Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
See-through blouses and tees have always gotten me hard. It is a biological fact that women have teats, for nursing babies. It is also a fact that when you spell the word as tits, they are for inducing sexual thoughts. And while we know that they wear bras most of the time, for comfort usually, when they wear something that shows you the bra so clearly, you know that they're trying to get your attention.
Her name was —still is — Catherine. All her life she's been called Cat. When you see her, the name Cat draws your mind immediately to the word Pussy, synonym for cunt, slit, gash, twat, snatch, nookie, whatever.
Aged 25, for the last year or so she's been arm candy for some 50-ish banking executive named Lou whose 'wife doesn't understand me' or whose 'wife is frigid' or who's 'getting ready to leave her, ' bullshit like that. And like all 'eternal optimist' women, Cat hung on, waiting to convert her part-time lover into a full-time mate. He kept her in a nice apartment, banged her most lunch times — three openings in two hours - and flew her around the country with him whenever his job took him out of town, which was fairly often.
I'm Pete, short for Peter, which is one of the thousand or so synonyms for that piece of meat that was at the moment drilling a hole in the front of my slacks as I sat with my legs up on her coffee table.
She was walking away from me toward the refrigerator. Her ass jiggled just a little bit and my eyes focused on the clearly visible panty lines under her tight white designer jeans. My cock pressed harder as I imagined it buried deep inside of her. She turned profile to me in order to bend down into the fridge for two more beers. I stared at her pointy tits poking out of her tee shirt, dreaming of sucking on those pencil eraser nipples. She looked up at me and smiled. In my warped mind, it was an inviting smile.
"What are you looking at, Pete?"
She knew fucking-A well what I was looking at, and she never expected me to answer her question, so I didn't. She walked back toward me, handing me one of the beers. Then she bounced down onto the couch next to me and put her feet up on the table next to mine.
Just barely touching me, and looking not at me but at the kitchen area, she asked in a low voice, "What are you thinking now, Pete?"
The truth was easy. I was thinking about pushing her down, yanking off her jeans and panties and fucking her blind. Fortunately I didn't say that, for in retrospect it would have been a dumb move. Instead I articulated a totally different truth.
"I was wondering why you asked me to come over here this evening," I said.
Her reply was to turn her face into my shoulder and begin to cry hysterically. Not knowing what was causing the tears, all I could do was to put one arm around her shoulder to comfort her. Jeez, her body was so soft, her nipples so hard against me. If it was possible, I'd say that my cock was even harder than it had been a few moments earlier. When the sobbing ebbed, she pulled her face away from my shoulder and turned to look at me, answering my unasked question.
"I think Lou is ready to dump me. He told me that he had to fly to San Francisco on a moment's notice but his secretary told me that he was taking his wife to the Bahamas for a few days vacation. I think he wants to get back together with her." With that out of her system, she began to bawl all over again, her face in my chest. Again I waited for her to quiet down. When she did so, I put one finger under her chin and lifted her face off of me.
We stared at each other wordlessly, our eyes only inches apart. I tried to read her soul through her eyes but got nowhere. She likewise tried that with me, also to no avail.
Oh shit, I thought, here goes nothing. I leaned toward her and gently placed my lips against hers, not knowing how she would react, not even able to make an intelligent guess.
It was like an eternity as I waited. She neither pulled back in rejection nor pressed forward in acceptance. Finally, with a soft sigh, her eyes slowly closed as her mouth opened just a drop, her tongue flicking out toward my lips. I closed my own eyes and my arm pulled her head against me, my tongue reaching out toward hers. Her lips became hard as she returned my kiss.
You may think that I was taking advantage of a damsel in distress, yet I had no compunctions about it. I had wanted her for so long, wanted her tits, her ass, her lips — both sets. I wanted to taste her so badly, to drive my tongue inside her gash until she screamed, to slam my cock deep inside her. And she was doing nothing to stop me. Oh yes, every so often our lips would part and she would whisper 'No' but then she would give lie to her own words as her mouth pushed back against mine.
My hand was soon under her tee shirt, squeezing, caressing, fondling. 'No', and then another 'No', but each time followed by her free hand atop mine, pulling it hard against her tits. Even through the fabric of her bra, they were as soft as I had imagined. Toying momentarily with the idea of slipping my hand around her back and doing a one-handed unfastening, I opted instead just to push her cups up past her nipples. Bare tit was no novelty to me, but Cat's tits still were, after so much unrequited lust.
Her sweater slid up over her melons with just a little effort. I latched on with my mouth, suckling — is that the right word when the tits have no milk — like a baby to fulfill my long held fantasy. Again a soft 'No', followed quickly by a silent 'Yes' as she moved my mouth from one nipple to the other. Twisting my head slightly, I could see the damp spot forming at her crotch.
