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A Promising Youth Ch. 01

By: pouramour



PART ONE

I 

Although I was eighteen my sexual experience hadn't amounted to much more than wrestling matches in the backseats of cars (resulting in two acts of sexual intercourse), a furtive handjob now and then, and a couple of occasions when she "let" my stick a finger in her pussy. Once, and once only, a girl agreed to suck my cock, but only for a minute; she wouldn't let me cum there, or even start to cum. And, mind you, all of this was in the dark, tits lighted by movie screens, downy sweet pussies barely visible in the dim rays cast by by a distant street light. (Of course, this was some years ago and I do believe things have changed - er - somewhat.) Thus I was due to start college in the fall, still, for all practical purposes, a virgin. 

My folks were the typical, stodgy, middle-class types: bridge and the occasional movie with friends were about as exciting as they ever got. Among their friends was this one couple, really old, like in their forties and, on top of that, she was fat, not overweight - fat.

So, imagine my surprise when, one day, out of the blue, she called me up, told me that she belonged to an art class, and wondered if I would be interested in modeling for them - for money and not in the nude. I pictured a bunch of fat old women sitting before easels and splashing paint on canvas. I was completely turned off. But my dad had taken the call and seemed to know what was going on; I could see he wanted me to say yes. The woman's husband was a business associate of dad's and I knew it wouldn't hurt for me to be cooperative. I floundered around for a bit, embarrassed, and also feeling that I would be taking a giant step out of my element, but finally I said a hesitant "yes". The arrangements were made and we hung up.

I suppose anyone else would have been flattered to have received such an implied compliment to his masculinity. All I could think of was what if, standing there in just a bathing suit in front of all these women staring at me, I should get hard. 

I almost backed out.

But the day came and she arrived to pick me up. When we got to her house, I was surprised to find that she was the oldest woman there, and that the youngest was in her late twenties. There were about eight of them altogether, and three were not at all bad-looking - for older women. In fact, that youngest one and another, somewhere in her thirties, were actually hot. 

But I put them out of my mind and went into a bedroom to change. The bathing suit they gave me to wear was a pretty brief bikini, much like my own, leaving little doubt that I was a well-endowed young man. Fortunately I was used to wearing one in public, so I felt I could manage. Anyway, I was so nervous about the whole proceeding that John Henry didn't come up.

The easels were set up in the basement rec room and there was a small raised platform for me to stand on. In the process of getting everyone settled and deciding upon the pose they wanted me to assume, I became involved and lost some of my embarassment and awkwardness. And this group, as a group, was completely absorbed in its efforts; the ladies were deadly serious and got right down to business. 

Altogether, over two hours, I adopted three different poses and held them while the women drew or painted industriously away. They were in earnest and the poses, with one exception, required me to look away from them. The one exception had me standing, hands on my hips, looking straight at the women. That one was tough. While most of the ladies concentrated on my face and chest, my arms and legs, the two I had noticed when I arrived seemed to be having trouble getting my crotch just right. All I could do was stare out over the group and think about my next math exam. I wasn't having any fun. (In that situation the last thing you want to think about is your dick. Talk about concentration!) But, finally, it was over.

Refreshments were announced and I thought I could slip into the bedroom and get dressed. No such luck. All the ladies crowded around me and began asking me how I had liked the session. In my relative inexperience, I knew something was happening, but I just didn't quite understand it, at least not in that setting. Now, looking back, I realize that these middle-class, uptight ladies were enjoying the experience of being fully-clothed in the presence of a nearly nude man. They were quite excited, I now realize, and chattered away like a flock of birds.

All except for the two I had noticed at the start, Sheila and Marilyn, the former a tall redhead with green eyes, the latter a shorter, dark-haired woman with blue eyes. Although they chatted with me a bit, for the most part they let the others do the talking and just hung back and watched. Every time I happened to catch the eye of one or the other, however, it was to bring that eye up to my face. Even in my near virginal innocence I knew that a recognition was taking place. . . .

Finally, the afternoon came to an end. I was allowed to dress and my hostess took me home. There was to be another session in two weeks and she asked if I would care to pose again. With twenty-five dollars now in my pocket and a successful session under my belt (so to speak), I said I would.

As it turned out, there was a second and a third session, both much like the first. By the time I arrived for the fourth one I was pretty well acquainted with them all - knew something about their husbands and families, their interests in addition to art, and what they hoped from the future.

By then, also, we were all so well- acquainted that I was greeted with touching and hugging, as is the style of ladies, a typically touchy-feely folk. And, somehow, again, it never quite worked out for me to get dressed between the posing and the refreshments, and I became aware of an increasing number of touchings and pettings during the serving of the food and the conversation. . . .

Also, and for the second time, Sheila followed me down the hall when I went to change before leaving. I practically had to close the door in her face. And, this time, she followed me out to my car when I was ready to leave, somehow bumping up against me twice as we moved down the steps and into the driveway. She was talking about how much she enjoyed "life drawing", as she called it, as opposed to still life.

As I opened the car door, she said, casually, "I was wondering, Paul, if you would consider posing sometime just for me. I can't seem to get enough done working only every two weeks."

It was summer and I all I was doing was a part-time job at the pizza place - nights and weekends, of course - so I was free during the week.

"It would be a big help, if you could. I know I'm no great shakes as an artist, but it's fun, and I'd like to see how much better at it I can get. . . . I'll pay you; I'll pay you what Eleanor does."

By now I was pretty used to the routine, and the way Sheila spoke made it sound like something between a business deal and a contribution to the work of a struggling artist. I didn't sense a sub-text this time, though she had often looked at me in a special way at other times. Remember, I was just eighteen and she was a good ten years older than me. I was not, and still am not, the most worldly of people.

Feeling pretty confident about myself in this setting by now and always ready to pocket additional money, I gave it some thought as I got into the car.

"Yeah, I guess I could. When should I come?"

"Let's see - this is Tuesday. How 'bout Thursday, say around two?"

"That'll work for me. Where do you live?"

II

The house was a large one, set on a rise above the driveway which already wound halfway up a hill. When I got up to the front door I turned for a look at the view over the neighboring houses across the street and to the hills in the far distance. Nice.

Before I could turn back to ring the bell, the door opened and Sheila was standing there in a white halter-top and short-shorts, barefooted. One hand, above her head, held the door edge, the other, balancing it, rested on the frame. Sheila had large breasts. She held the pose for a moment, but I dropped my eyes, feeling my face grow warm. When I managed to raise them a moment later to look on her face, she was smiling with that expression in her eyes which, later, I came to realize was typical of a woman who has just caught a man admiring her tits.

"Hi, Paul. Glad you could make it. This is going to be a big help to me."

She then stepped aside and I entered. The house, which had smallish windows across the front, opened out to the back, with large windows and a sliding glass door opening onto the terrace from the living room; as I discovered, the same arrangement prevailed, on a somewhat smaller scale, in the bedrooms. The terrace ran the whole length of the back of the house.

