I should have been writing, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was admiring the waistband of Daniel Haite’s tighty-whities, and speculating as to what exactly was kept snug inside them. My boy Danny had an ass straight off a Calvin Klein billboard.
It was Ms. Hasen’s sixth period Creative Writing class, and Dan sat directly in front of me. What he was doing in Creative Writing at all was a bit of a mystery. Danny was an unapologetic football jock. Ms. Hasen had assured us all at the beginning of the semester that this would be no easy A; and sure enough I spent more time on her homework than for any other class. But Danny held his own. His writing wasn’t great, but it certainly wasn’t bad either. He might have been a jock with a gorgeous body, but there was clearly a lot more to him than just that.
I looked him up on Facebook recently. After high school, he went on to be a Rhodes Scholar and a Navy SEAL; apparently he teaches English Comp at a community college in Wisconsin these days. I’ve even contemplated getting in touch with him, but I seriously doubt he would remember me at all.
I squeezed my thighs together, imagining him turning around, asking me out. I would have jumped his bones in a heartbeat. I didn’t think it was going to happen, but it made for a nice fantasy. I started writing. This was definitely not the kind of short story Ms. Hasen was looking for. But I didn’t care.
In retrospect, I probably should have asked him out. He probably would have been thrilled. I think he may have just been shy. When I look back at high school pictures, I can see that I really was actually pretty hot, in a young-and-awkward-librarian sort of a way. If I had taken that leap, a lot of things might have played out very differently in my life. Might have.
By the time the bell rang for the end of class, my panties were seriously damp, and I had eight blank pages that had to be filled before tomorrow afternoon. Well, the pages weren’t quite blank, but what I had written during class, I wasn’t about to turn in to Ms. Hasen.
I fidgeted through dinner, a silent and formal affair with me and Dad at opposite ends of the long, dark dining room table, with place settings as always laid out for three. I was looking forward to cloistering myself in my bedroom, having an epic masturbatory session starring Danny Haite and his penis, and then busting out some homework. But at the end of the meal my dad cleared his throat, and asked to speak with me in his study.
After the dishes were rinsed and put in the wash, I tapped nervously on the door of the study. What he wanted to discuss, I had no idea. Dad and I led very separate lives; on most days I would only see him at dinner. Sometimes we’d sit and read together of an evening, but that was fairly rare. His eyes always seemed to drill through my skull. I preferred the privacy of my own room.
He was sitting in his easy chair, wearing a grey linen suit—I could literally count the number of times I’ve seen my father not wearing a suit—with a tall glass of whiskey close at hand. He gazed at me, aloof and austere, his pale sea-blue eyes unreadable behind his black-rimmed glasses.
Self-consciously, I sat down opposite him, in my reading chair, feeling rather like a specimen on a microscope slide. My mother had left us when I was not quite ten, slamming the door and striding purposefully out of our lives into a waiting yellow cab. Since then it had been a strange and austere kind of life. We didn’t talk much, Dad and me.
“You’ve grown up a lot,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
“So…” he said at last, when the silence between us had become unbearable. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
We’d never had a discussion about dating; I’m not the kind of girl who gets asked out a lot. Hell, we’d never even had the sex talk. Between library books and internet porn, I’d figured it out on my own.
“Yes,” I blurted out. “His name is Daniel Haite.”
“Very good…” he said thoughtfully, letting it hang out there in the air between us. I squirmed uncomfortably as he sipped his whiskey. “Are you two doing anything together?” he asked placidly. “Sexually speaking?”
I was blushing furiously. “No,” I told my father. “Not yet anyway.”
“I see,” he went on after an awful long pause that seemed to stretch out like a flat, unbroken stretch of Midwestern highway. “Well, have you started to masturbate yet?”
It was all I could do to shake my head ‘No’.
It was a lie. I had, of course been whacking off for years, ever since I had found a copy of Buttman’s European Vacation that my dad had left in the VCR. And before that, even. My preferred method usually involved one or two fingers sliding in and out my pussy, with the heel of my hand pressed hard against my clit. And sometimes a hairbrush handle up my butt at the same time. I was just that kind of a girl. Still am.
