Okay, confession time:

My name is Ann Dixon and I have an oral fixation. (I read about it in the National Enquirer.) In simple terms, I suck cock– I like it– even crave it. There’s something about the rock-hard muscle, covered with silky-smooth skin and the movement against my tongue that appeals to my earthy side.

I admit to feeling sluttish and I shudder at the thought of doing something a good girl– a decent girl, would never consider. And the feeling that a man is treating me as his toilet makes me as horny as hell. Oh well ... excuse me...

I came to sucking honestly– I was a thumb-sucker– until I was twelve. I had a callous the size of a corn kernel on my thumb from where my teeth dug in. I sucked in my parent’s car, while watching television, between dinner and dessert, and sucked myself to sleep. It drove my mother crazy. She even took me to the doctor who just laughed and suggested putting a magazine in my pajama sleeve.

I made the transition from thumb to penis when I was thirteen. It was a case of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Billy Squire from down the street was the culprit. He took me behind his dad’s garage and pulled his zipper down. “This is where I pee from,” he said proudly, pointing out the pee-hole. He opened the vertical slit with his thumbs and I remember my mouth watering-up at the sight of a gooey goblet forming up in the opening, bulging in defiance of gravity. Billy showed me his testicles and the way he could make himself hard by simply gliding the skin back-and-forth.

Then he asked, “Do you want to kiss it.”

Damn right I did and I dropped to the ground. Holding the tip up, I planted a wet slurpper right on the head. But it didn’t stop there. In a wave of what I can only describe as mad hysteria, I stuffed him all the way into my mouth.

My enthusiasm must have scared Billy (maybe he thought I was going to bite), because when I pulled down my underpants, he was so busy tucking himself away that he hardly looked and never took the time to explore between my legs.

But Billy, maybe realizing a missed opportunity, got over his fears quickly enough. A few days later he invited me to watch as he masturbated. He got me seated on the grass, pushed down his jeans and pulled my cheek close against his thigh. As I kissed and sucked on the nearest testicle, he began moving the foreskin with his fingers, right in front of my face.

He stiffened so abruptly, I thought maybe he’d had a stroke or something. He turned and, pinching the end of his penis, asked, “Do you want it?” I wasn’t sure what he meant and when I hesitated he grabbed my head and shoved his cock against my lips. I opened and a moment later, he was filling my mouth with goop.

I didn’t know what was happening and my immediate reaction was to start swallowing so I didn’t dribble all over myself. It was my very first taste and I had no trouble taking it or holding it down.

So that became our playful version of oral sex. I would undress and Billy, looking at my body, would masturbate. I’d watch and coaxed his balls, and when he was ready, I would hold him in my mouth.

It wasn’t real oral sex of course, where I was an active participant, but Billy seemed to enjoy himself and I didn’t mind the taste or the feel of it coating my tongue and I swallowed a ton of the stuff that summer. But I was fast becoming a young woman and gaining a greater understanding of my own sexual needs.

It was out of curiosity that I first suggested that he stick it inside me. Billy turned pale and told me firmly, “I don’t want to create no babies.” Looking back, that was pretty profound coming from a fourteen-year-old who had no emotional commitment beyond watching me take my clothes off while satisfying his raging hormones.

But I needed satisfying too. And once, while Billy was seated on the grass and beating on himself, I swung a leg across, grabbed his cock and dropped down on it. I hit a bullseye. He slithered in as slick as a weasel invading a rabbit’s hole ... and Billy responded as if he’d been shot from a cannon.

His eyes rolled back and the cry that erupted from his throat was, I thought, like the ragged bellow of a rutting moose. And I was enthralled at finally having my pussy stretched. I humped and rotated, grinding my clit into him until I felt him unload.

Billy was young and had always given me plenty. And this time was no exception. He filled me and as I rode him, I felt the stuff squishing out all over my tummy and thighs. But old habits die hard and a moment later I turn-tailed, dropped my face into his lap and started licking the stuff up. It sorta felt that down on my knees was my proper station in life.