"Would you like something to drink or eat before we get started?" We were now seated in the living room, me on the couch and Sheila sitting cross-legged in her short-shorts on one of the over-stuffed chairs. I had trouble not looking at her. But she was totally cool; not in the slightest flirtatious.

"Yeah. Coke if you have it."

"Sure."

She brought it in, handed it to me, and went back to her chair, this time sitting with one foot on the floor and the other leg draped over one arm of the chair. I was now not-looking at the same thing, just from a somewhat different angle.

Sheila took no notice of my wandering eyes. She asked me questions about school, about my family, my plans for the future. I was kept so busy answering her questions that I managed to keep my cock at only half-mast and I thought I would be able to maintain control once we got started.

"Well, shall we get to work?" she asked at length. "I'll show you where you can change."

She led me down a hall to a bedroom and opened the door. "I think we'll work on the terrace so, when you're ready, you can just go out through thatdoor there," she said, pointing.

Out in the sun it was quite warm. Sheila was one of those redheads whose skin can take a tan. Hers took one very well, and those green eyes looking out from the sun-darkened skin glittered like ice - a startling contrast. She had rearranged the furniture on the terrace, set up a small riser for me to stand on, and had her easel ready to go. The exertion had produced a light sweat and her body just glistened. She saw me coming.

"Already?"

"Yup." I mounted the riser.

"I think what I want to try is you as a quarterback. One arm out forward, the other back, ready to throw. . . . Here, think fast!" and the football came flying toward me.

I caught it and assumed the indicated position.

"Here. . . . let's see" and she came over, took my left arm and lowered it some to show more of my face, in the process brushing it against one of her breasts; my heart thudded. She pulled my right arm back and positioned it to show more tension. Then she grasped my waist and turned my body to more of an acute angle. She casually back-handed my butt as she moved away toward the easel. Her touch there was electric, making me shiver. "Are you cold?" she inquired seriously. 

"No, I'm fine."

She took up her charcoal. For the next half hour she silently drew and I silently sweated. Finally she spoke.

"So, do you have a girlfriend, Paul?"

Why is it that women always ask that question of any man they meet? It's like an obsession with them. And my experience so far had taught me that it wasn't about sex; it was about romance, or something. Whatever.

"Uh, not really." 

"What kind of an answer is that? Do you or don't you?"

"I don't have a steady girlfriend; I've just dated a few times, nothing serious."

"I'm surprised. A young man with your looks."

"Well -"

"You could probably have any girl you wanted."

Although I was struggling hard to hold the pose and sweating profusely, there was yet the beginning of a stirring in my groin.

She put down her charcoal and came and rearranged my left arm. She smiled into my eyes, warm and friendly. She moved back toward the easel. Halfway there she stopped and turned.

"You know, girls like it as much as boys do." She winked and turned again toward the easel.

Something shifted again between my legs.

"Do you have daydreams or fantasies about certain girls you know?"

I was becoming uncomfortable; she was getting pretty personal. "I-I don't know."

"Oh, come on! You're being pretty silly. Every young man has a favorite among the girls in school. One he dreams about" - here she looked directly at me - "and imagines doing things with."

Now I was blushing, sweating even more, wanting desperately to shift my position, and again feeling an arousal in my groin.

Sheila had gone back to drawing, saying casually as she did so: "You try to look up their dresses and down their blouses every chance you get. Don't try to kid me." She appeared not to notice my discomfort and went right on, "Haven't you ever caught a girl checking out your package?"

Maybe there was something wrong with me, but I never had.

"They do, you know. They're just as curious about the male anatomy as you are about theirs."

That did it. The thought of Jeanne looking at my crotch caused the snake really to stretch and swell. By the grace of God he went sideways instead of up, but I could feel, if not see, the enlarged bulge.

"I'm sorry. Do you mind my talking this way?"

Well, I'm a man, after all. "N-no, it's okay."

"'Okay'? I should think a red-blooded young man like yourself - " and here she stepped away from the easel, put her hands on her hips and gave me a very serious appraisal from top to toe, resting her gaze ever so briefly on my crotch "- would think that sex is a bit more than okay." She chuckled throatily, gave my crotch one last good look, lifted her eyes to meet mine in challenge, and turned back to her work.

Now there was a definite sexual tension between us and I hadn't a clue what to do about it. My efforts with girls had always been about getting what I wanted and I never had learned how to tell whether they wanted it or not. But my sense here, at this moment, was that something could happen, if only I knew how to do it. My cock was nearly fully erect, albeit sideways in my bikini, and dripping precum. Sticky. Sweaty. Body aching from its immobility. Sexual energy running rampant through my system. Her breasts. The tight crotch of her shorts. Her sweaty body, tendrils of red hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. The challenge in her emerald eyes when she had just now looked directly at me as person and not model. . . .

III

A silence fell between us as she continued to draw. After a while she stepped away from the easel and again looked directly at me, moving her eyes from my head to my feet, pausing once more at my crotch, then smiling to herself.

"You're getting tired, aren't you?" she asked. "I'll tell you what. I'll work a bit longer and, while I'm doing that, you tell me about the most beautiful girl in your school - and what makes her beautiful. I'll bet she wears tight sweaters, tight skirts and jeans, and walks in a certain way sometimes. So tell me" - and she moved back to her easel - "tell me, if you had to choose one thing, what you like best about her: her tits, her ass or her crotch?"

Oh, man!! This can't be happening! I knew that I was being teased and goaded, but I couldn't make a move. Okay, the guys and I had spent many a long evening describing the attributes of the girls we knew and what we would do with them if we ever we got them alone. But, needless to say, no twenty-eight year-old sex goddess had ever asked me to talk about it. I still had no idea that a woman would be pro-active when it came to sex. My entire endocrine system was running amok; I was shaking and sweating; I couldn't meet her eye nor form words.

"Come on! I know you guys talk about it all the time, so tell me. If you do, I'll let you take a break and you can jump in the pool. Hurry up! I'm getting tired of waiting."

I realized much later that, by this time, she knew she had me. I had neither run off in a virgin fright nor taken an aggressive tack with her, giving as good as I got. For my part, I was nearly panting and about ready to come in my shorts - er - bikini. 

"Well - uh -" - the idea of the pool as refuge spurred me on - "well, I - I like her ass. I can't help looking at it as she walks in front of me. And she has pretty nice t-tits. But, I guess I like her - her crotch best of all."

"Very good, big boy." I heard the touch of ridicule in her voice, but her soft tone also soothed and reassured me somewhat. "I bet you'd like to walk right up to her, reach out and grab a handful of that cunt. But you probably never will, will you?" That was definitely a put-down, but I was past caring. All I wanted was to be released to head for the pool.

