I am a thirty-eight year old woman, and I have never had sex. Yes. That’s right. I am still a virgin. All through my childhood my sainted mother drilled into me the knowledge that all men were pigs. They would use a girl for their own pleasure and then dump her. Men were put on earth to ruin the lives of women. Hadn’t men ruined her life? Left her pregnant, alone and in poverty.
But she had triumphed. She had put me in day care and taken a factory job, until she had amassed enough capital to open a lovely little gift shop on Pine Street. During my high school years, I had helped mother in the gift shop and learned the business. Mother and I were always together, and it was such a wonderful excuse to stay away from all those rude disgusting boys who kept trying to ask me out.
Mother was not only disapproving of men. She was disapproving of the loose sort of women who would consort with them. Even those who would marry them. “All strumpets,” mother would trumpet. “All trash. Strumpet trash.” Mother was nothing if not judgmental.
It’s been around ten years now since mother died. I inherited the gift shop on Pine Street and I run it. I have an assistant in the store, Mella, a twenty-five year old divorcee. Her loathsome husband had cheated on her and finally abandoned her. Mella is very nice. She opens the store for me in the morning, and she takes charge when I am not there. Every week I go to the cemetery and bring flowers to dear mother’s grave, and thank her for her wise teachings. I have never suffered the misery visited on other women by the male sex. I have kept myself totally aloof.
Sometimes at night, when I am lying in bed, I have strange thoughts, which I try to put out of my head. Some of those thoughts make me want to reach down under my nightgown, and touch my private parts. But no. No. I mustn’t do that. Dirty. Filthy. Disgusting. I turn on the television and try to fill my mind with other things. The carnage in distant parts of the world. Yes. Carnage usually helps to divert my mind.
My life is very quiet and very peaceful and very uneventful. I work at the store all day, I go home and warm-up a frozen dinner, and I get into bed and read or watch situation comedies. I don’t know why it is that I’m getting nervous as a cat. When I drink my coffee, my hands shake and tremble, and I’m very irascible. Last week Mella asked me when the new shipment of birthday cards was coming into the store, and I snapped at her. She knows that it takes three weeks. Stupid woman.
This morning a terrible thing happened. The alarm went off, and I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and the water wouldn’t go down the drain. The sink was just filling and filling. Sometimes, I let the water run and go into the kitchen to turn on the coffee. Fortunately, I didn’t do that today. If I had been in the kitchen, I wouldn’t have seen the water filling the bathroom sink. I would have had a terrible flood. A mess. This was so aggravating. Why did these things have to happen to me?
I looked in the phone book and called a plumber. Dylan O’Reilly. He was in my neighborhood. He told me his day was booked and he couldn’t come, but I begged him and begged him and he relented. I called Mella and told her I would be late at the store. That I was waiting for the plumber. I told her to hold the fort. Then I got dressed and sat in the living room, crocheting doilies, while I waited for Dylan O’Reilly.
Around eleven o’clock, the doorbell rang and I went to answer it. As I opened the door, I saw a tall, good-looking, powerfully-built dark haired man, who hadn’t shaved. He was wearing a green uniform, and his muscles bulged out in every direction. He was all male. He was repulsive.
He stepped into the front hall, and I looked down in horror.
“Look what you did,” I screamed. “You tracked mud onto my carpet.”
“Sorry? There’s a mat in front of the door. Why didn’t you wipe your filthy shoes on the mat?”
“Sorry,” he repeated.
“Pig,” I muttered to myself. I led him into the bathroom. He was walking very close to me. I could smell his strong masculine aroma. The slightest scent of sweat, combined with all those hormones. My legs felt a little wobbly. I got a little faint. I think I may have been hyperventilating a little. He was making me nervous. I didn’t know why. He wouldn’t try to rape me, would he? My palms started to perspire.
In the bathroom, he opened up his toolbox and took a wrench. He lay down on the tile floor, his enormous legs stretching toward me. As he adjusted himself, I could see a slight bulge in his pants. The crotch area. I didn’t even want to think what it might be.
His sleeves were rolled up, and as he twisted the wrench, I could see his arm muscles rippling. He had an eagle tattoo, and as he rippled, the eagle stirred. I felt very hot. I had stopped hyperventilating. I had stopped breathing.
