Anne-Marie's List of One

People call me BC. Big Cat. A nickname I've had since I was a boy. However, during my years at art college I was known as 'Fluffer'. These are the stories of that time. Fluffer's tales.

#

To introduce you to Anne-Marie I need to take you back to the Saturday evening of the infamous weekend that I was both crushed by my ex, and "educated" by my best friend, Sara.

Sara arranged/contrived this dinner party to unashamedly hook me up with a "nearly single" friend of hers, a fashion student called Anne-Marie. The idea had been to have four of us: me and Anne-Marie, Sara and her boyfriend (Rubbish-Alan) but he'd gone out with his rugby mates instead— much to Sara's irritation. And my relief. He was not too pleased with me practising cunnilingus on his girlfriend.

At least Anne-Marie was a laugh. And exactly my type: Clearly defined and easy to read, even for an emotional dimwit. Her tumble of black hair said she didn't care too much about her appearance, her dark, cleopatra eyes invited you in for a gossip. And she was, literally, all mouth. As if her constant, delightfully unfiltered chatter had, over the years, exercised her lips out of all proportion to her face.

I couldn't keep my eyes off her, or my ears for that matter. And I had to sit with my hands wedged between my knees to keep everything else locked down.

But it was Sara that demanded our attention for most of the meal. I took Anne-Marie's cue and let our mutual friend splurge it all out. She clearly had a lot to get off her chest about Rubbish Alan. I kept it to myself that it sounded a tad like post-rationalisation for the morning's infidelity.

"And he never goes down!" Sara finally paused her rant to glug wine and knit a frown. Anne-Marie sighed, and Sara softened. She squeezed her friend's hand. "Oh you poor thing I'm such a selfish cow, how are you coping?"

Anne-Marie shrugged and swirled her glass. "He's just not that into me, I guess." She tipped toward me, but didn't meet my eye. "I just left my bastard boyfriend because he only wanted to fuck other girls. Not me. I was just for blowjobs, apparently."

"He never went down either!" Sara barked. Then flushed. "Sorry. One track mind today."

Anne-Marie drained her glass. "But what is it with guys and giving head? They always complain, and if they ever actually get down there then it's for 2-minutes and then it's like they've done you this huge favour and deserve, like, a month of blowjobs?"

The girls cackled. I squirmed. Anne-Marie didn't help, explaining earnestly: "He says I'm too wet? Can you believe that? He says he can't feel anything when he fucks me, and literally gags when I make him eat me. I can't help it. I'm just a juicy girl!"

Their laughter blared. My smile ached.

"I think you've just met the wrong guys," I said.

Sara smirked. "Yes, we know an oral ninja don't we, BC?" She nudged my shoulder and winked bawdily. This was a surprise. We hadn't discussed whether we should tell anyone about our unusual morning. She continued as if recommending a plumber. "Well, someone in Berlin anyway." She grimaced at me. "Sorry. Is it still a sore point?"

I filled Anne-Marie in on how I had been perma-dumped the day before; my ex gloating about the mind-blowing oral she'd received from her sister's boyfriend in Berlin.

Anne-Marie narrowed her eyes and squirmed theatrically. "Lucky girl. Could you get his number?"

That wasn't the reaction I'd hoped for. But then I think she knew that. She patted my arm. "Mind you," she added, "just because he was good at it doesn't mean he liked it."

"What's the difference?" I said. "Girl gets off, everybody's happy, right?"

Both girls shook their heads emphatically. Anne-Marie made their point. "No, no, no. Enthusiasm is the thing. There is nothing worse than a limp licking." More cackles. Anne-Marie wrinkled her brow at me like we were discussing Plato. "But it's the same for both sexes don't you think? Someone has to be eager to go down or it's just no fun at all, no matter how good their technique." She stretched with clasped hands. "Well, I'm always dead keen. Once, I sucked-off my ex so thoroughly that I came."

I blasted a laugh. But no-one else did. Sara stroked her friend's arm. "His loss, for sure, Babe." She refilled our glasses. "I'm not bothered. I like a good licking and a good shag but don't really care if I suck cock or not. Sometimes it's ok. Mostly I do it to shut him up." Sara widened her eyes at me and nodded theatrically at Anne-Marie. "You like to get stuck in, though, don't you, BC?"

This was my moment. I cleared my throat, nodded. "Yep. Like you, I'm dead keen. I mean with a girl's..." I actually attempted to mime a vagina.

The girls snorted, enjoying my discomfort. Sara, bless her, stepped in to smooth my awkwardness. "Don't let his modesty fool you. He's the best head I've ever had."

