Furlough

by Friar Dave

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Humor, Size, .

Desc: Sex Story: young sailor with a 15-inch dick loses his cherry on shore leave in NYC. It's a spoof, humor (as in "Ha. Ha."), no attempt at realism. Got it? This is a test of the Emergency Humorcasting System.

(A Bit of Spoofing Fun from Friar Dave)

This is just a bit of fun. This tale involves consensual sexual relations, explicitly described, between an adult male and adult females. There is no violence, drugs, bondage, discipline, sado-masochism, water sports, projectile vomiting, piercing, humiliation, mutilation, bestiality or references to the Long Island Lolita. If the absence of any of these turns you off, read no farther. Please don't show this to those unable or unwilling to consent to reading it. Please do not use "impact" as a transitive verb.

This is an original story. Do not repost, reproduce or place in public archives without the author's explicit permission. Please do not edit or change anything in it, including this tag.


I never seen a girl like her in my whole life, not in my whole damn 19 years. She was wearing a skirt so short that she could've stolen it off some cheerleader - but it would've been a cheerleader about a foot shorter than she was, because on her, it barely covered her crotch, y'know? Any shorter, and it would've been a collar. And then there was these long, strong legs, only they were all curvy, like some centerfold who ran in races, not all muscle-bound and squat like an East German track star.

So, anyhow, I'm standing there gawking at her, and she comes over, wearing this low-cut sweater and no bra, so I can see everything she's got - and she's got plenty, lemme tell you - and a nice smile on this wide mouth. And she's wearing shades, even though it's like midnight, and in this part of the Village, there aren't too many lights.

And she says, "So... looking for a date, honey?"

All of a sudden, I'm no Seaman-Third with 18 months under my belt. All of a sudden, I'm just a dumb kid from Ohio again, a farm boy, and the only thing under my belt is a hard-on, and I can't make myself say anything.

"First time in the Big Apple, sugar?" Up closer now, I can see she's really younger than I thought - maybe 19 or 20. And there's a scar on her cheek, from the corner of her mouth up to her ear. She's got a lot of makeup on, but I can see the scar.

I nodded, and she smiled a little different. "Could you use a friend? I can be real friendly, show you a good time. Where ya from, cutie?"

"O-o-ohio."

"That's nice - a country boy." She peers at me in the little blinking light from the crossing sign and frowns. "Say, you're not a Sea Scout, are you?"

I don't get mad. Folks are always thinking I'm 15 or 16, 'cause I'm kind of short and look young. "No, ma'am. I'm with the - "

"That's OK. Listen, honey, time is money. Want to spend some time together... ?"

Well, I tell myself, it's now or never. "S-s-sure. How m-m-much?"

A flash of softness, then business-time again: "For our boys in the service, 40 for a half-and-half, 60 for an hour, a hunnerd for anything... unusual - and that includes the back door." She leans closer. "I hear sailors like the back door."

I feel myself blushing. "An hour?"

"And that includes cleanup time. You never done this before, have you? OK - 60. And we don't need a room. I got a van."

I reach in my pocket for my wallet, but her hand is on my wrist. "Not here, sailor. Get the money in your hand, then shake with the man in the leather coat. He'll tell you where the van is. See you in five minutes, farm boy."

She saunters away, long legs flashing brown and bare and silky, her round, hard ass rolling, reminding me that I was a virgin. Farm boys who look five years younger than their age don't get much chance at pussy where I come from, especially if their parents are determined to bring their boys up righteous, which mine were. They even said they'd pray for me the very night when I came home and finally admitted I'd signed up. Prayed for me like I was fallen already. Never guessed it'd take almost two years of razzing from the other guys before I'd finally give in to my baser urges.

But I had to do something. I hadn't gotten laid in New Zealand, and in Canberra I'd sold my shore leave for eight cartons of Winstons, which I traded to get other guys to stand watch for me while I caught up on my sleep. I hadn't even gotten laid at Subic Bay, which I was told was some kind of record... if I was really straight.

I stood there on the sidewalk on 14th Street near Ninth Avenue, watching those gams, that ass, disappear around the corner, acting like the hick I was. Then the man in the leather coat came up and said, "What's it? Half-and-half? Oh, sheeeeet, you a virgin."

