Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
This story was written by my dear brother Rick, with a little input from me. He's always given me some male insight for my stories, but this one is basically his.
I leaned back, naked, in the empty bathtub, waiting for the cunt, what the fuck was her name again, oh yeah, Emma, waiting for that cunt Emma to climb into the tub so that we could reach some agreement on how hot the water should be, not that her vote would carry very much weight. I glanced at the shiny chrome escutcheon plate covering the overflow drain. It's concave design made my already shrunken John Henry look even smaller, much smaller than the full sized weapon that it had been just a few minutes earlier.
FYI, when I went online to look up the name of that chrome thingy, I found that the word escutcheon also had something to do with the pattern of pubic hair. But back to Emma, whose snatch was shaved clean of the stuff, Brazilian without the accent.
She hung up the phone on her mother and walked into my bathroom with a lewd smile. She stepped into the oversized tub and stood facing me, standing over me. Five four, five five, whatever, all I could see were a pair of firm 36C tits and hard nips hovering over me. That and her bald pussy with my cum oozing out of it. John Henry was instantly hard again.
I would have sworn that I had just eaten all of my fuck sauce out of her but I guess my tongue wasn't long enough to get it all. I closed my eyes, trying to comprehend a chick who calls her mother while her cunt is still dripping some total stranger's cum. She stuck a finger inside herself and scooped out the last of it, licking it off her finger with the wicked smile of a whore, though she definitely was not a whore, just an awfully easy lay. I think a better description might actually be table pussy, for it had been a delicious treat to eat her.
Blowing me a kiss, she turned around and bent from the waist to touch her toes, not caring — shit, it was probably deliberate — that she was offering me a bird's eye view of that puckered opening in back, the one hole she had that I hadn't yet experienced. But the day was young and she didn't have to be back to work until noontime. I couldn't help myself; I sat up and drove my tongue between those tight cheeks — hey, don't knock it unless you've tried it. Meanwhile my fingers reached around her to diddle her clit.
She moaned. She seemed to do that a lot, I'd noticed.
"The cologne, please," he had said, making believe that he really cared. It was close to six the previous afternoon.
I picked up the Tester bottle, sprayed once onto the small card and held out my hand. It took a little while before he glanced toward my hand. During those few seconds, I glanced behind him to see if any of my co-workers were watching his handsome, rugged face as his bright blue eyes roamed freely over my body.
And it's a damn nice body too, if you don't mind my saying so. At five foot four, and wrapped in the company's signature black suit, nicely fitted, thank you, I was just doing my job. Smile and ask him if he'd like to test our after shave or cologne, they'd said, give a card a little spray, tell him that the scent is perfect for his eyes, hair, build, beard, shoes, belt buckle, teeth, wallet, jock strap, whatever. Then tell him the discount price for the combination, wrap it up and take his money. And if he's not with a wife or girlfriend and halfway decent looking, let him know somehow that you're available for dinner and a fuck.
That last was not from the Sales Manager, of course, but from my best friend Carmen, who peddles for one of the competitors at the next counter. For working cosmetics in an upscale department store gives a decent looking — they seem not to hire anyone else - single girl lots of opportunities to meet plenty of men — and the occasional woman too — who would enjoy a no commitments roll in the hay. And it was that reason that I never left home in the morning without making sure my purse held rubbers — though I was lax in using them - pussy spray, KY and a spare toothbrush, panties and bra in case I did an all-nighter. Which fortunately happened often enough.
And sometimes turned out to be quite profitable!
He sniffed the card, his eyes widened and he sniffed again. He smiled and nodded. I offered a test of the after shave, which he silently accepted, again rewarding me with a smile. I quoted the price; he agreed and gave me his credit card. Ooh, the black one, I thought. 'Hey, big spender, ' the words ran through my brain, 'this could be a big fish.' I wrapped the package and ran the credit card. He signed the slip.
"Anything else I can do for you, Mr..." I glanced at his card as I handed it back to him, "Bradford Walters?" Using the full name was a major breach of company courtesy policies, but no one else could hear me. It was also a hint for him to start a conversation.