“It’s completely normal and nothing to be ashamed of,” Dad went on, as casually pedantic as if he was explaining how to program the dishwasher. “Take your pants off and I’ll show you how to do it.”
I still don’t know why I did it. I should have told him it was none of his business, and walked right out of the room. But I was so flabbergasted that I found myself doing exactly what he said, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them down my legs. “Panties too,” Dad added pedantically.
Mortified but compliant, I rolled my underwear down my legs, kicking them off my ankles, keeping my knees pressed firmly together.
Dad took another sip from his whiskey. “Good,” he said. “Now show me how you think it should be done.”
I may have been mortified, but I was also inexplicably sopping, dripping, droolingly wet. I allowed my knees to part, reached down between my legs, and slowly inserted my middle finger all the way up to the knuckle in my hot, slippery pussy. I couldn’t believe I was doing this in front of him; I couldn’t believe he was watching me do it. It was somewhere between unbelievably horrible and unbelievably hot.
“No, no, no,” my father chided. “Show me your clit. You do know where your clitoris is, don’t you?” I nodded my head meekly.
“Show me,” he said. Blushing hard, I pulled back the folds to reveal my pink little button, which, despite—or because of—the bizarre situation, was swollen and erect.
“Wet your finger,” he instructed. His pale blue eyes felt like lasers burning holes in me. My feet were up on the seat of the chair, knees apart, all modesty temporarily forgotten. I licked my index finger, trembling under his steady gaze like a poor, doomed bunny rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming semi.
“Now draw little circles around your clitoris,” he said, “Softly! Don’t touch it! Just circle close. Closer… Yes, that’s it. You can play with your breasts too, if you want.”
Yes, that was certainly doing the trick. Dad had simultaneously shown me a more efficient method of masturbation, and ruined it for me forever. Either way, I was going to fucking come. I reached up under my t-shirt and tweaked my nipple. Faster and faster, I drew tiny concentric circles around my swollen, aching clit. The sensation was amazing, I was drenched, juice was leaking out of me like Niagara freaking falls, and Dad’s eyes staring at my wide-open cunt just made it all the more intense.
“Now touch it,” he said, “Touch your clitoris and come for me!”
And I did. Just barely brushing my finger across the top of my little button set me off. I rubbed it like a fiend, abandoning any remaining restraint, choking down a guttural cry and blasting off into high earth orbit as my finger skated back and forth across my clit.
“That was very good,” Dad smiled benevolently, “for a first time. Now, off to bed with you.” There was an enormous and obvious lump in the front of his grey linen pants, and it disturbed me just how interested I was in finding out just what exactly was going on inside my father’s trousers. “I really think you should start exploring your sexuality with this boyfriend of yours. Of course, I’ll want to hear all about it.”
Without another word I pulled my pants back on and went up to bed.
*
I stayed late at the library after school, scribbling dirty stories in my yellow notebook and furtively petting myself under the table, through the soft material of my panties. For dinner, I ate Taco Bell all by myself. My pussy was wet and my clit just wouldn’t settle down.
Dad was waiting for me when I got home.
“Well,” my father asked, aloof and unreadable as always. “How did it go?”
I felt myself blushing despite myself. “It was nice,” I said. “We went out for burgers and cokes after the show.”
“Is that all you did?”
“Well, after that he wanted to find somewhere to park and fool around a little.”
“And you agreed to this?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Well, we found somewhere to park, next to a construction site. We kissed for a while. He wanted to… see my breasts. And touch them. So I let him. He also wanted to… touch my, um, pussy.”
“And you let him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened then? Touch yourself while you tell me.”
That’s what I was waiting for. It was almost a relief. My panties we already sopping wet. I shucked down my jeans and my underwear and put my feet up on the arms of the chair, exposing my sex. I could feel the intensity of my father’s gaze on my cunt, and that only made my clit bulge out more.
“He fingered my pussy, but it was kind of annoying because he couldn’t find my clit. He just kept shoving his big fingers inside me. It felt kind of nice, but it wasn’t really doing the trick either.” I drew little circles around my pink, swollen clitoris while my dad watched, making up the story as I went along.
