Sugarbee

What was I going to do with my life? That was the big question at nineteen. I would start college in the Fall, and I had no idea. My parents were in the midst of a nasty divorce, my sister had gotten married to a jack ass that treated her like a dog. My friends had gone off to college, or taken off to backpack around Europe. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. My parents, as involves as they were in their own drama, seemed to understand. We could not afford tickets to Europe, or ski trips to Colorado, but my dad had gone to college with a guy he considered an old friend named Richard. This old friend owned a very successful horse ranch in Montana and during the Summer he was always looking for people with riding experience to help out with this or that. I had been riding horses since I was eight, so that was easy enough. I could have a Summer job, have some time away from the screaming and yelling in the house, and figure out what I wanted to do in college.

It was all set. My dad had talked to Richard, and I would be taking a plane to Montana where Richard would pick me up and drive me to the ranch where I would live for three months.

It was only a week before I decided to seduce Richard. It did not take much. I slipped into his bedroom one night and kissed him. I heard him growl out the words,

"I was dreamin' about you, honey. You sure you want to give me all that sweet sugar? You can only give it away once, baby-girl... so you be sure."

I was sure.

Richard was the most incredible lover I have ever had. He had no inhibitions, no hang ups, no embarrassment at all about sex. For a lot of people, sex needs to be a sexy music video, a love scene from a romantic movie or some kind of arbitrary gymnastics routine, something cliche. For Richard, sex was simply joyous. He was the most generous lover- and had a pattern; he always got me off three times before he even started to please himself. He loved licking pussy. He called it that- "licking pussy" and he refused to call it "oral sex, cunnilingus or going down." No, for him, it was licking pussy, sucking pussy, eating pussy. But really, what Richard did could be called worshiping pussy. He would lick my pussy like it was his only nourishment until I came on his face. He loved that, lapping it up and sucking the juices out of me as I came. He would talk to me between licks and sucks, saying the dirtiest things that made me turn heated red,

"Give me that fucking honey, Sugarbee... that's my girl, sweet, thick cream... come on my lips... fuck yeah... love your pretty pussy... can you give me a squirt, baby?... fuck yes, babygirl, squirt that honey in my mouth..."

He was the only lover I ever had who could make me squirt. I was so embarrassed when it happened- this stream of fluid shooting out of my pussy... I thought for a moment I had peed on myself, but it was not urine at all. It wasn't even come. It was clear, and thinner than the cream that slicked down my thighs. I was horrified when it happened the first time, but he laughed, bucking his cock into my cunt and encouraging me with his dirty words,

"That's beautiful, babygirl... that's it, Sugarbee, let that pretty pussy squirt..."

I did not do it every time with him, but maybe a half a dozen times. Every time, he loved it, bucking and fucking me, and twice he pulled his cock out when I started to squirt and he- much to my absolute horror- drank it from me.

He was an elegant barbarian. A highly educated cowboy. He had grown up on a horse ranch in Montana. Six foot two, all sinew and sharp angles. His face was rough with age and character. His eyes ice blue and a beautiful contrast to his shaggy black hair. He was not a beautiful man by any means, but he was infinitely appealing. He wore black usually, jeans and a button up shirt that seemed to always be careless. Brown leather boots. Stetson hat. On anyone else it might have seemed a costume. Not on him. I always got warm shivers from his butterscotch voice. He could be romantic when he felt like it- or when I wanted it. He read books to me. He would lay a blanket out on the soft grass and we would lay naked as he read to me. We played games. He would have me read poetry from a book while he sucked my pussy. If I skipped a word or lost my composure, he would start over until it became an exquisite torture. He loved to make love and fuck outdoors. He would lay a quilt down in the blazing sun and take me there, pounding his cock into me until I came with such loud screams I worried people would hear us, though the nearest house was half a mile away.

As intense as sex was with Richard, he was often playful. He laughed during sex, shouted out whatever he felt like and always asked, "Does that feel good, Sugarbee?"

Sometimes I would say,

"It's alright, but if you like it, then I want you to do it."

"Nah, c'mon Sugarbee, turn over, we gotta get that pussy feelin' right!"

He made me feel so good that I would have done anything to make him happy. I sucked his cock, deliciously thick and long, every chance I got. The first time I sucked his cock, he took a cup full of honey and drizzled it over the velvet flesh. I had never sucked a cock before. He drenched his thick cock with honey and gently guided my head toward him, sliding the fat erection into my mouth.

"Just suck it like a lollipop, babygirl... just like candy... oh yeah you're so sweet... lick that honey..."