"It's Brad," he said. "No, nothing else. I'm really just here to get a present for my special girl."
Oh shit, oh shit, oh fucking, fucking shit! I'd been on my feet all day. Sales had been good but there'd been no suitable candidate to invite me for dinner. Still, I had to put on my best face.
"Wife? Significant other? Daughter maybe?"
He laughed. "None of the above. My special girl is my kid sister," he said.
Thank you, thank you, O Higher Power. This game isn't over yet. But he hadn't even asked me my name yet. Oh, of course it was on the name tag on my chest, and he was sure enough looking there, though I doubted that it was to read the name tag. Well, Emma Green, here goes nothing.
"I'm off in another five minutes. Why don't I help you look for something for your sister?" I offered, holding my breath.
He smiled, a different kind of smile than earlier, a panty-soaking sort of smile with which my pussy complied. It actually took more like twenty minutes for me to cash out, turn the booth over to the night shift, change out of my official black suit and meet him outside the employees' entrance.
That is one fine piece of ass, I said to myself - and also to my faithful cock, John Henry - as she walked away from me toward the inner sanctum of the store. Her ass gave off the slightest shake as she moved, but I realized that she was not being coquettish. It was more as if either a birth defect or a childhood illness had left one leg just a teensy bit shorter than the other, giving her a barely discernable limp that became the sexiest shake.
Well, OK by me, I thought. I wasn't thinking about a foot-race; more like a marathon. But not the kind of marathon that requires running. I had something more horizontal in mind.
Actually, fucking is just about the only thing I ever have in my mind. I'm twenty-seven, living alone. I inherited well and have no need to work. Ever! My kid sister Toni is twenty-four, graduated from college and married to a great guy — but still willing to share her luscious body. My only responsibility is to give my cock sufficient exercise to hold him over until the next time. On occasion, I need my hand for that but most of the time I can find some female of the species who's willing to take on the task.
It wasn't always thus. Back when I was maybe fifteen, my hand was my full time assistant. My poor cock had never felt the velvet smoothness of cunt, nor wet mouth, nor dammit, even female fingers. My eyes and imagination were quite active though, even including my little sister Toni, who was finally beginning the transition from runt to cunt.
I know, I know, that's not a very nice way to describe my favorite girl, the one I love more than anyone else, but I couldn't resist the alliterative way it described her growth toward sexual maturity. My apologies, especially because my little sister was to become my sexual helper and companion. Still is, but that's for a different story.
It started simply enough. Our folks were out for the weekend and I was her baby sitter, not that she really needed one. Toni was asleep; I was in my own room, sitting there naked, with my favorite skin magazine in my other hand. Of course you know what the first hand was busy doing. A sudden thunder boomer came right alongside a flicker to the lights, but they stayed on. I continued whacking off; nothing would stop my active right hand. Then my door opened.
"Brad, I'm scared."
She hadn't even gotten fully into my room when she said it. For some reason, in that split second, I thought that she would stop where she was. That thought paralyzed me. And then she was inside the room. Her eyes widened, first at the non-specific sight of my bare body and then specifically at my hand, suspended in mid-stroke. The angry purple crown of my cock poked out from my tight fist. Every fiber of my body cried out for me to drop the magazine — and my cock — and to pull the covers over me.
Every fiber, that is, except one. That one steered my eyes toward Toni in her cute little baby dolls and sent all sorts of thoughts to my brain, lewd and otherwise. I gave thanks that it hadn't been Mom who had walked in on me, or worse, Dad. And even as the blood flowed rapidly back out of my boner, I still had hundreds — thousands? maybe millions? — of sperm cells screaming for release.
Jeez, I had never even tried to peek at Toni's body, not like with Mom. My sister's body was no match for the magazine in my hand, the magazine with all those sticky spots from my dried cum spattered over the leg-spread models. I had no idea of my sister's sexuality, what her friends had taught her, whether or not she masturbated like me, had she ever even kissed a boy or had her baby tits ever been felt up or sucked on. She smiled broadly, but with the decency not to laugh.