He twisted the wrench, and suddenly a gush of water spilled out of the pipe, onto my clean tile floor. Rusty water.
“You got water all over my floor,” I screamed at him. He looked at me as if I were crazy. “Men are such slobs,” I said, and then I started crying.
He fixed the pipe. He cleaned up the water. He stood up to go. I was still sobbing hysterically. I wrote out a check, and I led him to the front door.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
“You’ve got a bad case of nerves, lady. You need to get laid,” he told me. And then he was gone. I went into the kitchen, and made myself a cup of coffee. My hands were still shaking. I was almost in shock. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with me?
I started to think about Dylan O’Reilly. His black tousled hair, his dangerous looking dark whiskers, his long legs, his thighs, his bulge, his eagle. My hands got so bad that my coffee spilled onto the kitchen table. I put down the cup, and buried my face in my hands. That thing that he had said to me. Was he right? Did I need to….?
I thought, and I mused and I pondered. The more I thought about it, the more I thought he might be right. I had denied myself physical contact for thirty-eight years, and maybe I needed the touch of another human being. A caress. A kiss??? Did I want to lay my hands on male flesh? Did I want to stroke Dylan’s eagle?
Could it be that mother had been wrong? That all my life, I had been given misinformation, which had made me a cold, cut-off, stunted human being. A frustrated woman. Perhaps I needed to find out for myself what men were really like? Yes. I would have to find out for myself. It was time. I washed my coffee cup. I went into the living room and put my half-finished lace doily back in the knitting bag, and I went to the store.
All day long, I worked in the store, and made polite conversation with Mella. But I was thinking. I was planning. I was going to take my life into my own hands.
After work, I drove to Reynolds Department Store. I bought a whole new wardrobe. Lacy underwear, short skirts, tight fitted off-the-shoulder tops.
I went down to the cosmetics department and bought all those things I had never used. Foundation, rouge, lipstick, eye-shadow, powder, and the most expensive new woman’s fragrance. Raindrops by Dorothy Powers, the rich celebrity girl who had made a dirty movie with her boyfriend and released it on computers. I had always turned the station when she was on a talk show. Now I was sorry. I might have learned something from her. She was worldly. She was sophisticated. And it seemed, she wasn’t repulsed by men. “Oh, mother, what did you do to me?” I wondered.
After dinner, I put on one of my very sexy new outfits. The blouse had a built-in push-up brassiere. My breasts were literally spilling out. I realized I had terrific cleavage, which I’d disguised all these years. I let my hair out of the severe bun that I wore it in, and brushed it forcefully until it shone with a copper hue, and spilled exuberantly down my back. I was not used to such high heels, and had a little difficulty walking at first, but I held onto the walls and I was fine.
I had never been schooled in the art of applying make up. I knew that in Hollywood, they had experts to do that. Real artists. But I gave it a brave try. I evened out my facial texture with the foundation, and then I applied the lipstick and rouge. The lipstick shade was called ‘Color Me Crimson.’ I was not fooling around. No pale pinky flesh tones for me. Maybe I overdid the indigo eye shadow and the mascara. I don’t know. Before I had done my eyes, I had used the eyelash curler I had purchased, and now my black, black lashes curled upward saucily.
I gave one last look in the full-length mirror on the inside of my bathroom door. I could hardly recognize myself. I was a babe. Where had I been hiding all this time?
I drove into town and after parking in the lot, I entered the Westwind Lounge. A dozen pair of eyes turned toward me, and began assessing me. Men’s eyes. I went up to the bar, and climbed upon a stool. There were single men all around me. Maybe I wasn’t twenty years old anymore, but I figured I’d probably do all right.
Next to me on my right was a businessman type. He wore a light blue shirt, a dark blue tie, and a navy blue blazer. I was afraid to look down to see what color his pants were. He was joking with the bartender, and some of the other men at the bar. The bartender asked me what I wanted, and I told him a gin and tonic. I had heard of gin-and-tonics.
The man on my right, who had thick curly hair of mixed black and gray, was tall and imposing. Even though I had dowsed myself with ‘Raindrops,’ I could smell his bracing spicy lotion. If I had been that kind of girl, I would have thought that he was very masculine and very attractive.
The bartender brought me my drink, and I opened my purse to pay him.