“It was so frustrating, and I was getting so horny! I reached over and unzipped his pants, and fished out his penis. It wasn’t as big as I expected it to be, but it felt nice in my hand. We kissed a little more while I handled his penis. He kept fingering my pussy, and I was starting to get sore, so I figured that the best way to make him stop was to make him come.
“It worked. When I wrapped my hand around his shaft and started sliding it up and down the silky-soft skin of his hard penis, he lay back in the driver’s seat and pulled his fingers out of my pussy. They were all stuck together with my juice. I was kind of shocked at how wet he’d made me!”
There was a large and prominent lump in the crotch of my dad’s grey suit pants. A part of me, a shamefully large and perverted part of me, really wanted him to fish out the cause of that lump. It must have taken a lot of willpower on his part not to touch himself. I kept on masturbating while I told my story.
“I moved my hand up and down the length of his shaft. His penis seemed like it had grown a little since I first wrapped my hand around it. His breathing changed, getting shallower and more rapid. His stomach flexed. His balls tightened up. He started to beg me. It was really hot.”
It was really hot. I was getting extremely turned on describing a scene that had never happened. What I really wished was that it had, on a real, actual date with a flesh-and-blood Danny, and that I wouldn’t have had to relate every last gory detail to my father afterward.
“Faster and faster I moved my hand. He wrapped his own hand around mine, guiding me. My arm was starting to ache. Suddenly, without any warning, he made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. I felt his penis swell up under my hand, and he exploded. He shot white sticky stuff all over his bare stomach and all the way up the front of his shirt. Oh… fuck!”
Without meaning to, I had totally brought myself off. The image of me jerking off Danny Haite in his car, making him squirt semen all over his nice clean t-shirt was just too much for me. I didn’t process until much later that this was the very first time I had ever used the word ‘fuck’ in front of my father. He watched placidly as the orgasm rocked through me, his erection straining against the thin fabric of his linen pants. I could make out the contours of his glans, outlined in stark relief through the thin fabric. I clenched my teeth, petting my sensitive, engorged clitoris, trying not to moan out loud.
“And then we cleaned up and he dropped me off at home…” I panted. “Fuck.”
“Next time,” my father said pedantically, “You should suck his dick.”
Next week, I described to my dad how at first I’d been nervous about going down on Dan, afraid I wouldn’t like the taste, afraid that I wouldn’t know what to do. I described tentatively licking his cock, finding that I didn’t mind it at all, opening my mouth wide and trying to get him all the way down my throat, with semi-disastrous results. I described finding the happy medium, wrapping my lips around the swollen crown, trying to keep my teeth tucked safely out of the way, bobbing my head up and down while stroking the shaft of his penis with my hand at the same time. That, I told him, seemed to do the trick quite nicely.
In my story, though, I’m not quite able to push him over the edge. He apologetically pulls away from me, his engorged cock slick and dripping with my saliva. He climbs on top of me, straddling my chest, and jerking off onto my bare boobs. He comes, squirting his jizz all over my breasts, all the way up my neck and onto my chin.
The image was enough to set me off, and Dad watched patiently while I writhed through an orgasm, my slippery fingers dancing gingerly on my clit, biting down hard to keep from howling out loud. For whatever reason I hated making noise when I came in front of my dad.
When I had settled down, Dad took a big fat sip of whiskey from his tumbler. His erection was straining visibly in the front of his grey pants.
“Try just keeping the crown inside your mouth while you stroke the shaft; swirl your tongue around the head,” my father suggested, “Gently play with his anus with one wet finger and see what happens.”
After my next fictional date with Danny, I described the blowjob I had given him after the movie we had supposedly gone to together. I wrapped my hand around his cock and pumped, slurping hungrily at his swollen, crimson crown. When I sensed that he was close, I wet one finger and carefully slipped it up his tight asshole. He made a cute little sound like a puppy dog, and exploded into my mouth. The taste, I reported, wasn’t bad at all.