Summer turned to fall and I enrolled at the local high school. Billy, interested in mechanics, went to a technical collage. We would meet on occasion and I would take up my usual position: naked on my knees. But Billy’s act had changed. He’d take a hold of my head and force his cock repeatedly between my lips before driving forward and cumming in my throat. It was okay, but different and I couldn’t help feel that Billy had met someone who had helped him develop his technique.

Then the last time we met, he tore at my clothes– rather violently. Billy bent me over his mother’s coffee table and he fucked me from behind– his penis in my vagina and a finger twisting in my rectum. This was a different Billy Squire, a new Billy, someone I wasn’t sure I wanted to know and it was the last time he ever saw me naked.

Four weeks later, I wasn’t surprised to learn he had dropped out of school and was looking for an apprenticeship. He had knocked up a girl and needed money to keep the future Missus Squire in the manner to which she had become accustom. But by then, I was dealing with my own set of issues.

Rex was older, in twelfth grade and for some reason, he singled me out. Some guys seem to smell stale body fluids on a girl and are drawn, like mink to the musk. That’s all I can think that would encourage him to get me into his car.

He was a good looking guy and I was a bit flattered that he would be attracted to a scrawny fourteen-year-old. So when he said he was driving over to McDonald’s to grab a coffee (not a soda), I accepted his invitation. It all seemed very casual but as soon as I got into his Mustang, he looked down and commented on the length of my legs. I always thought my legs as kinda spindly but he said he liked a girl with a bit of sinew, that it made for a good grind and did I like getting fucked?

His forthright way of talking stunned me into silence, but I settled and told myself that this is how older, mature people talk and, not wanting to make a fool of myself, I told Rex truthfully that I’d only had sex a couple of times. He seemed surprised and asked why?

“The only boyfriend I’ve ever had was afraid of getting me pregnant,” I explained.

“How did you manage,” he wanted to know. At the time, I was unfamiliar with terms like oral and blowjob so I just shrugged and told Rex I used my mouth.

His jaw dropped. “And you like doing it that way?” he asked.

And once again, acting more mature than I felt, I said, “Sure. I enjoy the fact that I can get a guy off without taking risks.”

Rex was amazed and I felt kinda pleased that I had that affect on him. “Would you be willing to do me?” he asked. “That way...”

I had painted myself into a corner from which there was no graceful escape. “Sure, I guess...” I said with a shrug.

“Wow,” he replied and at the next stoplight, he pulled out his cock. So with no way out, I leaned into the driver’s seat and began sucking on him.

It was okay, I guess, and I accepted a creamy appetizer from Rex just as we pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot.

We ordered McMuffins and took them to the car where I let him play with my boobs as we ate. He cupped the undersides and hardened my nipples, rubbing with his knuckles.

On the drive back, I played with his cock, absolutely thrilled that an older guy would take an interest in me– an older guy with a cool car and a part time job at a hardware store. So a couple of days later when he asked me to join him for coffee again, I knew what he really wanted and was quick to agree but as I dropped into the passenger seat of his Mustang, I sensed movement behind and realized Rex had invited a couple of buddies along to share in his good fortune.

We hadn’t got out of the lot before a hand came up from between the seats and grabbed my left boob. “Hey...” I protested and turned to push the offending fingers away. But an arm came across from the opposite side and nipped in beneath my chin. “Rex,” I cried as my other boob was manhandled.

Rex just grinned. “Relax sweetie. The guys are just showin’ you how much they appreciate a nice body.”

While I struggled with unasked-for appreciation, Rex drove two blocks over to a parking garage. He raced up the ramp to the top level and ground to a halt. The fifth floor was an acre of vacant parking spaces, commuters preferring the convenience of the lower levels. I was alone there, with three guys.

The car door was yanked open and I was pulled from my seat and landed on hands and knees on the concrete. “What do you want,” I stammered as they hauled me up against the car and surrounded me.

“We wanna watch you strip,” one guy said. “Strip and you can have your clothes back, after we’re done with you. Otherwise we’re keeping ‘em and you can walk outta here with your tits and ass hangin’ out.”

“Done with me?” I dully repeated.

The circled tightened. “C’mon. Get ‘em off.” Someone lifted a fist.