“I’ll get that,” the masculine attractive man on my right said.
“Oh, no. I really couldn’t….”
“It’s on me. Phil, put the lady’s drink on my tab,” he instructed the bartender.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He smiled and nodded at me. I could see that his eyes were on my ample, spilling bust. Even when he turned and faced forward again, I could see his left eye dart to the outside corner of his eye socket to dwell on my breasts. I took a deep breath and expanded my chest.
“My name’s Edgar,” he said.
“Louise,” I said, nodding.
He stretched out his hand and I took it. He pressed my hand in his large beefy palm, looking into my eyes. I lowered my eyes. I was not used to this sort of thing. I’m sure my face was red.
We chatted a little as I sipped my drink. He bought me another. His eyes never left my bosom. “Thank you, Reynolds Department Store,” I said to myself. It was hard for me to look him in the eye. I kept my heavily shadowed lids lowered. My glance landed on his lap, and I saw an enormous protrusion. I’m sure I was blushing again.
I told Edgar about the gift shop, and he told me that he was an insurance broker. He asked me about my home insurance, and I had to admit I didn’t have any.
“You’re very foolish,” he chastised me.
“I know. I know,” I pined. Mother had been very impractical and neglectful. And so was I. A man would have seen to insurance.
“Would you like me to take a look at your house, and recommend a policy?”
“Oh, yes,” I said gratefully. What a nice man.
When I finished my fourth drink, I got into my car and drove unsteadily home. Edgar was following me in my own car. He was going to check my house, and help me with insurance. Such a nice man.
I parked my car in the driveway. He pulled in behind me. I was a little dizzy, so I just sat there. Suddenly Edgar was at my door. He opened it and reached out a hand. He was helping me out of the car. What a nice man.
We walked to the front steps, side by side, and he grabbed my arm and steadied me, when my high heel turned slightly and I stumbled against him. Again I smelled his spicy cologne.
I gave him a tour of the house, and when we got to my bedroom, suddenly he turned and stood directly in front of me. He put his arms around me and drew me to him. His mouth lowered and met mine. I felt his beefy tongue in my mouth, and my legs got a little wobbly. I had never experienced anything like this before. I loved his cologne.
I threw my arms around his neck and responded like a love-starved strumpet. Way down, I could feel a hard thing pressing into me. Way down, below the waist. I moaned and sucked on his large tongue. I think all those gin-and-tonics were having an effect on me, and causing me to exhibit wanton behavior.
He planted one of his large beefy hands over my left breast. “MMMMMM,” I moaned. I was feeling a strange warmth and tingling in my breast, and then down below, and then over my whole body.
We moved together over to the bed, and fell heavily upon it. He was on top of me, devouring me, dominating me. I loved it. I felt his large paws reaching behind me and lowering the zipper on my form-fitting blouse. The zipper zzzzzzz’d all the way down my back. He drew it off me. My breasts were naked.
He lowered his mouth to my chest, and began to lick my taut nipple. “AAARRRGG,” I screamed. I thrashed around under him. He licked and he licked. The left. The right. The left. The right. Between. As he was licking, he was unzipping my skirt. I lifted my behind off the bed, so he could pull it down below my buttocks. His finger started stroking me on my panties. I could feel I was getting wetter and wetter. It felt so wonderful. I just kept kissing him. His mouth was like honey.
Then I felt him lowering my panties. I raised my middle again, to help him. He took his mouth off mine for an instant, and stuck his finger inside his mouth. He lasciviously wet his finger and brought it back to my mid-area. He began stroking me with his wet finger.
“AAARRRGGGHHH,” I screamed again. I was thrashing all around. I had never felt such exquisite sensations. His finger slipped inside my body, and I actually raised up to get it deeper. “Edgar. Edgar,” I screamed. “Yes. Yes.”
He moved away from me, and my heart sank. Was this it? Was it all over? No. He was just undressing. First the jacket. Then the tie. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his arms. He lifted his undershirt over his head. As he was taking off his shoes and socks, I dropped my high heels on the floor. Also my stockings. Edgar opened his belt. He stepped out of his pants, and stood there in unflattering boxy plaid shorts. There was a large lump.
