Frigid Midget

by maryjane

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, Incest, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Squirting, Water Sports, Cream Pie, .

Desc: Incest Sex Story: Written by my brother Ric. After ten years of faithful marriage, his formerly hot wife turns cold. What choice does the poor kid have?


My father never cheated on my mother. So he told me just before my marriage, and I believed him. He knew all about the codes in my little black book and of my successes with members of the opposite sex. (If he had known about me and my sister, I think he would have killed me.) He was also aware, from me, of how hot my bride to be could be. But, he said, "Ric, a woman will forgive anything except infidelity." So far I've been faithful. But it hasn't been easy.

I love my wife. I guess. She's barely five feet tall. When we got married, she was the hottest animal in the forest. She would do anything in bed – or anyplace else. She would take it wherever she had an opening, and come back for more. She was insatiable and I was exhausted trying to keep up with her. But despite that, or maybe I should say because of that, I was the happiest guy on earth. To be crude, I was as happy as a pig in shit.

But time changes things. Now that ten years have passed and she's delivered me two great little kiddies, all she wants to do is sleep. Our sex life is virtually past history. I call her, but never to her face, the Frigid Midget. I've never cheated on her, not that I haven't had enough opportunities, and yes, temptations, but let's just say that my right arm has become stronger, much stronger, than my left arm. Unfortunately!

And so it was, when the game was finally over and the ten o'clock news had told me all about the latest collection of murders and rapes in the area, I stuck my nose into our bedroom. Sure enough, she was sound asleep. I knew that I could wake her up for a quick fuck, but after her pissing and moaning, she'd just lie there like a dead fish while I got my rocks off. Shit, I might just as well have been jerking off.

Which unfortunately has become my preference!

I don't do dirty magazines for my inspiration, and we don't subscribe to any of those late night porn channels. But fortunately there are enough free websites on the computer to give me a great choice of erotica.

I booted up, logged on and hooked up my earphones, so that the sound wouldn't wake my wife. In milliseconds I had in front of me dozens of thumbnails and an option box in case I wanted something specific. That night I entered 'straight' and then chose one that offered a twenty minute clip. That would be enough. If I couldn't make myself cum in twenty minutes, I'd give up and go wake the Frigid Midget. I definitely didn't plan to go to sleep with my balls full.

"I'm here for the receptionist interview, Mr. Collins."

And that was the extent of the dialogue for the entire flick. Yes, there was some pounding noise that calls itself music, together with grunts, moans, slurps and the like. The heroine – forget that she was being paid to fuck – knew from the look on Mr. Collins' face and eyes that the job was hers if she performed as required on his casting couch.

She never gave a name, though the blurb under the thumbnail called her Kate Something, as if the name was supposed to impress me. She looked like a barely legal 18 year old while the man looked like a horny 40. If the scene had been from an earlier era, he would have had a black handlebar mustache. Kate looked to be about five foot six while Collins was a good six feet tall. She had long, reddish brown hair that hung down to her waist. Collins was the typical bald lecher. She wore a loose scoop neck blouse.

Her ring could have been an engagement ring or just a gaudy piece of junk. But everyone knew that whatever vows she might have exchanged for that ring would soon be broken.

Collins and I stared together as she pulled the blouse off over her head and threw it on his desk. He did nothing but watch, but I stood up and slid off my pajama bottoms. I sat back, my bathrobe protecting my computer chair from my ass. She reached behind her back, the classic movement of a woman removing her bra as the first step of seduction. Her tits were no more than a 32, with hard nipples sticking out it seemed even more than the breasts themselves.

I let my bathrobe drop open and my hand gripped my cock, feeling it harden, feeling it grow warmer. Much as I wanted to jerk off immediately, I was determined, as always, to hold back until the screen delivered that all-important money shot, pearly cum spurting out onto her body to prove that Collins' orgasm was not faked.

She stepped out of her skirt and flipped it onto the desk, joining her blouse. All she had left in the way of clothing was a bright red g-string and a whore's four inch stiletto heels. Those heels would eventually stay on throughout the film. As she moved around the desk to get Collins' naked, he decided to help her by removing his shirt and shoes.