Back in the study, I focused on the lump in the front of my dad’s trousers as I brought myself off, circling my clit the way he liked me to do it, occasionally letting a finger or two slip up inside my hungry, juicy pussy. Once again a part of me; a large, horny, and perverted part of me; wanted to see just exactly what was causing that lump, and maybe just maybe do something about it. Maybe he was just waiting for me to ask him to unzip and show it to me.
Don’t think that I never thought about it, because I did.
I had this whole fantasy worked out where, for whatever Freudian reason, I would come to his bedroom late at night, wearing my mother’s old wedding dress. I’d pull down the zipper of his trousers—in my mind’s eye he was always still wearing his grey linen suit—and use my hands, breasts, and tongue to bring his cock to its full state of hardness. When my father’s dick was completely erect, straining up toward the ceiling, I’d climb on top of him, and straddle his crotch. I’d rub the swollen mushroom-shaped head up and down the length of my vulva, smearing my wetness all over his cock. When neither one of us could stand it any longer I’d slowly, very slowly lower myself onto his cock. I’d savor the sensation of him penetrating my pussy. When he was finally all the way in, I’d ride him like a cowgirl, gratuitously taking my perverted pleasure from his incestuous prick, bucking, moaning, and grinding my way to an outrageous screaming orgasm. He’d come at the same time as me, and I’d feel him shoot his hot semen into my grasping pussy. I’d reach down and scoop up a big gob of his come, feed it to him with my finger, and then kiss him full on the mouth.
Looking back, I’m honestly not sure why I never did that, or something like it. I’m pretty sure that’s more or less exactly what he wanted. In the end I think I just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
I did ask Dad once if I should fuck Danny. He told me no, that I should make him wait.
The whole charade was just too weird and too stressful. I finally told Dad that Danny had jilted me. He’d been kind about it, I said, managing to sound as if I was trying not to cry. He’d said that he liked me, but he felt like it just wasn’t working out. He thought we should just be friends.
“Are you alright?” Dad asked.
I nodded. “I think he was just disappointed that I wouldn’t fuck him,” I said.
“Why don’t you tell me about it,” my father said, indicating for me to pull down my pants. “Tell me what it would be like to fuck a boy.”
I left home shortly after that. Moved in with my friend Katri. Relations with my dad remained cordial, but weird and formal. He paid for my college education without complaint, and he never forgot my birthday, but aside from that we were strangers.
*
I went over to see my dad when I was home for Christmas break once, in the middle of undergrad school. The house looked exactly the same. I hadn’t been there in a long time. Dad’s forehead was a little higher, his hair a little more grey, and he moved a little stiffer. He now had just the suggestion of a pot belly under his grey linen suit, but mostly he was the same as always: dry, terse, and authoritarian. He poured himself a tall snifter of brandy and offered me a glass. I declined. I was more of a beer drinker, in those days.
“You look good,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
“College is treating you well, I see. So, have you lost your virginity yet?”
I had, as a matter of fact. I’d taken care of that bit of business the first semester I was at school.
It was a Friday night, and I was out in the quad. It was hot, and it was humid, and I couldn’t sleep in the non-air conditioned dorms. I was sitting on a bench, composing a short story by the light of the gibbous moon. I had words that I needed to get out of my head. I had started writing erotica, really raunchy sex stories, scribbled in my nearly illegible handwriting on a yellow legal pad; the basis for my first published collection.
Everyone else was out doing whatever college kids do on a Friday night: playing beer pong or trying to get laid. The only person out in the quad with me was Nate, this kid from my poetry composition class. Nate was very tall, very skinny, very pale, and had oversized hands, hollow cheeks, and big brown eyes. He would end up being one of my best friends, and sometime fuckbuddy, but at the time I barely knew him.
I felt like being alone, so of course, he came over and asked if he could share the bench with me. “Look,” I said, “I don’t want to sound rude, but I’m not interested in hooking up with anyone. And I’m definitely not looking for a boyfriend.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not like that.”
“You don’t want anything to do with me,” I said, “I’m damaged goods.”