He pulled down the shorts and stood there in all his naked glory. His skin was pinkish, and he had a little bit of a belly. He had very little body hair. And down there was his thing. That big manthing. I had never really seen one before. I had seen statues in the museum, and averted my eyes. But here was a live thing. And it was so big, and it was so hard, and it was so thick. How could that ever go inside my little body? Beneath it were his two big testicles, which swung wildly as he moved back onto the bed with his left knee.
He climbed on top of me again, and we resumed kissing, but now I felt his hard manthing against my soft flesh. This was all making me dizzy. So dizzy.
He kissed my breasts again. He tongued my nipples. Then he moved down and his tongue entered my body, where no man had ever been before. “AAARRRGGGHHH,” I screamed, louder than ever. “My god. My god.” What was happening to me? “Oh, my god.”
I spread my legs so that his tongue could do its sweet work. I reached down and began twisting my fingers in his hair, pressing him between my thighs. That soft tongue was transporting me to strange distant kingdoms. Then he stopped. He fell back on the bed and pulled me over him and down.
“Suck my cock,” he said.
“Suck your cock?” I asked. “No. No. I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can, Louise. Get down there and suck my cock.” He forced my head down over his large organ, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he forced his large organ into my mouth. I choked and sputtered. I tried to pull off him.
“Suck it,” he ordered me.
I heard a dangerous tone in his voice. I started to suck him. My mouth was getting used to his size, his shape, his taste. It wasn’t so bad. It was really very pleasant. Actually I just loved it. My mouth moved up and down his shaft, and I was making obscene sucking noises. Then he pulled my head off his penis, and forced my head between his legs.
“Suck my balls, Louise. Suck my big balls. That’s it. That’s it. See. You can do it. You can do it. You like my big balls, Louise? You like my big cock?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I like your big balls. I like your big cock. I love your big cock.”
He shifted his bottom to give me access to his large fleshy cheeks. “Eat my ass, Louise.”
“Edgar!” I protested.
“Eat it,” he ordered and forced my head down. My nose was buried in his flesh. I stuck my tongue out and lapped at his pink eyehole. I held my breath, so I wouldn’t smell or taste anything, but the smooth feeling of it on my tongue was not unpleasant.
“Oh, You’re so good, Louise. What a great whore you are. Cocksucker! Asslicker! You know what I’m gonna do now, Louise?”
“What?” I asked innocently.
“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” And with that he threw me flat on the bed and once again jumped on top of me. His hand was feeding his large merciless cock into my tight virgin pussy. I screamed a little.
“What’s the matter, baby? Never been fucked before?”
“No,” I answered.
“Oh, come on,” he said, of course, not believing me, until the head of his dick hit my tight unyielding maidenhead.”
“My god,” he uttered. “You haven’t been fucked before. What have you been doing all your life?”
I had no answer.
“Okay. Here goes,” he said, and pressed into me. I felt the blunt head of his member tear through my hymen. I grunted and cried in pain. He just lay on me then, without moving. Waiting for me to get used to his penis inside me. Waiting for the pain of my lost membrane to dissipate. After a few minutes it did, and he started grinding himself into my body.
“What a nice tight pussy. What a nice tight cunt,” he said appreciatively.
I had heard those nasty words before. ‘Cunt.’ ‘Pussy.” How I’d always hated them. But now they were filling me with a strange excitement.
“Fuck me, Edgar. Fuck my hot pussy. My cunt loves your big hard cock. Fuck my cunt. Fuck my cunt.” I felt incredibly liberated. I had finally found the real me. The tramp. The harlot. The cock-hungry slut. I threw my legs around his body in abandon. I pressed my heels into his asscheeks. I grabbed his asscheeks with my hands. I pressed him into me, as I slammed my middle up to him. “Oh, my god. Oh, my god,” I intoned continuously.
He twisted my tits (his word) as he fucked my dripping pussy. I wanted it to last the rest of the night. It didn’t. He started making funny sounds, and his rhythm changed. He started slamming into me hard and fast, and then he froze, and I could feel his cock swelling inside my pussy, and then I felt shot after shot of hot liquid blasting down my cuntchannel. Blasting into my body. Blasting down my uterus. Blasting into my womb. Uh, Oh.
