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Marie (m/f, f/f, cons/nc, ins), Part 12B
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
CHAPTER TWELVE (continued)
Then I felt his pubic hair against my ass, and I knew I had the
full length of him sheathed in my rectum. I felt like was taking the
world's biggest shit. It felt strange and it felt wonderful and it
scared me. Then he twitched inside me and I moaned. His hands stayed
on
my hips as I splayed my legs carefully outside his and draped them
down
while I settled back and reclined upon the nineteen-year-old
sodomizing
me. His hands slid up to my tits and he began playing with my breasts
--
especially my nipples. I moaned again and then shuddered.
My pussy was empty and my ass burned slightly from the stretching,
but I had cum. A little one, to be sure, but an orgasm no less. I slid
one hand down to grip the edge of the reclining seat for stability and
the other down to play with my clit and pussy.
This all had left Gary standing there with my saliva cooling on his
rampant dick. He wasted little time, though. Gary bent at the knees,
found his alignment, and before I could cover my cunt he drove his
prick
into me.
All three of us groaned at that. Each of them moaned about feeling
the other pressed against him in the adjoining channel; I moaned
incoherently.
[Yes! It does turn me on to remember it! So they're hard? So what?]
I'd been sandwiched before, and I'd been younger at the time, but
I'd never been filled like this before. This was sheer, hedonistic,
sensual pleasure. I gave myself over to it. I would have wrapped one
or
both legs around Gary's waist to keep him close, but I had no strength
anywhere but where they filled me. Gary did most of the work; in his
position, Gerry could do little but occasionally buck up to keep his
cock lock in my ass. But Gary was energetic as hell.
Gary rocked me, again and again, with short thrusts that made up in
urgency what they lacked in length. I was sure they were going to
rupture me with their hard, nineteen-year-old pricks, and I didn't
care.
I was cumming and cumming, and not sure if it was starting in my cunt,
my ass or my clit or my nipples. I couldn't stop cumming. I didn't
want
to stop cumming.
But then both cocks were swelling in me and both were groaning
rather loudly and then I felt both of them twitch as they ground
themselves in me and poured all their juices and excitement and
horniness into me.
My horny, amoral body drank it all up and clutched for more --
milked for more.
Terry still snored in the back.
We disengaged, moving as quickly as possible to prevent soiling
their precious Microbus with our drippings...though I thought of it
more
as anointing the van with our juices. Whatever. And then it got ugly.
I'd just finished pulling my clothing together when Gerry reached
past me and slid back the side door. "Out."
"What?"
"Get out."
"Yeah," Gary added, poetically.
"But aren't you going to give me a ride home?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"No," Gary said, literately.
"But -- "
"You think we'll give a slut a ride?" Gerry demanded.
I started to get mad. "What did you call me?"
"A slut," Gerry said.
"Yeah," Gary added. "Fuck both a guy's brothers while he's passed
out at her feet."
"We gotta watch out for our kid brother."
"I didn't see either of you protesting," I said, dancing down out
of the Microbus to the dirty asphalt. I reached in an snatched my tote
bad with my Mom-approved clothes in it. "Let me ask you something, if
you've got the guts to answer."
Gerry spit theatrically on the asphalt. "Yeah?"
"If a slut is a woman who'd fuck a guy's brothers while he's passed
out at her feet, what would you call his brothers -- men of honor?"
I slammed the door shut myself. They laid about two thousand miles
worth of rubber -- intending to impress me, I suppose -- as they
popped
the clutch and left. One of them yelled back in the night, "You're
nothin' but a hoo-er!"
"Whore," I said aloud to myself in the emptiness of the shopping
center parking lot. "The word is `whore.'" And I wondered if maybe he
wasn't right. I done them to get even with Terry for betraying my
trust
and lying about his solemn vow. What was a whore but a woman who fucks
for personal gain. On the other hand, I knew of a few -- more than a
few
-- women who'd chosen to fuck only one man, the best breadwinner they
could get, for a piece of gold...in the form of a wedding band and
promise of security.
