss this when I go home, Elaine. It won't be long now, will it?" "Umm? Ugghg wurr wurr wa wurr wurrr ." she replied. "Don't talk while you suckin ma cock, ho!" Marlon shouted through my lips. The obscenities worked just as well as they always did, and Elaine's head started bobbing up and down at double speed. Just as I was approaching the cum event horizon, though, she pulled back, removed her wonderful ass from my face, and rewarded her pussy with the prescription it really needed, a liberal dose of Marlon, right up as deep as he could go. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, and then, surprisingly, tried to answer my question again, " No. . . well, physically you're – DAMN – THAT'S GOOD!!!!! – well on the mend now dear, but – OH YES! HARDER! HARDER! – there is just a little bit of an issue – SHAG ME- SHAG ME – SHAG ME NOW! – and I think that Doctor McGowan wants to FUCK! " "Doctor McGowan wants to fuck?" " No dear, I meant FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. . . . . . . Ah, thank you dear. No, I meant Doctor McGowan wants to talk to you before we sign the release forms." She climbed off Marlon, and then winked, lowered her head, and proceeded to lick our combined cum from him. "Now that, " observed Marlon to nobody in particular," now that is one Nurse who knows how to take care of her patients." "Damn straight." I replied. Elaine looked up, and said, "You see, there it is again. You just did it again." "Baby, " said Marlon through my mouth, "I do it again and again." Elaine ignored this, and went through into the bathroom area, returning a couple of minutes later all cleaned up, and dressed. "James," she said, a concerned look on her face, "James, I asked Doctor McGowan if she'd have a word with you. I'm. . . worried about you, dear." "Why?" "Well, it's just . . . well I think you're still suffering from some of the effects of your head trauma. You. . . well, you keep talking to this imaginary friend of yours . . . Marvin or something like that. We've all seen and heard you. And to be honest, some of the things you talk about . . . " For a moment I considered telling her the truth, but Marlon shouted, "Keep yo' goddamn mouth shut, dipshit! If they fix yo' head, then you goin' back to famine rations of pussy!" So I said nothing to address the invisible friend accusation, and merely asked, "Oh. . . so this Dr. MacGowan, then. Is he a neurosurgeon?" Elaine just tutted, "No, James. SHE is not a neuro surgeon. " She paused for effect. "She is a psychiatrist!" Pussy Charming Pt. 03 What you've missed: I woke up from a coma after a motor cycle crash, to find that my penis could talk, and more than that, when it wanted, it could take control of the rest of me. It was able to sing in a way which it called 'pussy charming' in such a way as to entice nearby females to come and shag me, which it demonstrated for me with a 50 something overweight nurse called Elaine. After my pussy charming cock continues to provide me with mature, BBW pussy, I start to call it Marlon, because when it's soft it reminds me of Marlon Jackson from the Jackson 5. A nasty encounter with Doris the cleaning lady convinced me that I'd been going wrong lusting after skinny young girls in the past. My recovery continued well, until during an evening session with Elaine the Nurse I asked her whether I'd be able to go home soon. She informed me that first I needed to speak to Dr. McGowan. Elaine had overheard me talking to Marlon several times, and was worried that I was still suffering from my head trauma. She had arranged for me to see Dr. McGowan – the psychiatrist! "That's another fine mess you've gotten me into, Marlon!" "Don't lay that Laurel and Hardy shit on me, you asshole!" he retorted angrily. "A psychiatrist! A bloody shrink! They think I'm crazy now!" Marlon sounded thoughtful when he replied, "Well, talkin' to yo own penis ain't exactly the mark of a sane individual, is it?!" That was a point. I mean, maybe I was going mad. By all accounts it had been a hell of a crash, and I knew for a fact that I'd been in a coma for 6 weeks. That was bound to have done some damage. But on the other hand, since I'd started my acquaintance with Marlon, not only had he initiated me into the delights of intercourse with older, larger ladies, but he'd made sure that I had a regular supply on which to practice. I mean, if this was madness, then who the hell would be interested in sanity? What I was interested in, though, was getting out of hospital. It had started to prey upon my mind that I hadn't had a single visitor from outside the hospital since I'd come out of my coma, no family, no friends, and nobody from work, either. Did I still have a job? To be honest being a deputy store manager in Tescos wasn't all it was cracked up to be – and it had never been cracked up to be much in the first place – and it wouldn't be the end of the world if I had to look for something else. It would have been nice to know, though. Whichever way you looked at it I needed to get out, and it looked like I was going to have to impress this Dr. McGowan that there was nothing wrong with me. Now, there was one slight hitch to this plan, as far as I could see. "Marlon?" "Do you have to call me that, dipshit?" "Sorry – but the resemblance is uncanny in a certain light. Marlon. . . you won't. . . you won't do anything stupid in front of Dr. McGowan will you?" "What you talkin' bout?" "I don't want to stay here any longer. I . . . I have to get on with my life. I need to find out why my family and friends haven't come to visit me, I need to find out if I still have a job. If you make me do or say anything that makes them think I'm going crazy - " "Alright, man, I hear you. Don't you worry none. I ain't gonna do nothing that ain't in your best interests – y'all can be sure o'that." I left it there, but I couldn't put it out of my mind completely. Can your own cock lie to you? I was hoping that I wouldn't find out the hard way, should you pardon the pun. I had to wait a whole weekend before my appointment with Dr. McGowan, and as it happened I did receive my first ever visitor on the Saturday evening. There was a knock on the door, and then a head popped round and smiled at me, a lady's head. I would have guessed that she was somewhere between 44 and 50. She had straight, dark hair, cut in a shoulder length bob, and her brown eyes were rather pretty, and a little naughty too, albeit that she wasn't wearing a trace of makeup. "Hello," she trilled, and then stepped into my room, "I don't think we've met. You must be Jamie. I'm Geraldine. I'd thought I'd pop in and say hi while I was doing my rounds. " She held out a hand, and it was at that moment that I noticed the black collar with the white patch around her neck. She was a vicar! A flipping lady vicar! "Hot damn yeah!!" shouted Marlon as he rose to new heights within my pyjamas. Geraldine either didn't notice, or was too polite to mention the tenting which was so obvious through my bedsheets. She was a big girl, was the Reverend Geraldine. Not tall, not much over five feet I would have said. But there was a lot of her. She had an ass that just didn't know where to quit, and her boobs jutted out of her black clergyman's top like a continental shelf. " So how are you feeling, Jamie?" she asked, " I heard that you had quite a nasty bump." "Hell, I sho' would like to give her a nasty bumpin'!" shouted Marlon. I couldn't find the words to reply after that, but managed a sickly smile and a little shrug of the shoulders. "Well, have you started feeling yourself again?" Was that a deliberate innuendo, I wondered? BY this time she was sitting on the end of the bed, and patted my shins through the covers. "Never mind, Jamie, " she offered soothingly, "from what I hear you are coming along nicely." Damn! There she went again! Marlon hadn't said, or sung a word for at least a couple of minutes, so I couldn't blame him for the thoughts that were going through my head. But a vicar, though?! Wouldn't I go straight to Hell? Couldn't I already go to Hell for what I was thinking? The little devil between my legs seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. "Time you took some responsibility for yo'self!" he said." You want a piece of this holy lardass, you get it yo'self." Well – fine! – I thought to myself. Maybe it was time to show Marlon a thing or two, to let him know that I didn't need him to pull the ladies for me. "Urrmmm. . . Geraldine . . . you look . . . very nice." "Do I?" she looked surprised at the compliment. Not that I heard much of her reply, as my ears were ringing with the sound of Marlon's laughter. "Is that all you got, coma boy?!" he screamed. So I turned to Geraldine and said, "Alright, mamma, why don't you show me them big old titties?!" Somehow it didn't sound right in my own London accent. Marlon screamed so much with laughter that he wet himself slightly. Geraldine, meanwhile, had gone read in the face, "I – BEG –YOUR – PARDON?!" she