Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
"Cabin steward," a voice came from the other side of the door.
Four mouths exploded as one:
"Come back later!"
I was flat on my back. Unencumbered by clothing, my cock was pointing straight up toward the Lido Deck, one flight of wet stairs above us. Debbie was still wearing her itsy-bitsy teensy-weensy yellow bikini, albeit solid yellow, without the polka-dots. She bent down and ran her tongue around the sensitive crown of my stiff member.
"Oh Billy, I just love the taste of your cock," she said.
"You love the taste of any cock you can get," I responded.
"Look who's talking, Mr. Pussy Hound," she countered.
From a simple reading of those words, one might think that we were starting to argue. Yet to the ear, it was a clear declaration of our love for one another, a recitation of the fact that each of us was free to seek sexual pleasure, sexual release — ah, but not love — wherever we might find it. In fact, in a proper situation, the other was free to observe, though the third party involved was never to know. And yes, we've done some multiples.
She slipped off the still-damp bra, her tits glistening as the cabin lights reflected off of them. Though she had reached an age where you would expect them to have started to sag, they were still firm. Let me say this about them, as one who had whacked off thinking of them back when we were younger, back before we had finally fucked on that fateful afternoon years earlier. That had been the only time we had ever fucked, for after that, the frantic thrustings and moanings and couplings of our bodies could only be called making love.
But I was talking about her tits. Debbie had never had a bust line, a 'rack.' Whether by choice of bras or by gift from Mother Nature, her breasts beneath whatever clothing she wore were two separate, distinguishable works of art, each proudly signifying her femininity, her knowledge that she was even then not a girl but a real woman. I pulled her down to me and began to suck on a nipple. She moaned, as she did always, and her nipples hardened beneath my lips.
My Debbie drew away from me and stood on the bed above me, the magic opening to her 'love central' hidden chastely by the yellow bottoms but directly above my eyes. My fingers reached up and pulled a string on each hip. The cloth floated gently down onto my face. I inhaled her sweet nectar before a toss of my head sent the bikini off to the floor. Her pussy as always was protected by her sweet blonde down. Her bush was neat and trimmed, unfortunately still not the bald pussy that I continually begged for.
Alas, I understood her reasoning. How could she ever explain to her Asshole Eunuch of a husband the sudden shaving of her womanhood? At best she would be questioned about it; at worst it would excite his lust, a reaction of which Debbie had not the slightest interest. Let him, she said, think that I'm just dried up. Whenever I had raised the issue, she always asked why I craved a smooth pussy. She knew of course, knew between whose legs I had first tasted a clean shaven snatch, had even watched in the past as my tongue had devoured it.
It took only the slightest touch at the backs of her thighs and she good the hint. Debbie squatted down and sat on my face, presenting her entire sexuality for my enjoyment. My enjoyment, yes, but with the certain knowledge that my mouth, my lips and tongue, my fingers existed only for her own pleasure. I inhaled, as always, having grown to know and love the sweet aroma of Debbie's pussy. Or of any other pussy for that matter, but I don't wish to change the subject.
Our love-making 'always' followed the same path. Despite the introduction to this story, with Debbie's tongue on my cock, the first orgasm was always reserved for my beloved. It was generally delivered by my tongue, occasionally by my fingers. She gave those fingers free rein, front door or back, and always thanked me for the orgasm by using her mouth to wash those fingers. Very rarely I would make her cum with my cock. Once in a blue moon it would be a combination of my cock anally and my fingers at her g-spot.
As I said, Debbie always got to cum first, even that first time. Oh yes, there was one exception. After Med School, I had gone to China for a year to study acupuncture. Despite all those sweet little pussies in China, you can be sure that on my first night back inside of Debbie's snatch, I was in no mood to go slowly. She forgave me.
But back there on the Good Ship Lollypop — I forget the real name - we were in no hurry. Breakfast had filled my stomach, yet my tongue craved but a single dessert, the sweet taste of clit washed down with a gallon — ok, so I exaggerate - of tasty pussy juice. For my beloved Debbie was a squirter, and there's no comparison with that.