"I see that the thunder woke you up too, Brad."
Then her face turned serious as she walked across the room toward my still-frozen and speechless body. Staring at my face, she reached down and gently lifted my hand off of my cock. She replaced it with her own and together we felt the blood rush back into it.
Her eyes never left mine as she began to jerk me off. She moved slowly at first and then sped up as my cock achieved full hardness. I held my breath, fearing that I might do something to cause my little sister to stop what she was doing. The cum began to bubble up inside my balls as the soft female hand did what my own hand usually did for them. It didn't take long, certainly not as long as usual. When I opened my mouth to warn Toni that I was about to cum, her free hand covered it, gently communicating to me to be quiet.
My first spurt hit her arm and she renewed her smile. She continued to stroke but angled my cock so that the rest of my cum landed on my leg. When the throbbing and spurting was complete, she bent her head and licked those last few drops that had pooled at my piss slit. I was in cock heaven. Then she left my room without a word, the first of many times that we would pleasure each other silently.
Forgive my digression please. I went outside the mall, got my Benz and drove around to the employees' entrance of the department store. Parking illegally right near the door, I got out and leaned against the passenger door, letting Security know that I was there to move the car immediately if need be and also to be a gentleman for my lady passenger. By the same token it also gave me a chance to see the other employees as they left the store, look them over, maybe strike up a short conversation, get a phone number for future reference, all before ... er, Emma, that's it, Emma, all before Emma came through that door.
Her formal black sales garb had been replaced by a virginal white blouse tucked into black skin tight designer jeans. Well, maybe the blouse wasn't quite so virginal, what with her nipples highlighting the front, telling the world that she didn't feel the need for a bra that night. She was definitely a sight to be seen with in public before we got down and dirty.
"Hi Brad. I thought we were going to look for a present for your kid sister," she said when she saw my car.
"Of course," I said, trying my hardest to make it sound as though I really meant it. I mean, definitely I intended to get my sister a present, but her birthday wasn't for another week and my cock was hard right then. "I missed lunch today. Why don't we grab a bite somewhere and then we'll look for the present."
When she smiled and slid into the car, it confirmed my analysis. This cunt has no interest in buying anything for my sister; she's looking to get laid. So we can skip the charade. I'll get some food in her to keep her quiet, a few drinks to loosen her up and then I'll 'show her my etchings.'
Her hand was on my thigh, not doing anything, just touching it, as we drove a few miles to my favorite seduction restaurant. An Italian place with dim lighting, they know me by name, run a tab which I unfailingly pay weekly and they almost never see the same girl twice. On those few occasions when they do, I get a raised eyebrow, as in, 'are we getting serious, Signore Walters?'
They also know that after my second drink, no matter what I might order, they should deliver plain ginger ale. No way do I want to risk my cock failing me at a crucial moment. And with this Emma cunt, I knew that there would be a night-long succession of crucial moments.
Nice car, I thought, but not surprising for a guy who so obviously has money. As he drove, I put my hand on his thigh. It was my own standard signal to a guy that he doesn't have to waste too much effort on seduction, that I'll be happy to clean his pipes for him so long as he takes care of my needs too.
The parking valet greeted him by name at the restaurant; I got just a smile and a mumbled "Signora" as the kid stared at my tits. As we walked toward the front door, I felt Brad's hand gently guiding me — by the ass. I bent forward, pushing my ass back against his hand, letting him know that I didn't mind the grope in the least.
"Good evening, Emilio," he said. "May we have something in the back, please?"
The owner led us to a table and seated us. When he asked me what I'd like to drink, I simply said, "Nothing to drink, Emilio. I'll just have a salad. We have another appointment."
Brad nodded, as in 'the same'. As Emilio walked away, Brad began just a hint of a smile.
"I hope you don't mind my being so presumptuous," I said.