"It shows?"

"Damn, that girl a softy. What's it gonna be, virgin?"

"An hour."

"Kinky, too? And don't bullshit me."

"Just an hour." For effect, I added: "So I won't be rushed." I looked him right in the eyes, which were about eight inches higher than mine. He didn't flinch.

I held out my hand to shake, transferred the bills and he said, "My man! Round the corner, the bakery truck. Ask for some hot buns!" He laughed at his own cleverness.

Around the corner was a panel truck with FRESH BAKERY in big letters on its side and back. I had my doubts about this whole thing, now. What if this was a setup? I'd really lost any vestige of horniness; this experience was already proving more effective than a cold shower.

I told myself I had to go through with it. I walked up to the driver's door and tried to see inside. Blackness. I knocked lightly and heard something click. The door slid back.

"Well, come on, sailor - the meter's running."

I stepped up and slid the door closed behind me as I scuttled across the seat. Her hand reached from behind me, through a black curtain, and found my wrist. "Back here."

I turned and stepped through the curtain. I heard a door slide shut and then a dim light went on.

The inside of the bakery truck had been turned into a very small room, complete with a mattress on the floor. The sheet on the mattress had seen better days. The walls were covered with cheap, industrial carpeting. There was also an assortment of well-worn throw pillows, and in the corner a tool box was bolted to the wall.

"You want me to play romantic, like a date, honey?"

I shook my head.

"Well, what do you want?" She stood in front of me, hands on those tight hips, waiting. Without her sunglasses, I could see she wasn't as old as I'd thought - maybe 17 or 18. Nineteen, tops.

"I dunno."

She studied my face carefully. "I think I was right. You never had a girl before, did you?"

"No..."

"Well, let's see - first..." She took my hand and placed it on her breast. I squeezed carefully, afraid of hurting her. I'm small, but I've got strong hands. I watched her face. She nodded. I used both hands then, fondling her tits. She was braless and her boobs were really firm. "That's nice, honey." She winked at me and began peeling the tight sweater off. "Help me with this, will ya?"

I helped until I got distracted by having two big, round firm tits bobbling right at eye level. As she finishing stripping her sweater, I couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing her nipples. They began to swell in the relatively cool air inside the truck.

"That's really nice, baby. Suck 'em."

While I suckled her tits, she skinned out of her little skirt and peeled down the panties. She had hair down there, but not much. She led my hand to her cunt and placed my fingers so I could feel it. It seemed kind of small, but I had no basis for comparison. She was dry, too.

"How do I look, sugar?"

I straightened and grinned, nervous. "You look sexy as hell."

It was true. She did look sexy. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, after all. I felt the tightening in my nuts as she went to the tool chest, opened it and took some things out. When she came back to me and stood under the little 25-watt bulb, I could see what they were: a plant sprayer, some towelettes and paper towels. She had a little condom package clasped in her teeth. She handed me the towelettes and condom, then knelt before me and began fumbling with the buttons on my pants.

"No, let's see what this sailor has for my port..."

Looking down at her curly head at my crotch level, seeing her firm tits bobble slightly as she moved, made me harden faster.

She pulled down my pants and briefs with one motion, and her eyes got real big.

"Shit."

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "It's just that for such a little guy, you've got some piece of meat there. And it isn't even hard all the way yet." She gripped my swelling cock and jerked my foreskin up and down carefully. I groaned. "Nice and clean, too. How big does this thing get?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Never measured it."

"Most guys this big know to the quarter inch." She slid her hand lightly down the shaft and tried to hold the base; her fingers didn't touch. I was pretty nearly all the way hard. She cupped my balls in her hand and pushed my cock against the underside of her arm, so my emerging glans was pressed into the crease of her elbow. "Big balls, too," she murmured. "And firm." She bent her head and blew softly over my cock. I was instantly fully hard and throbbing.

She looked up at me. "I'm really the first, huh?"

I nodded.

"And you never, y'know, went with any guys?" My expression must have answered her because she said, "No, not you. Farm boy. Bible Belt. Righteous parents. I bet you don't even jerk off."

I felt my face redden. "Well, sometimes I just can't stand it, and I gotta do something, or I feel like I'm going to explode..."