She knelt before him as he remained seated, he fingers deftly working his belt and zipper. Then he lifted his ass off the chair so that she could pull down his slacks and shorts. Damn, eight inches if he was an inch. I was jealous. I mean, I've got the average six inch cock, and it has served me well all these years, but I still appreciate the looks of a well hung piece of meat. I began to stroke.

Kate leaned forward to lick that little wet spot at Collins' piss slit. It was then that I suddenly realized that I had selected not merely a straight fuck flick but that I was going to get full foreplay: a little cock-sucking, some pussy licking and even some anal. I won't say much about that stuff now, other than that she shook her head back and forth when she sucked his cock and that she seemed to have a very teeny asshole. It had to have hurt like a bitch when he ass-fucked her. Anyway, we'll go into that stuff in more detail later. But I must admit that it made it more difficult for me to hold back my orgasm until that final cum shot.

She stood up and Collins began to roll down her g-string off of her body. She turned to face the camera, to give us a good look at her cunt. It had been shaven, but not completely. She, or whoever had wielded the razor, had left a little coating of fuzz around her Holy Grail. Happily, in a classic example of Truth in Advertising, her carpeting matched her drapes. Her labia were shiny damp, announcing that our little whore for pay was really anxious for a good fucking.

Then she turned around, bent forward and grasped her butt cheeks, giving me a clear view of her little asshole. I couldn't imagine how I could even get a finger up there, much less my average cock, but I definitely wished that she was there alive in my den so that I could give it a try.

Collins walked across the room to the couch, reached down and pulled. The couch quickly became a queen-sized bed. Needing no instructions, the interviewee lay down, pulled both stilettos back against her ass and spread her knees. He bent, gave her a few quick licks along her slit and then slid his middle finger inside her. Even without an interior camera, I knew that his finger was reaching around to play with her g-spot.

Then the camera zoomed in for a close up of her face. With her eyes closed, she was tossing her head from side to side in feigned ecstasy. Her moans were almost drowned out by the thumping drums in the background. She had an orgasm, or maybe faked one. That's what whores mostly do, or so I've heard. It didn't matter; I was intent on pacing the arrival of my own throbbing gush of release.

The scene shifted. Collins was flat on his back; Kate was riding him, facing his feet. The camera was shooting from his chest, focused on the juncture of cock and cunt. She was doing most of the work, raising and lowering herself. I could see that he was fucking her bareback.

That part excited me. I hate to wear a rubber when I fuck, hated it even before I became monogamous. For all I know, I may have babies in every whistle stop between Eureka and San Diego, and parts East also. I love the feel of wet pussy gripping my cock, or a wet tongue doing so. I enjoy it best when I feel my cum going someplace, not just pooling at the tip of my crown. And when I'm watching a film, it's often the sight of cum spurting onto some girl's face and eyes that gets me off.

Another scene change had her again playing cowgirl but this time facing him. The camera angle was from down between her legs. Briefly I wondered how I could get a job as a cameraman for this shit. It'd be like I died and went to heaven. She was bouncing up and down as if she was riding a mechanical bull in front of an old Western saloon. When the camera pulled back for a larger scene, I could see her tossing her head to and fro, her hair flowing from side to side. Even from behind her, and knowing that she was a paid actress, I could see that she was having a great time.

The video was rapidly coming to an end and I had not yet cum. No problem, I just wasn't hurrying. Collins rolled over, finally winding up on top of Kate, missionary style. The camera zoomed in to tongue distance as he pounded and pounded. All I could see were cock in cunt, balls slapping and her asshole winking with each thrust. I could tell that it was going to be a winner, a simultaneous blast from Mr. Collins and from me.

He pulled out, grabbed his cock and began to jerk his juice all over her pussy, four or five healthy spurts. With the first one, I began to spurt myself, my full day's reserve splashing into my open palm. Once I was spent, my excitement was gone, my lust satisfied. I watched as Kate spread herself for Collins to lick her cream pie dry. As he did so, I aped him, licking my own cum from my fingers and palm. I do that about half the time, using a tissue the rest of the time.