"Well," she said, stepping back from her work, "I guess that's the best I can do for now. . . . Okay, Paul, run along." She didn't have to say it twice. I sprinted for the pool, dove in and swam its length underwater. When I came up, Sheila was standing right above me, her hands on her hips. Looking up at her I was staring right into her crotch.

"I'm sorry, Paul. I kinda teased you a little bit there. Did you mind?"

My relief was so great after the long period of immobility and sexual arousal that I would nearly have forgiven castration.

"No, it's all right." I clung to the edge of the pool, still looking up, this time at her breasts, held high and firm by the halter.

"You are quite good looking, you know."

"Uh, thank you."

"I mean, let's face it, you're a real stud. From what I could see as we talked to day, I'll bet you're hung like a horse." She smiledwarmly at me , not leering, and winked.

How is it that mere words can at once send a flush of pride throughout your body and, at the same time, leave you blushing in a paroxysm of embarassment?

"You were lucky he decided to go sideways instead of straight up. Then all my questions would have been answered."

She suddenly squatted down, her cunt just inches from my face, and reached out a hand to caress my cheek. Her touch was gentle, tender; she smiled again. Just as suddenly she stood up and jumped, over my head, into the pool. She came up quickly and began to swim toward the other end. I followed along. When she got there she pulled herself effortlessly out of the water, turned, and was sitting on the pool's edge, dangling her feet, by the time I caught up.

I'd have gotten out, too, except that my attention was riveted on her body. Her now wet shorts and halter-top were virtually transparent and I could see her full breasts, nipple, aureola and all. Moreover, and this was totally new to me, her pussy, perfectly outlined beneath the thin material of her shorts, was clean-shaven.

This time I was fully staring, awestruck, and she acknowledged the fact by spreading her legs wider and leaning back. And this time John Henry was standing stright up, half his length out of my bikini (thank heaven I was still in the pool!!), and I was again blushing and even panting a little.

She chuckled again and fixed me with a questioning look. "So, where are we?"

"Well -"

"Come on, Paul. You like what you see, don't you?"

"Y-yes."

"And you'd like to see more, wouldn't you?

"Well, uh, yeah."

She brought one leg out of the water and rested the foot on the pool edge, giving me another beaver shot, from a different angle.

"Okay, I've brought us this far. I think the next move is yours. What you need to do is get out of the pool and stand in front of me, so I can look you over."

"But, I -"

"Now, Paul," and there was suddenly an edge to her voice. There was a strange certainty, an inevitability, to the moment. Even before I thought to decide, I was halfway out of the pool. Another instant and I was standing before her.


A Promising Youth Ch. 01



"Hands on your hips."

Hands on my hips.

I was still fairly hard, my cock just poking above the band of my bikini.

"I think there's more to you than that, lover. Let's see if we can't make him just a little more upstanding, if you get my meaning. . . . If you rotate your hips, the friction of you trunks against your cock will probably make it harder. See if it does."

I stood in front of her with my hands on my hips and did the exercise our gym instructor called the "meat grinder". I watched her watching me. The naked lust in her face was intimidating and, at the same time, exciting. I half-wanted to escape, but, like any man, I'm proud of my cock and couldn't resist her admiration of it.

"Seems to be working. Damn, I just love to stare at a good hard cock. . . . Let's see if we can make him a little bigger." 

And she reached back, undid the buttons of her halter-top and let the straps slide down her arms; suddenly I was staring at a pair of the most marvelously well-formed tits. John Henry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"There you are, my man!! Mmm, mmm, mmm! . . . . Well, I guess you don't need those shorts anymore, do you, Paul?" - and she knelt before me, put her hands on my hips, slid them around to the back to grasp the cheeks of my ass for a good squeeze, and then slowly peeled my trunks down my thighs, taking care not to touch my cock, which was now standing straight up, a inch from her face.

The bikini came to a rest around my ankles. Sheila was still staring at my cock.

"You know, we ladies just love to suck cock" - another spasm shot through my body at her words; I could feel precum dribbling out of ol' one eye's one eye. "You may think that you're making us do something humiliating and disgusting, but we really just love it. . . . Would you like me to suck yours?"

"Huff!!! Wha!"

"Well, maybe I will. But first I want to see you do some jumping jacks. I want to watch that cock bounce up and down, and see your balls swinging to and fro."

I did jumping jacks, my cock slapping alternately against my belly and thin air, my ballsbanging my thighs. I felt foolish. A couple of minutes of that and she said, "All right, that's enough. Now, turn around, bend over and grab your ankles. I want a look at your asshole."

By this time I certainly knew something was wrong. While I felt that Sheila liked me and regarded me tenderly, I still somehow knew that she wasn't loving me but using me. I suddenly felt angry and humiliated, but also strangely and deeply excited. You're making a fool of me; keep doing it!!

"That's a really humiliating position, isn't it. You look ridiculous, but you have such a beautiful little man-ass. And, yes, I'd like to lick that, too. Isn't that just sick? . . . But I won't do it today." 

The next thing I knew her hand was lightly caressing my haunches. She slid the length of a finger down my crack. There was a slight pressure on my asshole and the finger went in just a little. It was a sensation I had never before experienced. I had no idea that assholes could be sexually exciting.

"Okay, straighten up and turn to face me. . . . Now, feast your eyes on my crotch and I will show it to you, little by little." And she began to slide her shorts down over her hips. She stopped. "Wait. Maybe you'd like to do it. Kneel down." I did so. "Put your face right up to my cunt and gently slide my shorts down. Your first serious look at a pussy should be a good one."

And so I did and it was. Slowly, gently, reaching around to keep the pulling even, I slid her shorts down, revealing that magical, perfectly-shaped mound that is woman, and the slit, the luscious lips, that open beneath it, and the something sticking out at its top. Talk about being ensorcelled, enchanted, spellbound!! Never before had I been able to look my fill at a real cunt. I couldn't take my eyes off it!

Until, suddenly, she grasped the back of my head with both hands and pulled my face right into it. I was stunned! Dirty! . . . Sweet!! . . . And the smell! Yuck!! I couldn't get enough of it!

After a minute she released my head and stepped back. She smiled down at me. "Another time I'll teach you how to give head. I bet you'll like it. . . . Wanna see me do some jumping jacks, watch my tits flop around?" And she began, as I remained on my knees in front of her to look up at those lovely boobs swinging rhythmically up and down, her wild mane of red hair swirling about her face.

It was a dream I hadn't yet had come true.

"Care for something to drink?", she asked as she came to a stop and reached to a chair for a towel to wipe the sweat off her glistening body.

"Sure."

"Let's go into the kitchen." She reached out, grabbed my cock, and used it to pull me along behind her. When we got there she let go and, watching my face closely for my reaction, she slapped it back and forth, fairly hard, three or four times. She grinned. "'Bout made you cum, didn't I?"

I was lost. The build-up of pressure in my cock and balls was so great that, yeah, I was on the verge of squirting a huge load. At this point she could do anything she wanted with me (like she hadn't already).