Her lips quirked. "Be a big blast, betcha. Well, you've never been with anyone, and you're clean... Listen, honey, I'll be honest with you - I don't think I can handle this sausage in my cunt. But I can still take care of you."

A hand job, I thought. Great. Sixty bucks for a hand job.

My disappointment must have shown.

She smiled. "You're gonna like this." She put both hands on my cock and took my glans in her mouth and sucked on it.

"Oh, yeahhhhh..." I groaned.

She stopped and looked up at me. "See? Lay down here." She patted the mattress. I stepped out of my pants and briefs and sat. She never took her hand off my cock.

She turned on her knees and lifted my cock up straight, so it was pointing at my face. "Y'know, you could probably do this all by yourself."

It took me a moment to understand what she meant, then I flushed. "That's perverted!"

"But cheaper. Still, I'll be more fun for you!" She pushed me back, so I was laying flat. She started licking and nibbling all over my dick, kissing it and slobbering. Her hands kept jerking me, and I got as hard as I ever get. "Fucking thing must be 15 inches long," she whispered. Then she started sucking me again. She couldn't get more than a couple of inches into her mouth, but she made the most of them. Her tongue moved against my glans, and sometimes she crashed me into the back of her mouth, making a little "Mmmpf!" noise when she did it.

I knew I was ready to cum, and so did she, probably by the swellings and jerkings of my cock. She jerked harder and faster with both hands and sucked furiously. Suddenly, I felt the cum just pouring out of me. I heard her gag slightly, and then she swallowed noisily. I kept cumming for a long time, nine or 10 big shots. It had been six weeks since the last time I'd jerked off, and I had a lot of jism stored up. She sucked and swallowed as fast as she could, but thee was too much of it, and it was leaking from her lips around my shaft, making her jerking smoother and hotter.

I groaned and came with three or four smaller shots before I stopped. She sucked some more and then knelt back, my cum running down her face and dripping on her tits. My cock was sagging back to half-mast when she released it.

"You really came a lot, kid," she said, absently wiping her lips on the back of her wrist. "Must've been five or six ounces. Never saw one person come so much all at once." She was eyeing my cock speculatively. She suddenly scrambled over to the toolbox and returned with a small toothpaste-size tube. "Maybe like this, with lots of K-Y, I can get you inside me while you're just half hard." She squeezed a big dollop of clear gel into her palms and massaged it into her cunt, then did it again, this time pushing the stuff inside herself. She straddled my hips and gripped my dick again, resting it against her abdomen. My knob almost reached her belly button.

I realized what she planned to do, and felt my balls filling again. She got into a crouch over my dick. With one hand, she aimed my prick while with the other she held her cunt open. Then she lowered herself slowly, carefully, onto my half-hard cock.

As soon as I felt my knob being wedged into her pussy lips, as soon as I felt the heat and softness of her, I knew I was going to have to cum again soon.

With my glans secure, she put both hands on my cock and began bobbing her hips down carefully while she stuffed my dick up into her. Even not fully erected, it was hard for her cunt to take it. But she persisted and finally got my whole knob inside her quim. I groaned at the sensation, and my dick really started building up.

She kept rolling her hips and pushing down, working me into her a half-inch at a time. When she had me about half into her, I put my hands on her hips and pushed up at her.

She immediately removed my hands and said, "Honey, let me do this. It's tough enough and - " My cock twitched inside her. "Oh, shit! I don't think I can take too much more of this. It feels like I'm going to split open." She rested her hands on my chest for balance and pushed down again. Her eyes closed, and her face showed the strain as she took more of my cock - now it was almost completely hard again - into her sweet pussy.

She'd gotten about two thirds of my length into her when I felt something hard against the head of my cock. She sucked in a breath sharply and pulled up, then pressed down. Again, I felt that hard thing against my cock, and again she made the noise.

"I - I just can't handle any more, sugar."

"Th-th-thanks for trying," I managed to groan out.

"So sweet," she mumbled and bobbed up and down on me as fast as she could - but given how much my cock had swollen, that wasn't very fast. There were still a good five or six inches unsheathed, even at her deepest. When my dick began pre-cum twitching she frowned in discomfort and slowly pulled herself off me.