Kate turned around and took his cock into her mouth to suck off the drippings of his ejaculation. Her eyes were closed. When she finished, she opened them, and then in a full-face frame, she smiled and waved into the lens. I wanted to cum again. Instead I went into the bathroom, rinsed off my cock and pissed away any cum left inside me. I really didn't need to get into bed and have Frigid Midget wake up and feel a gooey cock.


When Zoey – that's FM's real name - was as active sexually as a wife should be, she used to give me some fantastic blow jobs. That was nice, because getting blown has always been my favorite form of quickie. I lost my 'virginity', that is, my first orgasm by other than my own hand, to my beloved sister maryjane. That first time, in her bedroom, she gave me a hand job, but after that all my cums were into her talented mouth.

As I said, Zoey was originally willing to take my cock anywhere I wanted to shove it. But since a blow job doesn't require her to take off her clothing, she was always ready to get me off whenever and wherever I needed it. The backseat of my car parked in front of her parents' home was never a problem. Likewise on the couch in her living room while they were upstairs asleep. She's taken my cock down her throat in the middle of the day in a Rest Stop parking lot on the Five. I've cum in her mouth in the Men's Room and the Ladies Room of the same restaurant, different evenings obviously. She's blown me in a Fitting Room in three different Victoria's. She even got me off with her mouth once in the Church basement. Damn, even maryjane drew the line at that.

And so it was that when I logged on to my favorite site, I took a quick glance at the pot pourri of thumbnails and decided that I'd like to see some oral. When the screen brought up both blow jobs and pussy licking, I refined the request to the former, figuring that I'd save the cunnilingus until another evening. The computer brought up a myriad of choices.

I clicked on a beauty with short brown hair. She started out the film already wearing nothing but a short teddy that showed off a pair of flowered bikini panties covering a ripe ass. The panties were of a style that my sister wears. When I was a kid, I used to use them to jerk off into. But then one day she confronted me over the dried cum on them when she took them out of the hamper to wash. One thing led to another, as I mentioned above, and for years I didn't have to masturbate at all.

The star's name was Tatiana, a typical tough Russian professional. She had a hard face, never smiling throughout the film. She looked to be in her late twenties and had probably never fucked for pleasure in her life, only for money. The guy was standing in front of her, fully clothed. We never learned his name. For our purposes here, it'll either be 'he' or 'him'. He appeared to be in his thirties. A handsome enough fellow, yet the look of anticipation on his face suggested that either he was shy, introverted, almost a virgin or on the other hand that she had made some fantastic promises to him about what her mouth could do. Remember, this was not real. They were not amateurs in some dorm room; they were just 'professional' actors playing parts.

He stood in front of her as she slowly unbuttoned his dark blue shirt from the top down. At the belt line, she pulled up and the tail came free. I yawned, wondering why the producer was wasting all that time. After all, this film was for jerking off, not for some foreign film festival. As she reached up to push the shirt off of his shoulders, she leaned in. He made a move to kiss her but she quickly turned her head. Jeez, I thought, everybody knows that you don't ever kiss a whore on the mouth! Maybe this guy wasn't an actor, he might very well have been an amateur hired for the size of his cock.

She opened his belt and pulled his slacks and underwear down but not off, leaving them hung up halfway between his knees and his ankles. It was like she didn't want him to be able to run away, not that that was a likely possibility. Then she pushed slash guided him down to the floor, holding him carefully so that he didn't fall and hit his head on a table. That would have been all they needed: a dead man with his pants around his ankles. But she got him there safely.

He was on his back on what appeared to be a cheap Russian carpet. Around him were two equally cheap old couches – old, not antique – and a couple of tables with particularly ugly lamps. The entire gestalt gave the impression of Russian poverty, and yet Tatiana exuded an aura of quality, of beauty even, a woman above the squalor of her surroundings. She looked more like an expensive call girl than a whore.

It didn't matter to my cock. That piece of me was crying for attention.