He almost never came in my mouth. The first time that he did, we both discovered I have a very sensitive gag reflex and I would choke on the semen... not the sexy porn video kind of choke either, but the kind of choke that went on fir several minutes. So he just stopped doing it. He preferred to come on my tits if he was not already in my pussy. At the age of nineteen, I had the kind of tits that quite literally stopped traffic. Big, pale, fleshy D cup tits with dusky rose colored nipples exactly the size of half dollars. My tits were full and despite their large size, sat up high on my chest- a nineteen year old's defiance of gravity. I was told once by an old pervert that I had tits like milky loaves of bread- the kind you wanted to bite into. Richard would bury his face between my breasts, bounce them, kiss them, lick them, suck them, pinch them and bite them. He sucked at my nipples as if he might drink milk from them. He would suck for so long that when our fucking was done, my nipples were sore and swollen, and then he would softly lick them to kiss the hurt away. I loved this more than anything- this tit sucking. I loved the way he sucked and tugged upward, lifting and letting the nipple drop out of his mouth with a tight "pop." Sometimes he massaged slick wet oil that tasted like chocolate mint or vanilla cream on my breasts to keep them slick for his little sucking torments. When he did not have these things, he spit on them and spread the saliva with his thumbs.

Always his voice- dark and gravelly, accented by rough country that was something like Southern but more Earthy- always his voice urging me on. The slurping wet sucking sounds only interrupted by,

"This feel good, Sugarbee?"

And my shy nineteen year old voice fighting to make a sound,

"Yes... feels... so good..."

"Gonna take you outside and fuck you in the sunshine... it's so fucking good in the sunshine..."

And he would lift me up as if it were nothing to lift me, always laughing at my jolting surprise. He would toss me over his shoulder and finger my asshole as he walked outside. He did this as if it were nothing to do it, as if he were carrying a sack of laundry. He would sometimes whistle songs or playfully spank my bottom, then he would find a place to lay me down in the sunshine, then give my thigh a little slap and say,

"Lemme see how wet your pretty pussy is... dripping wet, that's my Sugarbee... just like a little honeybee... slick, pink little pussy nice and ready for a hard fuck... you want me to fuck you hard?"

I would always struggle to find a voice, something to indicate a 'yes. Oh God, yes, please!' Sometimes I could only grip his arms and beg silently. He always knew what I wanted. If I wanted a hard, brutal fuck, he knew it. If I wanted sweetness and roses, he knew it. He always took me completely. Nothing was ever held back. There was not a pleasure he would not give me and he made this known to me. I told him once,

"You don't have to... you know... lick me... there, if you don't want to." I said when he was sucking at my clit.

The sucking sounds, the wetness, it all embarrassed me. I have always been able to get wetter than the average woman, and at age nineteen, having only been with Richard, I thought this abundance of wet was something to be ashamed of. My teenage brain could not fathom how anyone would actually enjoy doing that particular act. It felt sublime, but I assumed he was only doing it for my benefit, and I did not like the idea of that- it seemed selfish. He looked up at me from under dark black lashes, his steel blue gaze smoldering. A wicked grin played on his lips and I could see my own wetness glistening on his mouth.

"I'm gonna teach you something about life, Sugarbee, and you listen real careful..." he then proceeded to talk between licks and little sucking motions against my clit. He nipped and bit at my pussy lips, spreading me apart with his thumbs and darting his tongue expertly against the soft flesh. "There is nothing... I mean absolutely nothing... more delicious than this fresh... juicy... tight... teenage pussy... whatever little boys might whine about licking pussy... don't let those bastards anywhere near this... they don't deserve this... this sweet honey... don't let 'em have it... save this sweetness for real men that know what a gift this is... a beautiful young girl... hot and ready... nipples swollen from sucking... mouth bruised from kissing... sweet, tight cunt ready to suck in a man's cock into that hairy little fold and fuck him till he's seen Heaven... you understand this... you're a fucking Goddess... you know that and you own it, and never, ever let any man up in this pussy that doesn't know that..."

Then he pressed his whole face hard against my wet pussy and he inhaled, moving his face in a circle as if trying to inhale all of me. He sucked up my pussy lips and then released the flesh with a popping sound. I came on his lips, the orgasm so intense that it made me dizzy for a few minutes afterward. He laughed joyously at this, "that's my girl, my babygirl!"

When I thought I could not come anymore, he lifted me up again, putting me on my hands and knees as easy as a rag-doll, and he fucked me until I came again, wildly moaning and yelping with abandon. He fucked like a wildman, and sometimes when my pussy was sore from his wild bucking, he would slick up his fingers with lubricant and finger my asshole until I was ready to take his cock that way. He was gentler this way. His cock was thick and long and if he thrust hard into my asshole, it hurt too much, so he was slow and easy, pistoning in and out of the impossibly tight hole until he came with a loud shudder, the thick cream of his sperm leaking out of my ass and pussy and down my thighs.