yelled. "WHAT – DID – YOU – JUST – SAY?" Marlon snapped out of his fit of laughter, and said, "Now see, this is why I do the drivin'." He took a deep breath, and said, "Hey baby, why yo' woman getting' herself all worked up now? All de man say is that he'd like to see them fine big ole titties o' hers." Geraldine had stooped still on the bed, and her hand poised in mid air as if she had been just about to slap me, but had thought better of it. She looked down towards her lap, while Marlon continued what must have been a conversation. "Yeah, I know that, baby, but hey, don't blame him. I guess it's my fault for letting the mouth do the talkin'. Say how long since you got to make some sweet lovin'?" There was a pause, before he said, "Get outta town! Momma with an ass like hers an' a sweet talkin' pussy like you shouldn't never be lonely. " I guess that the lesson of the day was that there's more than one way to pussy charm. Marlon hadn't sung a note, but he was going to work on Geraldine's pussy just the same, and it was working. The naughtiness I'd noticed in Geraldine's eyes earlier seemed intensified. "You know," she said, in her best Sunday sermon voice,"you really are a little devil aren't you? A naughty little devil." She left go of my shin, and edged her way further up the bed, until she was sitting alongside my arm. The she reached forward, and began to pull back the blankets. "Seek out the devil – that's what I try to do as a vicar, you know, seek out the devil." She ran both hands down my chest, opening up the buttons of my pyjama top. "Ummm," she murmured, as she kissed my right nipple, biting it slightly before looking up, "no, he's not here. Where could he be?" Her hands brushed the sip of my cock, before she busied herself with the drawstring of my pyjama trousers. "Oh yes," she exclaimed, " I think we've found him!" "Pussy time!" shouted Marlon. She clasped a firm hand around him, and began to slowly draw the skin back and forward. Unable to resist any longer I reached forward, and cupped her breasts through the starchy material of her clergyman's bib. "Take it off," she murmured, " take it all off." I was only too happy to oblige. She continued devoting all of her attention to my cock, while I, as best as I could, stripped the unflattering clothes from her voluptuous body. She let go of Marlon for a moment, and I kneeled behind her on the bed, and reached forward, clasping her silk clad breasts from behind. I felt the nipples harden, and tweaked them gently, then with my right hand undid the catch on her bra. All the time she was murmuring, "Oooh, you're the devil, the filthy, dirty devil." Finally I pulled the silken cups of her purple bra away, and her tits sagged slightly before I clasped them again from behind. At this Geraldine leaned forward onto her knees, , and before I knew it Marlon was back in control. Without knowing that I was even doing it my fingers groped for the gusset of her purple panties, and yanked them aside, and Marlon was suddenly in, right up as far as he could go. God alone knows what that pussy was saying to him, but he was shouting all the time, "Damn right, Baby. Don't you worry none, I ain't hardly started yet. You gonna get it so hard and heavy you gonna be crying for yo momma!" – and various other terms of endearment. He wasn't lying either. There was nothing of tenderness or 'sweet lovin' about what we were doing. This was about giving a passionate woman, who had been denied sex for far too long, what her pussy demanded. As she approached her first orgasm, she began to sing in a tuneful soprano, "Onward Christian soldiers , marching as to WAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She collapsed onto the bed, and I thought that this was it, but no, Marlon was firmly in control, and he was nowhere near satisfied. He rolled her over on the bed, and I nuzzled on her tits again. "C'mon baby doll, " he crooned, "y'all know what I want." Evidently her pussy did, and passed on the message to the rest of her. She looked up with that same naughty glint in her eye, and clasped Marlon firmly, pulling him closer. She sat up, and squeezed her shoulders together, making a vast canyon of tit flesh, and Marlon needed no more invitation. We dived in there, and begin to hump her tits, slowly at first, then, as she started to lick the tip as it poked out of the top of the valley of the knockers, faster and faster, until he exploded over her mouth and chin, leaving a dripping cum trail which eventually pooled on her neck to form a rather more unique dog collar than the one she'd been wearing earlier. For a little while it seemed as if Marlon was spent. But Geraldine wasn't certain. "Have we exorcised this little devil completely now? " she wondered out loud. "There is only one way to find out." She lowered her mouth onto him, engulfing Marlon, who looked more like Marlon Jackson than ever at this point, and at first I thought he wasn't going to respond. But my Marlon was made of sterner stuff than that, and before I knew it, he was stiff and strong, and ready to give her a mouthful of cream. Or was he? I wondered, because again without my control my hands gently lifted Geraldine's pretty face from him, and my knees shifted round so that I was behind her. Once again I pushed her face down towards the pillow, but this time Marlon's designs were not upon her pussy. I think Geraldine realized this as well, but too late, as she shouted, "What?! Where are you . . . No! Not my - TILL WE HAVE BUILT, JERUSALEM – IN ENGLAND'S GREEN AND PLEASANT LAAAAAAANNNNNNNNDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!" Geraldine, being a lady of some class and sophistication, decided it would probably be a good idea to clean the cum from her face, neck, chest and ass before getting dressed and finishing her rounds. She showed a certain sense of humour I hadn't noticed earlier when she referred to what had happened between us as 'fighting the good fight' , and she favoured me with a 'God bless you, my child.' As she left. Well, I will admit here and now that I'd never been much of a churchgoer, but if Geraldine was an example of what the modern Church of England had to offer, then I was converted. I couldn't help talking about what had happened with Marlon. "Why doesn't it work for me, Marlon?" "I already tol' you that. You jus' don't know how to talk to pussy. 'You is lookin' very nice!' Man, that has to be the dumbest thing I ever heard." " But when I said the . . . you know,. . . show me them big ole titties. . . it didn't work for me like it works for you. Why?" "No good talkin' to the woman. You gots to talk to the pussy first." That reminded me of something else, "That's another thing. You didn't sing this time." "Didn't need to! I could have done, but she was here, and when I spoke to her, man was she ever ready! Five years! She gone without lovin' for five years!" "Well , you probably made up for that. Say. . . that was the first time you . . . went . . . well, you know." He was amused by my squeamishness, "Up the ass?!" "ummm – yes. "Then, at a loss as to what to say next, I added, "Do you talk to. . . um . . . asses as well, then?" He didn't reply for a moment, seemingly weighing up his words before saying, "Well, you can talk to assholes, but there ain't a lot of point. All they do is talk shit." Maybe in honour of Geraldine we kept the Sabbath holy on the next day, and Marlon didn't do any pussy charming or pussy talking. This was just as well, for the next day, Monday, was our appointment with the dreaded Dr. McGowan! And if Marlon didn't keep his word, then I could end up staying in hospital for a very, very long time. Pussy Charming Pt. 04 What you've missed: I woke up from a coma after a motor cycle crash, to find that my penis could talk, and more than that, when it wanted, it could take control of the rest of me. It was able to sing in a way which it called 'pussy charming' in such a way as to entice nearby females to come and shag me, which it demonstrated for me with a 50 something overweight nurse called Elaine. After my pussy charming cock continued to provide me with mature, BBW pussy, I started to call it Marlon, because when it's soft it reminded me of Marlon Jackson from the Jackson 5. A nasty encounter with Doris the cleaning lady convinced me that I'd been going wrong lusting after skinny young girls in the past. My recovery continued well, until during an evening session with Elaine the Nurse I asked her whether I'd be able to go home soon. She informed me that first I needed to speak to Dr. McGowan. Elaine had overheard me talking to Marlon several times, and was worried that I was still suffering from my head trauma. She had arranged for me to see Dr. McGowan – the psychiatrist! Marlon promised me that he wouldn't make me do or say anything bad in front of Dr. McGowan, so that she wouldn't sign my release papers, but I wasn't sure whether I could trust him or not. In the meantime we had a visit from Geraldine the