"I'm gonna have a real drink. Want one?"

The guys and I had been drinking for a couple of years now, so I was somewhat even with her in that department.

"Yeah, sure."

"Rum and coke is probably your drink, right?"

"Fine."

She mixed them and we took a few sips, just standing there.

Suddenly, somehow, glancing at me over the rim of her glass as she drank, she looked very wide-eyed and innocent, an expression I hadn't seen before.

She lowered he glass and looked away, her face full of diffidence and uncertainy.

"Paul -" her voice weak, timid "- would you like to fuck me?" It was somehow halfway between "Would you like to go for a walk?" and "Do you think I'm attractive?".

Once again I was left floundering. Such a sudden and complete change. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Uh, ah - I don't know." I looked at her for some kind of hint, but her head was averted and she was looking at the floor, awaiting my reply. "Oh, shit, Sheila! God!! Of course I would!!! You're so beautiful -!!"

She looked up, a worried expression on her face. "You know I'm married, don't you? What would my husband say? I'd be cheating on him, after all. That'd be pretty dishonest, wouldn't it?" So sweet, so innocent, so pure.

Yeah, right. After everything we'd already done she suddenly decides to get moral! Of course I've long since learned that this kind of thing is part of the way some women play the game; they just love to keep a man off-balance, send him down the road talking to himself.

"I - I guess so."

"I'd be some sort of slut, wouldn't I?"

"No! No, Sheila, no! You're the most wonderful woman I've ever known!"

"Thank you, Paul," very seriously. "I don't know. I just can't seem to help myself. You're so beautiful." She had now moved to lean against me, caressing my chest with one hand. "I guess I can let myself go just this one time."

She had me going, alright. There I was, so aroused I was fit to explode, the liquor warming every part of my body, intensifying the sexual heat, and, naturally, I had fallen in love; I wanted her so much!!

"You realize I can't actually let you put your thing in me; that would be too much. But I can do something for you. Lean back against the sink and rest your hands on it. Don't move, no matter what - like you're posing again." She was standing close to me, on my left, and she now reached out with her left hand and lightly brushed my cock, running her hand along the underside, watching herself doing it. Next she looked into my face as she very, very lightly encircled my cock with her hand. Two or three light, feather strokes and she took her hand away.

"I want to show you something, Paul. I'm going to use just the tip of one finger and I'll have you squirting you entire load of hot spunk in about three seconds. Ready?"

Of all the dumb questions!! How she could tease me!

True to her word, she reached out with her index finger and, very gently, began to rub my penis on the underside just at that point where the crown adjoins the shaft. A very light touch, no pressure, just a tickling sensation and a building agony of suspense, of expectation, of desire for release. Extraordinary! I wanted it never to end but I needed to cum!! More!! Stop! Don't stop! Arrgh!!

And then there I was, standing in a kitchen, leaning back against the sink, shooting the first spurts of a load of jizz out into space (although not far because the stroking of my cock was just enough to make me cum but not enough to make me really shoot; just a shade more intense than coming in my pants or a wet-dream), the woman next to me lightly touching the tip of my cock and intently watching my face, noting every change of expression. I was amazed: such a very light and limited touch, and yet I came - not very hard or satisfying, but an ejaculation.

All at once Sheila stepped away from me. I was startled and looked over at her. She was very angry.

"Paul!! Look what you've done! I just fucking cleaned that floor this morning!" She was almost shouting, her face was red and her fists clenched; her eyes shot bolts of fury at me. My heart stopped beating, I could hardly breathe; adrenalin shot through my body. I was terrified.

"Clean that mess up, asshole! Now!! You disgusting pig! Who do you think you are, anyway? There's paper towels under the sink. As soon as you're finished, get your clothes and get out!"

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. I found the pepertowels and wiped my cum off the floor. The house was very quiet as I walked to the bedroom to get my clothes. Sheila was nowhere around. I closed the front door quietly behind me.

END OF PART ONE



A Promising Youth Ch. 02



PART ONE - Summary: A young man, not bad-looking and fairly intelligent yet with little sexual experience, is invited by a friend of his parents' to model for her art class. No nudity, she hastens to assure him. Somewhat shy and unassertive, he hesitates but she ultimately talks him into it. There are eight women, no men, in the class, ranging in age from late-twenties to early forties, among them two outstanding beauties. Already fearful of the prospect of a certain penile embarrassment while standing nearly naked in front a group of women, his response to the beauty of these two heightens his concern. Worse, the bikini swimming trunks he is asked to wear reveal him to be definitely male. Nevertheless, things proceed and he finds the seriousness of the work and his efforts to maintain the poses sufficient to keep his attention from wandering onto dangerous ground. 

He proves to be a success and three more sessions follow. At the end of the fourth one, the red-headed one of the two lovelies he had noticed the first day, Sheila, approaches him and asks if he would pose for her alone at her house. What man can refuse a sweetly presented request from a lovely woman? When she promised to pay him well, he agreed.

Arrived at her house, the young man is put at ease with small talk and the session then proceeds in a business-like fashion. After working a while in silence, Sheila initiates conversation. In time it turns to the question of girlfriends and, then, sex. Carefully pacing her approach, Sheila soon has the young man very hot and bothered. Before releasing him for the relief of a dip in the pool, she has him talking about his sexual fantasies - a place to which he had never before gone with a female, let alone an adult woman - and he has caught her staring more than once at the ever-growing bulge threatening to escape his briefs.

When he comes to the surface at the far end of the pool she is standing above him. He, of course, can't resist inventorying her female parts. They make eye contact and she wordlessly compliments him for his appreciation of her charms. Then she jumps over his head into the pool. When she emerges at the other end and climbs out, her halter-top and short-shorts have become quite transparent. It isn't long before they are both naked. 

The day ends in the kitchen where Sheila adroitly manipulates him into ejaculation and then, unaccountably, flies into a rage at the mess his cum has made on the floor. She kicks him out.

                                          I

And that was the end of my modeling career. Or so I thought. Under no circumstances would I risk coming into contact with Sheila again. Ever. I didn't feel very good about myself. I no longer liked to look at myself in the mirror. The young stud I had fancied myself to be was gone. Instead, I was depressed, more so than I had ever been before. The next two nights at work I just slouched around listlessly, speaking to no one.

Then, on Sunday night, halfway through the shift, Sheila walked in. I was drawing a soft-drink when I saw her and my hand immediately started to shake, spilling some of the pop. I felt myself turning bright red and starting to sweat. Sheila held back, waiting for me to finish with the customer, then, before I could turn away, came up and spoke to me.

"Paul!", she whispered breathlessly, "I have to talk to you!" She seemed nervous, agitated. "Please!"

I had grabbed onto the counter to steady myself and taken a couple of deep breaths. She looked so anxious and forlorn that all my good resolutions went right down that drain in front of me. She was so goddam' beautiful!! Yet I was so startled and unnerved at her sudden appearance that, to this day, I have no recollection of what she was wearing.