He lay on top of me as our heart rates slowed. I lazily ran my fingers through his thick hair. My lips nibbled at his. His lips nibbled at mine. I loved the weight of his heavy body on me. I wrapped my arms around him and cradled him. I felt his large cock softening within my dripping pussy.
“Oh, Edgar,” I said. “Oh, Edgar.”
“Did you like that, Louise?
“Yes. Yes, Edgar, I did.
“Did you like getting fucked Louise?”
“Yes. Yes. I loved it. Fuck me again.”
“Not now,” he said. “Maybe later.”
“Oh, Edgar. You’re so mean,” I complained.
Edgar and I drifted off to sleep. Towards morning, he awoke and fucked me again. This time there was no membrane. There was no pain. Only pleasure. Unbelievable bottomless pleasure.
In the morning, I suggested to Edgar that we get married, but he just laughed at me. I made him coffee, and then he got dressed and left the house. I looked out the window as he went back to his car in my driveway. I had given him my phone number, but he had not given me his. I hoped that he would call me. I wanted desperately to see him again. I wanted desperately to get fucked again.
I drove to the gift shop and I think I was singing when I opened the door. Mella looked at me suspiciously.
“How come you’re so happy?” she asked me.
“It’s a beautiful day,” I answered.
“It’s raining,” she countered.
“I like the rain,” I insisted. I was very cheery all day long. Actually I couldn’t wait to get home. I just knew Edgar would call me and we would fuck again. That night I lay naked in bed, stroking my wet pussy, waiting for the phone to ring. It didn’t. The next night the phone didn’t ring. A week went by. I stopped singing. He hadn’t even called me about the home insurance.
“What’s wrong, Louise?” Mella asked me.
“Nothing,” I answered, twisting my fingers together. “I just have a bad case of nerves. It’ll pass.”
She shook her head and went back to putting the new birthday cards in the rack.
“Well, if that’s how he wants it, fuck him,” I thought as I got into my sexy clothes and put on my makeup. I would just make another trip to the Westwind Lounge. I would find someone new. Edgar was not the only pebble on the beach. There were a lot more fish in the sea.
When I got to the Westwind Lounge, I was half hoping that Edgar would be at the bar. I wanted the chance to snub him. I wanted the chance to have him watch as I spurned him and got cozy with another man.
The bartender nodded to me, as I perched on a stool. I was a familiar face. I looked around. Edgar was not at the bar. Damn. But there were several other decent looking possibilities.
One of them moved from the end of the bar, and sat down next to me.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asked me.
“I think I’d like a gin and tonic,” I said. I simply did not know the name of any other drink.
“Phil,” he called to the bartender. “A gin and tonic for the lady. And I’ll have another scotch rocks. He tipped his empty glass toward the bartender.
Scotch rocks. I would have to remember that.
He was a tall, good-looking, powerfully-built dark haired man who hadn’t shaved. He was wearing a green uniform and his muscles bulged out in every direction. He was all male. He was breathtaking.
I recognized him immediately. He was my plumber. Again I noticed the eagle tattoo on his arm. But now the eagle was turning me on. I could tell that he didn’t recognize me. Well, how could he? I was a different person.
“The name’s Dylan,” he said and reached out his hand. I had known his name was Dylan. And what he didn’t know was that I knew his last name. O’Reilly. Dylan O’Reilly.
“Louise,” I answered, and shook his hand politely.
He told me all about the vagaries of the plumbing business, how you never knew what was going to happen when you got to someone’s house. Some of the people were really nice, but some of them were real ‘ballbusters.’ I sympathized with him. I could really imagine his going to the house of a nervous, cranky, frustrated old-maid, who gave him nothing but misery.
I was telling him about the gift shop, and the new birthday cards, when all of a sudden the door opened, and someone came into the Lounge. No. It was not Edgar. It was a woman. A glamorous, beautiful young woman with long red hair, and a tight sexy outfit. She wore long, shiny black stockings. A short plaid skirt. A mini-top which exposed her bare midriff. In her navel were a cluster of fake diamonds. She had been pierced. I was so astounded by her general appearance that I had not even glanced at her face. I did so now. My jaw dropped.
“Mella,” I cried in amazement.
“Louise? Is that you? Oh, my god. It is you. What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that?”
“Why are you dressed like that?” I countered.