She quickly turned and again plunged my throbbing prick into her mouth. It only took a few seconds of that, combined with her hands jerking on my slippery shaft, before I was moaning and cumming again.

Since I'd just cum about a little while before, I only fired about six or seven big spurts before tapering off into a half dozen smaller ones. It was still too much for her to handle, 'cause it drooled out of the corners of her stretched mouth and flooded her hands and my groin.

When she finally got the last of it, she released my flagging prick and sat heavily on her rounded butt, knees spread. I could see her cunt was still stretched open, even in the dim light.

"You got some extra balls hidden somewhere? Do you always cum so much?"

"I dunno," I told her. "Usually I just whack off to take the edge off, you know?" Then, in case she was complaining, I said, "I'm sorry."

She was looking at my sperm-covered cock. Wilted, my dick lay back flat on my abdomen, the knob reaching almost to my navel. "No, it's OK. You've got more soft than other guys have when they're hard." On impulse, it seemed, she bent and kissed the underside of my cock, just beneath the glans. Instantly, it began swelling again.

"Oh, shit - again? Already?"

"I'm sorry. It just happens."

"Well, not now. You've only got about 10 minutes left, and we still have to get cleaned up and dressed." She handed me a towelette, and opened one for herself, efficiently using a paper towel to mop her cunt and face and all the other places I had just slimed, then cleaned off with a another towelette. I followed suit, but more clumsily. I watched her dressing as I pulled my briefs and pants back on, tucking my cock under my balls, which were already refilling as I watched her firm ass when she bent for her sweater.

She muttered something.

"Excuse me?"

She turned to me, straightening as she pulled the sweater back on. "I just said, 'Even Sherry couldn't handle that much meat.'"

"Sherry?"

"This woman I know who's a freak for big cocks. She'd cream her drawers over yours. I'll give you her number."

I smiled sheepishly. "I really can't afford - "

She laughed. "Honey, for a dong that big, Sherry doesn't charge. Hell, she'll pay you once she gets a look at that extra leg! Say, how long are you going to be in port?"

"Another five days. Why?"

She took a small memo pad and a short pen from her handbag. She wrote something quickly and handed me the paper. "Ask for Mrs. Tell and tell her Wanda Legs - that's me - recommended you. And if you go to see her, wear some jeans and a shirt. Uniforms turn her off."

She turned off the light and pulled open the door and curtain. We slithered through the driver's compartment of the bakery truck and stood on Ninth Avenue.

"Good night, sailor!"

"Wait! How do you know this Mrs. Tell?"

"I used to work for her."

"As what?"

"A call girl, dummy. She threw me out when I got hooked on crack. Happy trails!"

Hooked on crack? I shook my head in sorrow as I watched those long, lithe legs flashing under the tiny skirt. I pushed the paper in my pocket and headed off in the opposite direction, mulling the possibilities.


Some of the guys teased me until I finally admitted I had gotten laid. And blown.

"No shit?" We were showering, about five of us. "No shit?" George repeated. He was a big, black man, Seaman First. "Hey, guys, Eddie finally lost it!"

Cheers went up and some more kidding. "So how'd you like it, kid?" George asked.

I grinned at him. "I liked it a lot."

"What'd you get, some old bag?"

"Streetwalker over on Fourteenth, just like you said. About 19 or so, I guess."

"How'd she like that big club of yours?" He nodded toward my cock, swinging under the needle spray of the shower as I sluiced off the soap.

"She had some trouble with it - couldn't take it all - but she sucked me off a couple of times."

"I know someone who could take it all," he said, winking.

"C'mon, George, you know how I feel about that." As soon as George had learned I was unrepentantly straight, he'd stopped making passes at me and passed the word to the other queers. Generally, nobody came on too strong.

But George still kidded me from time to time. "Can't blame a guy for trying." He laughed and grinned again. "Anyhow - congratulations, kid."

"Thanks."

I dried off, got into my civvies, signed out and went shoreside. At the first vacant, functioning phone, I dialed the number. It was answered on the second ring.

"Mrs. Tell, please."

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Eddie Carr. A Miss Legs said I should contact her."

"A moment." I listened to traffic overhead on the West Side Highway for a few seconds. Then: "Mr. Carr?"

