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.
I swear to you, the Devil made me do it, but I couldn't resist. My left arm came back toward my body and the attached hand came to rest of Debbie's left breast. In that split second, I almost came in my jeans with the excitement of feeling her tit, even through blouse and bra. Her body stiffened instantly. Then thought processes left my cock and returned to my brain. I started to lift my hand from her delightful mammary when suddenly both of her hands grabbed mine and held it tightly against her, right where it had been.
Our heads were face to face. Though the music video was blaring away, and we could both hear it, yet the silence of our eyes was deafening. Debbie quietly reached over me to grab the remote and turn off the TV.
"It's about time, Billy," she whispered.
Fireworks exploded in my head. New Year's Eve, Super Bowl, the Fourth of July, the first time I stuck a needle into a live person, all were wrapped in one as I tried to absorb the fact that this beautiful girl, this role model of all my masturbation, was allowing me to touch her breasts. No, allowing is not the word, she was craving it, waiting for it, demanding it, and I was the beneficiary of what I could only think of as lust.
Debbie rolled atop me on the couch, her hands grasping my face, holding it in place as our lips met. Her tongue flicked out against my lips and they parted, to welcome her tongue into my mouth. My hands were busily squeezing her breasts as I futilely tried to figure out how to open her blouse without releasing those delightful globes.
Though I was by no means an experienced swordsman, I had not been a virgin for a year. My cherry had been happily given to Inga, the school whore, to whom it was clearly no novelty. In one of those happy accidents, my Mom had caught me flogging my log and as a result, she had my Dad give me money to pay for five minutes — alas, I may even be exaggerating the time — between Inga's well-used wide spread legs. Damn, I had never imagined how wet a pussy could be.
Anyway, I knew that this kind of contact with Debbie should not, must not, end in mere necking. No, it was destined to end with my cock exploding cum inside of her warmth. Shit, I was hoping that there wouldn't be too much blood when I broke her cherry. At least, the couch was leather, and well worn, and I was counting on the fact that Mom would never notice it if we left any traces of fucking.
But of course, all those thoughts are in retrospect. At the precise moment, I never gave a thought to evidence; I just wanted to get laid by the girl I lusted over.
Debbie was humping me hard, rubbing her pussy along my leg as her own leg pressed hard against my restrained cock. It wasn't comfortable, and she could tell. She slid off me onto the floor and her fingers went to work on my zipper. Once it was down, her hand was inside my jeans, caressing my cock through my under shorts.
"Fuck these clothes," I said, jumping up and kicking off my shoes. She and I fought over my belt, which was soon open. Jeans and shorts hit the floor and I stepped out of them, leaving the tangled mess for later attention. Debbie grabbed my ass and began to lick my cock.
I put my hands under her arms and lifted her off the floor, sort of tossing her onto the couch. Her skirt flew upward to cover her chest, exposing her pussy, the hair damp with her lust.
"Don't you wear panties?" I asked in surprise.
"I just took them off in the bathroom a minute ago."
"Because I've known that you've wanted to fuck me since forever and I thought it was time," she answered with a leer.
I put my hand on her pubic hair and she spread her legs wide. Two of my fingers slid right inside her. Son of a bitch, she was as wet as Inga the whore. But where was the cherry that I knew belonged there? Vibrator? Cucumber? Her own fingers? Some other guy from school??? Wow!!! Like I really gave a shit at that point. All I knew was that I could get my cock inside her without pain, without a bloody mess to worry about.
We spent the next minute or so getting totally naked, a frantic rush. I won, because I only had a shirt to worry about, but it was close. After all, I slowed down when those beautiful tits came into view, nipples already hard. Doubtless they weren't as hard as my cock, but in their own way they showed Debbie's excitement. I pushed her back onto the couch and my lips fastened on her nips, sucking away as I had long fantasized. She didn't seem to mind, caressing the back of my head as I searched for the milk that I knew wasn't there.
She spread her legs, inviting me inside her. When I delayed, still sucking, she took my tool and led it to her Tunnel of Love. Then our eyes met again. Debbie's eyes smiled, as if she were giving me a gift, which of course she certainly was. Was I to be her first, the maidenhead lost to artificial means? Or had another's cock preceded me to the pussy I had so often dreamed about to inspire my busy right hand?
Knowing that I would be inside her wetness in a matter of seconds, it suddenly became important to me. For reasons of ego only, I was hoping, praying that mine would be the first ever cock to plumb her depths. I wanted her to remember me as her first. And as her only. For while my love had not yet developed to where it would be years later, at the start of this story, still I loved her in a different way and wanted to be the one to make her a woman.
Debbie put two hands on my ass and pulled me inside her. The warmth made me dizzy, with love and with lust. I thrust once, then suddenly...
"Oh shit, Debbie, oh shit, I'm cumming, I'm cumming."
And so I did, my cock throbbing, my balls empting their sperm into her pussy. She pulled my head to her face, kissing me violently as I returned the kiss weakly, as spent as my nuts. My ass started to pull back, to leave her body, but she wrapped her legs tightly around it and held me inside my pool of soaking cream. I lay flat on her, my body starting to sob in embarrassment as having cum so quickly. Damn it, I shouldn't have cum so fast, she wasn't my first. Debbie held me close, silently consoling me.