At the time, I found it all too confusing to deal with; I had to
get home and home was a hell of a distance yet. I started walking.
I was beginning to think I was snakebitten. The three most
important men I'd known had all ended up hurting or rejecting me, and
usually with good cause. My phantom step-brother had rejected me in
favor of an underdeveloped twelve-year-old and my (formerly) best
friend. I had caused Ty grief and he'd had to reject me. And now,
Terry.
I checked my change purse and when I got to the Esso station, I
called a car service and yes, I had enough to get from there to my the
corner of the block where my family lived. The service car showed up
--
a battered '62 Chevy wagon -- and the driver looked me up and down.
"You?" He was a middle-aged African-American. I nodded. "You okay?"
I nodded again. He shrugged. "Okay, let's get you home, child." Then
he
shook his head. "Well-growed child."
When I let myself in the house and got to my room, my baby sister
was waiting for me in my bed. "You okay?" After I reassured her, she
told me Mom had waited for me till almost one -- it was a little after
three -- and was really pissed. She suspected it was at least halfway
because Dad was really pissed. He'd gotten a letter from my phantom
step-brother, who'd just graduated from high school. Dan wasn't coming
to visit this summer. He had a good summer job that he had to start
right away. He was sorry, but he had to have the money, because he
started college in the autumn and the two scholarships combined
wouldn't
cover the costs. Dad had really been looking forward to the visit.
And,
though I hadn't known it till that moment, so had I.
But in a way, it was just as well. I had no distractions that
summer, nothing to take my mind off my own interests, and I learned a
lot about myself. When anyone asked me about Terry, I told them it was
a
rumor. I told a few that he and I had enjoyed a one-night stand and a
bad date and That Was That. If anyone asked about the other rumor --
about me doing both his older brothers at once -- I got all hot under
the collar and pissed and bitchy, and if they persisted, I told them I
could sure have my step-brother dispel their illusions. Enough had
leaked out about that incident on the front porch that nobody wanted
Dan
coming around and asking them anything. No way.
But the truth was that I suspected I was poison to any kind of
serious relationship.
[I know, but, hey -- I was thirteen! Give me a break!]
And I suspected that I was always going to be Doormat side of the
male view of the world: All women are either Goddesses or Doormats.
By the end of that summer, I had withdrawn almost completely into
myself. I'd had plenty of practice at that, intensive practice after
my
first time --
[Okay; I promise -- but later, okay?]
When school started, a few newcomers made attempts to be friendly
with me, but I was essentially asexual. I became a creature of the
mind,
of intellect, reveling in the literature I read, the poems I
encountered, even betraying a talent for the rigorous disciplines --
which I always regarded as a game -- of Geometry. I was blessed with
three teachers who loved the idea of opening a mind to the
possibilities
inherent in a particular curriculum: Geometry, English and History. I
actually won honors for my mind.
But as the spring of my sophomore year crawled toward summer,
things were happening. I suddenly realized that I had gone more than
five months without being touched -- aside from playing Yellow Pages
with my sister, more for her relief than my own -- and I was winning
recognition for what I could do with my brain, rather than the shape
of
my body.
And I realized I had suddenly begun developing, with a vengeance,
in a way that made all previous spurts seem picayune by comparison.
But that early summer, in '69, a couple of things came together.
One of them was discovering that my phantom step-brother could screwup.
Another was that I became a cheesecake photo in the city newspaper.
That was the summer that I realized how I had grown. Make that
Grown, with a capital G. I was surprised -- I, who had always tracked
and recorded my measurements to the eighth of an inch -- to find that
I needed a 34 d-cup bra, that my hips were finally flaring in balance
(relatively) to 27 inches and my waist had ballooned to a whopping 20
inches. Tubb-o, I thought! But I was also all the way up to four-foot-
ten-inches, and looked more like a petite young woman than a little
kid with outrageous tits. Yes, that was a summer of major changes.
And that was the summer I was scouted by a men's magazine.
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