“Okay, okay,” I pleaded. “You don’t have to hurt me.” And I quickly unbuttoned my blouse. I shrugged the soft cotton from my shoulders and placed my mom’s present to me, on the car’s hood. I reached behind and unclasped my bra. The weight of my breasts shifted and I pulled the cups free.

“Shit,” one of the guys exhaled.

“Told you she’s gotta nice rack,” Rex said proudly. “Look at the size of the nipples.”

“C’mon.” the first guy said. “Keep going.”

I toed off my Nikes, unfastened my jeans and pulled them off. With a cry of desperation, I hooked the elastic of my panties in my thumbs and pulled them all the way down. I stood shivering in front of the guys wearing only a pair of white gym socks.

“Thick Brillo pad,” one of them commented and I flushed when I realized he was looking at the hair that covered my pubis. But I only had a moment to consider my predicament. In a flurry of hands, I was lifted from my feet and slammed across the hood of the Mustang. My flaying ankles were grabbed, my feet lifted high into the air and my ass rolled up.

One of them stepped between my splayed legs. “Where duh yah want it, sweetie?” he asked, pulling his cock free. “In the ass or the cunt?”

“In the...” I hesitated too long and, stepping into me, he jammed his cock through the muscle of my anus. I seethed, then screamed as he rolled his hips back. It felt like I was shitting shards of broken glass. Sweat burst from the pores across my shoulders and feeling nauseated, I turned my head away, the nails of my fingers cutting into my palms.

He pulled out. “Let’s see what else yah got...” and shifting angles, he drove into my vagina.

He fucked me a moment, before stepping aside without cumming in me. When the second guy did the same, fucking without cumming, I knew what I’d be eating for lunch. And it wasn’t a Big Mac.

Rex was first. He pulled me from the hood and down onto my knees. He grabbed me by the head and while the others watched, he face-fucked me against the side of the car. The others waited their turn and I opened and swallowed two more times before they tossed my clothes into my face and drove off. I suffered the indignity of cleaning myself with tissues from the bottom of my bag, dressing, and walking back to class with the smell of cum on my breath and a belly full of it.

I didn’t tell anyone about what had happened. But Rex and his buddies were not so discreet. Within days, guys I didn’t even know were coming onto me, some offered me a good time, some told me in vivid detail what they’d do to me, some offered money.

My girlfriends started to distance themselves and even a couple of my teachers seemed to show greater interest, though none were willing to risk a career for a quick, after curriculum suck.

I felt ridiculed, bearing the weight of cat calls hurled in my direction. Or cries of “Little Oral Annie,” or “Ann will suck your Dixon off,” echoing behind me in the halls.

I quit school at end-of-term but I was determined not to let the lack of a formal education hold me back. I signed up for courses and started looking for employment with anyone willing to provide on-the-job training.

With a resume that contained little more than my name and address, I started the numbing task of knocking on doors. It was daunting and after six months, I was ready to give up and head back to class when someone took an interest– not in my resume, needless to say, but in my tits.

He was fifty-ish, a personnel director at a large insurance company and as he studied me, all of fifteen and sitting trim and proper in his guest chair, he turned my resume facedown and casually said, “I wish my wife had breasts like yours.”

So there it was– the offer had been cast out and it was up to me to accept or go screaming from his office. It was a decent job offer with a respectable company. The money was more than a high school dropout should expect and they sponsored training programs for new recruits.

I thought about having to return to the cold streets with a never ending parade of closed doors and made up my mind. “Thank you, sir,” I replied, unbuttoning my suit jacket. “I’ve been told they’re quite attractive. Something about the curve, I believe.” I opened the lapels in his direction. “And the feel...”

He got up and came from around his desk. “Ah, yes...” he breathed, “the feel.” He was behind my chair and leaning in. “Would you mind?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I replied and sitting tall, I loosened my jacket from about my shoulders so he could slip a hand beneath each breast, heft the weight, and seek out each nipple with thumb and forefinger. “What do you think?” I asked after he’d given me a thoughtful squeeze.

“Magnificent,” he muttered.

I slipped the top two buttons of my blouse. “I can show them to you, sir, if you think it appropriate.”