But Tatiana spoiled the illusion by taking off her slip. That action revealed a pair of 38Ds. They didn't interest me. I've always felt that anything more than a handful – or mouthful – was wasted. My standard of excellence, maybe due to them being my first experience, has always been my sister maryjane's 34Bs. Forgive me, Zoey.

This website has a category of BBWs to entertain guys who love huge tits, and they uniformly would put Tatiana's rack to shame. However, our suckee (blowee??) seemed to have no problem with excess mammary tissue, squeezing them hard. He began to munch on them greedily until he took what appeared to be a hard bite out of one of her nipples. She slapped him angrily, instinctively, and he stopped. I doubted that his action was part of the script.

She stood up and dropped her panties, stepping out of them to let them fall onto the guy's face. Lucky bastard, I thought, to be tasting those panties, smelling them. She stood naked over his head, treating him to the sight of a mass of cunt hair that had likely never been shaven. He reached up and ran his fingers through the bush, two of them invading her vagina, pushing past loose labia.

Piss on him, I sent her a telepathic message, piss his mouth. My hand raced along the shaft of my cock, making me doubt that I could ever hold out until the cum shot. Water sports, that's what this website calls it, have always given me mixed emotions. I've never done it to any woman, nor had it done to me. On the one hand, the idea repels me. I think that the taste would make me barf. On the other hand, the sight is so fucking erotic that when I see it I want FM to do it to me. Maybe letting her dominate me like that would get her back into the mood of our earlier days.

Tatiana relaxed her bladder and the yellowish liquid began to pour out of her. The guy yanked the panties off of his face and opened his mouth hungrily. He moved his head to wherever the stream went, catching and swallowing most of it.

I had to let go of my cock or I would have cum before she even took him into her mouth.

Finally it was time for her to put her mouth to work on him. Her hand took his cock and lifted it. Her face bent to his sac – jeez, bigger than mine – and she took both of his balls into her mouth. From the outside, I could see her cheeks working as she washed. The mouth opened and her tongue snaked under his nuts, licking his taint, heading toward his asshole. All this while a religious medal hung down from her neck, swaying as her head moved. She reached down, took the medal to her mouth and kissed it. Then she used it to scratch him under his nuts.

Again I almost lost it.

Her tongue ran around his deep red crown. Her hand held his shaft and she slowly jerked it up and down as she sucked. She swallowed the whole cock, briefly, before backing off. A sliver of her saliva hung from her lips to his piss slit; he shaft was shiny and slimy.

She sat back on her heels and shinnied up his body, her jugs hanging over his pecker. She took it into two hands and slid it between those jugs, jerking him off against her chest, her body.

Again she swallowed him whole. I could see that he was getting close, his body writhing underneath her. Both his hands held her head down, so that she couldn't get away. Until he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her face off of his cock.

That was it. I couldn't wait for him. My hand flew and suddenly my cum began to spurt, filling my left hand with spurt after spurt after spurt. Still, even with my lust sated, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.

I watched in awe as Tatiana used one hand to squeeze her tits while the other continued to jerk him to prolong his orgasm. His jism flew upward to hit her face, her eyes, her tits.


On hearing that one word command, he lifted his head and used his tongue to clean the sperm from Tatiana's face. At the same time, I licked my own hand clean.


"You fucking cunt!" Yes, I said it out loud, but I made sure first that the fucking cunt was out of the room. As they say, I may be dumb but I'm not stupid. She was my supervisor and she had just reamed me a new one for 'allegedly' being nasty to a woman on the customer service line who had called me an asshole. Asshole was what the supervisor was, and I was still fuming at her that evening. She was an ugly bitch but she had one fine ass. Ugly as in put a flag over her face and fuck her for Old Glory. I would have given anything to fuck her through the back door.

Which, not so coincidentally, is why I clicked on anal after I logged on to my favorite website. I needed to see some woman humiliated by being fucked up the ass, and that wasn't going to happen in my bedroom. Never! Not that we didn't have a history that way. Back then, pre- and post- the wedding ceremony, she had no hesitation in taking me up the ass and then sucking my cock clean when I was finished. But since the kids came along, bless 'em, I love 'em, her asshole is limited to non-Greek activity.