“Damaged goods?” Nate laughed bitterly. “I’ll tell you about damaged goods. My dad used to come home drunk and make me watch him jerk off….” He paused and gazed up at the fat, orange moon. “Fuck it, I’ll tell you. Sometimes he used to make me jerk him off too. He’d pour baby oil all over my hands and close his eyes while I jacked him off.” He held his big hands out, palm-up, for me to inspect. “He called me his little faggot.” Nate stuck out his chin defiantly. “He always threatened to fuck me up the ass, but he never did. He said if I ever told anyone, he’d waterboard me. He said nobody would ever believe me anyway, he said they’d just laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing,” I said. “I believe you.”
We sat together under the moonlight for a while. He put his arm around me. We kissed a little bit. It felt nice. I put my hand in his lap. His dick was hard.
“You should come on back up to my dorm room,” I said.
Up in my dorm, Leslie, my roommate, appeared to be sound asleep. That girl seemed like she could sleep through anything. Nate and I got busy on my bed. We kissed a lot, and touched. He was a good kisser, but a little shy about the touching. I made up for that in spades. I stuck my hand right down his pants, and liked what I found.
Our clothes were sweaty and in the way anyway. We got naked. I got a look at what I had groped before, and I liked what I saw. Nate seemed to like what he saw as well.
He knelt on my bed, his nearly-hairless dick pointing straight up and out, like the prow of a ship. It was my first look, in person, at an actual, naked penis. The tip was bulbous, red and swollen. A strand of clear drool leaked out the end, forming a gossamer thread that threatened to drip onto my sheets. His balls hung heavy and low. His skin was flushed and sweaty. He looked delicious.
And then I thought of my dad, and imagined him watching us, sitting in his easy chair, directing our actions like my own personal film auteur, instructing me in his calm, pedantic tone exactly what to do next and when and how, and gently correcting me when I strayed from the script. It was a bit of a buzzkill. I tried to block him out of my head.
“Should I lick your pussy?” Nate asked me. Over the next four years, he would spend a lot of time doing exactly that, and he would get quite good at it. For a gay guy.
“No, I think you should just fuck me.” His cock seemed to swell and grow. I could almost see it throbbing in time with his heart.
“I’m sort of a virgin,” he said apologetically.
“I am too,” I told him. My knees were as wide apart as I could stretch them. I could feel my clit bulging out. I reached down and parted my labia apart for him. I was soaking wet.
“Shouldn’t we use a condom?”
“Fuck it, just screw me!” As long as I was being idiotic, I might as well go for it.
He positioned himself between my spread legs, and plunged inside with a huff of sharply exhaled air. It hurt for a second, I’d been afraid it would be much worse, but it wasn’t bad. It was like the pinch of a needle when you get an injection. After a second the pain melted right away, and it just felt good.
He was thrusting slowly in and out, his jaw tight, and his eyes locked on mine. “Uh, fuck. Shit, I’m not going to last. I’m going to fucking come.”
“Fuck me hard,” I told him, and he did, bucking up and down on top of me, sliding his dick wildly in and out, making a delicious squishing squelching sound, battering my pussy, and nearly, but not quite pushing me over the edge along with him.
I felt him swell and explode inside me, and I relished the sensation, and the dazed look of pleasure on his face. Slowly and carefully, he extracted his slippery, wilting penis from my cunt. I had bled like a sacrificial lamb; all over his cock and all over my sheets.
“Thank you,” he gasped, and I kissed him on the lips.
“No, thank you!” I replied. Over in her bed, Leslie was still snoring softly.
After Nate was gone, I masturbated; a finger in my asshole, a finger up my tender pussy, and the palm of my hand mashed hard against my clit. I came hard, screaming softly into my pillow.
I kind of lost track of Nate after we graduated. I know he moved to San Francisco and got a boyfriend, and I think he got ordained as a minister, but we haven’t really kept in touch.
“Tell me how you lost your virginty,” my dad said, sipping his brandy and watching me intently.
Either from force of old habit, classical conditioning, or something else, my pussy was damp and my clit was fat and tingling. I lifted up my skirt and peeled my panties off down my legs. The ghost of a smile flitted across my father’s face as I exposed my clitoris. I started drawing tiny little circles around my bulging pink button, circling close but not quite touching.