vicar, and Marlon revealed that assholes are good for shagging, but not so good for having a conversation with. No, I know what you're probably thinking. – so Jamie, let me guess - you had your meeting with Dr. McGowan, who would turn out to be a large lady aged somewhere between 40 and 60, and Marlon made you do or say something stupid, then he got you out of trouble by charming Dr. McGowan's pussy, and giving her a good old seeing to in the time-honoured fashion. Ah, if only the truth was that simple! Now, in the interests of truth I probably should reveal that Dr. McGowan was indeed a) somewhere between 45 and 55, and b) rather overweight. And, yes, Marlon was attracted to her instantly. Oh, who the hell am I kidding, so was I. Her hair was obviously dyed a determined black, and scraped back and tied into a severe bun. She was wearing makeup, but not plastered in it, and she wore a pair of gold-rimmed bifocals. Behind these sparkled the most beautiful pair of dark, almond shaped eyes, like Marie Helvin's, or even better, Roseanne Barr's. Her cheeks were rather puffy, but that somehow only added to the attraction of her luscious, sensuous lips. Marlon, as usual, put it succinctly "Whoo – hoo – now ain't SHE got a cock-suckin' mouth there!" -Please Marlon – I prayed silently – Not now. Not here. Not with her! – Dr. McGowan stood up and offered me her hand. She was wearing a plain white blouse and a trouser suit. Oh. My. God. I have always had a fetish for women in white blouses and tight black trousers. Not that I imagined Dr. McGowan's trouser suit had been designed to be quite such a tight fit, but hey, nobody seemed to have told her ass that. Her handshake was firm, but not unpleasant. "Ah, . . . James? Please, sit down." She pointed to the chair beside her desk. Alright, I admit that I was nervous, and that's probably why I said, "Aren't you going to ask me to lie down on a couch?" Dr. McGowan allowed herself a hint of a smile before replying, "Well, you can lie down if you want to Jamie, but that's a little old fashioned. I thought we could start off with just having a little chat." She patted the chair, and I sat, and then she moved her own chair slightly so that we weren't quite facing each other. "Sister Biggins thought it might be a good idea if we had a talk. You know that, already, don't you Jamie? Of course you do. " She leaned in closer, then removed her glasses and looked me straight in the eye. God, her eyes were stunning. Marlon was already tenting in my pyjama trousers. I drew my dressing gown tighter into my lap in the hope of concealing it from the doctor. "Now, I don't need you to tell me anything you don't want to tell me, Jamie. I want you to trust me. So let me tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Julia McGowan, and I am a qualified psychiatric practitioner. I grew up in Dundee, and I qualified in 1987. I've lived and worked in London for the last 25 years, 12 of them in this hospital. Is there anything else you'd like to know about me now, Jamie?" "Yeah!" shouted Marlon,"ask her if she prefers it in the kisser or in the shitter!" -Shut up Marlon! – I screamed inwardly – you're not helping! – Unable to come up with any other response, all I could think of to say was, "Well, do you want to speak to me because you think I'm crazy?" "Ah," she smiled, "if I had a fiver for every time someone begins by asking that question. Right – Jamie – now, you have to bear in mind that I've never met you before, and I've only been speaking to you for 5 minutes so I haven't got a great deal to go on, but no, I don't think you're crazy. I do think, on the other hand, though, that you suffered a very serious head trauma, you were in a coma for 45 days, and have been exhibiting some, shall we say it, . . . rather interesting behaviour since waking up." What was she talking about? "What are you talking about?" "Well," she began, picking up her ipad from the desk, and tapping it several times, "let's start with your long and er. . . rather graphic conversations with Marlon shall we? Marlon whom nobody else can see or hear?" "So you do think I'm going mad, then?" "Not at all, there might be any number of reasons for your, let's call him an 'imaginary friend' shall we? Then there's your impressive display of priapism since your awakening from your coma." "Priapism?" " It is a physiological condition in which the male member remains erect without external stimulus, often resulting in what is commonly thought of as the male equivalent of nymphomania." -"Say what?" – said Marlon "I beg your pardon?" I replied. "In a nutshell, dear boy – since waking up you seem to have been 'shagging the arse off' any poor female who happens to come within a few feet of your room." How the hell did she know that? – I asked myself. "Who told you about that?" I spluttered, "was it Elaine?" "Elaine?" "Sister Biggins." "Sister Biggins is a devoted nurse, who knows that her sexual relationship with you breaks every rule of the hospital relating to contact between patients and staff. She knew she was risking her career by telling me about it, but she is so worried about your welfare that she told me anyway." I couldn't think of what to say. "By my reckoning, there have been relations with three other nurses, a lady from the canteen and Doris the cleaner. Oh, and I must say, I think you were sailing pretty close to the wind with Geraldine the vicar." "How the hell. . . " She turned her ipad to me so that I could witness a video of Marlon pistoning in and out of Geraldine's holy backside. "We do have to keep head trauma patients under video surveillance. With each day that passes the risk of haemorrhage is reduced, but even so the risk is still a significant one, and in the case of a brain haemorrhage quick response is vital. But don't worry – the footage is all safe with me. I have no intention of using it to hurt the careers of any of the staff, or sending it to the editors of the British Medical Journal. I am not " and here she smiled, "even going to upload it to Youtube." Dr. McGowan's revelations seemed to have shocked even Marlon, as he had shrunk and was being remarkably quiet. All of which enabled me to think a little more clearly. "So what do you want me to do?" I asked finally, knowing that although she had issued no threat, the ball was in her court, should you excuse the pun. "Talk to me. Just tell me what has been going on with you since you woke up from the crash. The truth." "All of it?" "All of it." "You won't believe it." "Try me." So I did. I told her everything, the accident, waking up, my talking cock, pussy charming, Elaine, christening it Marlon, the three nurses, the cook and the cleaner, and then shagging the vicar. Her reaction, it must be said, was not what I expected. "Thank fuck for that!" she sighed, leaning forward and looking me straight in the eye, "I thought it was just me! My pussy's been talking to me for years. I thought I was going mad!" "What?!" "I had an accident, back in about 2002." "What happened?" "Och, it was so long ago I don't remember all the details. All I know is that it involved a war memorial, a hen party, two bottles of vodka and a tub of swarfega. Not the cleverest thing I ever did." I picked up her rather pudgy left hand. There was no ring. "Not your hen party, then?" "Well, actually, yes. We never got married though. By the time I came round 26 days later he'd fucked off with some skinny bitch from his office, and I was stuck with Katherine Hepburn here. " "Katherine Hepburn?" "Sorry, yes, in a certain light my pussy looks-" "That's fine, I get it. No need to draw me a diagram. So . . . erm . . . this is going to sound weird, but . . . does it have an American accent?" "It's funny you should ask me that, but no, not at all." "Thank heaven for that." "No, she has a German accent." "You're joking me!" It was at this moment that Marlon chose to wake up, "Hooo – eeee, no she ain't! Hey fraulein, y'all lookin' to take care of' some prime bratwurst here!" he shouted. Dr. McGowan looked down at her crotch. "Oh God. . . " she murmured, "not now." She looked down at mine, "Is your. . . Marlon . . . talking to Katherine now?" "Shit, baby, whyn't you get your German ass over here right now, and let's see what we can do together for international relations!" he screamed. "Yes, Dr. . . Julia, I'm afraid that he is." A worried look came over her face, "But we can't . . . you're my patient. It would be wrong. . . "She stared at my tenting nether regions, " So wrong. So very , very wrong." Marlon had begun to sing. "Please," the Doctor murmured, "please . . . I can't risk. . . not with a patient." I had what I believe is commonly called a lightbulb moment. "Well. . . if you signed my release forms right now . . . I wouldn't be a patient, would I? So it would be alright, then, wouldn't it?" The doctor didn't reply, but her fingers flew over the screen of her tablet, and then she said, "There, you're no longer a patient!" "Hot damn, yeah!" screamed