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Marie (m/f, f/f, cons/nc, ins), Part 1
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.
MARIE
The woman you are about to meet is a real person. I emphasize the
second word -- person. This story is based on verbatim notes taken
during several interviews, during which she consulted the rather
detailed diaries she's kept for most of her life. The alterations
are only to protect identities. The young woman in the story is
extremely unusual: bright, articulate, thoughtful, mature far
beyond her years, poised, analytical and gifted with a discernible
talent for describing people, events and situations. We -- she and
I -- would like to think her memoirs will be revealing and
educational.
CHAPTER ONE
[The first time? No, I don't want to talk about that. Maybe
later -- I doubt it, though. But not now --
[The first time I liked -- Oh. Okay.]
I was living in Toledo, on the East Side. There was Dad, Mom,
my two sisters and my two younger brothers. It was a big old house,
with brown shingle siding and a little yard. I was -- let's see...
ten, by a couple of months. It was late May. My birthday is in
August.
I was always sensual -- and I don't mean "sexual." I enjoyed
sensual pleasures: the taste of ice cold pop, the smell of fresh-
cut rhubarb, the shock of fresh snow rubbed on my face, the heat of
the good sun baking into me. I could lay for hours simply rubbing
the satin edging on a blanket or close my eyes and nearly faint
from the ripe smell of popping corn.
Anyhow, I was ten-and-a-half and finishing the sixth grade at
St. Cornelius school. We didn't have much money, but Mom clipped
coupons and Dad worked an extra night job so all of us could go to
Catholic school.
I was a fair student -- I hated to study -- and did alright.
But in the spring of my sixth-grade year, two things happened.
For one, I discovered I could write. It was an accident --
serendipity is what my phantom stepbrother would have called it --
because I wrote a composition on assignment. It was about
springtime. And I had a teacher, Sister Jannera, who talked to me
about it. She recognized that I had a talent for words and she took
it upon herself to encourage this. I can't completely convey what a
remarkable thing it was. For one thing, I was only ten-and-change;
for another, I was a girl. This was 1965 in a blue collar section
of a so-called city not known for its sophistication and she was
teaching in a Catholic school -- a bastion of conservatism. For her
to recognize my talent and then encourage it was amazing; no other
word is really appropriate.
[My phantom stepbrother? Oh, okay. Mom was Dad's second wife.
His first had left him -- I think he drove her away -- about six
years before. My stepbrother, Dan, was -- is, really -- five years
older than me. He's not just smart; he's scary smart. He -- Oh,
never mind. He's also very sweet and sexy. And inhibited,
unfortunately. Anyhow, he used to visit about once a year, from New
York, where he lived with his mom.]
The second thing that happened was -- Well, you may have
noticed I have these tits, hahaha! I started, shall we say,
"developing," when I was ten -- Anyhow, I wasn't much past ten. By
May of that year, I had noticeable tits, noticeable even dressed in
my white starched St. Cornelius blouse and plaid skirt. As a
shorter than average sixth grader with a "cute" -- I hated that
word even then -- round little face, they seemed bigger than they
were.
Oh, sure, I'd asked about a bra -- at the dinner table, like a
dope. Dad laughed and said that with a bra, I'd look like I'd been
bitten by two mosquitoes. Sweet, eh? But by May, I had gen-u-wine
little tits, not just mounds of baby fat. I remember using the
Sears catalog as a guide to take my measurements. Sears decreed
that I needed a 25-A cup at ten-and-change. Of course, there was no
such thing as a 25-A bra, just those stupid -- and too small --
training bras. The rest of me hadn't developed yet, which made my
boobs more noticeable, since I had a nineteen-inch waist and
twenty-four-inch hips.
So, anyhow, every summer, the church held this carnival --
lots of games of chance and, of course, bingo -- as a fundraiser
and there was --
[What? Oh, yeah, that's significant because that's when I
started keeping a diary. A journal, as my phantom stepbrother would
put it.]
Segue to summer. All during the last weeks of school and the
first weeks of summer, the more 'advanced' boys had been trying to
get close to me -- or, more precisely, my tits. So here it was,
late July and the preteen training bra -- the only thing I could
get that was small enough for my bust measurement -- was just a
little tight in the elastic for me, especially in casual garb. If
you recall, cutoff tee-shirts had become popular in the summer of
'65. That's significant.
The carnival was only four streets away, but Dad and Mom spent
a lot of time there. Dad was an electrician and Mom was a great
little organizer and the tow of them were always over at the
church. Everyone said they were terrific. Of course, no one thought
to ask them about the kids --
[Yeah, it is kind of a cheap shot. There's a reason.]