The woman's voice was tense but not hostile or pushy. "Yes. Mrs. Tell?"

"Yes. Wanda said you should call me?"

"Yes, ma'am. Said you'd like to meet me."

"Oh, she did? Was Wanda able to take care of you completely?"

"Mmmmm - not nearly, ma'am. Left about a third of me out in the cold." I felt weird talking like this, but - What the hell!

"Really?" Her voice had even more tension in it. Now I realized what it was: excitement. "Really? Well, Mr. Carr, perhaps we could have a drink this evening, say about 7:30."

"That'd be fine, ma'am. Where?"

"Why, here, of course." She gave me an address on East Fifty-Eighth Street.

"Mrs. Tell, I have to ask you - are you still married? Because I don't like to get friendly with married ladies, if you know what I mean."

"Scruples? Good heavens, Mr. Carr, you are not a resident of New York, are you? Of course not. Midwest, I'd guess. Anyhow - no, I am not married any longer. Mr. Tell and I split up a few years ago. I'll be glad to give you all the sordid details over a drink. Seven-thirty, then?"

"I'm looking forward to it, ma'am."

"Good, because I am looking forward to accommodating you. Good-bye."

I wandered around town with some of the other guys for most of the day. We had lunch at some Greek place in the Village and went up to the Empire State Building. Everywhere we went, there were good-looking women. I think there're more good-looking women in New York City then any place in the world. And all kinds - young and old and in between, big and little, white and black and yellow. It was great, and by six o'clock, I was definitely in the mood for an accommodating woman. I decided to walk over to the address Mrs. Tell had given me. I had plenty of time and walked slowly, but still got there 10 minutes early. Which gave me time to have doubts again. For all I knew, Mrs. Tell was some 50-year-old battleaxe. Or a fat, dumpy broad who had to pay guys to take care of her.

It was a four-story brownstone with what looked like a roof garden, judging by the shrubbery and lights I could see from the sidewalk. As I waited, a limousine pulled up. The door of the house opened and two fabulously beautiful women, long legged and graceful, appeared. They were in slinky, formal evening gowns and wore nice jewelry. One was black and the other was white, and either one was enough to break a natural man's heart. One of them flashed me a quick smile as she ducked into the limousine through the door the chauffeur held for her. And what did a night with a babe like that cost? I guessed it was more than a Seamen-Third made in a year to get either of them.

The limo pulled away, and I crossed the street. A moment later, I was ringing the backlit doorbell.

The door opened and a maid stood there. "Yes?"

"Eddie Carr to see Mrs. Tell. She's expecting me."

"Oh, yes, please come in. I will tell her you are here."

She closed the door behind me, and I looked the place over. I was in a formal vestibule, dimly lit and heavily carpeted. Everything I saw sort of quietly screamed MONEY at the top of its lungs. Mrs. Tell might be a battleaxe, but she was a rich battleaxe.

The maid returned, smiling. She was Hispanic, pretty and had a really good figure. I guessed she was in her 30s. "Mrs. Tell said she will receive you in her lounge. Follow me, please?"

She started up the stairs, and I was right behind her. She really had a good ass, that maid did, and it was twitching right in front of my face. And she knew it, because when we reached the top of the stairs and she gestured toward an open door at the other end of the landing, she gave me a smile and a wink.

At the door of the lounge, I paused and said, "Mrs. Tell?" The room was lit only by the light coming in from the street, through the windows.

"Over here. Come in, please!"

A small table lamp went on. The room was big and sumptuous, furnished with white, modern sectionals lining two walls. The third wall was taken up by all sorts of electronic entertainment stuff and the one through which I'd entered was covered with mahogany cabinets. The carpet was plush and a pale blue.

Mrs. Tell stood and held her hand out to me.

Mrs. Tell was a fox.

"Mr. Carr?"

I crossed to her, feeling suddenly awkward, and took her hand. It was small. Hell, she was small - a good six inches shorter than me, and not even her dark blue jogging suit could conceal the fact that she couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

"Please, call me Eddie, ma'am."

"OK, Eddie ma'am."

We laughed.

"And call me Sherry. Can I get you a drink?"

"Something soft, please."

"Coke?"

"Fine, thanks."

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Humor / Size /