He looked as if he might croak and his eyes drifted to his office door and the catch. “I’ll do it,” I said, and getting up, I stepped across to his door and locked it. Then turning, I dropped my jacket, took off my blouse and unfasten my bra. “C’mon, then...” I let my bra slip from my fingers and motioned to him. He came to me and I nursed him while working his cock through his trousers until I felt him cum in his underpants.

Despite the sleazy start, I suddenly had a steady job and I vowed to make the best of it. The next year passed in a flash. I dated guys occasionally and slept with a couple of them but the right fit was elusive so I resigned myself to working long hours and I signed up for the recruitment training program.

I soon outgrew the clerical position I had been assigned and when an opening on the staff of one of the adjusters became available, I applied and was accepted.

Mr Wayland was a lovable old guy with a craggy face that reminded me of an old basset hound. He was a family man with old-fashioned values and, for reasons I don’t understand, he took an interest in me. If pressed, I would probably have slept with him but he talked fondly of his wife and never touched me. Not even to place a friendly hand on mine.

Mr Wayland taught me all he knew and, wanting him to be proud of me, I responded. I was putting in sixty-hour weeks, taking courses and even going out on my own to drum up new business, so when Mildred, Mr Wayland’s personal assistant retired, he requested that I be assigned her responsibilities.

I befriended Mr Wayland and his family. His wife and I became fast friends when we discovered a shared passion for shopping– especially for shoes and, still living with my folks, I could afford to indulge. We would hit the shops on Saturday mornings, then drop by a favorite lounge where we would compare purchases over drinks and flirt with the bartender.

Leslie Wayland was much younger than Mr Wayland, closer to my age, and had the prettiest legs of any woman I had ever met. She celebrated her attributes with spiky heels and short skirts, often with provocative slits, hip-high. And she sometimes wore garters and silk stockings, she told me, for the simple reason they made her feel sexy.

She confessed, once, that her alternative wardrobe was hidden in the back of her closet, safe from Mr Wayland’s discerning eye. My own wardrobe benefited from her daring and she helped with my makeup and introduced me to her hairdresser.

My confidence grew and I shamelessly flirted with clients, business associates and a tight skirt sure helped when scouting out new business.

Then, at thirty-six years of age, I stood and applauded as my boss, Mr Wayland, was appointed vice-president of sales and I moved into the executive suites right along with him. It was a proud moment.

But then Luca came along.

The Company sponsored an athletic program at the local college and I was asked to attend the awards banquet and present the trophy for Sophomore Athlete of the Year.

Leslie Wayland and I hit the shops to pick out a new dress for the occasion and she pulled a slinky little number from the rack and held it up against my torso. The dress was sinfully short and made entirely of sparkly gold sequence which, Leslie said, would reflect the stage lights.

The hemline was so short that I seriously considered buying matching underpants for the benefit of the boys sitting in the first row. The sales lady looked down her nose at me and told me, in no uncertain terms, that her store did not go in for that kind of questionable undergarment and suggested I try Victoria’s Secret.

It seemed I would have to be content with frilly black lace to match my patent leather pumps.

Leslie accompanied me to the banquet where we enjoyed a lasagna dinner and shared a bottle of wine. “I’ll just wait to watch your presentation,” Leslie said after sherbet and biscuits, “But then I’ll have to slip away off home. You okay?”

“Bit nervous,” I confessed. “All these guys and me half naked.”

“You’ll do find,” Leslie reassured me. “You’ve got nice long legs, a little thin maybe, but there won’t be a guy in the audience that won’t be appreciative ... and not a woman, who gets a load of that dress, green with envy.”

“Thanks,” I said with a weak smile and after a kiss, made my way backstage to wait for my name to be called.

Leslie was right. I glimmered in the spotlights like a tinsel tree and as I gave my little speech, I lightly tapped my right heel as Leslie had suggested, to keep the dress moving and the light-show in motion. I could hear guys commenting in the audience as I shimmered in the lights.

I announced the winner, Luca Tarinelli, and peered into the darkness beyond the footlights. My announcement was met with a standing ovation and a rousing round of cheers. I saw a young man stand and approach the stage. The thunderous applause increased and seemed to rattle the boards on which I stood. What on earth made this boy, Luca, so popular, I wondered.

I was about to find out.