Anyhow, it was the Thursday before Memorial Day. Back then, we
didn't have these arranged three-day weekends, Memorial Day fell on
Saturday, so everyone got beat on the holiday. I couldn't get too
annoyed, though. We were in final exams and when you finished your
exam, you were cut loose for the day. I finished my last exam at a
quarter past eleven on Thursday morning, and after that, I was free
to enjoy the sudden, midsummer-like heat wave that had hit Toledo.
As soon as I got home, I changed into my two-piece suit and a
cutoff tee-shirt. I pulled on a pair of loose white shorts and
slipped into my sandals, grabbed my Coppertone, then went down the
block to Lisa's house. We were best friends, even though she went
to Rossford Public. She was already finished with school for the
summer. Lisa had a big ol' Coleco above-ground pool in the back
yard, out behind and to one side of the garage.
[The tee-shirt? I couldn't wear the halter for my suit in
public; it was too small. It was this little bit of stretch fabric
and I would have looked like an advertisement for baby sex.
Besides, it cut into me and hurt. It's not like I had really big
tits or anything -- not like later -- but on top of my little-girl
waist and little-girl hips, even the little boobies I had were
really noticeable. They seemed bigger than they really were.
[Look, these days it's not that unusual for a girl to start
budding when she's ten years old. In 1965, it was pretty rare and
no bathing suit company provided for it, because people wouldn't
buy them -- they couldn't admit that their little honey-pies might
be growing full-size tits that young. And think about this: If they
wouldn't admit to themselves what they could see with their own
eyes, how well do you think they dealt with explaining the facts of
life to a ten-year-old, let alone talking about love, commitment,
birth control or venereal disease? So in '65, when you grew tits at
ten, you learned the unpleasant way -- usually, from grubby-
fingered assholes who just wanted to squeeze a boob. Okay?]
When I got to Lisa's house, Brenda -- her older sister -- was
just on her way out. Brenda was sixteen and had this terrific
figure and was real pretty and boys were always after her. She was
going to the marina where someone was taking her out on a boat for
a ride on the Maumee.
Anyhow, Brenda told me Lisa had gone with her mom to the new
mall, over on Woodville Road, but I was welcome to hang out and
swim. She left and I took her up on the offer. I figured the place
was empty, since Jerry -- he was thirteen then -- had a route
delivering the Toledo Blade in the afternoons.
I raided their fridge for a beer. Yeah, a beer at the age of
ten. I'd had sips and even a half a small glass at cookouts at
home, but I was feeling a bit flaky and adventurous, so I took the
churchkey and popped a can of Blatz. Then I changed and went out
back. I was going to get wet and then lay on the picnic table near
the bushes and start my tan. I'm a lot darker than any of my
brothers or sisters and I tan well. Besides, I liked just laying
there and letting the sun soak into me.
But the bathing suit top was still tight on me and just before
I went out, I took it off. There was a girl in the seventh grade
who already had real big boobs and her life was miserable. The
girls didn't trust her, the boys her own age always giggled and
older boys were always grabbing her. I remember hoping mine weren't
going to grow like that.
Wearing just the cutoff tee-shirt and the bottoms, I went out.
I slipped into the pool. I knew the tee-shirt would be plastered to
me, but with the tall bushes all around the yard, I figured there
was no one to stare. I bobbed around in the pool for a few minutes,
then got out and lay on a towel on the picnic table. I rolled up
the bottom of the tee-shirt till my tits were almost showing and
then just lay there, enjoying the sun's weight. Every now and then
I took a draw on the beer and eventually emptied it.
After a while, I rolled onto my belly. The towel bunched up a
bit between my thighs, but I was feeling too lethargic to do
anything about it. Besides, one of the folds was right under my
little pussy and the pressure on my clit felt nice and tingly.
Anyhow, I looked around: No one in sight. I pulled off my tee-
shirt and lay flat. The sun was so heavy on me that I dozed off. I
don't know how long I slept.
Suddenly, my eyes were open. What had awakened me? I figure it
was the sound of Jerry putting his bike in the garage, because he
was striding toward the back steps. He was wearing sneakers, cutoff
jean shorts and nothing else, if you don't count the newspaper bag
and the rubber pad for his shoulder, where the strap rested.
I don't know what possessed me. Probably it was a 12-ounce can
of beer in a sixty-two-pound body that had been baking in the sun
for too long.
"Hi, Jerry."
He froze in midstep, turned and spotted me.
Jerry was 13 and really had a nice build, all lean and with
his belly like a washboard and he was cute. He had lots of curly
dark hair -- all plastered down by sweat, at that moment -- and his
jeans were real tight. I mean, you could practically see his ...
stuff through them.
