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Trish By Dirty Dawg
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
STORY:"Trish" By DD m/f-passion
"Trish"
By Dirty Dawg
Standard Disclaimer : This story is a straight male/
female sex story, all characters are of legal and
appropriate age. There are no midget yak herding
circus clowns, no small children or furry farm
animals being abused here, gang.
Great. Another fucking Christmas spent alone. My
sister in California and her husband, plus her two curtain-
climbing, crumb-snatching, ankle-biting rug rats had invited
me there, but I had no desire to spend five days watching my
nephew proudly announce that he had, indeed, completed a
successful delivery of "number two" in the correct and
proper place. Neither did I want to watch my neice pick her
nose and fling it at her brother, which according to my
sister was her new hobby.
My brother was overseas, working for "the
government" in some shadowy capacity, and wouldn't be heard
from. Both parents dead as Kelsey's nuts, which all added up
to the fact that I'd be spending yet another yultide season
staring at the walls and wondering why I got so depressed.
I mean, aside from the fact that the last time I'd
had a date Ronald Regan was in the White House, what else
did I have to be depressed about? The fact that my job was a
go-nowehere, mind-numbing, ass-crushing bore and I wanted
nothing more than to drill my boss with a 9mm right between
the eyes might contribute something to my depression. The
fact that my last girlfriend had told all her friends that I
was probably gay, nullifying any chance I might have had at
dating any of them might have added a little to it, too.
But I wasn't gay. I just wasn't attracted to her
anymore. She had turned from a warm, wonderful woman into a
screaming shrew and I'd had enough. She wanted me to make
love to her while she was wearing curlers and this green...
gunk on her face. I mean, hey, I can be a trooper with the
rest of them, but I have my fucking limits, right?
So there I was, Christmas Eve, watching a log slowly
turn to ash in the fireplace, a cold Genuine Draft clutched
in one paw, losing myself in the flame and remembering
Christmases Past.
Like my senior year in high school. All of
seventeen, ready to take on the world, full of piss and
vinegar. Ten goddamn years ago. I remember wanting nothing
more than to get out of high school and into the world.
School, as I remembered, was boring and mind-numbing. Hah.
I've been in the world since those years, and I'd give
almost anything to go back to those days of hopeful
innocence, days when my only worry as a developing zit on my
nose and where the next beer was coming from.
And Trish. Who could forget Trish? She was a
sophmore in college, a friend of my sister's, and my
girlfriend. I was the envy of all my friends, dating an
older woman...a college woman. We'd known each other since
about moments after my own birth, and had essentially grown
up together. I was nine, she was eleven and just beginning
to get interested in boys when she pulled me aside and
solmenly asked if she could practice kissing with me.
Now, being a boy of nine, replete with frogs in my
pockets and a disdain for anything even <remotely> female, I
originally decline, lest any of my friends find out. If
<they> found out I was kissing, of all things, a <girl>, I
would have to fight for weeks to get back into their good
graces, to prove that I was not a wimp.
In the end, she persisted, and I finally gave in.
She practiced for hours, using her lips and tongue on me.
Frankly, at the time, I was grossed out. But I learned how
to kiss, and how to kiss well, because she taught me what a
woman likes best, and more importantly, taught me that
different women like to be kissed different ways. <That>
went along way when I started dating.
I was a junior, and Trish was a freshman in college
when we started dating. It had been pretty innocent, me
filling in when my sister had a date and Trish tagged along.
I became the fourth, so poor Trish wouldn't feel like a
third wheel. And things just went from there. She started
calling me for dates for just the two of us, and I started
calling her. We'd been together for almost four months when
she suddenely started laughing.
"You know," she said. "You never asked me out. I
mean, officially or anything. We just...happened."
With a mock-serious expression on my face, I dropped
to one knee and held her hand lightly in mine. "Will you
please go out with me?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said slowly, "I mean, you're
awful young and all that..." With a laugh and a growl I
pounced on her and we spent the rest of the afternoon
wrestling on the couch, stopping only for tickle fights and
long, wet, deep kisses that made my toenails ache.