"Sure. . . . Yeah, I guess so. Just a minute." I went back to tell the boss I was going on break, took off my apron and came out front. "Let's go sit on the patio."

When we got to the outside tables, I slid onto one of the benches. She was beside me, still standing for a moment. "May I?", and she slid onto the bench beside me, close, but not quite touching.

I turned to look at her, and her eyes, pleading desperately, went straight to mine.

"Paul!" When she wanted them to, her words could convey exclamation marks of intense, barely supressed, emotion. "Paul, I'm so sorry about the way I behaved the other day. I don't know what got into me. I guess I was more upset than I realized about sneaking around behind my husband's back. I've never done anything like that before. . . . Still, I behaved badly. Can you ever forgive me?" And she leaned her body against mine, placing her hand on my thigh.

Of course she was a pro, which I would soon come to realize. So far was I from being her only indiscretion, she had probably sucked and fucked a hundred men - a thousand - both with her husband's knowledge and participation and in hotel rooms spread from hell to breakfast. But we are so innocent and naive in the beginning, and she was a world-class beauty.

Forgive her? How could I not? Once again, and in a twinkling, I was hers to use. 

"Of course I forgive you, Sheila." I needed to tell her how it was with me. "I - I - I love you!"

"Oh, Paul! That's sweet! I knew you were special." Her hand moved up my thigh, nearly to my crotch, her pinky finger brushing lightly against my balls. "I'm so glad you've forgiven me. I was afraid I'd lost you forever."

"You could never lose me, Sheila." I really believe that's the max of fatuous; I can't see how it could get any worse.

"So, and here's the big question -" sliding the back of her hand up and down my now erect cock in that absent-minded way women have of physically manipulating a man while seeming to pursue a quite innocent conversation - "would you care to come over to my house again?"

"Sure. Of course. When?"

"Hmm. Let's see. How 'bout Tuesday, day after tomorrow?"

"Okay. Fine."

"Lovely!" She turned abruptly, removing her hand from my thigh and, half-facing me, kissed my cheek. "You're wonderful, Paul." Then, looking me directly, challengingly, in the eye, she dropped her left hand onto my thigh and slowly, lightly slid it up to my crotch and onto my cock. She squeezed it playfully a couple of times and said, "You will come looking for fun, won't you, lover?"

Yikes!!!

"I have an idea!! You have a suit don't you? Why don't you wear it and we'll play some dress-up games. How would you like that?"

By now I was, of course, feeling no end of - er - cocky.

"I'm there already," I said and smiled into her face, at the same time dropping my left hand onto her thigh and moving it upward.

"Hold on there, tiger!!" and she promptly removed my hand and held it between her own. "Wait 'til Tuesday." She gave my hand a couple of pats, dropped it into my lap and stood up. "Why don't you come for lunch, say say around noon? Then we'll have the whole afternoon."

                   II

Precisely at the stroke of noon on Tuesday, wearing a charcoal-grey pinstripe suit, burgundy red shirt and dark-blue tie, I mounted the flagstone steps to Sheila's front door. As I reached the top step the door opened and Sheila stood before me, dressed in a low-cut, black evening gown trimmed in a green that matched her eyes. Her full breasts were half exposed and it was all I could do to take my eyes off them and look her in the face. When I did so, it was to meet laughing eyes which knew just what I was thinking - and desiring. Her abundant red hair cascaded down over her shoulders and, for a discordant note, she was barefooted. As I approached, she reached out and took my hands in both of hers, pulling me forward and into the house, a radiant smile lighting her face.

"Oh, Paul!" and she pulled me right up against her to kiss me on the mouth, for the first time ever. Then she released me and stepped back. "Come this way; I want to show you something", and she led me along a hall. When we came to a closed door, she flung it open and then stepped back for me to enter first. I found myself in a den, with a desk and office chair, a couple of overstuffed armchairs and shelves of books. I could almost smell the residual scent of pipe tobacco.

"This is my husband's study. It's off-limits to me; I've hardly ever been in here. Well, that's going to change! Can you think of some things we could do in here? Hunh?" And before I could say anything she grasped my upper arms and pulled me into an embrace, this time kissing me thoroughtly, running her tongue along my lips, then sticking it all the way in as my mouth opened. We wrassled tongues for a bit as my head began to swim deliciously from the scent she was wearing. Her arms had been under mine and her hands on my shoulders. Now they slipped down until they had grasped my buttocks so she could pull me into her. Still holding my right cheek with her left hand and continuing to explore my mouth with her tongue, she slid her right hand around to the front and between our bodies to fondle my cock. We remained in this clinch for several minutes and were just pulling apart when the half-closed door swung open and there stood Marilyn, the other woman from from the art class, framed in the doorway.

"So this is where you disappeared to!" 

She stepped into the room, taking in the scene, and fixed a pair of icy blue eyes on me, looking me up and down in cool appraisal. Finished, she locked her eyes onto mine and gave me a long, searching stare. The slightest hint of a mocking, knowing smile stretched her lips briefly. Suddenly, eerily, I felt as though I had been stripped naked.

Marilyn was wearing a pair of skin-tight Levis and a peasant blouse, the tails of which were tied across her middle, leaving her belly-button exposed. That alone, to me, was incredibly sexy and, if my cock hadn't already started building, would have been enough to get things going. Marilyn's pussy was one of those with a prominent mons beneath which the slit sloped gradually, instead of straight, back. The shape of her whole business was clearly outlined beneath her jeans, inviting the idle hand to slide right in. Her shirt was open halfway down the front and I could see that she was not wearing a bra; the generous curve of her breasts was clearly visible where the shirt didn't quite cover. She wore open-work high heels and her toenails were painted silver-blue to match her lip gloss. Her black hair, worn short, was actually blue-black.

"Well, girlfriend, so this is your little secret! And how long has it been going on?"

Sheila turned to stand beside me and linked her arm through mine. Her left breast pushed against my arm. She smiled at Marilyn.

"Would you believe it? We got together just last week for the first time. Paul's really wonderful, Marilyn. You just wouldn't believe." And she squeezed my arm against her body. My hand itched to grab the breast.

"Yeah. Well. Whatever. I'm thirsty." And she turned and left the room. Sheila and I follwed behind her. With Sheila hanging on my arm and her scent filling my nostrils, I was, nevertheless, watching hungrily the circular motion of Marilyn's ass as she preceded us. Damn! (And, as I later found out, she was not in her thirties but actually forty-two!) And here I was, just eighteen and lusting after a woman more than twice my age. Truly decadent.

Yet, at the same time, I was confused. I had expected to be alone with Sheila. I was in love and wanted to enjoy complete, private, possession of my lady. How long Marilyn would stay and how little time would remain for me and Sheila, and my fully engorged, raging, hard cock were combining to make me frustrated, irritable.