"Not at all," he replied. "Perhaps we can have a drink at my place after the salad."
And so the seduction quietly morphed into a simple date to fuck. As a result, there was very little time for small talk at the table. We were both consenting adults, and chose not to discuss what was really on our minds. My concerns were with the size of his cock and his staying power, plus of course his recuperative power. Not to forget the issue of whether or not to call in the 'big gun' my mother. He was probably thinking about how many different ways I was willing to take it, and whether or not I had any inhibitions.
After the salads, we got up to leave. I had seen no check nor did Brad drop any money on the table. When he saw the quizzical look on my face, he explained. "They automatically add healthy tips for the waiter and the valet and bill me at the end of the week."
"So I'm not the first girl you've brought here?" I asked jokingly. His reply was, surprisingly, a blush.
Once in the car, as soon as we turned the corner out of sight of the valet, I reached over the center console and unzipped Brad's fly. I reached inside his slacks to fish out his fuck tool.
"I'm already hard," he said.
"Well, I should hope so," I said, confirming that fact by wrapping my hand around his blood filled monster. I pulled it free, into the fresh air and positioned it outside from under the steering wheel. Then I reached back into his slacks and cuddled his balls in my hand, at the same time bending down and licking the crown of his cock.
"Hey, baby, do you want to get us killed?" he asked.
"Can you think of a better way to die?" I answered.
"No, but I don't want it to happen before tomorrow morning."
I sat back up but kept my hand fondling his nut sac until we neared the parking attendant of his apartment house. Then I let go of his jewels and pushed his cock back inside his slacks, zipping him back up. The attendant had to have noticed Brad's flushed face but had enough brains to keep his mouth shut. The concierge welcomed us, quietly checking out the face and tits of Mr. Walters' latest conquest, for surely that's all that they thought of me. The elevator operator did likewise, using Brad's key to override the security lock and allow the elevator to zip us quickly up to the Penthouse.
The elevator doors opened directly into the Penthouse. It was magnificent, of course, but I don't think that you really want the architect's eye view of that part of his digs. He led me directly to the master bedroom, which seemed to be larger than my — and my Mom's - entire apartment. And our apartment was large enough so that one or both of us could bring some guy home for the night and the other wouldn't be disturbed.
The king size bed was unmade, actually a mess. What the hell, I thought, he lives alone; there was no need to make the bed. Then I caught the very faint residual scent of sex. What the hell, I thought again, there was no reason to be surprised. Brad Walters was clearly a full time cunt hound. I knew that if I wanted to be invited back, I'd have to give him — or at least try to give him — the ride of his life. But then again, maybe Mom and I could wrap it up in one episode.
I spun around in front of him, looking at his face. His lips were so kissable, but this was not the time for romance. I grabbed his zipper and pulled it down, my entire body following my hand as I sank to my knees. His cock popped right out of his pants once the blockade of zipper was removed, needing no help from my hands or his.
Jeez, this cunt is wild. I thought it and I almost said it out loud too. But I figured that it wouldn't be too smart to call her a cunt to her face. Or more accurately, to the top of her head. Well, suck on it baby, the night is young.
My sister Toni aside, I've always particularly enjoyed it when a cunt is on her knees in front of me while I'm standing up. It gives me such a great feeling of power, of being serviced by some underling who wants to satisfy me because she wants something from me. I feel like a king with a vassal kneeling before him, a vassal seeking some favor that only the king can supply.
And I didn't kid myself. Maybe once in a blue moon the cunt was just interested in cock, in a mouthful of cum, which of course it was my great pleasure to provide. But most of the time, I knew, she was interested in my money. No, not in getting paid for getting me off, because I've never had to pay for it and frankly, I'd rather flog my own log than pay a whore, even a high class call girl like the politicians use.
What most of them really want is for me to spend some of my inherited money on them. Dinners, clothing, vacations, jewelry, maybe even an apartment somewhere. They all think that if they give me the best blowjob in history, or put up with something that they're not used to, like taking it up the ass, that I'll be generous now and the next time and the time after that.