When it was messy and rough like this, he would pick me up again, this time in his arms, against his chest, my arms around his neck, and he would carry me into the bathroom. He always sat on the edge of the old claw-foot tub, with me on his lap, and ran the bathwater steaming hot. He was so achingly gentle during these moments- the way he sat me down in the bathwater, the way he poured a pitcher of water over my skin and hair, careful not to get soap in my eyes. He bathed me, washing me as if I were a precious thing. His touch at once gentle and firm. He would part my legs in the water and delicately wash my pussy with a soft cloth, and when I had been so fucked that my pussy and asshole were sore, he would have me stand up with one leg on the edge of the tub, and he would coat his fingertips with a soothing oil that he rubbed into the delicate flesh. The touch was achingly good. Sometimes I begged him to fuck me again, even though I was so sore it hurt to sit down. He would never say anything during these bathings. He would simple look up at me with those amazing eyes and a half smile, and he would place a single kiss on each of my nipples, or he would part my cunt lips with careful fingertips and give one little kissing lick to my clit. I ached for him.

When the Summer ended, I returned home to California, to a new life of college and living on my own. There were boys. I call them boys- not men- because they were nothing like men. Boys, with their football games, their fumblings in the back seats of borrowed cars, their hands clumsily squeezing my breasts. A few minutes of touching and kissing and then inevitably they stood up in front of me with their dicks ready for sucking. They assumed this was part of my obligation to them. I would say something like "kiss me here too" with my fingers between my legs. Always the same answers, 'I don't go down there... if my boys found out..."

It ended there, always. They would get no further with me. I remembered what Richard told me. I learned my own power from Richard. I had never felt that I had any sexual power as a woman. I had believed that women did as men expected them to in the bedroom, and every story I had heard my girlfriends tell me was of disappointment and obligation. Richard showed me only joy and celebration. He was pagan in his lust and his wildness. I spent four years in college, all the while planning to someday go back to that horse ranch in Montana, to be beautifully fucked and completely taken as only he could take me. When I graduated, I decided to take a trip and surprise him. I took a plane to the little airport a two hour drive from the ranch. I rented a car and drove out to that beautiful land of butterflies and birds, and endlessly promising lust. I wore a sundress with no panties underneath. I put on red lipstick, imagining it smeared across my face from his hands holding my face as he fucked me. I walked up the steps of that log cabin porch and knocked on the door.

He answered, as roughly delicious as he ever was. There were no words spoken. I threw my arms around him and kissed him, taking his hand and guiding it up my skirt to my bare, freshly shaved pussy, already wet with juices. But to my surprise, he only allowed himself to enjoy this for a moment before he gently pushed me away with an apologetic smile. I was confused, exasperated from excitement.

"Honey, is somebody at the door?" A voice called from somewhere deep in the house. A woman's voice. My heart began to sink. Then... the sound of a baby crying and the sound of a mother's soothing words to quiet the child.

I could have died right then. I thought I might sink into the ground. I might just cease to exist. I looked at his hand- a wedding band. He was married now. I had waited too long. He looked at me sympathetically and with the lightness of a feather, he tilted my chin up and placed a simple, chaste kiss on my lips, then my forehead. The door closed slowly... and he was gone. I walked like a zombie to the car and drove away, the Summer sun blazing through the windshield. I found a roadside tavern to drink in that night- not something I usually did, but I needed to drown my sorrows. I found the company of a bartender with callused hands who took me behind the bar when no one was there and fucked me good enough to satisfy me. He tried to just shove his cock into me, but I grabbed his dark blond pony tail and stared him right in the eyes,

"Not yet, big guy... you put me up on this bar and lick my pussy. I want you to suck the honey out of my pussy until I come on your beard. I want my juice to drip off your lips. Then, when you satisfy me, then you can fuck me."

His eyes widened. Later, when we were finished and he was stuffing his fat, stubby cock back into his pants, he admitted that he had never heard a woman talk like that before, and that he liked it. He asked me my name, because I had not given it before. I told him something of a lie- Anna, Denise, Lorie... something normal. Forgettable. He begged me for my phone number.

"You're hotter than a junebug on an electric fence, girl...'aint never had a fuck that good..."

I left him with a smile and my phone number scribbled on a cocktail napkin. I was done with boys. I wanted men, only men, from now on. I knew my power. I owned myself. Though Richard now belonged to someone else, I had him to thank for that.