He was tall and athletic, as one would imagine, but not muscle-bound or bulky. Beautifully proportioned, he took the steps up to the stage two at a time with the graceful gait of an antelope. I held my breath. The closer he got, the better he looked.

He was dark, olive-skinned, and his black eyes burned with intensity. His hair was thick with soft curls but what really attracted me and made me forget to bounce on my heel, was his mouth.

He looked down at me and smiled. His lips, slightly crooked, opened to reveal a line of perfectly straight teeth. It was a boyish, Robert Redford grin with a mystique of shyness that sent a tingle down my backbone and pinched my anus. He was nineteen but his tallness gave a false illusion of maturity. I wanted to bite him all over, even with a thousand people watching. Especially with a thousand people watching.

I presented him with his trophy, kissed him, linked an arm through his and walked him off the stage, all the while pressing the outer curve of my unhaltered breast into the bulge of his arm.

Hidden in the subdued darkness off stage, I turned into his arms and kissed him again, pressing my tongue between his lips. “Just in case I didn’t get it right the first time.” I smiled up into his eyes and watched him run his tongue across delicious lips, savoring the moisture I had left behind.

If he was shocked by my behavior, it didn’t show. “The first time, it was very nice,” he said in broken English. “But the second time? You make me blush.”

“A bit of color in your cheeks becomes you,” I chided and, wrapping my arms around him, I nestled my face into the folds of his shirt.

“And thank you for the trophy,” he smiled quietly. “It makes me proud to except it from such a beautiful woman.”

“Thank you. That is a nice compliment, Luca. But the trophy isn’t all you get.” It was embarrassing to think that I, a thirty-six year old woman, would throw herself at a nineteen year old boy. “There’s something more.” Our eyes met and I felt the heat rise in my chest and had to glance away, needing to escape his penetrating gaze.

He caught on quickly. “There’s more? Ahh,” he said. “Of course ... My reward this evening.”

“Yes,” I snuggled deeper into his arms to conceal my embarrassment, “you can have me, if you want. Is there someplace we can go? Someplace private?”

Unfortunately, we might as well have been comparing shopping lists: I’ll trade you a gooey fig for that big fat pickle. His lack of emotion toward me could only be explained as familiarity with the game. He was no stranger to sex-starved women dropping to their knees. I mean the guy was dishy and I was sure women of all ages had tossed their panties at him since the day his balls dropped.

Once again he smiled knowingly. “I saw you earlier, with another woman. Also beautiful. Will she be joining us, as well?”

So there it was and it stung like a slap to the cheek. That was what he wanted: a sex-filled romp with two older women, in bed, both crawling over him and each vying to be the first to empty his balls. Well I guess every guy has had that fantasy so who could blame young Luca for being human?

I wasn’t deterred. “That was Leslie. She is married and had to go home to her husband, but I am sure, if I explain, I can talk her into joining us in bed, for next time. The two of us, Leslie and I, we work well together.”

I had to wonder how Leslie would take the news that I had offered her pussy to Luca, and that I’d be along to prime her for the ride. There had never been anything between Leslie and I, though we kissed often, a casual greeting every time we met. But there had been that one time, after a couple of vodkas, our lips engaged and seemed to linger. I had to resist the urge to back her into the wall and push my tongue into her mouth. The thought of our tongues slithering like two eels fucking in a bucket had dampened my panties.

I looked up into Luca’s eyes and in all sincerity added: “And Leslie likes to experiment, with different partners.”

“I see...” He studied me a moment. “And you are not married?”

“I’m practically a virgin,” I laughed, a little too brightly.

He looked doubtful. “I find this hard to believe but it is of no matter. I like a woman of experience. It saves time. No?”

I firmed my resolve and feeling a false wave of courage, I made myself perfectly clear. “And we stand here wasting it ... when we could be alone, naked in each others arms.”

“My girlfriend, Lara, might have something to say about this.”

“Lara need never know.”

“I see,” he said again, his thick hair falling across his forehead as he looked down at the tops of my breasts. “There are dressing rooms down the hall.”

“No,” I replied firmly. “Someplace we can be comfortable. Someplace we can be alone and not be disturbed.”

He shrugged and smiled.