But I don't play the game that way. And yes, it is a game. There are hundreds of thousands of fuckable women in this city and there's no way that I can fuck every one of them, no matter how long I live. And each one only gets to spread 'em for me one night — or day — until the day that I find one that I love as much as I love my sister Toni. That's not likely ever to happen. Oh sure, once in a while I'll take a cunt on vacation for a full week. Then I may have to promise her some jewelry or shit like that when we get back to the city, but once we do, she's history just like the rest of them.
So it is with this Emma cunt about to swallow John Henry. (No, I have no memory whatsoever about where I got that name for him.) Once I'm finished with her, I'll take her number and promise to call her, but then I'll just throw the number into the garbage. The phone number that I give to her is a real number, she can even read it off the phone or look it up on her computer, but it has no ringer, no answering machine and is never picked up. If she tries to come to the apartment, she'll never get past the concierge, and a few of them have tried. Just in case some cunt ever tries to claim rape, I've got so many hidden cameras installed all over the apartment that it would put a Las Vegas casino to shame.
What I'm saying is that once the cunt is out of sight, she's out of mind, out of my life. Like they say, variety is the spice of life. But meanwhile, Emma had a job to do. And I must say this for her: she did it with an energy, a passion that one rarely finds in a one-night stand. Though of course she didn't know that it was only to be a one-nighter.
She wrapped her hand around John Henry and gave his purple crown a soft puff of warm air. I couldn't help it; that old line popped into my head. 'Blow is just an expression, Honey. Suck!' But I was just being impatient. After all, I hadn't seen my Toni at all that day. Poor J.H. and his scrotum twin friends needed some attention. And I had no doubt that this Emma knew her stuff. Already I had a drop of pre-cum poking out of my piss slit. Her tongue flicked out to gobble it down like an aardvark feasting on ants.
As she toyed with the Walters cock, her free hand was on my belt. She intended to get me naked immediately and I had no problem with that. In fact, I helped her, undoing the belt, leaving the buttons on my slacks for her. While her fingers worked on them, I put my hand — gently — on the back of her head. She reached back and lifted it off, as in the professional whore's 'I know my business.'
Her hands grabbed my waist band and pulled slacks and shorts down together. She had to take her lips off of my cock so that she could get my shorts off over it. When she did that, she looked up at me and smiled.
Holy shit, I thought, that look on the cunt's face is like she's a little kid asking me for approval of the job she's doing.
She put my crown back in her mouth, washing it with her tongue while she used both hands to take off one of my shoes and push my slacks and shorts off over one foot. This allowed me to spread my legs apart a bit, making it more comfortable. Her head wound up under the front flaps of my shirt, not that it mattered. I didn't have to look at her, so long as I could feel her working on John Henry. She was still fully dressed, but in the position we were in, I couldn't do much about that, not that I really cared.
With one hand she maneuvered my pride and joy, pointing him this way and that as she ran her tongue along his shaft from every angle. Just as I was about to grab her head again and shove J.H. all the way down to her stomach, she stopped with the teasing and began to suck on it. She Hoovered it without pausing to take a breath, slurping her saliva all over my groin. At the same time, she kept running her fingertips back and forth along the bottom of my nut sac.
I'll say this for her: she was dedicated. She was trying her damndest to make me cum, just as I was doing my best to hold back as long as possible, to enjoy the warm wetness of her vacuum cleaner mouth. But I always try to make it last. That's for my own pleasure, not the cunt's, about which (or whom, if I was talking about the cunt and not her pleasure) I never give a shit. If I can make her cum before me, that's fine, but it is definitely not a requirement for me. And there was no way that she was going to cum from this blowjob without using her own fingers on herself, but all ten of them were busy with John Henry and the twins.
She seemed to be getting a little tired of her ministrations, I guess not used to a guy who could hold back so long. She let go of my nuts and began to caress my ass cheeks, as though I was a baby.