Anne-Marie blinked at us individually, as if adding us up. "Oh, so you two—"

Sara waved. "Way back, we were drunk. But he was very eager. I felt like the world's most delicious ice-cream. And..." She mimed a hard-on with a rigid forearm. "He really enjoyed it."

Anne-Marie beamed. She fluttered her eyelashes playfully. "Well you may need to go to the top of my naughty list!"

My turn to blink. Sara explained. "Anne-Marie has a slutty list of slutty boys to call on if she needs... doing."

Anne-Marie dropped her jaw. "It's not slutty! I'm just done with relationships. Fuck-buddies for me from now on."

"Or lick-buddies," I said.

Anne-Marie rolled her eyes. "In my dreams! Do you know I have five boys on my list and they're all about the fuck and suck? You are literally solo on my lick-buddy list."

I laughed rather too loud.

#

It was maybe three months later, a few weeks after Orla, that I next met Anne-Marie. In the meantime I'd done little else but whinge to Sara about women wanting me only for sex since the Fluffer thing. How I felt objectified and, in not being worth getting to know, an outsider.

A bloke like me was not common in architecture school. I found that, apart from Sara, most students seemed to judge me on my thuggy appearance and avoided me. Being six years older and six feet taller than most of them, the elegant little tossers treated me like a caveman. And this suited me fine, day to day. It was easier to scare them than to make the effort to fit in. And I am aware of how cowardly this is too. Sara told me.

But now. With this Fluffer thing? Gossip spread and the arty posh kids had something on me, something that made me less scary. They didn't call me Big Cat or BC, they called me, to my face, Fluffer, with that educated smirk that says, "I know I'm taking the piss, but you're too stupid to notice, aren't you?" To them a Fluffer was a debased menial, not the star of the show; working behind the scenes for the glory of the real stars. I was a labourer. They were the artists.

So let's just say friends were hard to come by being the only builder in a college full of architects. Girlfriends doubly so.

Sara's insightful opinion on this matter? "Get the fuck over yourself."

As usual she was right. There was no point whining. I'd found Anne-Marie after all. She was cool. I told myself, next time I met her, I was going to take Sara's advice. I would literally get over myself and make it all about her. I'd listen, and do as much as I could to please her. Delight in her dirty chuckles, console her about her selfish boyfriend. If she wanted me to do her then I'd do that, too, and it would be the best she'd ever had whether I came or not. Then maybe, Anne-Marie might see more in me than my tongue. This had worked with Fleur that time, putting her first. We'd properly found each other, even if she did decide to stay single. So I was capable of connecting with a woman outside of their knickers. I mean, take a look at Sara.

Actually, don't.

So this one morning, I was on my way back from an early shift hauling lumber around a local building site to make some extra cash. I'd showered back at the site in one of the freezing portacabins so I could go straight to college, but had forgotten my books so had to stop off at my flat anyway. And who should I find sitting on my doorstep?

Anne-Marie watched me approach, head cocked and smiling as if to say. "Yes it's really me." She was even prettier than I remembered; dressed in some fashionista autumn collection of argyle knee socks, tweed skirt and jacket over a cream French polo. On anyone else it would have looked prim and preppy, but her shaggy hair and thick black eyeliner made it look more punk-ironic than ivy-league.

Her cheeks were pink, but it wasn't that cold. She had her knees up with arms wrapped around them and if I was in any doubt as to the reason for her visit (and for a moment I had forgotten her "naughty list") she twisted her loafers at the ankle, creating a cheeky up-skirt view of a neat, be-knickered bulge. And at its pristine, white cotton epicentre, a distinct damp patch. My knees wobbled.

"I did ring," she declared as I fiddled with, and dropped my keys. "But there was no answer, so I thought, well I'll just surprise the old Fluffer!"

Jittery with anticipation, I let her in to my bright and way-too-fancy, loft-style studio. I'd moved out of the house by the sea in a rush since my flatmate's sister, Orla, had taunted her brother about our afternoon delight. This crazy-expensive luxury apartment was all I could find at short notice.

I was glad of that now, though, as I took in the double-height acreage of white-on-white surfaces through Anne-Marie's saucer-eyes. "Cool digs," she said. "Did you see the state of my knickers?"

