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Mary Catherine
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.
It was taking her to "Swan Lake" that did it. Sometime during the ballet,
something happened very deep inside Mary Catherine. I didn't know until I was
driving her home. I rested a hand on her thigh, a thing she tolerated, sometimes
seemed to enjoy, but had never encouraged. Tonight her hand covered mine, and
she slid the other over my thigh to pluck at the inseam of my slacks.
"That was a neat wizard, wasn't it?"
"Your leg is so hard."
"Will you stay with me tonight?"
"I don't have any birth control."
At the drive in window of an all-night drugstore I had forty cents less than
the price of a package of condoms. The clerk looked at us, Mary Catherine bent
forward, her back bowed, her belly tense, still picking at my pants, and gave us
the rubbers.
All the way home she kept it up, picking up the inseam, stretching the fabric
and letting it snap onto my inner thigh. Sometimes a girl's touch is like an
electric shock, sometimes just that sharp spark there in the belly below the
navel. Mary Catherine's pluck sent a dull pulse right to my root, saying "Wake
up". All the way home, hunched forward in silence, "Wake up. Wake up."
She was a slim girl. She didn't exercise, so her thighs were a little loose.
I remember her ass hanging out from under her swimsuit the day I met her. A
slight girl, and a little flabby. She was shaky getting out of the car.
"I'll carry you".
Up a flight and over the landing, my arms under her bony shoulder blades and
pinched behind her knees, letting her soft ass bump my pelvic bone. She leaned
against me at the door and her hand crept down to my slacks again.
I sat her on the kitchen counter so her ass spread to stretch her formal dress
on the hard formica. She leaned against a cabinet, her hands in the lap of her
satin gown, and watched me take off my jacket and shirt. I had been lifting for
rugby, and when she saw me her hands made little cupping motions and stirred
weakly against the satin. I slipped off my shoes and pants and shorts and my
cock stood nearly vertical against my belly.
Mary Catherine brought her knees up and rested her shoes on the counter. She
reached out for me and put her thin arms around my neck when I stepped up to the
counter. I slipped her panty hose, then her panties, under her soft ass, then
remembered to unbuckle and remove her shoes. I pressed her knees together and
found she was entirely limp. I slid her underthings down her oddly slender,
loose thighs and calves then pressed her knees apart and back to her shoulders.
Mary Catherine wore her dark red hair long, and I lifted her skirt and saw she
was a natural bright redhead, the color contrasting oddly with the pink peeping
out from beneath.
Her small, very dark brown eyes watched me quietly. She leaned back, just
looking and waiting with her arms around my neck while I slipped my arms through
the crook of her knee on each side and stepped back and lifted her onto my cock.
Months later, I remembered her with molten lead in my belly when I
cleaned the car and found the package of rubbers, slipped down into the
seat.
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