Suddenly she shoved one finger all the way up my back door. That did it. I blew my load instantly. She sped up her sucking and swallowed most all of my cream, though a little bit oozed out of the corners of her mouth. When I was empty, she pushed John Henry out of her with her tongue. Instead of trying to lick the ooze back into her mouth, she used the bottom of my shirt to wipe her face dry. Then and only then did she pull her finger out of my ass and put it into her mouth.
"Holy shit, Emma, where the fuck did you learn that trick?"
Where did I learn that, he wants to know? Well, maybe later on I'll tell him, but not just yet; I've got to get to know him better before I give up my deep dark secrets. Truth be told, I learned it from the same man who taught me to love the taste and feel of fresh cum, that creamy goo washing out the inside of my mouth and sliding down my young throat.
I had been giving Daddy hand jobs for a year before he finally put that beautiful cock of his inside my mouth seconds before he exploded his orgasm. And much as I love my Mom, I still hold the teensiest grudge against her for throwing Daddy out of the house when she got tired of the competition. I mean, Mom is just as cock crazy as I am, so what was the big deal? What really ticked me off originally was that she knew all about the hand jobs and the blowjobs but she never objected until Daddy started fucking my cunt without a rubber. Well, everyone has their own standards, even Mom.
Yes, it was Daddy who had taught me to stick a finger up a man's ass, and the way he had done it was to stick his finger up my own ass. Here's what happened. It all started back when I was about nine or so. Daddy and Mom used to fight all the time, yelling and screaming, so much so that I thought it was the way people were supposed to act. Then one Saturday I heard Mom yell out, "Fuck you, Richard, I'm going shopping." Right after that the apartment door slammed.
I'd heard the word often enough so that it didn't disturb me. An hour later I walked into their bedroom — I never knocked — and there was Daddy sitting on the lounge chair with no clothes on. Well, that was a surprise, but more unexpected was the fact that Daddy had his hand wrapped around his pee-pee and he was pulling it.
Of course, I already knew from the girls at school that it was called a cock and that a man sticks it inside a woman's pussy — Mom called them privates — to fuck her and make babies. But I knew nothing of the concept of a man holding it unless he was standing up peeing. No doubt I had a very surprised look on my face, the same kind of look that Daddy had on his. Then he did something which seemed normal to me at the time but which I later learned was very unusual for a man in that situation. He kept right on pulling on it.
"Why are you pulling on your pee-pee, Daddy?"
He kept pulling it for a few seconds and then stopped and let go of it. I hadn't realized how big and hard it was. He closed his eyes, sighed and then opened them again. He looked at me as if thinking what to say, and then he said it.
"You see, Emma, a man sometimes puts his pee-pee..."
"You mean his cock, don't you, Daddy?"
You want to talk about surprise, you should have seen the look on his face then. But his eyes narrowed and I could see him choosing his words again.
"You see, Emma, in order to make babies, a man puts his cock inside a woman and the rubbing of her pussy makes the cock spit out the seeds that make babies. You knew that already. But making babies is not the only reason a man wants to do that. The baby is just sometimes a side effect. The real reason is that it feels so very pleasurable to a man when the seeds come out of his cock, so much so that he wants to do it all the time. If he can't do it, it makes him kind of very tense and nervous. And to feel better, he has to use his hand to make it happen."
"But why," I asked, "can't you do it with Mom?"
He sighed again. "Some women don't want to do it as often as men do. And when they're married to each other, that leads to a lot of fights."
"Is that what you were fighting about before? Did you want to ... to ... to ... stick it into her?"
He laughed at my discomfort. "Yes, that's what we were fighting about, but no, I didn't want to do it right then, not with you wide awake in the apartment. We were just talking about it."
Right then I knew what I wanted to say. But somehow I was afraid to say it, afraid that for some reason which I couldn't figure out, that Daddy would be angry at me, that he'd even punish me. So I stood there, staring at his cock, seeing it actually moving a tiny bit as — I know now — his blood pumped into it and as he tensed his muscles. I must say that it was even then kind of an exciting sight. Then I blurted it out.