Two open bottles of beer sat on the table, going flat and warming to the background sounds of Cat's moaning. As I worked on her nipples, I ran the night's chronology through my mind. With Lou away, wherever he might be, Cat was free for the whole night. Living alone, with no one to keep me company except for my cock, I too had no need to rush home. So what would it be? Mouth and pussy were a given, though I'd have to let her decide the order of things. Her asshole was iffy. She had told me once how much Lou liked to give it to her up there, but that didn't mean she'd let me do it the first night.
My hand slid down to her wet spot. As I started to rub it, suddenly the night changed.
"NO," she said, her voice rising. Her hand grabbed mine and lifted it off of her crotch. "I can't, Pete, I just can't."
The night was over and I knew it instantly, my cock shriveling back into nothingness. Still, that didn't stop me from trying. I've had pretty good success in the past getting a woman from No to a screaming Yes.
"What's the matter, Cat? You seemed so ready. Did I do something wrong?"
"Oh Pete, do I really have to explain it to you?" she asked with a sigh.
No, she definitely did not have to explain, but I wasn't ready to give up.
"Is it because of Lou? Do you feel like you're being unfaithful?"
"You know very well that it's not about Lou, you dummy. It's about Mom and Dad."
Ah yes, that one little detail that I haven't mentioned. Cat and I had come out of the same womb, five or so minutes apart. And my beloved little sister, who had no hesitation in breaking some other family apart, did not wish to couple with her only sibling into 'the beast with two backs.'
But I kept begging, like a married man with a dried up wife.
"Cat, please, you've got to help me. My balls are ready to explode."
She gave me a weird smile, half sympathetic and half sadistic, angry.
"Would you like me to give you a pair of my panties? You can jerk off into them like you did when we were kids."
I opened my mouth to respond but then thought better of it. What I had to say could only hurt her. Instead I just said goodnight and walked out.
If it hadn't been for the need to get out of Cat's apartment before saying something that I didn't want to say, I would have taken a leak on my way out. As it was, my first goal on the brightly lit twelve block walk to my own place was to find a bar where I could empty my bladder — and maybe pick up a willing pussy to get myself off.
I found one quickly, a bar, that is. Walking into the dim bar, I put a twenty in front of the bartender, ordered a Jack Black neat and headed for the men's room. Aah, I said to myself, as Cat's beer poured out of me onto the yellow urine cake under my cock. Back in the bar, I took the drink down in one gulp and ordered a second one, this time on the rocks for slow sipping. I looked around, squinting in the dim light.
"No unattached snatch in here tonight?" I asked the bartender. He looked over the top of his glasses at me.
"You've never been here before, have you?" And then I knew. The next woman to walk into that bar would be the first one in years.
A man sat down next to me, introduced himself as Bill and started to talk about baseball. But I could tell that he was just feeling me out, trying to decide if I was gay or had just stumbled into the wrong bar. Deciding to make him wait for an answer, I laughed to myself as he tried to frame the question obliquely. Finally, he gave up and asked it right out.
"Do you know that this is a gay bar?" he asked.
"I didn't when I came in, but I do now," I replied unhelpfully.
"Have you ever... ?"
I waited for him to finish the question, making him sweat out the words. Then I played dumb.
"Ever what?" I asked.
" ... another guy," he finished, leaving out the middle of the question. The truth was that I had once sucked cock, back in middle school. I was with my friend Bobby and we were sharing a porn magazine that belonged to his father. We were jerking each other off and at the same time looking at pictures of some slut giving a guy a blow job, a series of photos that ended with the guy's cum all over her face. One word led to another and the next thing we knew, we were naked and doing a sixty-nine with each other.
If you must know, I enjoyed the feel of his cum hitting the back of my throat and enjoyed the taste of it. The problem was that we never spoke about it afterwards and I could definitely never talk about it to anyone. Certainly not to any of the guys in school, nor my Dad, nor even Cat. I never went after it again, but in the back of my mind I knew that I wouldn't refuse it if the opportunity arose. And son of a bitch, there it was.
I gave Bill a brief nod and he placed one hand on the inside of my leg. We sat silently, sipping our drinks, staring at each other in the mirror behind the bar. We thought our own thoughts, which were likely identical. Finally Bill spoke again.
"Would you like to come up to my place?" he said.
Well, I had known that he was going to ask me that, in one way or another, and in fact I had already decided that my answer would be 'Yes.' And the reason that my answer would be in the affirmative was simply that my entire sexual existence is based upon my desire to use any available method of avoiding masturbation.
As we walked — it was halfway between the bar and my apartment — I couldn't help wondering if I really wanted to go to bed with another man or if I just needed to get rid of the cum that Cat had left sloshing around in my balls. I decided that the answer was both.