When we got to the living room, I saw that a drinks cart had been set up in front of the fireplace. Sheila turned to me. "Would you mind playing host and fixing us some drinks, Paul?" 

Between what the guys and I had figured out, and the fact that I had been my parents' unofficial bartender on the few occasions when they threw parties, I knew my way around liquor fairly well, so it was no trouble to mix a martini, a stinger, and a rum and coke for myself. As I began putting them together, the women went and sat on the couch.

"So, is he any good in bed?" were the first words out of Marilyn's mouth. "I mean does he eat pussy all right?" An ice cube slipped from the tongs in my hand and clattered onto the tray. "Lick your asshole?" I felt myself turning red and beginning to sweat. What the -?

Sheila chuckled. "Hold your horses, Lyn. We haven't gotten nearly that far yet. Have we, babe?" I looked up from what I was doing and tried a smile; it felt sickly. 

"N-no."

"I think he's embarrassed, Sheil," Marilyn said, laughing.

"He shouldn't be. He's got the most amazing cock; you should see it. He truly has some stuff to strut."

Now I was really embarrassed and confused. How could the lady of my dreams talk about me that way? Didn't she feel special about me at all?

"Oh, I've seen a few in my time. Remember, I'm somewhat older than you. I doubt if he's got anything all that great."

If a piece of meat has feelings, right then I had 'em. Yeah, I was embarrassed, and a bit sick to my stomach. In fact, I felt weird. Sometimes Sheila looked at me as though I were superman, like I was the greatest lover ever, and sometimes she made me feel like a thing, a toy, an object, and that really made me feel badly about myself. Just then I wanted to drop everything and walk out the door, but I was afraid to, afraid I'd hear them laughing at me as I went. That would be the worst.

The thing of it was that I didn't know how to turn it around, how to take charge.

                  III

I couldn't stall any longer. I picked up the ladies' drinks and headed for the couch. As I approached, Sheila spoke to me. "I guess we embarrased you a little, hunh, Paul? You shouldn't mind. One thing you have to get used to is that ladies have dirty minds, too. We think about sex almost as much asyou do." She spoke soothingly, almost as though we were alone. "And you have to remember, we're all friends here, and we just want to have fun. You do, too, don't you?" Her words and their tone had their effect and I managed a nearly natural smile as I handed Sheila her drink. 

As I turned to Marilyn I was almost back to normal, but the look of open contempt on her face made me nearly drop her drink. She sneered at me and even gave me the finger. Instantly I was again reduced to a trembling glob of mush. But before I could drop the drink she leaned forward to save it and, as she did so, her breasts pushed her shirt away from her body and I got a good look down her front. In a flash I realized that she was deliberately holding the pose longer than necessary; I looked my fill (or at least ten per cent of it). When she leaned back, drink in hand, she used her other hand to cup her breast, lift it slightly and let it fall back.

Now I was nearly in a panic. Sheila's words of a moment ago, "we're all friends and want to have fun", suddenly registered with their full import.

In less than two minutes the room had filled with sexual tension. I looked at Sheila to see if she had noticed. She was looking at Marilyn, "Tsk, tsk, tsk" - ing with her tongue and teeth. "Now behave yourself, Marilyn. You are so bad." And she reached over and slapped Marilyn lightly on the thigh. Turning to me she said: "Go get your drink, babe, and come sit between us."

I did as ordered and Sheila snuggled up against me when I sat down, wrapping her arms and hands around my right arm. "You look really handsome, lover. That suit kicks ass! I'll bet the girls get wet just looking at you" She distentangled one of her hands from my arm and caressed my chest with it. "And don't mind Marilyn. Yeah, she's a ball-breaker, but I can stop her before she gets out of control. Like I'm going to let her do anything to you." She gave me a conspiratorial wink and once again I felt better, safer (a really strange feeling to have in the company of two women).

"What do you mean, 'ball-breaker'?" Marilyn asked. "Men'll walk all over you, if you let 'em. Well, I'm just tellin' 'em it won't work with me. The man who gets to my fuck-pot has to earn it, that's all I'm sayin'."

Why did that woman's language excite me so much, when I was sitting next to my beloved, my one and only?

While Marilyn was speaking, Sheila had dropped her left hand to my thigh and was gently stroking it, moving ever nearer to my scrotum while, at the same time, kissing my ear, sticking her tongue into it and also blowing into it. Her tonguing made my whole body warm and, when she blew into my ear, I shivered lightly all over. And my cock kept growing and expanding, though she had yet to touch it. I barely heard the end of Marilyn's speech.

"So, okay, Sheil, he's got a tool worth looking at. How 'bout it - ya gonna keep it to yourself?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. What did she mean?

Still at my ear, Shiela whispered, "Oh, Paul, why don't you give her a little tease? Open your jacket the rest of the way and slide your hips forward so your pelvis is raised. Give her a shot at that enormous rod of yours. Do it for me."

It was that last sentence that did the trick. Marilyn was so nasty, Sheila so kind and gentle by comparison, that I suddenly got the idea that I would be showing Marilyn what she couldn't have and making Sheila proud of me, thus putting one over on Marilyn. 

Compared to Marilyn's brassiness, Sheila's velvety, soothing voice was merely the prelude to action. No longer thinking, without hesitation or awkwardness, I pulled my jacket further away from my slacks, and hitched my pelvis forward until I was nearly resting on my spine. I spread my legs a bit. And so there it was for all to see. An enormous bulge that ran up the front of my pants to the belt-line. If my shirt hadn't been in the way, the tip of my cock would surely have protruded from my slacks.

And now another novelty: I was no longer ashamed or embarrassed by being stared at by a couple of women. I turned to catch a look of utter lasciviousness on Marilyn's face, just before it turned again to cold appraisal as she felt my eyes on her. God, she could look mean! Still, I was sure enough of myself now even to clasp my hands together at the back of my head, leaving the entire front of my body open and undefended.

"Hmmm. You may have something here, after all, girlfriend. Mind if I touch?"

"I don't see how you could resist."

Woops! Wait! Sheila!! This was going further that I had expected. I had thought it was still just talk and maybe a little eye candy. I couldn't conceive that Sheila, the one and only Sheila, with whom I had fallen deeply in love, would so casually turn my body over to another's manipulation, as though she didn't care in the least who saw, touched or did what. Moreover, now I was trapped. I couldn't very well suddenly bring my hands down to protect myself, without appearing ridiculous. What kind of man doesn't want a beautiful woman to stroke his cock? So, although stiffening a bit (excuse the wit), I remained motionless as Marilyn's hand came across to rest on my thigh.

She watched my face as she lightly caressed my thigh and then moved on to cup and gently squeeze my balls through the fabric of my slacks. Sheila was watching as well, shifting her attention from my face to Marilyn's.

"I do believe the lad is not wearing underwear, Sheila. What a pervert!"