He looked at me, blinked and stared -- and his jeans got
snugger.
I liked the way they got tighter. "Would you do me a favor?"
"Sure, Marie."
"C'mere."
He shifted the carrier bag around so it hid the good stuff. I
was already feeling a definite urge, though, and hiding his crotch
only left more to the imagination.
He stopped about three steps from me, standing slightly behind
me. Didn't matter; I knew what he was looking at.
"Would you mind putting some lotion on my back?" I folded my
arms and rested my face on my forearms. I knew that folding my arms
revealed the sides of my little tits to him and I knew he was
staring at them.
I heard the carrier bag hit the grass and then I heard the cap
coming off the Coppertone. The bottle had been in the hot sun and
the oil was warm and sensuous. He poured some right in the middle
of my back, between my shoulder blades. He rubbed it around in
about a two-inch circle. Shy.
""More? PLease?"
"...sure."
Slowly, the circle widened. I raised myself slightly to rest
on my elbows, momentarily revealing most of my tits to anyone who
was paying attention. And he was paying attention, because the
spreading of lotion hesitated, then became erratic. I let myself
back down flat on the towel.
"Lower please?"
By now, his hands were wandering closer to my sides. He froze
for a moment, then more oil hit my back and he started working it
lower, into the small of my back and down to the beginning swells
of my little butt. I reached back with both hands and rolled the
top of my suit bottom down about half-way, maybe less.
I could hear his breathing as he lightly rubbed the oil on the
upper slopes of my ass. I flexed my butt a little and his breathing
got heavier.
"That feels so good and I feel so lazy ...." I parted my legs
slightly. "Would you mind doing my legs. I can reach them, but your
hands feel so good -- "
" ... sure."
He started at my ankles and worked his way up my legs. I have
good legs and always have. He was enjoying kneading the taut
muscles and I was enjoying the manipulation. I let my legs part
more when he reached my knees and the higher his hands went on the
insides of my thighs, the better I liked it and the more my legs
opened. Part of what I let me like what was happening was that he
was a little intimidated by it, I was the leader and the agressor,
so I was in control. This was new and I liked it.
And then he was massaging the lotion into the smooth flesh
adjacent to the crotch of my suit ... and his fingers began to
brush my now-soaked slit through the material. I hummed tunelessly
and pushed up and back a little. He took the encouragement and
worked one finger under the edge of my snug suit and began rubbing
my cunt lips. It felt great. I raised my butt a little, but he
didn't know what I was seeking.
"Mmmmmm -- hold your finger right there for a minute," I said.
He froze, undoubtedly afraid I was going to stop him. Wrong-o,
Jerry.
I pressed my cunny down so my clit was rubbed against his
finger. I gasped, "Right -- there -- is the -- place -- okay?"
He started rubbing my swollen little clittie and it wasn't
more than thirty seconds before I was groaning and my hips were
moving. Another thirty seconds and I was clenched in a tight little
orgasm. I shook for a moment, then relaxed back onto the towel. My
hips were still moving and his finger had lost its place. Now he
was probing my cunt lips, trying to find the opening.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said soothingly. I reached blindly
behind me and felt his hard belly, then trailed my hand down to
catch the waistband of his cutoffs in my fingers. "C'mere." I led
him around to stand beside the pool table and turned my head to
face him. The bulge in his cutoffs was impressive. I ran my hand
down to it and pressed it through the denim. He sucked in a breath.
"I liked that," I said. "Did you like it?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Do you jerk off?"
"... I guess."
"You're not sure?"
He blushed madly. "Well, sure."
"What do you think about when you jerk off?"
I was rubbing my hand back and forth over that promising
bulge.
"You know -- doing it."
"With whom?"
"Girls."
"Any particular girls?" I rubbed a little faster.
"Not really." He was lying.
"What do they look like?"
"Y'know -- all grown up."
"With big tits."
"Yeah."
I rolled onto my side. He stared at my tits. I sat up, fought
off a moment of wooziness caused by the heat of the sun, the heat
in my crotch and the single beer. His eyes followed my tits, drawn
to them as if they were magnets. I brought my other hand over and
unsnapped the waist of his jeans. I tugged the zipper down and then
pushed his shorts down. He was bare underneath them. His cock came
out, so stiff it was almost bouncing off his belly. It was a nice
13-year-old's cock, about five or six inches long and average
thick. He had some nice soft hair around the base of it and his
balls looked hard and tight. I gripped his dick lightly -- the
first time I ever touched a hard, naked penis; I felt a little
sizzle of excitement run through me -- and began sliding my hand on
it. His knees began to tremble.
"Bigger tits than mine, huh?"