She took my cock in hand and held it in place, positioned so that she might slowly slide down onto it. It was an entry that we had worked out over the years. My left hand reached up between her legs and two fingers insinuated themselves past her labia. It was our little game, my fingers just making sure that she was wet enough to receive me, even though there was never any doubt about it. Her body sank down slowly, until my crown was but an inch from the front door of pleasure. Reluctantly my fingers got out of the way.
Debbie closed her eyes as she impaled herself on me, continuing to press her hips downward until I was buried inside her to the hilt. Then she opened them, smiled and bent her face toward mine. As always, our lips met, pressed gently for but a moment and then parted, making way for our tongues to caress. You'll notice that I used the word 'caress', not the traditional word 'duel', for the joinder at our mouths was more like a slow dance than a battle for possession of territory.
My hands reached up and I used my thumbs to gently flick two hard nipples. She sighed with satisfaction as my mouth left hers and my head twisted so that I could reach to suck those delightful nips. All the while her hips remained unmoving, her juices soaking my cock but doing nothing to create any friction. Both bodies glistened with perspiration, our eyes sending messages of love back and forth. Finally I could wait no longer.
"Fuck me, Cowgirl." Yes, I said fuck instead of make love, but she understood that the lust was secondary. She pressed her hands on my shoulders and lifted her hips, exposing all except my purple crown. Then she slammed down on me rapidly, with a grunt, hiding my cock in the dark wetness of her vagina. I grunted back at her and pushed my hips upward, as a bull trying to throw his rider. But of course I held back a bit, not wishing to eject the beautiful creature whose vaginal muscles were intent on squeezing the cum out of my balls. Nor did she try too hard to milk my cock, for it was always understood that her cum must be the first to arrive.
Her tits flopped back and forth as she thrust and I lifted my head so that it was between them, reveling in the slapping of their back and forth bouncing. I moved one hand to slide a finger inside her wetness, using it and my thumb to attack her clit, alternating between pinch and caress. Suddenly she reached down to squeeze my balls, her eyes went into that thousand yard stare and her moan announced her orgasm. As her juices soaked me, I responded, my creamy love sauce spurting up into her, one, two, three throbs and half of a fourth.
Debbie collapsed on me, our mouths connected for a loving kiss. We lay there for a minute or two before it was time to finish our coupling. She lifted herself off of me and knee-walked up my body until her pussy was over my mouth. She sank down and I opened my mouth to accept the sperm oozing out of her, returning to me. When the gift stopped of its own accord, my tongue dove into her to clean out what was left inside. And when there was nothing more for me to ingest, I latched onto her clit and sucked madly until her moan announced another orgasm.
"Are you ready, Bill?"
I smiled and nodded. She pressed down again against my face and my mouth opened. She emptied her bladder, as she had so many times that way. I swallowed what I could, always losing some of it. When she was finished, she moved back and bent to kiss me, her tongue busily invading my mouth. It was her way of telling me she did not intend to dominate me, that all she wanted to do was to show her love.
Years earlier, our first time. We were in my basement, after school, watching music videos. I was sixteen at the time, Debbie fifteen. Jeez, did I love to look at her tits. I was on one end of the couch, my left arm stretched out along the back of that couch. Debbie was on the other end, her right hand stretched out in my direction. Inches separated them. As I took my eyes from the TV to gape at Debbie's boobs, I noticed how close our fingers were to each other. It reminded me of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, that famous centerpiece entitled 'Creation of Adam.'
Author's Note: For a time, I considered naming this story 'Creation' or possibly 'Creation of Adam', but since the intent of this opus is pure sex, I thought that title would be blasphemous.
Debbie noticed that my eyes had wandered from the video. She stood with a smile, our fingers now miles apart, and headed for the bathroom, her skirt swishing around her ass. A slight pause, a flush and then she was back. However, instead of resuming her prior seat, she stood next to me, turned and bounced her ass down right alongside me, her head resting on my outstretched arm.
.... There is more of this story ...