Marlon. "Hot damn, yeah!" I screamed. "Liebe Gott! Das ist wunderbar!" screamed Dr. Julia, and her hands flew up to her hair, which flowed freely once she'd removed the pins holding her bun in place. She removed her glasses, and the resemblance to Roseanne Barr became even more pronounced, "No, don't!" I begged, as she began to unbutton her blouse. I got up, and walked behind her chair, then reached round, and began to undo the top three buttons, slowly, "Get the hell on with it!" shouted Marlon. "Beeile dich!"shouted Dr. Julia, which I can only imagine was Katherine's doing. But just for once, I was going to be in control now. I gently moved my hands inside Julia's blouse, feeling the lacy borders of her bra. I pushed down, further, feeling her soft fullness. She wasn't a monster like Doris, or even as well endowed as Elaine, but her nipples felt harder, and longer and rounder. "Now, Jamie," she moaned," please now." I quickly unfastened the rest of her buttons, and she stood, shrugged the garment off her shoulders, and reached behind to snap her bra. I kissed the angry looking red marks where the straps had bitten into her shoulders, and moved my hands down her sides, then around her stomach, and I undid the waistband of her trousers. Grabbing the waistband of her panties I pulled down, down, kneeling as I did so, inhaling the unmistakable perfume of her sweat and lust. As she kicked off her trousers and panties it did occur to me that it might have been helpful if she'd had an old fashioned psychiatrist's couch. But Dr. Julia was nothing if not resourceful. She shouted, "Achtung!" and with a sweeping movement cleared the surface of her desk, and then lay back on it, her chubby legs waving in the air, and her pussy grinning at me. "Oh yeah!" shouted Marlon, "Deutschland Deutschland Uber Alles, Baby!" I decided that Marlon could wait a minute, and, with my hands on her plump breasts I buried my face in her stomach, and moved slowly, inexorably downwards. "Oooh ja," moaned Julia, "Ja, ja, neuk me mit die zunge!" "Oh no you ain't!" shouted Marlon, "ain't gonna be no pussy lickin' till I done taken care o' business!" I jerked up as if I had been shot with electricity, and then, as if Julia's pussy was an electro-magnet, and Marlon a rod of iron (which he practically was, right at that moment in time) he slammed into her twat, and began to pump her rhythmically. "Ein – zwei – drei! Ein – zwei – drei!" Julia offered by way of encouragement. I grabbed her boobs, and pinched the nipples, then leant forward and suckled them, as Julia squelched to a first climax. All the while Marlon kept pumping on, until he suddenly jerked me backwards, and shot our collective wad over her belly and thighs. "Now can I lick her pussy?" I asked him. "Knock yo'self out, asswipe!" he replied. So, given his blessing, I climbed on top of the desk, facing towards Julia's feet, then knelt down, placing my head between her ample thighs, and Julia placed her right hand on my ass, and murmured, "Ooh, yes. . . yes." English. Not German. So Marlon had taken care of Katherine Hepburn for a while, at least. Marlon was getting bored though, "Shit, momma!" he exclaimed through my mouth, "don't just lay there! Take me in that cock-suckin' mouth o' yours right now!" "Jawohl, mein capitan!" she replied. Hmmm – Katherine was back in town, then. So I must be doing something right. Something was happening. The rising pressure in my balls indicated that I was close to cumming, but Dr. Julia just kept on engulfing Marlon in the exquisite mouth of hers, pumping him expertly until she had swallowed the very last drop of our cum. "Man," gasped Marlon, emerging, tired and spit covered, "these German girls sure do know how to show a man a good time!" Something else happened. I lost control of my tongue, which suddenly seemed to be going crazy, buried deep in Julia's pussy. "Was its los? " she cried, then, "What are you doing? . . . What's happening to me? . . . GOTT IN HIMMELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!" She fell back on the desk, collapsing into silence. What the fuck had Marlon done to her? Well, he hadn't killed her, whatever else. I put two fingers to the side of her neck, and her pulse was racing. "What have you done?!" "What her pussy was telling me to do, fool!" "You speak German?" "Hell no! I speak pussy! An' that is not a pussy that you want to be sayin' no to neither!" "Shhhhhhh!" I hissed, "she's waking up!" She was too. Groggily she pulled herself from the desk, and draped her arms around my neck, steadying herself as she sat up. "That was. . . I mean for me . . . it was. . . wasn't it? . . . for you . . . I mean. . . " I just kissed her on those precious lips, and murmured, "Julia, you are amazing. You are. . . " and words failed me, ". . . amazing." We dressed in that awkward silence which only occurs between two people who, although relative strangers, have just explored each other as intimately as a man and woman can, and neither has the slightest idea where it is likely to go next. As much to break the silence as anything else, I guess, Julia said, " You know, I quite think you've worn Katherine out. She hasn't said one word to me since. . ., well since then." I laughed, and kissed her, and nuzzled her breasts for a moment, but it was fairly clear that physically, we were done. After cleaning herself up as best she could, Julia told me that my release had gone through, and that I could leave the hospital at any time, although I could stay until the following morning if necessary. I was a little nonplussed at her suddenly becoming so businesslike, and if truth were told, not a little disappointed. "Well. . . er. . . thanks," I stuttered."Erm . . . can I call you?" She looked at me, and her almond eyes looked tired, and a little bit sad, "Sure. . . Look me up. I'm in the book." With that it was clear that my appointment was over. Back in my room, I didn't see any point in wasting time, so I dug out my case, and began to pack the few belongings which had been brought into the hospital for me. "That was a bit odd." I observed to Marlon, more as a way of making conversation than anything else. "What you talkin' bout?" "The way she acted just before I left. Like nothing had happened. Mind you. . . " I observed, "She did say that we gave her such a tongue job that it left her pussy speechless." "Say what?!" "She said that her pussy hadn't said a word after we brought her off for that last time." "Don't you never listen to me, dipshit? I thought I tol' y'all – pussy don't never stop talking." "But . . . she said it hadn't said one word since." "Pussy still talkin' alright – boy, how she talkin'! But Doctor Fatass, well, she ain't listenin' so good any more. " So that was it. Whatever had caused Dr. Julia to be able to hear her own pussy, whatever it was that had caused that short circuit to the wiring of her brain to enable her to do that, Marlon had cured it. Or destroyed it. Which meant – and this was another lightbulb moment – which meant that it might be possible for me to undergo a similar cure. But would I want that to happen? Dr. Julia hadn't had a choice in the matter. What if it suddenly happened to me too, if I suddenly and without warning lost the power to hear Marlon, and no longer reaped the harvest of his amazing powers of pussy talking? Gulp. Pussy Charming Pt. 05 What you've missed: I woke up from a coma after a motor cycle crash, to find that my penis could talk, and more than that, when it wanted, it could take control of the rest of me. It was able to sing in a way which it called 'pussy charming' in such a way as to entice nearby females to come and shag me, which it demonstrated for me with a 50 something overweight nurse called Elaine. After my pussy charming cock continued to provide me with mature, BBW pussy, I started to call it Marlon, because when it's soft it reminded me of Marlon Jackson from the Jackson 5. A nasty encounter with Doris the cleaning lady convinced me that I'd been going wrong lusting after skinny young girls in the past. My recovery continued well, until during an evening session with Elaine the Nurse I asked her whether I'd be able to go home soon. She informed me that first I needed to speak to Dr. McGowan. Elaine had overheard me talking to Marlon several times, and was worried that I was still suffering from my head trauma. She had arranged for me to see Dr. McGowan – the psychiatrist! Marlon promised me that he wouldn't make me do or say anything bad in front of Dr. McGowan, so that she wouldn't sign my release papers, but I wasn't sure whether I could trust him or not. In the meantime we had a visit from Geraldine the vicar, and Marlon revealed that assholes are good for shagging, but not so good for having a conversation with. In our meeting with Dr. Julia McGowan she revealed that she knew all about my sexual adventures since awakening from my coma. I came clean, as it were, and told her all about Marlon. She, in turn, revealed that she had