“Okay,” I surrendered. “My apartment is not far. We can go there. Call your girlfriend if you must but spend the night with me.”

At my apartment, I took his jacket and watched as he loosened his tie. He placed his trophy in the center of my coffee table and with a satisfied grin, got comfortable on the sofa.

“Drink?” I asked.

“A glass of red, if you have it,” he replied, his eyes still on his trophy.

“It’s domestic,” I cautioned.

“It is of no matter,” he replied. “I am not so much of, how you say ... connoisseur?”

I filled a crystal goblet for him and poured a vodka for myself. “Excuse me for a moment. I must get out of these heels,” I said, placing his wine down.

“The dress is amazing,” he uttered and reaching out, he ran a hand up the front of my leg and, lifting the hemline, he lightly pinched the roll of my vagina through my panties. “Very revealing.”

I held my ground. “Yes well, a special dress for a special evening. Excuse me for just a moment.”

In my bedroom I changed, pulling on jeans and buttoning up a soft white shirt. When I turned, I found him watching from the open doorway. He gave me a bit of a start and I didn’t know how much of me he had seen but by the glimmer in his smile, I guessed he had enjoyed the sight of me in my underpants.

“Luca?” I questioned as he moved toward me.

He took me into his arms, kissed me, and boldly moved his erect penis against my thigh.

“Oh my,” I cooed. “Perhaps you would like me to help you with that?”

He grinned. “I am sure you know how,” he said.

I felt I was standing at the edge of a cliff. “Yes,” I capitulated, taking the fateful step and surprising myself at how quickly and how willing I was to go to bed with this man– one I had only just met. I undressed him and taking him by the hand, got him stretched out across my bedspread with his back against a pillow.

“What do you like?” he asked.

I snuggled up with my arms about his shoulders. “You can start by tonguing my mouth.” And I pressed my lips to his and let my jaw go slack.

He traced about my lips with a bold tongue before pressing into my mouth. He tickled the palette, explored beneath my own tongue, then my teeth and gums before driving into my throat. Relaxing in his arms, I reached and held his testicles. They were cool, almost cold, and they moved beneath my fingers. He responded by exhaling softly and working his tongue deeper into my throat.

When he finally pulled back, I was possessed with an uncertain hunger and followed after. Taking his tongue between my lips, I sucked. His penis lifted and pushed against my hand.

I turned my head and ran my eyes along his torso, getting my first good look. He was beautiful and a vision of Michelangelo’s David rose in my head. Looking at the graceful undulations of Luca’s muscle and flesh, I could understand why the Italian renaissance artisans were fascinated by the human form. Luca had a body that could make a sculptor weep. Even his feet were pleasing, not something most men can brag about.

“God. Look at you,” I sighed and still fully dressed, I shifted to the side of the mattress. Sitting opposite his hip I nudged his penis aside and tested each of his testicles between thumb and forefinger before licking his scrotum. I kissed his balls then took each into my mouth, rolled them between my lips and sucked gently. His testicles were large and spongy and his penis suddenly lifted into my face.

He turned his head and moaned. “How do you want to do this?” he asked.

I lifted and our eyes met, his as black as midnight, mine full of desire. “I like it in the mouth,” I whispered.

He hesitated. Finally, I thought. I have your full attention.

“You want my cum in your mouth?”

“Mmm...” I kissed the head of his penis. “Please. I’ll take everything you’ve got.”

“Mary Mother of Christ,” he hissed as I lavished his penis with a slurpy tongue.

“Lean back and relax,” I reassured him. “I want this.”

I raked my teeth about the ridge and licked-up the pre-ejaculate that had formed in the pee-hole. He was shuddering in my arms as I went down. The first plunge was all the way. I held my breath and didn’t stop descending until my nose was hard up against his pubic bone. I held and rolled my face into him. He lifted in my throat.

I smiled to myself, knowing I was doing good.

When I came up, I worked the head between my lips in time to my hand churning the shaft. Up and down I bobbed, using lips, tongue and teeth to further drive the sensations.

I pulled my face away and without missing a stroke, I rolled him over onto hands and knees. I reached in from behind and masturbated him with my hand pumping between his legs. His back arched and I quick slipped under, his penis swinging inches above my face.