The star of this evening's adventure had blonde hair, as do probably 80% of the cunts who suck and fuck on this website. However, she had made no effort to hide her black roots, which sprang forth in copious number from her scalp. Her face bore some similarity to the supervisor cunt from my job, though not nearly as ugly. She was forty if she was a day and starting to look kind of skanky. I could visualize her almost to the point of one night finding her hanging around some dingy industrial area and asking guys in slowly circling cars if they wanted to party.

The guy was no youngster either. His white hair and lined face put him in his sixties, but his body was solid. He could have been a construction worker or even a former athlete. I wouldn't want to meet him in any dark alley. Her either, for that matter.

When the film began, they were already both buck naked. The room was clearly in a cheap motel. If the producer had been forced to pay for the room, it wouldn't have made any dent in the budget. Budget? Probably the only cost involved was for the cunt's time. The actor likely worked for free and the cameraman/producer – you could hear him in the background giving directions - also likely got some cock time thrown in for the fee he paid the star.

The silver stud in her tongue turned me on. I was identical to one that Zoey had when we first met. She would use it to rub the underside of my cock whenever she would blow me. Damn, but it made me cum so quickly. Alas, she got rid of it once the kids were born. She said that she didn't want to have to explain it to them when they asked, which was sure to happen. Imagine when a five year old says 'Mommy, what's that thing in your tongue?' and she has to answer 'That's for when I suck your Daddy's cock.' Can't say that I really blame her for that, but it should have been a clue for me that my sex life was about to dry up.

The film was dark, poorly lit. That's what you get when you go low budget. The whore was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, legs spread for the camera. Her cunt was shaven but not very exciting. Still it was enough to get me hard and get me spanking my monkey. She was smiling at the camera while sucking on a large plastic dildo. Skanky but boiling hot.

She stood up and pointed for the guy to lie on his back where she had been. His cock, a healthy eight inches, aimed straight at the ceiling. Then she bent over him and actually kissed his lips. Their tongues mingled and I began to think that the two people on the screen may actually have been married to each other. It looked like love, not lust. Her left hand masturbated him as they kissed. My mind drifted back when the Frigid Midget and I would swap spit before I drove my cock up into her darkness. Ah, those were the days.

The scene ended. When the camera resumed, a jar of Vaseline had miraculously appeared in her hand from somewhere in the hot-sheet motel. The guy was now sitting up with his legs on the floor. In front of him, the woman was bent forward away from him, offering him – and me – a clear view of her asshole. It was not a virginal sight; she had obviously been buggered many times in her career. It also looked like the hole had been artificially enlarged with a plug.

I watched as the guy spread the lubricant all over her butt cheeks, working carefully and precisely the way my wife does when she's spreading chocolate over a freshly baked cake. Then his finger drove inside her, plunging a hole in the middle as if he was trying to convert a regular cake into a Bundt cake – thank you for that analogy, Sis. His finger twisted and turned as he lubed up het sphincter and the tunnel that it protected.

He lay back on the bed. The time spent greasing up her chute had caused his cock to shrivel just a bit. My own hand kept my pecker hard as a rock while I watched the cunt's practiced mouth quickly bring his meat back up to penetrating firmness.

The camera somehow got behind the headboard; it seemed as if they had moved the entire bed away from the wall. The star hovered over the cock, facing away from him. He held his tool as she slowly lowered her body toward the back door. His crown touched her opening and her body paused. Then he began to pull her down onto him.

She moaned softly. Suddenly she let out a scream as if she had been an asshole virgin. Still, I could tell that it wasn't from pain, that it was just a whore sound, designed to excite the john – and the viewing public.

His cock disappeared from view as she sat. Slowly she began to ride him, a cowgirl on a horse, backwards. As she sped up, he continuously added Vaseline to his shaft. Suddenly I saw the same action from the side, with her tits bouncing as she did likewise. Obviously there was a second cameraman – or camerawoman. Clearly, porn films are an equal opportunity employer.