her own talking pussy, a German speaking Katherine Hepburn lookalike. I persuaded Julia to discharge me, if you'll pardon the pun, so that Marlon could give her Katherine exactly what she wanted, in the course of which Marlon made me give her such a licking that it severed the connection between Julia and her talking pussy, and returned her to 'normal'. I began to worry what would happen to me if I was ever 'cured'. ------------------------------------------------------- As I walked out of the front gates of the hospital, looking for a bus stop, it's fair to say that I had three priorities on my mind: 1) My flat – 2) My family and friends – 3) My job. Marlon also had three priorities, but his were somewhat different from mine, his being namely 1) Mo' pussy – 2) Mo' pussy – 3) Mo pussy. "Marlon, " I pleaded, "flat first – pussy later. Ok?" He grumbled a bit, but he could see the logic behind my insistence. It was a long wait for a bus, and an even longer walk from the nearest stop, so quite a lot of time had passed by the time I reached my flat. My flat was actually the basement of an old Victorian townhouse. The monthly rent was right at the limit of what I was able to afford from my salary, but I counted myself lucky to have found it. As I walked up the steps to the front door there was something which struck me as odd and out of place, something which I couldn't quite put my finger on. Still, my anxiety lessened when my key worked in the lock, and I entered, and then opened the door to the basement flat. There was a smell of food cooking, which made me immediately wary again. Mind you, not as wary as the aerosol wielding maniac who was leaping up the stairs towards me screaming, "What the hell are you doing in my flat??!!!! GET THE FUCK OUT!!!!" "Somebody say fuck?" asked Marlon, suddenly interested, but before I had a chance to say anything I had received a faceful of mace, squirted at me from point black range. The next few minutes were extremely uncomfortable, to say the least. When the worst of the pain started to recede, all I could hear was Marlon laughing, "Sheee-it, asswipe – she done y'all proper!" I thought that he wouldn't have been laughing so much if she'd clobbered him with a baseball bat – mind you, neither would I for that matter. She stood there, with her can held out in front of her, ready to squirt again, and waited until I could focus on her. "Now, " she said, "I will give you one minute to explain what you are doing in my flat, and how you got a key to my door, before I call the police. Any nonsense, and you can have another dose of this." She obviously meant it too. It wasn't easy, but I explained as best I could about the accident I'd had all those weeks ago, and how, when it happened, this had been my flat. The woman appeared to be weighing my words carefully, then, all of a sudden, she stopped my explanation with a raised hand, and said, "Hey, what did you say your name was?" "I didn't. It's James Hardcastle – Jamie –" "I get it!" the girl replied, enlightenment dawning, "This was your flat." Well, I wasn't too fussed by her use of the past tense, but at least she had put the aerosol down. She didn't apologise for squirting me though. Marlon had been surprisingly quiet for the last few minutes, but then the girl, who I found out later was called Cassie Smith, really wasn't his type at all. She had short cut black hair, and couldn't have been much more than 30. Her figure was slight and svelte, and hidden in corduroy dungarees. There was absolutely nothing to her ass when she turned her back on us and began to walk down the stairs. "So what are you going to do now?" I called after her. She turned back, and with a look of which said "Isn't it bleedin' obvious?" she replied, "I'm going to ring Mrs. Golightly. She'll have to sort this mess out. Come on – are you going to stand on the doorstep all day?" Marlon still didn't say anything. Which started to worry me a bit. So I excused myself, went into the bathroom and locked the door. Then I quickly dropped my jeans, grabbed Marlon, and hissed, "Wake up! Wake up! Marlon, for God's sake speak to me!" Nothing. Oh. My. God. Had the mace attack robbed me of the ability to listen to my cock? "Haaaahhhhhh! Gotcha!" shouted Marlon. "Nah, I'm still here, man. I was only fuckin' wit yo' head a little." "Oh, very good. Very fuckin' funny. Look, Marlon, I'm going to need you to go to work. I know that you probably don't fancy the aggressive Miss Smith out there, but . . . well, I really need you to go to work." "Sorry bro, you know I would, but I can't." I started to squeeze him a little harder out of anger and frustration, "What the hell? What do you mean can't? Look, I know she ain't your type, but, come on. All you've got to do is to charm –" "Did I say that it's because she ain't my type, dipshit? Hell – pussy is pussy. Everythin' else is just window dressing. But I can't. It ain't that I don't want to . . . but I can't." "Why can't you?" "Because, you dumbass, she –" BANG BANG BANG. I quickly pulled up my jeans and opened the door to find Miss Smith standing on the threshold, with an accusing look on her face. "Were you just talking to your . . . willy . . . in there?" I didn't know what else to do so I put on what I hoped was a winning smile and shrugged my shoulders. "Bleeding pervert." She sniffed, and walked back into the living room. Within half an hour Mrs. Golightly arrived. Now, a more inappropriately named woman would have been difficult to find. Mrs. Golightly did nothing lightly. She was a large, almost spherical woman, who puffed her way down the stairs and immediately plonked herself down on the largest sofa the flat had to offer, which immediately started to sag in the middle, and creak as if in protest. Mrs. Golightly was my landlady. She owned the house, which had been divided into 4 flats, although she herself lived a couple of stops away on the Underground. Her opening remarks made her attitude to my predicament quite clear, "I was quite within my rights to evict you, yer know. Two months' rent yer didn't pay, and not a word by way of an excuse." "For the first month I was lying in a coma on a hospital bed, Mrs. Golightly!" "Well, that was very nice for you, I'm sure, layin' around, having nurses running around waiting on you 'ands and feet. But that didn't pay my rent now, did it? It's all in yer tenancy agreement." "But all my stuff – " "Well, if you're talkin' about that pile of dirty magazines, well, they had to go in the rubbish. Terrible sticky them was an' all. " "But my clothes-" "All put into black bags and waiting for you to collect them – " "Thank God –" "For the first 6 weeks, and then when nobody came to fetch them we gave them away to Oxfam." Interjected Miss Smith. "Bloody hell!" "That's quite enough of the blasphemy thank you. 'Ere, what 'ave I got to do to get a cuppa tea round here, then?" That was it. My tenancy revoked, and all my worldly possessions disposed of without so much as a by-your-leave. I was now homeless,and virtually penniless, so it seemed. "Marlon. . . " I muttered under my breath, " I don't care how fat or unattractive she is – get me out of this mess!" "Y'all better take me to the john now, sucker!" he answered. "Excuse me one moment." In the toilet I tried to plead with Marlon, "Look, Marlon, please, just charm Mrs. Golightly's pussy for me. I'll give her a seeing to and she'll let me have my flat back. She's not that much bigger or uglier than Doris, after all. " "Didn't I tell you, asswipe, that it ain't got nothin' to do with how she lookin'? Don't you never listen to me. Pussy is pussy is pussy." " So let's do it, then." "Ain't happenin', bro." "What? . . . Why not? Marlon sighed, and then began to explain in the patronizing tone with which an adult speaks to an inquisitive 5 year old. "See," he began, " this the way it is. See, sometimes pussy like cock. Some times pussy think she don't like cock, but when she hears the pussy charming song, then she like cock. Then some times pussy jus' don't like cock. Some times pussy like pussy. An' when pussy know she only like pussy, then pussy charmin' song don't mean jack shit to pussy. " I paused for a minute to work out if Marlon was telling me what I thought he was actually telling me. "So what you're saying is, that Mrs. Golightly is . . . she likes . . . er. . . pussies." "No man, I ain't sayin' she like pussy." "Thank gawd for that." "She don't like pussy. She LOVE pussy. She worship pussy. Jus' that she don't know it exactly yet, because her head don't listen to her pussy. I know." "Her pussy told you?" "Damn straight. An' so did the pussy o' that crazy woman wit da spray can. That's what I was tryin' to tell you when she came banging ' on the door – " BANG BANG BANG "For God's sake, will you leave your cock alone?! - " screamed Cassie Smith, " – and get out here so we can sort this situation out now?" Desperate situations call for desperate remedies. "Marlon," I whispered, " can you . . . get their . . . pussies . . . talking to each other?" "Say what?" "Can you – I don't know – sort of stir things up between them so that they – erm, see that each other is of a similar persuasion." "How the hell I'm gonna do that?" "I dunno – maybe sing the pussy charming song, but instead of telling them that you're here and ready for business, tell them that each other is." " You crazy." "Probably, but try it anyway." Marlon did as he was bid. I'd heard him sing the pussy charming song before quite a few times before, but this was different. It was quieter and softer, but then again, so was he. When he finished I gingerly pulled the door to the toilet , and looked through into the living room. It was quite a picture that greeted my eyes. Cassie was busy unbuttoning Mrs. Golightly's dress, urgently, greedily. She hefted one of her gargantuan tits from the cups of her corselette, and reaching down unsnapped the poppers at her gusset. Mrs. Golightly meanwhile unfastened Cassie's dungarees, letting them fall to the floor, and then pulled her black T shirt over her head, revealing a surprisingly sexy back. She wasn't wearing any underwear at all. Despite his obvious penchant for larger women, Marlon was quickly becoming a stiffie. After rolling Mrs. Golightly's tights back over her immense and flaccid white thighs, Cassie placed her head between them, and began to lap away at Mrs. Golightly's hairy old grey twat. "My, my," murmured Marlon, in admiration, "I do like a pussy that knows how to cuss properly." Well, it probably started cussing a hell of a lot more, since Cassie climbed away, then walked across to the nearby wall cupboard and opened a drawer, from which she pulled out a strap-on of truly impressive length, girth and colour. It was fairly obvious what was going to happen next, "Yeah baby!" Marlon shouted in encouragement, "you ride that whale!" She proceded to do just that. In the interim Mrs. Golightly reached around with her right hand, and taking her chubby index finger, which was so fat it was almost the girth of a small cock, and her chubby middle finger which was fatter, she stuck one in Cassie's twat, and the other in her ass, and proceded to move them backwards and forwards, in and out, in synchronisation with Cassie's increasingly urgent thrusts. And, embarrassing though it is to admit it, pretty soon my fingers were acting in synchronization as well, since Marlon was ready for action, and it was unreasonable to expect either of the ladies to see to his needs, so I grabbed him, and started jerking off. Mrs. Golightly looked over to the bathroom, and saw me sitting on the lavatory seat, bashing the bishop for all he was worth. "'ere!" she gasped, "whyn't you bring that fuckstick over 'ere, and then you can shoot yer jism all pver 'er arse." Look, I have no idea why she wanted me to do this, but hey, who was I to argue? She was my landlady after all. Now, I can't swear to it that it was all my own doing – maybe Marlon had taken control over my hand, but I do know that when Marlon came this time, he came loads. So much so that a white streamlet pooled down Cassie's ass as far was Mrs. Golightly's pudgy fingers. This, it seemed, acted as a kind of extra lubricant, and her fingers slid in an ad out faster, bringing Cassie to a noisy climax, which in turn made her buck backwards and forwards as if she was riding a wild mustang, and this brought Mrs. G. off as well. Being a gentleman I retreated to the kitchen and made a nice cup of tea for each of us, leaving Mrs. G. and Cassie to get on with some dessert to follow their main course of finger pie and sausage. Theirs had long since gone cold by the time Cassie opened the door, and rather sheepishly said, "You'd better come back in." They were both dressed, and relatively decent, although the air in the room was heavy with the scent of lust and pussy. Mrs. Golightly spoke first, "Now, Mr. Hardcastle . . . I ain't sayin' as I was wrong to evict you. But what with yer accident an' all, I do feel a bit sympathetic about yer situation. So , Miss Smith 'ere and I have put our heads together,-" "And yo' pussies!" shouted Marlon, "- and I think we may have a solution." What the two of them proposed was this. Cassie was worried about paying the rent. The flat was big enough for two people to share. Until I could find another place, I could have a trial run as Cassie's flatmate. It would give me time to get back on my feet, and also there wouldn't be any problem if I should ever come back to the flat and find both Mrs. Golightly and Cassie off theirs, if you understand what I mean. Marlon did, "Hell, if those two pussies gonna keep puttin' on a show like that I am buyin' a season ticket!" So, temporarily at least, my accommodation problems were sorted. Which was great, but it did mean that I would have to search for the answers to another question – namely – why the hell hadn't any of my family or friends been to see me in the hospital? Pussy Charming Pt. 06 What you've missed: I woke up from a coma after a motor cycle crash, to find that my penis could talk, and more than that, when it wanted, it could take control of the rest of me. It was able to sing in a way which it called 'pussy charming' in such a way as to entice nearby females to come and shag me, which it demonstrated for me with a 50 something overweight nurse called Elaine. After my pussy charming cock continued to provide me with mature, BBW pussy, I started to call it Marlon, because when it was soft it reminded me of Marlon Jackson from the Jackson 5. A nasty encounter with Doris the cleaning lady convinced me that I'd been going wrong lusting after skinny young girls in the past. My recovery continued well, until during an evening session with Elaine the Nurse I asked her whether I'd be able to go home soon. She informed me that first I needed to speak to Dr. McGowan. Elaine had overheard me talking to Marlon several times, and was worried that I was still suffering from my head trauma. She had arranged for me to see Dr. McGowan -- the psychiatrist! Marlon promised me that he wouldn't make me do or say anything bad in front of Dr. McGowan, so that she wouldn't sign my release papers, but I wasn't sure whether I could trust him or not. In the meantime we had a visit from Geraldine the vicar, and Marlon revealed that assholes are good for shagging, but not so good for having a conversation with. In our meeting with Dr. Julia McGowan she revealed that she knew all about my sexual adventures since awakening from my coma. I came clean, as it were, and told her all about Marlon. She, in turn, revealed that she had her own talking pussy, a German speaking Katherine Hepburn lookalike. I persuaded Julia to discharge me, if you'll pardon the pun, so that Marlon could give her Katherine exactly what she wanted, in the course of which Marlon made me give her such a licking that it severed the connection between Julia and her talking pussy, and returned her to 'normal'. I began to worry what would happen to me if I was ever 'cured'. Returning to my flat after so many weeks in hospital, I found that my landlady, Mrs. Golightly had let it to a small, seemingly crazy young woman called Cassie Smith, who attacked me with mace. When we called Mrs. Golightly to come and sort it all out for us, I begged Marlon to charm her pussy so that she would give me back my flat. To my surprise Marlon refused, and explained that he couldn't, because both Mrs. Golightly and Cassie Smith were ladies who like ladies. On my urging Marlon improvised a new pussy charming song, which brought the two of them together, and after this they offered me the chance to move back in as Ms. Smith's flatmate. ------------------------------------------------------- The atmosphere in the flat was rather uncomfortable for a few days after I moved in. However, after a while we began to get more used to each other, and as we learned more about each other it became easier to find and respect each of our own living space. For my part I learned that I actually had a few things in common with Cassie, namely: - •We both liked Domino's ham and pineapple stuffed crust pizza •We both loved watching "Big Brother" •We both liked licking larger, older women's pussies All of which made for some interesting, if rather surreal conversations. It was during one such conversation, which took place in an ad break while we were watching the Big Brother eviction show, that she asked, "Why do you do that, then?" "Do what?" "Talk to your prick." "I don't." "Get out of it! You do it all the time, even when you're not actually having a wank -- which you do very often, by the way. You even call it Marlon, for fuck's sake." Yes, she was a sophisticated girl, was Cassie. "Look," I said, "alright, maybe I do. But it's harmless, alright?" "Sure." she replied, "Look, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm just curious though. I've got two brothers, and I knew a couple of guys while I was going through my 'experimenting' period, but none