"Would you like me to rub it for you, Daddy?"
To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. His eyes popped open wide and then clamped shut. Finally, it seemed like forever, he whispered.
"That would be very nice, Emma. But it would be better if you never told your mother." With that, he tilted his head to summon me across the room. I couldn't take my eyes off of Daddy's cock. Never having seen one before, not being blessed with a little brother or the need to help change his diaper, still I knew instinctively that cocks are not normally that big or that hard. So I asked.
"Why is it so big and hard, Daddy?"
"A man gets that way when he's excited," he said.
"And you're excited now?" I asked.
"Oh, very much so," he said, taking my hand and gently wrapping my fingers around his engorged flesh. It was silky smooth to my touch. Daddy placed his hand atop mine and began to move both up and down along his shaft. Without a conscious thought, the motions were implanting on the newly-formatted hard drive of my brain the directions that it should transmit to my hand whenever I would be called upon to stroke an erect penis. And so, when he removed his hand from mine after a half dozen strokes, I knew to continue my work in earnest.
The pressure of Daddy's hand on mine had caused me to notice the hardness of his cock right through the velvety smoothness of his shaft. I shivered with a frisson of maturity as I contemplated that I was contributing to the pleasure of someone from an older generation.
As I stroked his turgid member — I didn't learn those words for a long time — I looked up at Daddy for reassurance that I was doing it properly. His serene smile gave me the good news. Little did I realize that I was also programming into my brain the need for approval when I serviced a man, that same look that Brad mentioned when I was blowing that delightful hunk of meat dangling between his legs.
In later years, I would become aware that I had the ability to make a new boy or man cum very quickly the first time that I allowed them the use of my body. But back them I had nothing with which to compare, and so it was a surprise when he grunted and suddenly a glob of creamy white goo shot out of the little slit in the tip of his cock and landed on my arm. Shocked, my hand stopped moving.
"No, no, Emma. Don't stop; keep rubbing," he moaned weakly.
And so I did, watching in awe as a second, and then a third and fourth spurt, each successively smaller, flew out of his body onto my arm again and then my hand. Daddy smiled the smile usually reserved for a good report card and used a tissue to wipe my arm and hand. Then he bent to kiss me on the tip of my nose.
"Thank you, Emma. Thank you so much."
Oops, I haven't yet told you about that finger in the ass. Be patient, please.
When she didn't answer me about that finger in my ass, I figured that she was just reminiscing about it. It didn't matter, I didn't give a shit. I was just making small talk. You see, one of the uncomfortable things about fucking all of these cunts is their damn need for conversation after I've shot my load. If I were to immediately run for the bathroom to take a piss — which in that case would have looked kind of silly, what with my pants still hanging off one leg — they'd feel unloved and disrespected. Of course, that was precisely how I felt about this one, just like all the others. Find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em and forget 'em, that's been my motto for years.
But the night was young, and John Henry had a lot of stamina left. It wasn't yet time to forget this one. After all, I hadn't even fucked her once, unless you're a grammatical purist who considers pouring cum down her throat to finish a blow job as fucking her face. So I picked her up bodily and carried her over to the bed. She reached up and grabbed my cock, as though to hold me steady, while I fumbled to remove my remaining shoe and kick off my slacks and shorts, leaving me with nothing on except socks and shirt.
She tossed her own shoes into a corner and waited for me to go to work. As I worked her belt, my eyes caught a small damp spot at the crotch of her jeans. Mentally, I shrugged. After all, I couldn't really expect her to keep her pussy dry if she came up to my apartment knowing we were going to fuck.
As I began to peel the jeans off of cunt Emma, the odds in my mind were 90/10 that she'd have no panties on and 70/30 that she'd survived a Brazilian and had a soaking wet bald cunt. Right on both counts! The amount of fucking that I do makes me a pretty good judge of those things.
She spread her legs, pulling her labia apart with her fingers, showing off her pink gash. Her clit was out, crying for attention. Since the very first night that I had gone down on my beloved Toni, I had become a confirmed muff diver, even when the muff had been painfully removed as had Emma's.