The screen split, showing me both camera views at the same time. Then it was my turn to moan. I released my cock, realizing that if I didn't do so, I'd explode my cum before the film ended. And while my orgasm was the only reason that I was watching, I knew that if I made myself cum, I'd never see the end of the film. And I could never resist that view, the guy's sperm spurting out to land somewhere on a female body.

But this one fooled me. From the line slowly moving across the bottom of the screen, I could see that there was still plenty of time left in the film. So I was surprised when the guy grunted, the sound of his ejaculation, while his cock was still buried inside her ass.

Aah, the reward. She lifted herself off of his tool. Then she farted. Damn, I hate that sound. But as she did, his cum oozed out of her ass and dripped down onto his body.

My hand flew rapidly, manically, up and down my shaft, trying to force the creamy juice out of my balls. And yet they refused to respond. Had the man in the film cum too fast? That shouldn't have made any difference. Was I getting too old? Fuck no, I'm still in my thirties. I thought and thought. The best I could come up with was that I was still so pissed off at the bitch from my office that maybe my nervous system was off kilter. So I slowed down and sat back to watch the rest of the flick.

Fake out. The reason the time line was nowhere near the end was because they brought in another guy. This one was younger, more like my age. From his voice, the little that needed to be said, I think that he was the director of the show.

He posed the cunt on her left side, with her right leg stretched out perpendicular to her body. He himself was also on his left side, behind her, his right leg thrown over hers. In that position he entered her easily; the scene used no Vaseline. The camera had been moved to the foot of the bed and rested on the threadbare sheet. We – that means me and anyone else in the world who may have been watching that particular offering on some other computer – had a clear view of the guy pounding her ass while we could also see her diddling her own clit. And it looked like a large clit, not that I carry around a ruler.

After a minute or two, he pulled out, began to jerk himself off and soon began to spurt fuck sauce all over her ass cheeks. As his cream slowly ran down her leg, he moved into position and began to lick it up. When he finished, he swung around and presented his slimy cock to her mouth. She sucked it clean like a hungry baby at the teat.

That was all I needed. I blasted off my cum. It flew all over the place, some of it missing my hand and hitting the fabric of the chair between my legs. After a brief moment of thought, I figured that Zoey would never notice pecker tracks. If she did, so be it.

Back on the screen, the cunt was smiling and speaking into the camera. "Did you like that, baby?" she said. I couldn't answer.


Can we all agree that the most satisfying physical sexual experience for a virile young man is an ejaculation, when his sperm bursts forth from that little slit in his penis? Of course we can. And he really doesn't care too much what causes that sperm to seek the daylight, be it pussy, hand, mouth, ass, even a pair of tits. Nor does he – generally – give a damn about the pleasure of the person helping him get that orgasm.

I think that I'm typical. Before my marriage to Zoey, I was happy to spread my seed all over the State of California, or wherever else I may have happened to temporarily be located. Every pussy was a target of opportunity, except when I 'cared for' the girl and hoped that there might be a chance for a repeat engagement. Then I put some effort into pleasing her, getting her off, keeping her happy. My fingers, my cock, my tongue were all adept at imparting orgasms to willing females, so that she might invite me back into one or more of her openings.

And of course that includes Zoey, with whom I am monogamous, that is, faithful. I may 'lust in my heart' and I may jerk off like a madman but I've never strayed. Except with my hand, obviously. So I must make sure that she receives the same pleasure as I do on those rare nights when we make love.

And though all of her openings are available to me, and all of my instrumentalities are capable of giving her sexual relief, I've always enjoyed using my tongue the most. I love the smell of wet cunt and the taste. But most of all, since I generally don't cum when I'm eating a woman, it makes them think that I care more for her pleasure than for my own. And they reward that gift in spades.

So when I sat down that night for my porn fix, after checking that FM was asleep, I decided in advance that I wanted to watch one or more woman being eaten. My preference was for her to have a man eating her pussy; I would look at a lesbian couple some other night. With the experience of many nights spanking my monkey in front of my computer, I quickly reached the thumbnail pages for carpet munching. The first page gave me about a dozen choices. As my mouse hovered over each still, a written introduction appeared.