“I guess you never saw my piercings.” She smiled.
“No. I never saw them. You dress differently in the store.”
“So do you,” she observed. I nodded.
She sat down on the stool on the other side of me. I had Dylan on my right, and Mella on my left.
“What can I buy you to drink?” Dylan asked her, leaning in front of me. He was looking at her breasts, which were even bigger than mine.
“I’ll have a banana Daiquiri,” she said. Dylan ordered it from Phil, the bartender.
“Dylan. This is my friend Mella. Mella, who works in the shop with me. Mella. This is Dylan. Dylan is a plumber.”
They shook hands directly along the bar, directly in front of me. Dylan seemed to be holding on to her hand, but Phil wanted to put down the Daiquiri, and needed space. He let go of her hand and they sat up. We laughed and chatted and gazed at each other in the mirror behind the bar. Mella was really a beautiful girl. I had never even noticed that. And Dylan. My god. Dylan was a hunk. He was sexier than Edgar. This would be no night of second best. I would pick him over Edgar any day.
But a horrible thought crossed my mind. Dylan and Mella were being very flirty. Suppose he didn’t want me? Suppose he wanted her? She was younger than I. I didn’t want that to happen. I tried everything I could think of. I was bright, vivacious. I kept injecting clever little bon mots into the conversation. And I have to admit, I let my leg rub against Dylan’s every now and then. Sort of unconsciously. And when I dropped my purse, and had to reach down to get it, I steadied myself on his firm, muscular left thigh. Way high up, and my middle finger was almost touching his enlargement. Yes, it was enlarged. And I hoped against hope that I was the cause of that enlargement.
We all had more drinks. We laughed. We chatted. I joked. I dropped my purse again. Dylan began describing to us the fabulous apartment he had furnished for himself, above his plumbing supply store. He called it his bachelor pad.
“You gotta see it,” he told us. “When we leave here, you gotta come over and see it.”
“Both of us?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said.
I was disappointed. There would be no action tonight.
Dylan left Phil a big tip on the bar, and we gathered our belongings. Before I got up, I dropped my purse one more time. Clumsy me. All three of us got in our separate automobiles, and Mella and I followed Dylan to the plumbing store and his fabulous bachelor ‘pad’.
We walked up an exterior flight of stairs on the side of his store, up to the second floor. Dylan led the way. He took out his keys, and opened the front door. Mella and I entered. He flipped the light switch.
One side of the living room was a living room, and the other side was a gymnasium with all sorts of weights and exercise machines. Now I knew how he got all those muscles. He gave us a walking tour. He showed us the modern kitchen with the granite counters, which he said he never used. He showed us the modern bathroom, with the enormous Jacuzzi bathtub, and the marble vanity. He showed us the bedroom. The bedroom. My god. Mirrors everywhere. Every wall was a mirror. The ceiling was a mirror. I looked up and saw myself upside down. I saw Nella and Dylan upside down. I saw the enormous king size bed with all kinds of red pillows and cushions upside down. Suddenly Dylan’s headtop approached my own, and before I could react, I felt his demanding lips on mine. He put one arm around my waist, and pressed me to him. I could feel his hard enlargement against my vulnerability. The other arm was reaching out to Mella.
His mouth moved off mine, and onto Mella’s. We were pressed together in a close-knit group of three. Mella moaned in rapture. Then he took his mouth off Mella’s and suddenly it was on my own again. He was massaging my breasts. Then Mella’s. Then mine. Then….
He was still kissing us both. I felt Mella’s hand brush against mine on Dylan’s fly.
“Kiss her,” he told me.
“Kiss Mella?” I had never considered anything like this.
“Yes. Go ahead. You too, Mella. Kiss Louise. I want to see a nice sexy ladykiss.”
I nervously moved my mouth to Mella’s, and she to mine. We kissed. I licked her lips. I felt her tongue enter my mouth. I felt a tingling in my vulnerability. Now Dylan was placing a hand on my tingle. And on Mella’s. Then the three of us were kissing all at once. Three tongues together. Then he opened our blouses and brassieres, and began feeding on my breasts. Then on Mella’s. Then on mine…….
“Get undressed,” he said.