"Don't feel bad, Billy. Next time we'll take longer."
Subconsciously I was thrilled at the promise of more. On a conscious level, I felt Debbie's hand slide between us. Quickly it was moving, the backs of her fingers rubbing my cock. I realized that she was masturbating, that I had not made her cum. Sadly, I promised myself that I would never again cum before she did. How I would accomplish that I didn't know, but I would try my best.
I wanted to watch her but my own body blocked the view. My own favorite porn scene is to watch a chick do herself, watch her fingers pinch her own clit and dive inside a cum-soaked pussy while licking her lips for the camera. But I knew enough to give Debbie the 'privacy' of hiding her private act from my eyes.
And so I continued to kiss her, with passion, as her hand sped and sped until, finally, she began to moan loudly and started to thrust her loins up at me, so roughly that she pushed me off of her onto the floor. She grinned.
"How'd you like that, Billy?"
I didn't know if she meant my quick fuck or her masturbation, so I didn't respond. She probably didn't expect an answer anyway. Instead I stupidly decided to ask the truly impertinent question that had been running around in my head.
"How'd you lose your cherry, Debbie?"
She looked at me carefully, perhaps lovingly, as she decided on her answer, or more precisely, whether or not to tell me the truth. In a perfect world, her answer would have been cucumber or carrot. But that was not to be. Was that a tear I saw at the corner of her eye? She blinked.
"It was Daddy," Debbie said.
My body sat bolt upright, totally stiff — except for my cock, which was rapidly shrinking back to nothingness.
"Mom said it was time," she added, "and that she thought Daddy should be the one to do it."
I leaned back against the couch, trying to absorb it. My Dad had taken my sister's cherry, and my Mom had condoned it. I was speechless. I kissed Debbie gently and went up to an early bed.
The next morning. It was a Saturday. I had slept late and Mom came in to wake me.
"Wake up, sleepyhead. Your father and sister are already off to the club for some golf."
My brain was awake instantly. At age sixteen of course, there was often no filter between my brain and my mouth.
"Off to play golf or off somewhere to fuck?" I asked. Even through the half open slits of my eyes, I could see the shock on Mom's face. I heard her sigh and felt the tilt as she sat on the edge of my bed.
"Debbie told me last night that she had told you about Dad and her." The tone of Mom's voice announced a very pregnant pause and I waited, somewhat less than patiently. "She also told me about what the two of you had done."
"Are you angry with me, Mom?"
She sighed again. "No, I'm not angry, with either one of you. Maybe just a little surprised. How do you feel about it?"
"About Debbie? Oh, Mom, it was wonderful, everything I ever dreamed about. About her and Dad, I guess a little jealous."
"Jealous?" she said. "Why would you say that?"
"Because she got something special before me, and I'm older than she is."
"But your Dad gave you money a year ago for that school slut Inga."
"Yes Mom but Inga's a pig compared to you. Besides," I added, "she never taught me anything."
Her eyes widened, and slowly I realized that once again I had spoken without thinking through what I was saying. But sometimes a guy steps in shit and realizes that he's been given a pony. Mom stood up and backed away from my bed.
"Oh, you want lessons, is that it? Debbie said that you were pretty good but kind of fast. Maybe I will have to teach you something about being patient."
With that she opened her robe, to reveal ... Mom, in all her beauty. I haven't described her, have I? Debbie gets her beauty — and her body — from Mom. If not for Debbie, Mom would have been my jerk-off fantasy, but in the back of my head, it would have been more wrong than dreaming about a sister. For that reason, I guess, I had never peeked in Mom's underwear drawer, nor tried to see her undressed, that way I had with Debbie.
Mom's tits were the model for Debbie's, but what drew my attention was the fact that Mom had no cunt hair. Excuse me, Mom, I mean pussy hair. She was as bald between her legs as my father is on top of his head. She later told me that it was called a Brazilian and that it had hurt like a son of a bitch, but by then we were already being kind of frank with each other. The skin around her slit was shiny wet, the pussy juices that all females seem to have before fucking.
"Time for lesson one. I know that you didn't eat your sister; did you ever eat that girl Inga?"
I shook my head. I had known better than to want to eat a whore's pussy.
Mom got into my bed, kicked off my cover and lay on her back. Her legs were spread, and I'm sorry but my first thought was of the whore spreading her own legs. Mom patted her pussy.
"Kneel down between my legs, William."
"I know what to do, Mom. At least I think I do."
"Then do it," she ordered.
Understand, please, please, that this was not what I had in mind when I started talking to Mom, nor had it ever been one of my fantasies. But understand also, that when an extremely beautiful and well-built ... piece of ass, if I must say so, opens her naked pussy to a sixteen year old boy and offers it to him, he really has no choice. To go back to the previous question, I was pretty sure that I could eat a pussy properly. After all, I had seen my share of porn flicks and some of the guys at school, guys who claimed to be experts at it, gave pretty detailed descriptions of their conquests.