I was the first boy she let pet her below the waist,
and a day after that, she let me be the first girl I ever
performed oral sex on. I can still remember her taste today:
A mixture of sweat, urine and her distinctly female taste
that I craved. I must have spent the better part of a summer
between her thighs, exploring and learning and licking and
tasting every square inch of her. She never, ever returned
the favor.
Because I never asked her to. The truth was, I went
home every time with blue balls so bad all I could do was
jerk off. I was jerking off so often and so hard that I had
these little...I'm ashamed to say it, but scabs on my cock
from tugging so hard. I knew that if I took of my pants and
showed her my poor, abused cock, she would absolutely refuse
to take it into her mouth, so I didn't ask.
And then, in her junior year in college, my freshman
year, I got a "Dear Peter" letter. Sorry, she said, but I've
met someone else, and we're going to get married. You'd like
him, she wrote, he's a lot like you. And then, as always,
she dropped the bomb that all women like to use, few mean,
and ever fewer still can live up to. I hope we can still be
friends, she wrote.
Yeah.
Right.
And I'm fucking Santa Claus.
I <don't> think so.
So there I was, like I said, sitting on the couch,
feeling pretty goddamned sorry for myself, a rapidly-warming
beer clutched in one hand, watching the fire slowly dim.
Peace on Earth and Goodwill Towards Men, my ass!
The doorbell rang.
Probably fucking carolers, I thought. Too-cheerful
people standing around singing about a joyus season. I
decided to ignore them.
The doorbell rang again, and then again.
Sighing, I stood and walked to the front door,
leaving my beer behind. One song, and then I would plead
tiredness and go to bed.
I opened the door and felt surprise and
astonishment, and frankly, arousal.
Trish was standing on my doorstep.
Alone.
Crying.
Trish was standing on my doorstep, alone and crying.
(My mind, at this point, had vapor-locked. It screamed at me
"LET HER IN, STUPID!")
I opened the storm door and she fell into my arms,
resting her head against my chest and sobbed. "Oh, Peter, I
don't know where to go," she said.
Pulling back, I asked, "What's wrong, Trish?"
"I left my husband yesterday and drove here. I
didn't tell anyone, and I planned to stay with my parents.
They went to Hawaii for the holidays. I don't have a key,
and I have nowhere to go."
Thank you, Santa.
"Come in. You can stay here, of course." She smiled
at me through her tears and took off her coat. I caught my
breath and tried not to stare. She was dressed to impress
someone, that was for sure. She was wearing a white leather
miniskirt and a dark red blouse that hugged her tits. At 29,
she looked wonderful. Her light brown-almost-blonde hair
lightly brushed her shoulders, and if anything, her figure
had ripened into the mature body of a desirable woman. I
felt a lurching in my trousers and ignored it.
Following me into the living room, Trish spied my
beer and cocked an eyebrow at me. Nodding, I went and got
another one.
"So," I said, handing it to her, "what's this about
leaving your husband?"
"Bastard!" she spit. "I caught him giving some
seasonal joy to his goddamn teenybopper secretary on his
fucking desk. I threw his present at him and stalked out."
"So it's over?"
Sadly, she nodded. "I've known for a while that he
was screwing around on me, just not specifically with who.
But when I saw that little 19 year old slut spread-eagled on
his desk getting butt-fucked by my husband...I decided it
was over then and there."
"Butt-fucked?" I said, fairly shocked by her
language. Trish blushed. "He likes that, " she explained.
And then, after a moment, added cryptically,"...and so do I.
" I gulped so hard I was sure she heard it.
"So tell me what's going on in <your> life," she
said. "I'm sick of my problems. Give me some of yours."
I laughed, and we sat down on the couch. We talked
for about twenty minutes, about my crappy job, about her
crappy job, and about all the things we'd missed out on in
the last ten or so years. We were laughing at some of the
old antic's we'd been through and I suddenely felt very,
very aroused.
I stopped laughing and looked at Trish straight in
the eyes. "I never forgot about you, you know."
She blushed. "I didn't, either."