He lived in a studio apartment, the bedroom area of the studio separated from the living area by a bamboo curtain. When he led me around that curtain, I saw a tube of KY sitting on his night table. That told me that the night would include much more than a blowjob. I knew that in a fist fight, I could prevent the slim man who had brought me to his home from doing anything to me that I didn't want done, but I convinced myself that I really wanted to try a cock up my ass. I'd done it to various sluts in my life, and they'd survived it; I figured that I would also.
Would you call an asshole cherry if the only thing that had ever been up there — doctors excluded — is a woman's slender finger? Surely any man's cock would be fatter than a feminine middle digit, but I was determined to feel what I had made women — and a bunch of girls - feel.
We undressed silently, no seduction necessary. In lieu of undershorts, he was wearing a jock strap. Holy shit, I realized, this skinny guy is hung, as long as any I had ever seen in a locker room, but thankfully his cock was on the slim side. His gaze at my fuck tool showed no reaction to its average length and girth.
A gentle nudge directed me to his bed. I lay on my back, legs spread, and cock pointing directly at the ceiling. My hands went behind my head as I do for most blowjobs. I know that's sometimes insulting to the woman whose mouth is about to swallow me, but few of them ever mention it. Bill seemed not to mind, his eyes flashing back and forth between my cock and my face. He licked his lips but not crudely, more in an unconscious reaction to their dryness.
He knelt between my legs as he held my cock, the first teeny drop of pre-cum oozing out into the light. Instead of the traditional swipe of his tongue to lick it up, he put his lips over my slit and sucked the drop away. I touched his head in a caress and then quickly removed it, having forgotten that I would feel a crew cut instead of the usual female tresses. I bent one leg up and tried to use my toes to play with his package, but not too successfully.
He pushed my legs over my head until my feet were against the headboard, a fortunate result of my regular exercising. Still, the way I was contorted, it felt like I was a tiny Chinese female gymnast performing on a stage. Thus exposed, I was wide open for whatever he wanted to do.
Though my cock was staring him in the face, he ignored it as his thumbs spread the cheeks of my ass. Then his tongue flicked out to lick my puckered back door and to try to invade it. Of all the sluts who've blown me, very few had ever tongued my asshole or tried to tongue-fuck it; it's always a very pleasurable feeling.
Satisfied for the time being, he took my cock in hand again and held it straight up. His tongue washed my balls and then he took the entire newly cleaned sac into his mouth to play with. His free middle finger invaded my asshole as his other hand stroked my cock, slowly, oh so slowly. And after the rejection from Cat less than an hour earlier, I was quickly close to exploding.
"Suck it, please, Bill. I don't want a hand job, I want to cum in your mouth."
Releasing my balls, he said, "Don't worry, Pete, I won't waste a drop of it."
With that, his mouth wrapped around my cock. There was no licking, no puffs of warm air. He hoovered me at top speed, like a twenty dollar whore who had the whole football team lined up behind me. That, and his finger busy examining my prostate, brought me over the top but good. I blew the biggest load I could remember. He didn't lose a drop.
Once I was finished spurting, he crawled between my legs until his face was over mine. That I understood; seven out of ten women want to give my cum back to me after I've spurted it into their mouths. I take it, first because I really enjoy it, and second because it makes them willing to do it again some other time. Only as I opened my mouth to accept his cream-coated tongue, it occurred to me that I had never kissed a man's rough lips. Back with my friend Bobby, we had each swallowed the other's sauce, not our own. But in for a penny, in for a pound. We kissed and he transferred the fresh cum back to me; our eyes stayed open and we were both smiling.
Yet for some reason, I wasn't enjoying this as much as I had expected to.
Bill bent upward, still between my legs, and I saw him reaching for the KY.
"How do you want it, Pete?"
"I guess you've never been fucked in the ass before. Do you want it straight in like this or from behind on your hands and knees?"
I didn't know what to answer. Most porn films show the bitch on her hands and knees, so maybe it hurts less that way. But I thought that I'd like to see the guy's face when he was shooting his cum into me, to see what my own face must look like when I explode into some woman's bowels, to visually absorb that wonderful release of tension that I had felt moments earlier. "Straight in," I said with my best come hither look.
I watched as Bill squeezed a copious measure of the KY onto his fingers. Idly, I began to wonder how many assholes one tube of KY could grease up. Not many, I thought, grateful that he was being so generous with that needed assistant.
He slid one finger into me as he worked the KY all over the chute. That finger was a non-event, it having been preceded in my rectum by the digits of sundry persons of the female persuasion, as well as, in desperate moments, by my own. I saw Bill smile, the pleasant smile of a casual fuck mate starting out on his journey to ejaculation. The twisting and turning of his finger was familiar as he reminded my sphincter who was the boss.