of them had conversations with their dicks, or gave them names. I just wondered why." "You won't believe it if I tell you." "Probably not. But tell me anyway." So, much as I did with Dr. Julia, I told her everything. Her reaction, though, was quite different from Dr. Julia's. "God, I've heard some crap in my time, but that load of old shite takes the biscuit!" "It's true!" "Yeah, right! I don't know why, but for some reason her disbelief really annoyed me. "Well, there's no need to be like that," I sniffed, "I mean it's not as if I can do anything to prove it to you." "Hell, dipshit, maybe you can't, -- but I can!" yelled Marlon. "What?" "I didn't say anything." said Cassie, with a puzzled look on her face. "Not you," I replied, "Marlon." I lifted the waistband of my shorts so that I could see him clearly, "What did you just say, Marlon?" "Bloody hell," scoffed Cassie," it's like a pervert's version of the Sooty show." I ignored her, and listened as Marlon explained, "All I gots to do, is to talk to da pussy, an' find out some secret o' hers. An' you know that pussy jus' can't keep no secrets!" "Do it!" I urged, then turned and looked at Cassie. "Right then, Cassie," I began, "I've just been talking to Marlon. Now, I don't want this to freak you out," she snorted in derision, "I don't want this to freak you out," I continued, "but Marlon is going to speak to your . . . pussy . . . and he'll find out some things about you which I couldn't possibly know. That will prove what I'm saying." "Oh, for God's sa -- alright, then. Go for it." I waited, and Marlon told me what I needed to know, "Alright, to start with, you're wearing red knickers." "Lucky guess. Common colour -- you might have - " "-crotchless -" "- How the f-" " - Your middle name is Gladys, after Gladys Knight, although you always tell people it's Germaine, after Germaine Greer - " "- Wh -" " - You tell everyone your favourite novel is "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand, when it's really "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - " "-bu -- " "- And you were eighteen when you had your first sexual experience at your school prom, with the Head Boy. You were half an hour older when you had your first orgasm at your school prom with the Head Girl. " There was a minute or two of awkward silence. For a moment or two I was afraid that Cassie was going to blow her top, and go on the attack again, but fair play to her, she was made of sterner stuff, and once she had recovered the power of speech she shook her head, and said, in a low voice, "Jamie . . . that is some scary shit. I mean, I, all of that, every word of that was . . . well I never told anyone about the prom . . . Look, I don't know how you know this --" "You told me." "No I didn't." "Alright -- your pussy told my cock, and he told me. Same thing." Cassie didn't say another word. She got up from the sofa and went to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. "Oh dear." I murmured, "Hmmm, " mused Marlon, "I think she mighty pissed off wit' her blabbermouth pussy." She was too. Or with Marlon. Or with me. To be fair, I don't think she knew herself, and it took her a good couple of days before she was even ready to talk to me about it. Still, I had plenty to think about to keep me occupied as it was. The next day I'd planned to go across the city to my parents' house. I was worried about them, and not a little peed off that nobody had been to visit me in hospital. Marlon made a particular nuisance of himself on the journey across town. I don't know if you've ever stood on a crowded London tube train, while your semi erect cock is shouting, "Hey, asshole, I gotta quiz question for you! How many times you got me laid since we got outta hospital? BUZZZ! Time's up dipshit. The answer's ZERO! NONE! ZILCH! ZIPP-O! Hey, pissface, I's talkin' to you. I need some pussy!" -- but believe me, it's not a very enjoyable experience. We pulled into the next station, and the bored announcer's voice came over the tannoy, "The Next Station is King's Cross/ St. Pancras. Change here for --" "PUSS-Y! PUSS-Y! PUSS-Y!" chanted Marlon. "- Northern line to Morden, Metropolitan Line to Amersham, and Piccadilly Line to Cockfosters-" " Yeah, baby! "screamed Marlon, "Keep yo' goddam fosters, the Cock is already here!" "- Stand clear of the doors please." For just a moment I considered positioning myself so that Marlon would be jammed between said doors, which would at least shut him up for a few minutes. At length I arrived outside my parents' house in Bolsover Road, and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. I banged on it a couple of times more, with no acknowledgement or sign of life from within the house, and so I started to yell through the letter box. This didn't provoke any activity from within the house, but did at least bring Mrs. Goody, the next door neighbour, out of her front door to see what the commotion was all about. "Hot damn, yeah!" shouted Marlon. "We got pussy! Ladies an' asswipes -- we have pussy!" Perhaps I should explain that Mrs. Goody had been our next door neighbour for as long as I could remember, and never, never once, never in my wildest nightmares had I ever pigeonholed her in my mind as 'pussy'. I guessed she was somewhere between 55 and 65, and several stone overweight. Her grey hair was bunched up in rollers, which were held in place by a pink chiffon headscarf. She was like a bullock in a twin set, and for as long as I could remember she had been one of those ladies who walks in a particular way which I believe is technically known as 'leading with the knockers". And what knockers they were! I don't know who made her undergarments, but there must have been some serious architectural and engineering work designing the contraption to keep her twin zeppelins pointing so determinedly ahead. Mrs. Goody was not, it must be said, overjoyed to see me, "Bleedin' hell, stop bangin' the shit out of that door, will you?" Then she seemed to recognize me. "Oh, it's you. Where you been hidin' yerself then?" "Good morning Mrs. Goody, " I replied, past experience having told me that while politeness had no discernable effect on this hippo in curlers, perceived rudeness invariably earned a clip around the ear and a kick up the jacksi. " Have you seen my Mum?" " No I ain't!" "Oh, ok. Sorry. Do you know where she is then?" "Maybe." "Well, would you tell me?" "You ain't said please." "Oh, sorry, " I replied through gritted teeth, "Would you please tell me if you know where my mother is?" Maybe I was imagining it, but there was just the hint of a smile playing around the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, "Say it like yer really mean it!" Marlon had never been less than semi erect at any time in the last three days or so, but now he rose to heights of magnificent indignation within my pants, and even though he was muffled by two layers of clothing I could clearly hear him shout, "To hell wid that! I cannot take this shit no more! Time fo' pussy charming!" He began to sing, and once again it was a slightly different song from that which I'd heard him use before. This one, well, the closest thing I can compare it to was a combination of the throbbing, insistent baseline of "Heard it through the grapevine" overlaid with the whale deep groanings of a Barry White on acid. "Now, " shouted Marlon through my lips, " Get yo' fat self in yo' house, and yo' fat ass around my face, an' yo' fat lips around ma cock! Per-lease!" "'Ere!" She replied in indignation, "I ain't fat! I'm jus' big boned!" "Well lady, yo' ass-bone's sure one hell of a size! Now, do you wan' me to do some very nasty things to yo' fine fat ass, or not?" "Oooh," Mrs. Goody murmured, her hands shooting towards her own tits, and caressing them through her dress," Yes please! I thought you'd never ask!" In a small part of my mind I was already asking myself if doing this with someone I already knew before the accident was such a good idea, but that small part of my mind was most definitely not in control. Marlon was. As Goody dragged me by the left hand through the front door, he took my right hand, and used it to yank down the zipper of the bulging marquee she used as a dress. Goody was all for pulling me upstairs, but Marlon had other ideas first. He roughly pulled the dress from her shoulders, then, with the words, "Hey Presto!" he ripped her massive knickers away from the largest, roundest, most pimpled ass I had ever seen in the flesh. My trousers and pants were already around my ankles as Goody placed her hands upon the fourth step of the stairway to steady herself, while each of my hands grabbed an arse cheek, and pulled them apart, enabling Marlon to spring forwards, and bury himself as far as the balls in her dripping pussy. After no more than five or six strokes, though, he jerked me backwards, out of the cavern of delight, with the words, "Y'all gots to be patient and wait yo' turn!" And then he sprang forwards again, but this time into