"Do you believe in the axiom that 'What's good for
the goose is good for the gander?'" I asked softly.
She nodded.
"Well then, I have to say that I am incredibly
attracted to you, and I would very much like to make love
with you."
A small, very private smile tugged at the corners of
Trish's mouth. Quietly, almost too quiet to hear, she said,
"I think I'd like that very much, Peter."
We inched closer, and then after ten years apart, we
were together again, kissing softly, feeling each other grow
hungry with passion as the kiss lengthened and intensified.
Her mouth worked eagerly against mine, her tongue searching
my mouth for all the familer spots and locations. My hands
moved to her shoulders, stroking her through the satiny
material of her shirt. She clung to me, kissing me deeply,
trying to suck my tongue down her throat.
My hands dropped to her breasts, and I massaged her
gently through the shirt, feeling her hard little nipples
poke into the skin of my palm. Trish broke the kiss and
stood before me, gently swaying her hips as she unbottoned
her blouse. Tugging it out of her skirt, she sat on my lap
facing me, her thighs outside mine as I buried my face in
her chest, rubbing my cheek against her breasts as my hands
went around her back, under the shirt, losing myself in the
warmth and smoothness of her body and her shirt.
She kissed the top of my head and ran her fingers
through my hair, pulling me urgently against her. "God, hold
me," she said. "Hold me please, Peter!" I groaned and licked
a nipple through her bra. The result was instant and
exciting. She ground her chest into my face. "Oh, God, lick
me," she screamed. "Lick my fucking titties!"
The old Trish had, apparantly, learned some new
tricks.
My hands went up her back, and instead of the
fumbling teenager, my smooth, somewhat experienced but out-
of-practice hands easily undid her braclasp.
Slowly, I revealed each breast, tasting the skin as
I removed the lace. Her breasts had grown, but they were
still firm and heavy in my hands. "So beautiful," I
whispered. "So wonderful, so perfect." I closed my mouth
around her right nipple and felt the rough texture on my
tongue. Trish started undulating her hips against mine,
getting into the contact and the friction and the moisture.
My hands dropped to her leather-clad ass as I pulled
her against me, trying to get inside her, trying to become
one with her. I was cupping a breast in each hand, gently
thumbing her nipples when she pulled away from me and stood,
turning around and facing the fire.
I watched as her hands slowly came around the back
and undid the button on her skirt, and then worked the
impossibly tight zipper down. Swaying her hips from side to
side, she worked the tight material off of her hips, down
her ass and off her legs. She was wearing a white lace
garter belt and long, black seamed stockings.
No panties.
"You like?" she whispered?
I fell to my knees and kissed each jiggling cheek,
reaching my hand under and around to feel the moist
excitement of her pussy. Like an old friend, my fingers
located her clitoris, and I rolled her pearl between my
fingers, feeling her gasp and tighten in my grip. She turned
to face me and slowly rubbed her cunt over my face, slicking
my skin with her arousal.
"Taste me," she said. I lowered my face between her
thighs and inhaled her scent, feeling the tension in my
groin become almost unbearable. I licked at her, and it was
the same old Trish, only more aged, more refined. Sweat and
arousal and the slight tang of urine filled my senses as I
avidly licked her trench from just beneath her asshole to
her clit and back. I stiffened my tongue and tried to drill
it up her cunt, wanting to pop my entire head inside her
wet, warm vagina.
Trish had my head in both hands, and she was mashing
herself against me, bucking her hips into my face as I held
on to her asscheeks and went for the ride of my life,
feeling her slick juices cover my face, soak into my
mustache and slide down my throat.
"Oh yeah!" Trish was saying, "yeah, yeah! Yeah!
Fucking YES!" And then she liquefied into a wonderus climax,
shuddering, her pussy snapping closed around my invading
tongue, her fingernails digging painfully into my shoulders
as I rode her out, screaming out in the pleasure I gave her.
She collapsed to the rug and sat there, her legs
lewdly splayed open, gently playing with herself as I
watched. "I'll be right back," I said. Quickly walking to my
bedroom, I tore the comforter off the bed and snagged two
pillows, returning to spread them out in front of the fire.