"You have real nice tits for a kid -- " he blurted. "I've been
watching -- "
He suddenly realized what he was saying and clamped his mouth
shut.
"So you've been watching me, huh? Looking at my tits, huh?"
He nodded. I skinned my hand up and down his cock quickly a
couple of times, then stopped and wriggled out of my bottoms. I sat
naked in the sun on the picnic table in front of him.
"Would you like me to jerk you off?" I asked, again gripping
his dick. "Would you like to touch my tits and my cunt again?"
He nodded.
"Then I want you to do something for me." I stood on the grass
beside him. He was much taller than me. He smelled of sweat and
Coppertone and excitement.
"Anything!'
"I want you to kiss my pussy -- right where you were rubbing
with your finger."
"You mean -- with my mouth? Down there?" He sounded dubious.
I nodded. "Lay down on the picnic table and you kiss me down
there while I jerk you off."
"I dunno," he said. "I can jerk myself off."
"So can I, but I can't lick my own pussy."
"And I can't suck my own dick..." That sudden boldness
surprised me, but not enough to put me off. His hands were
wandering over my tits. He was surprisingly gentle after the first
careful squeezes -- testing their firmness -- and his caresses were
exciting me even more. When he began playing with my nipples I
decided.
"Alright," I said. "I'll suck you and you suck me."
He nodded and stepped out of his cutoffs, then climbed on the
picnic table and lay back on the towel. His dick throbbed furiously
in the sunlight as I climbed over him, facing his feet. I straddled
his chest with my knees and back up. He was so much bigger than I
that my legs were quite wide open. I felt his hot breath on my
mound and stretched forward till his dick was touching my mouth.
He began to kiss and lick my cunt and I gasped and opened my
mouth. He hunched his hips up and about half his hard teenage dick
was in my mouth. I closed my lips around his dick as he closed his
hands around my little butt and then I closed my eyes and sucked
for oil. I didn't know -- then -- all the little movements that
make a good cocksucker, but this kid didn't notice. I put my hands
on his hips to moderate the thrashing of his fucking movements and
sucked and pulled with my lips. I knew it was going to be about
twenty seconds before he came.
Even so, I started cumming first. He didn't know anything
about cunt licking, but he knew how I responded the first time his
tongue brushed my clit and he knew I sucked harder when he did
that, so he got a liplock on the little bud and went to town,
trilling his tongue tip over it as fast as he could.
I started cumming and didn't stop, not even when he worked one
finger into my cunt. I felt a little tension and a moment of
discomfort, nothing more, and I was distantly surprised it hadn't
hurt more. But since I was on top and I wasn't being controlled or
forced or anything -- well, it really didn't bother me. On the
contrary -- my pussy grabbed that finger and squeezed it. I came
then as I cum now: clenched and almost frozen, bucking toward the
source of pleasure -- in this case, his lips and tongue and finger.
The combination of that finger-fucking and his prolonged
arousal along with my desperate sucking sent him over the edge. His
hips jerked, driving half his dick into my mouth, and then he was
cumming. I hadn't planned to swallow, but there was no escape
before he started to flow and I swallowed by reflex and then the
deed was done, so I kept at it. His semen was so thick!
I was sucking and cumming and he was licking and cumming and
both of us were moaning and cumming. I kept swallowing -- it was
swallow or drown -- and he kept cumming, more than I'd suspected
was possible. When he finally stopped spurting, I sucked as hard as
I could and from somewhere in his teenage balls summoned forth a
last gob of sperm. He groaned and his hands fell away from my butt
as I released his spent -- but still half-hard -- dick from my
spermy lips.
I lay sprawled on him in the hot sun for a few minutes, my
pussy backed against the underside his chin and my hips slowly,
languidly revolving. His dick stayed half-hard against the side of
my face.
Finally I climbed off him and got down to the grass. It felt
crinkly and warm between my toes. I was still tingling.
He sat up slowly, as if exhausted. His face was slick with my
juices, as were the insides of my thighs. I gathered my stuff --
and the empty Blatz can -- and turned to him. He was climbing down
from the table. "I need to clean up, Jerry. Can I use the shower in
the basement?" I knew about it because when I stayed over with his
sister, we frequently sat up in their basement recreation room --
such as it was -- as late as we could get away with.
He nodded. "Sure. You know where everything is?"
I reached out and gently stroked his half-hard dick a couple
of times. "I do now." His prick began hardening again. Thirteen.
He took his shorts and stuffed them in his delivery bag and we
scurried into the house. I headed down the basement stairs for the
shower. I heard him climbing the stairs to the second floor, to his
room. I knew there was a full bathroom up there and figured he'd
use that one and I'd use the one downstairs and that would be that.
I figured wrong.
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