“It was at a party,” I extemporized, “a beach party. The moon was full, and a bunch of us decided to go skinny-dipping.
“I swam out to a dock and climbed out of the water. There were two guys there already. They were naked, and they were kissing, and their bodies glistened in the moonlight. Both their cocks were already big and hard. They were beautiful together.
“When they noticed me watching, they both started kissing and touching me. One guy had his hand on my breast, the other guy slipped his hand between my legs. It felt really good. I reached out and grabbed a cock with both hands.
“One of the guys offered me his dick, and I got down on all fours and started sucking it, just the way you taught me. It felt really good to be naked and sucking him, under the sky, out on the water. The other guy came from behind me, and started rubbing his penis up and down my pussy. I was soaking wet and slippery.”
“Did he have a condom on?” My dad interrupted.
“Of course,” I said, “They had brought a fanny-pack out to the raft with them. It had condoms in it.”
“Excellent,” he said, “Please, go on.”
My cunt was swollen and juicy with the fantasy. I let my fingers stray inside, sliding my digits up into my hot and slippery hole. My dad raised an eyebrow, and I returned to circling my clit.
“Slowly and carefully, he slid his dick up inside me. ‘Damn, you’re tight’, he grunted. I wondered if he could tell I was a virgin. It didn’t hurt at all, and I moaned onto the other guy’s dick.
“They flipped me over so I was on my back. The other guy put on a condom too. They took turns fucking me; and the whole time they were kissing and jerking each other off. It was incredibly hot.”
Back in my dad’s study, my heels were up on the seat cushion, and I was strumming my clit like a banjo. “I can’t tell you how many orgasms I had. I just kept going off, like it was the Fourth of July. I really wanted a dick in my mouth, and I was just about to tell them that, when another guy climbed up onto the raft. This guy was younger, my age, and black. His skin was the color of dark chocolate, and his dick stuck straight out from his crotch. He didn’t hesitate, but climbed right aboard, straddling my chest and feeding me his cock. I sucked him hungrily, licking the shaft, his balls, and tracing my tongue around his asshole while he masturbated and mashed the head of his dick between my lips.
“Meanwhile, the guy who was fucking me pulled out, tore the condom off, and came with a shout, splashing come all the way up my belly. His buddy took his place, fucking my pussy, while the first guy lapped up his own come and tickled my clit with his tongue. The second dude came inside his condom, grunting like a bear. Oh fuck.”
Without meaning to, I had pushed myself right over the edge of the precipice, and I came hard and sudden. I had to bite down hard on my own shoulder to stop from yelling out loud. The next day, I had a wicked bruise.
After I had calmed down enough, I went on with my story. “The two guys watched while I sucked off the black kid. I buried a finger in his asshole and wrapped my lips around his purple head and jerked him off until he came. I sucked every drop of come out of his dick. Then the three of them slipped back into the water and swam off into the night, leaving me gasping for air like a stranded mermaid.”
My dad emptied his snifter. The lump in his pants bulged prominently. “You’ve come a long way,” he told me approvingly. “I’ve taught you well.”
*
One year, for my birthday, my dad sent me a vibrator; one of those ‘rabbit’ ones with all the whistles and bells: a wiggling, waggling, squirming, rotating dildo and a built-in clit stimulator. I threw it away unused.
Afterward, I kicked myself for doing that. Those things ain’t cheap, and I was going through a long dry spell.
*
Just before I turned thirty, my dad suffered a stroke. It was a pretty bad one; it left his mind intact, but the entire left side of his body was paralyzed, and he was confined to a wheelchair. He had to move into a home. It was almost impossible for me to imagine my father being anything but independent.
I went to visit him in the assisted living facility. The place was bare, utilitarian. It reminded me of a Marine Corps barracks.
He was still wearing his trademark grey linen suit, but he seemed diminished. He looked different, His hair was greyer and more sparse, but his eyes were just as intense as ever.