I tossed another log on and felt Trish kneeling
behind me, placing her arms around my neck so she could rub
my chest, her naked, heavy breasts resting against my back.
She kissed my neck and ear, teasing my canal with
her wet little tongue. She remembered. That was one of my
favorite things, something we jokingly called "Ear Sex."
Feeling her thick, meaty tongue trying to worm its way into
the center of my brain made my cock throb harder still.
"Turn around," she whispered throatily. I did, and
her hands fell to my belt as we kissed again, hungrily.
Without looking, still kissing me, Trish stripped me and
then gently pushed me back on the comforter. My cock, all
thickly throbbing seven inches of it, bobbed from my waist.
"Mmmmm," she said. "You grew up, too." I laughed at
her, but the laugh died in my throat as she opened her mouth
and slid my entire cock in, to the root, in a single stroke.
I groaned deep in my throat, and my hands reflexivly grabbed
hers and held it there for a long moment. I could feel the
muscles of her throat clutch at my cock like another mouth,
and I was afraid that I was going to shoot already; I wanted
that blowjob to last, because Trish had apparantly picked up
a few tricks along the way.
I sat back and watched her blow me in the gentle
light of the fire. Her golden hair caught the firelight and
made it shine, and watching her gently bobbing head move
above my cock fueled my passion to a new level. She used a
shitload of saliva, getting me wet and slippery and more
excited by the moment.
Her hands were not still; she teased my balls,
rubbing each one like a crap player might a pair of lucky
dice. I was doing multiplication tables in my head to keep
control when Trish slid a finger into my unprepared asshole
and started rubbing my prostate gland.
I forced her head down on my cock and blew a load
down her throat. Gasping and gulping, Trish took it all,
greedily drinking my load and smacking her lips. "So good,"
she said. "Sooo good." She licked at my pisshole and milked
my nuts, making sure she got every drop of my creamy gift.
She fell on top of me and kissed me. I could taste
myself in her mouth, and it turned me on beyond belief. We
stayed that way for a while, gently kissing as she lay atop
me, her heavy, full breasts pushing into my chest, our pubic
hair mingling. Slowly, I became excited again, and she felt
me stirring against her.
"My God," she said. "So soon?" Evilly, I grinned and
rolled her over, spreading her legs.
"Fuck me hard," Trish said. "I love it hard and
deep." I placed the head of my again-throbbing cock at her
slick entrance and slid my entire length into her with one
shove. I felt the slick, slippery walls of her snatch snap
closed around me and I had to stop for a second, the
pleasure was so intense.
Trish had locked her legs around my waist, and she
beat a tattoo against my ass. "Fuck me," she hissed. "Fuck
me hard!" I started a slow ryhtym, building up speed until
we were slapping together, sweat flying as I pounded her
receptive cunt as hard as I could. Her fingernails were
digging into my back and my chest as she held on.
Trish had several intense orgasm as I pounded her
into the carpet. She pulled away from me and got up on all
fours, wiggling her ass. "From behind. Fuck me as hard as
you can from behind, Peter! Really slam me!"
I lined myself up and grabbed her shoulders, pulling
her violently back, spearing her wildly clutching cunt with
my cock. She groaned and slid a hand underneath, flicking
her clit as I rode her through several more orgasms. Her
tight, sticky cunt began to vise around my cock harder and
harder. I was amazed at her muscle control and knew I
couldn't hold out much longer.
"Gonna cum," I moaned.
"Oh, Peter, dear, please do come inside me! Give it
to me! Give me all of it! I want your fucking cum in my
CUNT!" Her dirty talk, combined with her hot, tight body
worked their magic and I blew my load inside her, burying my
cock to the balls as I emptied myself inside her. I could
feel my own cum backing out of her cunt and warming my cock
and balls.
We fell apart, and she rolled over on top of me. I
could feel the accumulated sludge of our coupling leaking
from her cunt onto my thigh.
"Merry Christmas," she said with a twinkle in her
eye.
"Well," I said, "you certainly got <your> stocking
stuffed!"
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