I locked the door while she gabbled and shrugged off her jacket. "I've been so looking forward to this!" She kicked off her shoes. "You know, I was on the bus and thinking about what you would do to me when I got here, so it's kind of your fault I'm gooey down under. Where do you want me? Up here?" She skipped up the metal spiral stair that led to the mezzanine, shouting back at me. "But anyway, on the bus? These old blokes were perving at me and I suddenly thought, 'Oh no! My thoughts are so filthy that they're all over my face!' Wow nice bed! It's round!"

I followed her up with the idea of offering her tea, or something else to calm her the fuck down, but as soon as I got to the mezzanine bed area, Anne-Marie attacked. She flung her arms around my neck and half hauled me down to her level and half leapt up to mine. "Fuck!" she burst. "I need this!" She shoved her huge lips to mine and rammed her body so hard I slammed back against the balustrade and feared I might topple down into the lounge.

With her tongue wrestling me to submission on top of the chewing grind of her hips, I felt consumed from both ends. In moments her mouth would meet her hips and I would have disappeared completely between. Swallowed up.

Two opposing sides of the bed-level were walled off with mirrored wardrobes and an infinity of cavemen were attacked by an infinity of face-sucking girl-monsters. My infinite arms waved, still sore from work and unsure what to do. Luckily infinite Saras popped up. "Get the fuck over yourself, BC."

I needed to stop thinking and start listening. As if sensing my decision, Anne-Marie huffed into my ear, "Strip me and lick me please, kind Fluffer!"

Her words were a bolt of lightning through my fog. There was nothing else to worry about. A lustful woman in her sleek and perky prime, all perfect skin and filthy thoughts, wanted me to lick her to orgasm. Full stop.

I dropped to my knees.

Anne-Marie squeaked comically as I swooped my hands up her skirt, grabbed her panties and dragged them down to her knees.

"God it's been forever," she said as I yanked her skirt up over her waist. "You've no— Oh!"

I clutched her bare buttocks, pulled her trimmed tuft to my face, and nuzzled a firm kiss up into the yielding smoothness beneath. I nipped lips at her bulbous hood, and she grunted and shoved out her hips, holding up the skirt to watch me as I planted more kisses around her swelling spot. She shivered. This was not going to take long.

She leaned her shoulders back against a mirrored door and rocked her hips into my kissing, hot against my chilly lips, encouraging me between hers. I dipped my tongue into her slot and slid it up along her groove, unzipping her thick labia. In one lick I was already slick with her juices. I slooped them over her hood and when we moaned in unison, Anne-Marie tittered.

As ever, it was over too soon. I was just getting into the slip of our lips, and her pliable nub on my tongue, when her pussy spasmed back at me like a little kiss and my heart sank. She juddered. I flickered lightly at her clit. And braced myself.

She arched onto tiptoes, cupped my head and pulled it hard to her, quaking and muttering. Her eyes screwed shut. "Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes—Yesssss!" And she frothed over, squawked, danced on her toes, then flopped back against the mirrored wardrobe.

I snuffled at her until her twitches ebbed, then sat back to let her calm down. She'd be too sensitive after her orgasm and I was dead proud of myself for knowing that.

Ann-Marie scowled and unfastened her skirt. "Don't stop now." With a practiced sweep she unwrapped it and spun to present her ample bottom. Then she bent double, feet wide, bracing herself on her knees. "Do me again." With her knickers stretched between her legs she looked like a porno letter A. She jiggled. "Please."

Marvelling at how I could never anticipate a woman, and happy for the fact, I buried my face under her bum cheeks.

After her quickie climax, I settled in for the long-haul. This was going to take a delightful age. I relished the marshmallow puffiness of her lips against mine with long luxurious kisses. Probed her soaked hole as if drinking my fill from a pool that only got wetter and teased my juice-silky tongue around and around her clitoris.

Anne-Marie sighed, so forcefully it almost sounded exasperated. She wriggled her knickers off and planted her feet wider. She cursed, reached around and spread her lips, forcing her swollen clit out and -- I took a moment to revel in this -- opening her bubbling hole. The girl was slavering. From me! I fucking ruled at this. I was going to make her next orgasm last all—

"Fucksake." She stamped her foot, wobbling her bottom and setting loops of juices aquiver. "Just... just do me!" She shoved me onto my back and squatted on my mouth.

I put my ego away, sucked her clit and flip-flapped at it just like teacher taught me.

"Goodness," she said to her reflection. "That looks... so fucking... dirty..." Then she puffed twice and screeched. She swore and clawed at her bottom and thighs, then ground down hard onto my head.

I kept my pace steady while she shuddered, until she finally emitted a wicked and deep, "Tee hee" and regarded infinite slobbery pussies wipe all over my face. Only then did she cover her mound and lift shakily off me.