The aroma was always fresh, at least the first ones were, and the memory of those made me able to ignore the occasional fishy scent. The welcoming lips were always sopping in anxious anticipation of as good a tongue fucking as I could produce. The clits always popped up for my lips. And the fists banging alongside my head as I made them cum gave me a feeling of superiority even as I was — temporarily — sublimating my own pleasure to theirs.
And so it was not with obligation for the blowjob but rather actual anticipation as I reached down, grabbed the cunt by her ankles and pulled her legs over her head, exposing her totally for my enjoyment. I knelt at her treasures and my lips, those on my face, kissed hers, the ones between her legs at the door of her pussy. She moaned softly, as she would throughout the evening every time some part of me touched her wet genitalia.
Her hands caressed the back of my head, holding it in place. As if it would slip away! Unlike what she had done earlier, I left her hands in place; I wasn't insulted, even though the help was unnecessary.
The scent of her cunt was sweet but artificial. She must have given herself a spray when she'd gone to the Ladies Room in the restaurant. My beloved Toni never uses any deodorant there before I eat her, she simply doesn't need it. Emma's store-bought aroma though, made me want to get it over with as quickly as I could. That was to be expected anyway, because going down on some cunt is usually just like a place-holder after being blown, until John Henry is ready for more action.
As I kissed her cunt lips again, my hands slid under her blouse to play with her naked tits. It would have been easier of course to unbutton her blouse, since it was clearly deliberately snug, but it seemed more wicked, and thus more erotic, to work under it. I smiled to myself thinking about how weird we looked, each of us covered on top and naked below the waist, except that I was wearing the quintessential black stockings of a whore's john or a pedophile sporting a dark black mustache.
But I'm no pedophile; little kids aren't my thing. I like them grown up, with real tits — 32's are enough — and well broken in, anal experience preferred but not required. Of course, that last item is something that I can't very well ask about until we're actually in bed.
Most of what I know about cunnilingus I learned from my sister Toni, even though to some extent we had to teach each other. In any event, I knew what her preferences were and they became my opening routine, subject to whatever variations that the cunt of the moment might wish. Very few of them bothered to ask for anything different.
After kissing her labia perpendicular, I turned my head and often my body so that I could kiss them as if they were on her mouth. I ran my tongue inside her soaking box but she was putting out the juice faster than I could dry her up. Enough already anyway. I was getting tired of lapping her up and wanted to get it over with so that John Henry could spray her insides. I shoved two fingers in, middle and ring. Emma's cunt was so well used that my fingers could barely feel her channel. At the same time, my mouth fastened on her clit and I began to work on it as though I was in a speed contest.
No surprise; she was finished in a flash, her screaming reminding me how wise I had been to increase the soundproofing in the bedroom.
She dribbled a little urine in my mouth. It hadn't been deliberate, that much was clear, just a little bladder control problem at her orgasm. No problem, I'd put up with worse in the past.
Now, as I was saying, I have to tell you about Daddy sticking his finger up my ass. No big deal, really. My hand jobs by then had advanced to blow jobs. We weren't fucking yet but I was beginning to be unhappy that I would make him cum but then he left me to my own devices to get myself off. Not that I hadn't become very adept at it, but still, fair is fair.
So one day we were in bed, with me gobbling away at that beautiful cock of his. I later learned that it was kind of average, but back then it was all I knew. Anyway, as I sucked away, my mouth started to get tired, because this was the third blowjob of the afternoon and his balls were sort of on sabbatical. But I didn't know what to do. And then Daddy unknowingly came up with the solution.
"It feels like you're getting tired, Emma. I want to show you something. Swing around so that your pussy is over my face."
Well, maybe I was a virgin but a girl learns more in school outside the classroom than inside. I'd heard about pussy eating but I'd never connected it with thoughts of my Daddy. Anyway, the word was out that it was really enjoyable, so I had no hesitation.