I stood up and started disrobing like an automaton. Mella took off her blouse and skirt. She had disattached the left stocking from the pantygirdle clasps and was now rolling the sheer black nylon down her long leg. She was still in her pink panties while I was already in the nude. Dylan led me to the bed and arranged me along its length. Then he started to get undressed.
I could never have imagined such an endowment. How did it get so big and muscular? I knew it didn’t lift weights. How would I get that inside me? I put that fear out of my mind. I knew that I was resourceful and somehow I would manage.
Dylan was first on top of me. Then on top of Mella. More and more hot kisses. His tongue was becoming as familiar to me as my own. Then he scootched down on the bed and planted his mouth over Mella’s pussy. He began licking it. Flicking his tongue back and forth over her engorged pink nublet. Back and forth. Back and forth. Mella was thrashing all around on the mattress and making low guttural sounds. I was fingering my own pussy in envy.
But then, Dylan moved across the bed and began pleasuring me. Now I knew what Mella was thrashing about. I began rolling around the bed, screaming, holding his head into me. Yes. I was behaving like a strumpet.
Then Dylan moved up over my body, and that fearsome blunt knob was pressing into my slot. I could feel my mucous membranes separating around it. Separating and then drawing back together to clutch at it. I reached down and fondled his hard asscheeks as they were hunching his dick into me. Along the sides, I could feel his taut assflesh dimpling. His behind was so smooth. So smooth. I raised my legs around him, and I could feel his heavy balls battering my exposed asshole. It was very sexy. I could see his hard, firm asscheeks flexing and unflexing on each instroke and each outstroke. In the mirrors I could see the long taut dimples of his straining buttocks. I could see everything. All in the glittering mirror over my head. I was looking up at that mirror, and I could see fantastic fornication on the bed below it. If I turned my head to the side, the walls were mirrored, and I had a side view. I saw a man and a woman fucking. I was that woman. I loved it. I could also see another tattoo. A large one covering his left buttock. It was an American flag. Red, white, and blue. And it was waving, as he gored in and out of me. I wanted to salute, but instead I grabbed the banner and crushed it in my greedy hand. When I removed my hand, the flag was not crushed. I had not desecrated it. I wanted to move down and lick it, as any good patriot would do. But I was under him getting plowed. I was pinned down and couldn’t move anything but my hips.
He was kissing me, when suddenly Mella’s face was there and he began kissing her.
“Lick my asshole,” he told her.
“Lick my asshole,” he told her again. “Then I’ll fuck you.”
She thought it over and decided this was a good deal. She knelt between our legs as he pumped into me, and I looked down. She had moved my hand off his patriotic buttcheek, and now was separating his two mounds with her own hands. I saw the little pink tongue dart out between her lips as she moved her face into his darkness.
“Oh. Oh. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.” Dylan screamed and began really slamming into me and then pressing his tight pucker back onto Mella’s tongue.
I wished I could have had his thick white cream in my cunt, but he had promised Mella that he would fuck her, so I wasn’t surprised when he withdrew his pleasure rod from my slick sheath, before it had blasted into me. Now Mella was lying next to me on the bed, and she shifted over and stuck his still-wet dick into her. They began hunching together. I was a little jealous. I turned on my side, and placed my mouth between theirs and we were all kissing together again.
This continued for another five minutes. I thought he was going to blast into Mella, but he didn’t. Suddenly he withdrew his big meat from her slippery sheath, and moved up on her body, straddling her chest. His butt was lightly pressing against her large breasts, as he bent his stiff dick down toward her mouth, and pressed it between her lips. He pulled me over to him, and began devouring my tits. Licking them, sucking them. He suddenly had a brilliant idea.
“Eat her pussy,” he told me. He may have sensed a slight distaste on my part, because he repeated, “Eat her pussy.” And it was like an order.
I moved down between Mella’s luscious thighs and began running my tongue up and down her mouth-like slit. Then I went for it. I clasped my lips around her button and began sliding my tongue over it and sucking. I liked it. Mella liked it. She was making low guttural sounds again. So was Dylan, as Mella sucked his length into her throat in extreme passion.