"Let me see!" Sheila reached over, yanked a portion of my shirt out of my pants and thrust her hand down inside. "You're right! I wonder what was in his mind as he got dressed this morning!" Both women laughed as, meanwhile Sheila withdrew her hand and Marilyn moved hers up onto the shaft of my cock. She rubbed the length of it a few times, gave it a couple of squeezes and pinched the head, as well as she could through my pants.




A Promising Youth Ch. 02



"Okay, Sheil, you're right. This is definitely a trophy cock. You know what that means - I've got to see it."

By now I was in a state. I was completely aroused, the head of my cock sticking out the top of my slacks but covered by the shirttail Sheila had pulled out; my trousers and lower belly were sticky with precum; I was panting lightly and my body was on fire, sweating profusely. Moreover, I was experiencing a very weird emotion: here I was involved in a sexual situation and, yet, not involved. Marilyn had not once addressed me; everything she was doing with me came after getting permission from Sheila, as though I were just an object, a toy of Sheila's that Marilyn was asking to play with for a while. I had no say in the matter. I turned toward Sheila to try to read my situation in her face.

"Do what she wants, Paul," Sheila said seriously. "Marilyn's my best friend. What's mine is hers. Stand up, face Marilyn and drop trow. Be sure to hold your shirt and jacket up with both hands, so she can have a clear view."

For a brief second of blank astonishment I just sat there, looking into Sheila's face. Seeing no rescue, I at last stood up and turned toward Marilyn. I finished pulling my shirt out of my pants and, awkwardly holding shirt, jacket and tie bunched under one arm, used my hands to unbuckle my belt. I could see the tip of my swollen cock poking out above the waist-band. Usually I was so damn proud of that large piece of meat! But now I was embarrassed. I felt shame at being asked to do something so utterly devoid of camaraderie, of sharing, like a freak in a sideshow exposing his deformity before a crowd chomping popcorn and pointing and laughing, like being dared to do something that will make you look ridiculous. And I felt humiliated at being ordered to do these things by women I still really didn't know, strangers practically. The avidity of their expressions, the naked lust that shone forth actually frightened me. What had I gotten myself into? How far would this go? I had, even at my young age, heard some pretty weird stories!

Still, worse, much worse, would it be to cut and run. And, yes, there was still some pride to be found in the fact that it was my cock they wanted to see. And, curiously, I was drawn into the scene through my fascination with the expressions on the faces of Sheila and Marilyn. That what I had to show could arouse this much intensity, eagerness, in women whom I had formerly known only as cool, sophisticated, unapproachable ladies! I unbuttoned my pants, ran a finger down the length of my cock and back up. The faces of both women were now flushed, their mouths slightly open and their breathing heavy; Marilyn's tongue protruded slightly from her mouth - this was one lost bitch!!

I unzipped my pants. My cock sprang forward, straight toward Marilyn's face and stood wavering slightly in the air, my balls tucked up tightly beneath it. I gave my hips a shake and my slacks fell to my ankles. After a few minutes' staring, her hands unconsciously clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing, Marilyn tore her eyes away from the sight and looked up into my face. Her expression was cold yet inquisitive, like a cat watching a bird with a broken wing flopping about. But then, in an instant, it changed; she raised a hand to cover her mouth and snickered behind it, merriment flashing from her eyes: Young man, why are you standing in front of me with your shirt and jacket bunched up above your waist and your trousers down around your ankles? You look ridiculous. 

When Marilyn took her hand away from her face, she turned to Sheila. "Well, I will say, that's a decent-looking pogo stick your young man's got there and, judging from the slimy stuff dribbling out of the end, he's just about ready to shoot his load. But, still, have you ever seen a man in a more ludicrous position? Some stud! He looks like a little boy waiting to get spanked. Hmmm, that gives me an -"

"Not so fast, Marilyn. Paul is my friend, don't forget. You find someone else to play your games with."

"Okay, okay. Anyway, I'm thirsty. Tell him to get us another drink."

"Alright. Paul, would you mind?"

I leaned forward to untie my shoes.

"No!" Marilyn snapped. "Just the way he is, Sheila. I want to watch him hobble over there with his pants around his ankles and his shirt and jacket held up so I can see his cute little butt."

I looked at Sheila. Her eyes were hard. She sighed deeply, as though exasperated, and jerked her head toward the liquor cart. I waited a beat and then, seeing no reprieve, shuffled out from behind the coffee table and made my way to the cart, my legs swish-swish-swishing in my trousers as I went. Behind me Marilyn suddenly burst out laughing.

"There, behind closed doors, in the privacy of the home, is the reality of the macho male! A lost little boy, his trousers down around his ankles, with a stiff dick, looking for something to poke it into." And this time Sheila joined in the laughter.

My face burned with embarrassment. I did feel like a little boy, with his pants down for a whipping. And I was wearing a suit, a man's proper dress.

When I had returned and delivered the drinks, I prepared to sit down.

"Wait!" Marilyn commanded. "Tell him to remain standing where he is. I haven't finished my inspection yet."

By this time I knew better than to hope for relief from Sheila. I did as ordered.

"Okay, Sheil, I know I can't have everything, but I can play a little, can't I?" And, without waiting for a reply, Marilyn reached out and grabbed my cock, yanked it down and tried to force it back between my legs. On a pain scale of one to ten, this was probably a four, but it was so sudden and sharp that I gasped and my knees buckled. While I was still recovering my balance, Marilyn let go and slapped the piece of swinging meat, back and forth, hard, three or four times. It was a sweet and painful sensation I could never have imagined. I would have jumped back but the coffee table was behind me. Shocked and scared, I looked at Marilyn. Her expression was a mixture of gloating (as at someone else's discomfort) and, again, that quizzical wonder: How do you like that, my pretty?

"Okay, Marilyn! That's enough!" Sheila's voice was sharp. "You forget he's young. Paul's not one of those sex perverts you can play your twisted games with; he's a real person."

"Well, Sheil, you don't know 'til you try. Maybe he's one just waiting to be discovered, who knows?"

"Yeah, right."

"Well, there's one way to find out. Let me have one more go at it, and then I'll quit. . . . You might be surprised."

Knowing I had no vote, and curiously unable to direct myself, I turned again to Sheila, awaiting her response. Was it really just moments ago that I had thought to find in her a refuge? Now I knew she was utterly willing to see me used in any way imaginable. I felt very alone and yet so aroused and excited that I was unable to move. Sheila was looking down at the floor, drumming the fingers of one hand on her thigh. Finally, she looked up at me and smiled tenderly.

"Paul, you've been just wonderful these last few minutes. You're so patient and sweet. But Marilyn is my best friend. If we give her a chance to play just a bit more, that will be the end of it. . . . Are you game, my sweet?" She was practically cooing, and had leaned forward to stroke my arm.

I was being abandoned and I knew it. Suddenly something inside me gave way, all resilience, all pride, what was left of my will evaporated; I was just an empty shell.