One of those intros was written in German. All I could comprehend were the names Ilsa and Gretchen. Frankly, I would have preferred that they be named Kayla and Sabrina, but that was beyond my control. I was about to skip past it, not wanting two women, until my cock sent me a message. Hey, stupid, have you forgotten that girl munching girl is still every man's greatest turn-on? Well, why not? I clicked my mouse.

The opening picture was posed, two women arm in arm. They were as naked as the day they had been born, smiling at the camera. The scene was set on a large patio, screen enclosed, with a deserted sandy beach in the background. The furniture and the surroundings were designed to give the impression of wealth. I had no idea which woman was which, so I arbitrarily, for this narrative, decided to name the one on my left as Ilsa and the one on my right as Gretchen.

Both women were zaftig frauleins, what you would expect in a German film. I would have hated to run into either or both of them in a fight. Ilsa had jet black hair, hanging down to the waist of her substantial frame. Tattoos were sprinkled all over her body. They were all alphabetic characters formed into what looked like words but I couldn't read any of them. Probably they were not in English.

Gretchen, a little slimmer than Ilsa but not a hell of a lot, had short brown hair. If it had been blonde, you would have thought of it as a Dutch Boy cut. Her face looked virginal, even though it was obvious that she had not been a virgin for a long, long time. She was covered from neck to toe with tattoos, all of them signs of the Zodiac. The coverage was also all over her backside, as I was able to see later when she turned around. Placing the film on Pause, I was able to count all twelve signs; Gretchen's body gave no clue as to her own sign.

Gretchen's snatch was, except for one small landing strip, smooth shaven, apparently for the purpose of allowing more space for her Zodiac symbols. Ilsa's black bush had never known a razor. It looked more like jungle than cunt hair. I wouldn't have minded my tongue being lost inside that jungle, even knowing that I'd never find my way out.

Ilsa's legs were encased in the weirdest looking things I'd ever seen, multi-colored stockings. The colors ran in horizontal stripes, randomly one or two inches wide and going up to within three inches of the black jungle. Gretchen's legs on the other hand were uncovered though virtually invisible under the black Zodiac tattoos.

On some unseen or unheard cue the scene shifted to a bedroom with a huge California-king bed. The sluts separated, each to her own side of the bed. Each lay on her back, knees raised and spread as if welcoming the world. My cock leapt to attention. As if choreographed for a Broadway show, Ilsa and Gretchen simultaneously reached down and used two thumbs to spread her own labia. Twin pink cunts glistened, even the one partially obscured by Ilsa's jungle.

Again, as if responding to direction, the women rolled onto their sides, facing each other and quite close. Their nipples were lined up precisely, almost touching, reminding me of an erotic ink-blot test. And then their pointy girl faucets were hidden as their arms encircled each other. Lips met, pressing together and then parting to allow a Teutonic Duel of the Tongues, a battle which would end with no winner and no loser. Well, no loser anyway, but my eyes, my brain, my cock were certainly the winners.

The nipples reappeared as the obscuring arms moved downward to enable the fingers to probe and explore each other, though the camera for the time being showed little of that. Heavy breathing flowed through my earphones as the actresses feigned excitement. My cock was firm between my fingers. It would not soften until it spat out the creamy ivory secretion forming inside my balls.

Gretchen, she of the hairless cunt, rolled atop Ilsa and began to work her way down Ilsa's body. Her lips kissed eyes, cheeks, neck, leaving an almost invisible hickey behind as evidence of her visit. Her mouth devoured one hard nipple after the other, though the tight shape of Ilsa's tits told us that she had no milk to offer. Grethen's hand kneaded the tit that was not in her mouth.

Down again she went, nibbling the stomach en route to Ilsa's navel, an 'innie', an opening large enough to make me wonder if she'd ever taken a cock in there. The idea made my cock even harder than I had thought possible. Imagine fucking a girl in her belly button. I had to clamp my ass cheeks together to keep from shooting my load right then.