her tight and puckered ass. "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH," Goody began to scream, and then, as Marlon began to work up a head of steam, and an ever increasing rhythm, Goody began to sing her own siren song, "Oooohhhh . . . I got a luvverly bunch of coconuts!" "'Ave a banana!" sang Marlon, entering into the whole music hall spirit of this jolly episode, "'Ere they are all standin' in a row!" "Ave a banana!" "Big ones, small one's, some as big as yer HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDD!!!!!" Marlon temporarily returned control to me, gasping as he flopped from her cum-filled shitter, "Tha's the ass taken care of. Now for da pussy!" Once again he reasserted control, and flopped me forward, grabbing Goody's gargantuan knockers from the side. "Yeah, don't you worry now, you gonna get some too, ladies!" he crooned romantically, "bu' first we gots ta take care o' the pussy! She ain't about to wait no longer, y'unnerstand what I'm sayin' here." Whether the tits did understand or not, it was pretty clear that the pussy got the message, and it started to gush, and Marlon slid in as smoothly as if he was on rails. Fair play to Goody, she was nothing if not inventive with her song repertoire, and favoured us now with, "Come, come, come and make eyes at me, down at the Old Bull and Bush - " "You getting plenty in yo' bush right now, momma!" shouted Marlon, and he redoubled his efforts, bringing her off twice more in the process. Goody turned over, and slid slowly down the few steps, collapsing into a heap at the bottom. "Now. . . " said Marlon, through my lips so as she could hear his instructions, "Ain't gonna be no bullshit singin' now. You gonna suck ma cock, till I come over them bodacious titty mountains, then you is gonna tell me where my parents is. An' I ain't gonna ask twice. You got that?" Goody just nodded, licking her lips slightly in anticipation, "WHAT -- DO -- YOU - SAY?!" Marlon thundered out of my mouth. "Please, Jamie. . . " Goody replied, "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!" "Now that's one pol-lite pussy!" Marlon then rammed forward into her mouth, not even allowing her time to take her dentures out. He fucked her face furiously until, just as I could feel the familiar tightening in my balls he pulled me backwards, and shot his wad all over Goody's fabulous old knockers. Goody did keep her end of the bargain, although it has to be said, she wasn't exactly gracious about it. With the words, "I spose you wanna cuppa tea an' all, you filthy little pervert." she handed me an envelope, and followed her tits out into the kitchen, where, doubtless, she managed to convince herself that she'd had no part to play in what had just happened between us. The letter, when I opened it, informed me exactly why my parents hadn't been over to visit. Some three months earlier Mum's work syndicate had won a jackpot on the lottery. She'd always wanted to go on a Round the World Cruise, and so her first act with the money was to book herself and Dad on one. She'd left a message on my answerphone, but I'll be honest, I only ever checked my messages once in a blue moon. The day that they'd left had ironically been the day of my accident. It would be at least another fortnight before they got back. So at least that was another mystery solved. "Sugar?" "Yes, darling?" "Urrrggghhh! Dirty little sod!" grumbled Mrs. Goody. "I meant, do you want sugar?" I looked at her chest, and Marlon again began to rise from his ill-gotten slumbers, "I'd like two lumps please, Mrs. Goody." "Filthy little bleeder," she moaned, unzipping her dress and reaching for my zipper, "I'll be glad when you've 'ad enough!" She was, too. -------------------------------------------------- Things came to a head with Jamie that same evening. "Jamie," said Cassie rather abruptly, plonking herself down on the sofa and letting fly with a loud fart as she did so -- as I told you earlier, she was a confident and sophisticated girl -- "Jamie, we've got to talk about this whole talking pussy thing." "Sure." I said. "What do you . . . what can I . . . ummm. ..?" "Jamie . . . if there was some trick to what you did, I mean, if you used some other way of finding out my secrets like that. . . well, I wouldn't be annoyed if you told me. Well I would, but I'd be relieved as well. But if what you told me is true -- " " It is, Cassie. I'm sorry, but there's no trick to it. It is what I said it is." "But that's so crazy." "That's the way I look on it. I keep thinking that it's maybe some stupid weird dream that I'm going to wake up from. But I never do." Cassie got up and walked around the back of the sofa. Judging from the smell she'd just let another one go. "Can you . . . " she asked, hesitantly, " can you . . . hear . . . my vagina yourself?" "No!" I replied indignantly, "That would be weird! No, Marlon does the talking. And the listening." I thought for a moment . "In fact, " I continued, "a lot of the time he does the thinking too." "No surprise there." replied Cassie. "Thanks. I'm trying to be serious." "I'm sorry. So -- you didn't read my mind then?" I laughed, "No! Marlon doesn't read minds." "Jus' pussies!" he shouted, "He just said something to you, didn't he!" exclaimed Cassie. "How did you know?" "Your crotch just started twitching like you put a live rat down there." So he had. "What did he say?" I told her. "What -- anyone's pussy?" "Well, yes, that is no, I mean. It's like this. You see Marlon can talk to anyone's pussy if it -- if they're close enough to him. Just the same as you can talk to anyone who is in earshot. Now just because you talk to someone, it doesn't mean they're going to say anything back to you, does it? Well, it's the same with Marlon. He can talk to a pussy, but it doesn't mean that the pussy is going to say anything back to him. It's not like hypnosis or anything like that -- he can't make a pussy do anything it doesn't want to. Mind you, he seems to be very persuasive - in a macho, foul mouthed, sexist and perverted way, of course." Cassie walked back round and sat down again on the sofa, facing me. "What does it . .. she . . . my pussy. . . sound like, then?" she asked, a curious look on her face. I looked down at my crotch. "Well, Marlon," I asked, "what does she sound like?" "Sound like a pussy to me!" "Yeah, I know that, but you know, what sort of voice does she have? What accent? What language does she speak?" "She speakin' pussy, dipshit! When I'm talkin' pussytalk, I don't hear no accent." That was true. I remembered how he'd understood Julia's Katherine without knowing a word of German. How to explain this to Cassie, though? Pussy Charming Pt. 06 "Right, Cassie. . . this is a little difficult to understand. You see, I don't actually hear the . . . vaginas. . . talking, myself. As for Marlon, well, I don't think that genital language actually works the same way that ours does. He says that they don't have accents, they don't have words. Mind you, he has a lot of words when he speaks to me - most of them suffixed with off, I might add." She giggled slightly, "So, when Marlon talks to you, you do hear words? "Sure." "What does he sound like?" "Well, to be honest, he reminds me mainly of Samuel L. Jackson. But I have a theory about this. I guess that I want to think of my cock as some kind of supercool dude, and like, Samuel L. Jackson is just the coolest guy you could ever think of, so this is why Marlon sounds like this when he talks to me." "Hmm sounds like psychobabble and poppycock to me." "Well, there's no poppies, Cassie. I'll tell you what set my mind going this way. You see, the doc -- the psychiatrist who was treating me, Julia, when I told her about Marlon she told me that she'd been in an accident, and her pussy had been talking to her for years. Her pussy had a German accent, though, and when she was in control, she had Julia shouting out in German during the throes of carnal ecstasy." "Carnal ecstasy, eh? You fancy yourself, don't you?!" "Not me. It's Marlon. I . . . kind of let him take control in these situations. He knows what he's doing -- well, anyway, he can actually hear the pussies telling him what they really want, and so on and so forth." Cassie sighed, then smiled, and half laughed, and chuckled, "Well . . . I wish you could teach me how to talk to mine." I laughed too, "Sorry Cassie, but that's one thing I can't do." "Well I sure as hell can, asswipe!" yelled Marlon suddenly tenting in my pants. "What?" I yelled. "What? Cassie yelled. "What? You heard it too?" "No, sorry," she replied, "but with that sudden erection you just grew I guessed he must be shouting at you." "You'd better believe it, sugar!" replied Marlon. "Look, " I said, " Marlon has just made an offer. I'm not saying you should take it. . . but he says that he can teach you how to talk to your pussy . . . if you're interested." Cassie came and sat down again. "No shit?" she asked. "Damn straight!" replied Marlon. "Damn straight." I repeated.