"Okay, Sheila. Sure. Whatever you want."

"Thank you, Paul. Maybe you should just go ahead and finish taking off your clothes."

                                       IV

When I was completely naked, standing in front of the couch between the two fully-dressed women, my rock-hard pole jutting out in front of me, Marilyn grabbed it and brought her mouth close to the tip. "Hey, Sheila," she said, talking at my cock as though into an old-fasioned telephone, "I'm thirsty again. Can I have another drink?" She let go of my rod and Sheila grabbed it, spoke into it, "Okay, Lyn, coming right up." She let go of the cock and settled back on the couch.

"Would you do the honors again, Paul? Please?"

Without a word I turned and moved toward the drinks cart.

"Damn!! He does have a cute little ass, Sheila. A real pile-driver! And you're right - that cock really is something to behold. I bet he could fuck your brains out with it. Tell me, did he get all flustered the other day when you started talking dirty to him?"

"Not flustered, but definitely embarrassed. His face turned red and he seemed to get dizzy, nearly fell off the stand and, of course, his cock started getting hard, almost poking its way out of his briefs. I could hardly keep from laughing."

So that was the real Sheila.

By now I had gotten to a place where I felt as though they were talking about someone else; a nearly total dissociation. I returned to the couch with the drinks.

"Thanks, honey," Sheila said and, carefully balancing her drink, reached up, grabbed my upper arm and pulled my face down to kiss. "You're the best."

I returned to my place, standing between the women.

"Tell him to clasp his hands behind his head," said Marilyn. I had given up expecting her ever to speak to me directly. "And then I want him to move his hips back and forth like he's fucking the air."

"Paul, honey," cooed Sheila. "Come on. Give her a good show. For me."

I clasped my hands behind my head, as ordered, and began a back and forth pumping motion with my pelvis. My dick swung in a tight arc from side to side as it moved back and forth; my balls had loosened and were swinging around.

"Faster!", snapped Marilyn. I went faster, needing no word from Sheila. "Faster!", Marilyn croaked hoarsely. She was definitely panting now. "Faster!" Now my balls were swinging every which way, slapping against my thighs and threatening to fly off altogether. My breath was coming in short gasps. My cock stood rigidly before me, my pelvis thrusting forward then back, ever faster, here in this big, luxurious home, before two beautiful, sexy women, performing an obscenity for their pleasure.

"Okay, that's enough."

"You can stop now, Paul," Sheila murmured.

"Tell him to turn around and lean down on the coffee table, spread his legs and stick his ass out."

By now I had completely lost sight of what I had thought would be the day's events. My suit lay in a rumpled heap on the floor and, along with it, my idea of Sheila as friend. I was among strangers, a little frightened, and more aroused than I'd ever been in my life (which wasn't saying a whole lot) - definitely not in control of anything.

"Okay, Paul?" from Sheila. I turned and assumed the position, looking back under my left arm. My dick was nearly poking me in the stomach and my balls were swinging freely between my legs. Behind me, Marilyn leaned forward, her right middle finger held tight to her palm by her thumb. An inch from my right testicle, she released the finger. It snapped into my nut with some force. Quickly, she repeated the process seven or eight times. My testicles began to ache. For good measure, she reached in and squeezed each one, quite hard, two or three times. I groaned. Marilyn stopped and sat back. I waited for the command to stand up. It didn't come.

Finally, I felt my ass being gently stroked, the hand also running up and down the inside of my thighs and then back onto my cheeks. Then it slipped into my crack, sliding lightly, almost tickling, up and down, up and down until, suddenly, a finger was poked painfully past my sphincter muscle and into my rectum. It fucked me in and out.

"Sheila, go get the spoon from the martini pitcher!"

A minute later the finger was removed and I could feel the cold glass spoon pushing at my anus. With a pop causing a slight spasm of pain it went in and slowly began fucking me, in and back, in and back, deeper and deeper with each thrust. Almost without realizing it, I found myself leaning forward as the spoon was withdrawn toward the entrance (or exit, I guess it really is) and then pushing back toward the invading spoon when, once more, it was thrust up my bowels. I was actually fucking a spoon with my ass!

"I knew it," muttered Marilyn. "Sheila, come around front and hold his hands down. Do it! I don't want him moving at all. Besides, I want you to see something." Sheila came around, got on her knees and pinned my wrists firmly to the coffee table.

All the while the play with my testicles and ass had been going on, I could feel the pressure building and building in my cock. Now, as I was fucking, and being fucked by, the spoon, and quite without anyone or thing touching my cock, I could feel the pressure building to climax. My whole mid-region, front and back, was afire with sex. I wanted the spoon to come and go faster; I needed it to come and go faster, further, deeper, deeper. I loved being fucked with a spoon - I who had barely fucked anyone in my life, who was still essentially a virgin! Well, I was definitely not a virgin any longer - at least in one sense. I had never imagined losing that cherry! More! Deeper! Faster!

And then, an instant before I came, the spoon was withdrawn. Nobody moved or spoke. Minutes ticked by. Slowly the pressure in my groin began to subside. I waited for what was to come next, knowing that this thing wasn't yet finished.

Sure enough - whack!! Something whipped my ass with massive force! Whack! Whack, whack!! Like a belt. Whack, whack, whack! The pain surged straight through my buttocks, hot, stinging, and very, very sexual. All at once I was back to maximum pressure for release from my cock. It needed to come! Needed to!! Needed to!! My ass was past sore now, nearly numb, and the strokes kept coming, harder and harder. Then, an instant before I came, the belt (or whatever) whistled with force up between my legs and smashed against my balls, and again, and again! That did it. Able to contain itself no longer, the jizm shot from my over-filled cock, the first spurts splashing Sheila's face as she leaned in between my arms to see what was going on. I was past heavy-breathing now, panting from deep within my chest. My entire body was racked with spasms as the belt smashed again and again against my ass and balls. Sperm dripped off Sheila's chin and puddled on the coffee table until, finally, the ejaculation subsided to a leakage of small drops and the belt stopped its work.

Behind me, I could hear heavy breathing. I ducked my head under my arm and looked back. Marilyn's face was red with her exertion and she, too, was panting from deep within her chest. Her eyes were glazed, staring, unfocused. She held a belt in one hand, my belt!, from my own pants!

I turned back to look at Sheila, who still hadn't moved. Incredibly she was licking my cum off her face and using one hand to push what her tongue couldn't reach into her mouth! So it was true! She really did like to drink cum! I couldn't believe it. She smiled at me, her face radiant, her eyes sparkling and, right at that moment, I made a life-altering decision: sex was the most wonderful thing imaginable and I would never get enough of it!

By now Sheila had finished cleaning herself and sat back. Marilyn came around to stand next to her.

"See? I told you when you called me the other day. We have the perfect sex toy on our hands. With Mr. Limp Dick here the sky's the limit."

                 END OF PART TWO