Leaving that area, her mouth approached the tangled black hair that guarded – whatever is the purpose of pubic hair anyway? – that wonderful opening that differentiates female from male. Gretchen's teeth nipped at Ilsa's hair, pulling free strand after strand like a child with a daisy, then blowing the loose strands back onto the matted jungle.

She sat up then, needing two hands to expose Ilsa's cunt for our viewing pleasure. She placed one hand in the middle of the thatch pulled to the left, combing that side with her fingers the way I do my cranial hair, without a brush or comb. Thus she showed us one lip of her cohort's vaginal opening. Then the other side; Gretchen had to pull her own head to the side to allow us a clear view of the pink treasure for hire, obviously well used and soaking with the juices of lust.

Once she allowed me enough time to fantasize my cock buried there to the hilt, her head moved over, again blocking my view of Ilsa's charms. The camera moved to the side to show us Gretchen's mouth moving down to kiss Ilsa's labia. I could see her chest move as she inhaled the aroma which unfortunately could not pass through the screen.

To paraphrase William Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon, 'that which we call a cunt, by any other name t'would smell as sweet.' I think he was talking about roses, though.

Sechzig und neun! That's how the German dictionary on my computer translates sixty and nine. I couldn't find a specific translation for sixty-nine, that beautiful posture of two people facing in opposite directions, their mouths eagerly servicing one another sexually. They could be two men, two women or one of each. My preference when doing it is one of each; in front of a movie or computer screen, nothing beats two women doing each other.

Perhaps the proper German usage would simply have the two words run together, without the 'und', and with or without the hyphen. Whichever, it doesn't matter. If I were with a woman who spoke only German, she would still understand if I used the French soixante-neuf. Or even more clearly, I could just throw one leg over her head and bend my mouth to her cunt; she'd get the idea.

Anyway, soundlessly, that's what Gretchen finally did to Ilsa – leg over head, etc., that is.

That's when the unspeakable happened, when my cock started to lose its erection. Blood slowly oozed out of it as if it had a leaky valve. After a few seconds, the cause became obvious. Two exceedingly well-fed women, covered in tattoos, reminded me too much of a side show at a circus. Two cameras, both moving back and forth among tongues, cunts, tits, asses and fingers, did their best to bring back sexual arousal to my flaccid toy. Slowly, ever so slowly, as my hand feverishly performed its sacred duty, as my eyes and brain made believe that I was watching two lithe young English-speaking whores, my cock filled once again.

I closed my eyes, moved my left hand to serve as a receptacle and sighed as my cum spat out, spurt after spurt after spurt, until my palm was filled with billions of my creamy little soldiers, sent off from my balls to die for my pleasure, no, make that my simple release.

I licked my hand clean. On the screen, Ilsa and Gretchen were still munching away, and I no longer gave a shit. I stood up, flicked off the computer, and went into my bedroom. I lay down next to my frigid wife and fell asleep.


'Words mean what I wish them to mean; neither more nor less.' So said the Mad Hatter to Alice in Wonderland.

My sister graduated summa cum laude from college. Our parents strutted around like peacocks telling one and all about summa cum laude. But while they were proudly using the word 'cum', they would have shit if they had known how often she had sucked the 'cum' out of my cock.

Bad example, you say? Foreign language and all that. OK, let's try this group of words: 'Hey kid, wanna make a few dollars?'

One day when I was about twelve or thirteen, I was walking along a busy street near the Haight in San Francisco when some man came up to me and used those words. I said "Doing what?" and he asked me to help him and his son carry some furniture down three stories to the sidewalk. Killed an hour, made a few dollars; end of story.

About three months later, on a dreary Sunday, I was standing outside a not-yet open Multiplex, waiting for some friends. Some guy, maybe in his twenties, came up to me and asked that very same question, 'Hey kid, wanna make a few dollars?'

When I asked that time, his reply was to stretch out a hand and gently touch my groin. I said "no', he said "it tastes good" and I said "no" again. He walked away without another word; end of story.

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