"Out... fucking... standing." She sighed, cheeks mottled and stirring her hands at her bits with shivery aftershocks. She flopped back against the wall again and slid down it, eyes closed, a dreamy smile beaming from behind her messy hair.

I hadn't even taken my coat off.

When she roused and found me standing over her, she pulled back her hair and glittered at my still clothed body. "Enjoy that?" she croaked.

I unfastened my trousers and dropped them with my shorts. My cock was hard enough to hammer nails and entirely filled the studio. Well, it filled her eyes anyway.

Anne-Marie peered at my erection with a bitten back smirk. "Mm-hmm," she whispered.

I pulled my jumper off over my head, and kicked all my clothes away. Naked and pumped after all my morning's work -- from lugging to licking -- I stood before her, veiny and ready to burst. Anne-Marie stretched slinkily.

"Interesting body language." She rolled forward onto her knees. "I wonder what you're after, hmm?"

I stepped forward into the smouldering heat of her coal-rimmed, shamelessly hungry stare.

"Oh all right then." She ran tickling fingertips down the grooves of my stomach, then under my cock, making it jump. The tip of her tongue traced her lips. "I guess you earned it."

She pressed an achingly soft, pillowy kiss to my rigid bulb, and my cock walloped her on the nose. She sniggered, and gripped me so she could kiss me again, then run a flat lick up my length. She cut a quick glance up at me with a sizzling, feigned innocence that has seen me through many a long, cold night since, and then sank her head over my cock.

Her mouth was luscious, wet and warm; her gentle sucking made even more compelling by a throaty purr, and the slow pull of her hands. I hadn't been sucked since Mme Jolie and that was months before and was also, to be honest, a little weird.

Anne-Marie gasped off, watching her small, soft hands rub my veiny club. "Excellent penis," she whispered and sucked me back into her. My knees trembled and I rumbled at our reflected chain of kneeling, knickerless girls nodding at the hips of lumpen brutes. She didn't even notice. She picked up her pace, her hums turning into little grunts, and sucked my whole body in and out of her with every bob of her head.

Mercifully she took another break, blowing strands of hair from her face and jerking briskly. I clenched my fists.

"Any second now!" she said, and burrowed a kiss to my balls. She whispered huskily to them, "I'm gonna suck you dry, lucky boys."

I groaned and she wanked me against paddy kisses, giggling. Her eyes sparkled up at me again as if daring me to cum all over those magnificent lips. A warning pulse fluttered behind my balls and had me staggering, legs all but powerless. Anne-Marie yelped and gripped my ass.

"He's gonna blow! Quick! Sit down!" She shoved me onto the edge of my stupidly over-scaled, stupidly circular bed, and dropped between my knees.

"You having fun?" she said to my cock. She slowed herself down, clearly enjoying her power over me and moved both hands in hard, luxuriant strokes that squeezed pre-cum out of my tip. Mesmerised, she watched it spill. "Fuck look at that," she whispered. "Whatever's got you in such a state?" She plucked her lips in a soft, slow kiss to the drop, then licked them, glinting at me.

She sent more cat-laps up and down from balls to tip, a sensation doubled in intensity by her reflected naked bottom and plump, glossy lips nestled beneath. She caught my eye, then our reflection, and chuckled hot breath over my balls. She swung her knees open. "If you don't cum soon," she said. "I will."

She shivered and I realised she wasn't saying this for my benefit. Her fingers appeared in the mirror, reaching under and between her legs, tickling along her groove, and then sliding knuckle deep into her.

My mission snapped back into clarity. How was this listening to what Anne-Marie wanted? How was it focussing on her pleasure? I couldn't just cum and leave her still wanting. And it seemed even more selfish to just let her do herself. That was something her bastard boyfriend might do, in fact.

So just as she nodded to take me into her again, I caught her face, and curled over to kiss her.

She whimpered; her tongue just as eager in my mouth as it'd been on my cock. I leant back, leading her up to sit astride my lap, and nudged my hips between her thighs. My head spun with the sense of doing exactly the right thing.

She pulled away from our kiss, eyes darting between mine as if trying to read the small print. She cupped my face. "You sure?" She kissed me again. "I madly need a fuck. Are you sure you're sure?" Another kiss and I felt more like a boyfriend than a fuck-buddy. But the jumper and the socks said different. The silky wool of her jumper felt like connection-proof armour under my palms. Between this and her socks she was all protected, but for the needy bits between her legs.