We did all different things. In all different positions. Mella and Me. Mella and Dylan. Dylan and me. We tried every permutation possible. There was nothing I didn’t like. Finally Dylan pushed me down on the bed on my stomach and pulled my ass up into the air. He fucked me like the bitch I was. He fucked me doggy style. I could feel his big prick feeding into me from behind. I slammed my ass back into his taught muscular belly. Slap. Slap. Slap. I looked in the mirror. His eagle soared. His flag fluttered. And I wanted his cum. How I wanted his cum.
Oh, no. He was taking it out again. But wait. Oh my god. He was moving it up against my bottomhole. He wanted to take me anally. How could that happen? It was too big. It was too long. It was too thick. He was pressing. Pressing too hard. Now my rear walls were separating and regrouping around his hard rod. Sucking on it. Pulling on it. He started making crazy noises, and his flanks began pumping arhythmically. He pushed me flat on the bed and fell heavily on top of me. I could feel him hunching frenetically. I could feel his cock growing inside me. Yes. This was what I had wanted so badly. He was coming in me. I could feel blast after blast of his burning liquid inside my rectum. At least I didn’t have to worry about getting knocked up tonight. I would really have to get a prescription for birth control pills.
The three of us lay in the bed exhausted for more than an hour. Fondling each other. Nuzzling each other. Around 3 a.m. Mella, and I each went home. We had to get a little sleep and dress for work the next day. Dylan told us he wasn’t going to ask for our addresses or phone numbers. (If I’d given him my address, he would have realized that I was the nasty frustrated harridan whom he’d visited recently. He had told me I needed to get laid. Well, he had been right. I had needed it. He had changed my life. I owed him a debt.)
Dylan explained that he never saw anyone twice. He liked new experiences all the time. New faces. New tits. New cunts. New asses. All shining in his multi-mirrored bedroom. I was disappointed, but I was used to it. I hadn’t seen Edgar again either. I guess only a woman really wants a relationship. A man just wants to get his rocks off. Too bad.
The next morning when I got to the store, Mella was already there. She had opened as usual. I had never looked at Mella as a person before. Only as an employee. And now I realized that she was an attractive and vibrant young woman. The first hour, after I got there, was a little awkward. I think we were both a little embarrassed about what had occurred the night before. But as the day wore on, we got a little more comfortable with each other. In a new way.
We started to become friends. We would go out for dinner together. She would come over to my house and we would watch television together in the evening. It got so that when she went home at night, I would start feeling lonely. I would start missing her.
I asked her to move in with me. I needed the company. She agreed. She sublet her own house, and moved into my spare bedroom.
The first night she was there, we decided to celebrate. We got all dolled up and drove down to the Westwind Lodge. We had a ball. The guys just loved us. We brought someone home and had just the greatest time. We had such a good time that we did it again the next night. Yes. Mella had been sleeping in the spare bedroom down the hall, but now she would just stay in my bed all night long. Sometimes the guy would sleep over and there would be three of us in the bed. It was so cozy.
We scored almost all the time. A man, on the prowl, might not pick up anyone. A woman, on the prowl, has a better chance. And two women on the prowl. Just imagine.
Some nights we brought home one man. Some nights we brought home two men. There were nights when we brought home three. And sometimes more. Sometimes we just emptied out the whole bar and had a real party. I had had so many cocks inside my mouth and my cunt now. And even my rectum. I was a regular old pro. Except, no, I didn’t do it for money. I just liked it.
Of course there was that occasional evening when there just weren’t any men in the lounge. Just Mella and me. We would drive home together. Just the two of us. We would go to bed together. Just the two of us. And we would have a good time. Just the two of us. We enjoyed that too. For those nights, we bought a double-headed dildo. And besides, you’d be surprised at how much sensation you can get with just two pussies rubbing together.
I still go to the cemetery to visit mother’s grave every week, but I don’t bring flowers. I am too much of a lady to do what you are thinking. I would never spit on my own mother’s grave. But when I think of what she did to me…… When I think of all the years I lost, that I am desperately trying to make up for…… An icy cold feeling envelops me as I stare at her gravestone. I do not get hysterical. I am totally calm. ‘Calm as a cucumber’ as the cliché goes. You see, since I first began to fuck, my whole life has changed. My whole personality has changed. I am no longer fidgety and fretful. I no longer whine and complain. I am just fine. I have become worldly. I have become sophisticated. I am now a full-fledged strumpet. And I no longer have a bad case of nerves.