“I’ve been dating a girl,” I told him. He smiled a weirdly lopsided smile, and it took me a moment to realize that it was because the muscles on the left side of his face were all slack.
Janie was in my writing group. We’d been flirting for months, with less and less subtlety. At the last meeting, where I’d presented a fairly raunchy and highly personal short story, her feet had found mine under the table. We’d gone out for drinks afterward, and the veiled attraction between us came bubbling up to the surface. She put her hand on my lap. My nipples strained inside my bra. This could no longer be ignored; it had to be dealt with. One way or another.
We took a cab back to her apartment, and made out in the back the whole way. She was a good kisser, and at least as horny as I was. I’d never done anything with a girl before, though I’d certainly masturbated to the idea plenty of times. That was about to change.
Up in her bedroom, Janie more-or-less threw me onto her bed, and pounced on top of me. Her shirt had somehow come off, and the bra underneath it. Her breasts felt really good pressed up against mine; I could feel the heat of her crotch near my own. She kissed me fiercely, pulling my hair and biting my lips while she fumbled in her nightstand drawer.
She came up with a pair of shiny, nickel-plated handcuffs, and proceeded to shackle my wrists to her headboard.
“I didn’t know you were into S&M,” I said, a little nervously, but not unhappily.
“I’m not especially,” Janie replied. “I just want to make sure your hands don’t get in the way.”
She tugged off my jeans and panties, leaving me naked and exposed from the waist down. My pussy was soaking wet and drooling, and my clit ached.
Janie stuck her head between my thighs, and spent a lot of time carefully and enthusiastically licking my pussy.
Nobody other than Nate had spent more than two minutes licking my kitty before. He used to spend what seemed like hours going down on me in my dorm room (after freshman year I’d had my own tiny private room in the old dorm building). He used to concentrate on my clit, like it was a tiny penis, giving me a mini-blowjob. He was never able to make me come that way, but it was always deliciously, excruciatingly good, and he never seemed to get tired of trying.
Janie was really good at it too, although her technique was utterly different from Nate’s. She had more of a butterfly, scatter-shot style, flitting and teasing up and down and all around my hyper-excited vulva, rarely pausing at any one location for more than a lick or two. It felt really good—amazingly good—but it wasn’t going to make me come.
She finally came up for air, beaming from ear to ear. “You’re delicious!”
“Thanks,” I said weakly. Getting eaten out like that was like surviving a severe attack of tickling. My cunt was so horny it hurt, and if my hands hadn’t been cuffed, they would have been busy between my legs.
“I am going to make you come,” she went on, “One way or another.”
She fucked me with both hands, two fingers of one hand in my asshole, two fingers of the other hand pistoning in and out of my pussy. At first she would bend over from time to time and lick my clit while she double-fucked me; but as we both got more and more into it she stopped that and just concentrated on fucking the living shit out of me. She was pounding my asshole and my vagina, alternating thrusts like a cybernetic fucking machine, her tits shaking, and her forehead wrinkled with concentration. I saw sweat running down her chest between her breasts.
It worked. The thing snuck up on me, and before I really realized what was going on, I was coming. My entire body shook and strained, and I screamed like she was murdering me, screaming out loud for all of New York Fucking City to hear, and she stayed with me, fucking me slow and deep all the way through my orgasm.
It was the first time I’d ever come from another human being touching me.
I was shaking. “Are you alright?” She undid the cuffs and held me tight, hugging me close. I wept onto her shoulder for probably half an hour.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized that while she’d given me an orgasm, I hadn’t returned the favor. When I pointed this out to Janie, she said “Oh, not to worry… there will be plenty of time for that!”
I slept over that night. It was good.
“It’s a good idea to experiment a little,” my dad said, smiling his weird half-smile benevolently at me from his wheelchair. I could already see the erection rising in his pants. “So… tell me all about it.”
I pulled down the collar of my shirt and peeled back the bra cup, exposing my left breast, and the shiny steel barbell that bisected the nipple. Janie had held my hand while I got them pierced.
“Use your imagination,” I said to my dad, and turned around and walked out of the room, out of the assisted living facility, and out onto the street. I never looked back.
END
So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie) 