Pussy-Licer: Cunt-Lic County

Another sleepy dusty delta day, on the back-ways heading south. Slumped down in the shade by the roadside, smoking my last fat joint, sparks of ecstasy fizz and glow in intoxicating haze. Incandescent molecules ripping comet-trails through my brain. And a patrol car. Wait. Watch its trail of billowing dust as it circles, fishtails in, slows to a stop. She slides out and struts across towards me as I reluctantly stub out the incriminating roach. 'What you doing boy?'

'Not a lot, officer, no great thing.'

'Where you heading boy?'

'No particular place to go, Officer Lady. New Orleans, I guess.'

'Where you reckon on sleeping?'

'The earth my pillow. The sky my blanket. I sleep with the moon and stars.'

'We got laws concerning vagrancy hereabouts. On your feet.'

Slumping up. This encounter is turning dubious. Best to be compliant. She looks me up and down. I'm no good at that age guessing-game, always get it wrong and upset the wrong people. So whatever you guess, deduct a decade. It's the tactful thing to do. She's maybe forty, so we'll round it down to the wrong side of thirty. Dark tangled hair beneath the uniform hat. A pouting sneer like she's found something she wants to kick. But she's got holstered side-arms. A swagger in her walk, a sassiness in her talk that brooks no argument.

'Strip.'

'Like... what? Pray sweet Officer, did I hear you to rights?'

I shrug my grubby Dr John T-shirt up over my head and drop it to heat-crumbled asphalt. Kick my sandals free of their Velcro straps. Hesitate. Look her in the eye. Can this be serious? A full all-points strip-search out here. What does she think I'm carrying. I unbuckle my belt. Go for it. Ain't freedom just another word for nothing left to lose? I got nothing. So I shuck my pants down to my knees, then let them drop around my ankles, stepping out of them as if from a muddy puddle. Straighten up slow, bare-ass naked. Let her see. Let her eyes take the full anatomical cruise, here and there, up and down.

She approaches me. I tense up, not sure what to expect. She nudges my hands behind me, loosely clasped. Next thing I know she's snapping cuffs onto my wrists.

'Lie down, on the dirt, on your back.' It's not easy when your hands are fixed behind you. Conscious of the way my cock is lolloping across my gut. The way she's watching with an amused sneer. The highway-surface is warm all the way up my bare skin. What now? Now goes from a starting crazy all the way further. She's unbuckling her own pants. Sliding them smoothly down and off. No pause, no hesitation. 'You got a sweet tongue boy. Let's see just how good you can really use it.'

Straddling my head. Oh shit! I can see clear up those law-officer legs all the way to that hairy law-officer snatch. Swallowing hard. Can't believe what's happening. She's crouching down, bending her knees with unexpected grace, her not-inconsiderable bulk descending, those gaping pussy-lips closing towards my face. Surely this treatment exceeds the limits of her constitutional remit? I move my head away, but her thighs slam in tight, trapping me, forcing herself down onto me. The sour odour flooding me.

'C'mon boy, you know how to please a lady? Sure you do.' I guess that if this gets me off a vagrancy ticket... I extend my tongue tentatively, squirm the tip up into those dripping-moist folds. She tastes of vinegar and sweat. I ease my tongue in a little further. I mean, I've been around in my time, I'm no virgin at this. I've kissed and loved sweet pussy... but never like this. Never so raw. And she doesn't give me chance to work in gradually, no sooner has my tongue slipped in between those loose lips, than she rams herself down onto me, crushing my face into her, and begins fucking herself up and down on me hard. I'm gasping and groaning, suffocating in pubic hair and the wet pussy-wine that's painting me, smearing across my nose and chin.

She's grunting deep in her throat, thrusting hips harder and faster into my face as I try to gasp breaths, my tongue flat up against the squirming flesh I'm drowning in. My nose pressed into her engorged clit, she rubs herself on me, convulsing, her breaths coming faster, like she's having a seizure. Helplessly my tongue is swallowed by her voracious cunt-mouth, I'm whimpering in a rage of sensation.

Then she cums, shouting out loud in climaxing spasms, a spurting gush of liquid deluging me, a slurping sound, I'm submerged in her twitching pulsing convulsing maw, sending sympathetic shockwaves through my trapped face. She sits there as the quivering slowly subsides. I take a few licks, as much to clear my face as anything else, and she laughs. 'I can tell you enjoy that' her thick lips leering. And it's true, despite myself, I'm achingly erect, as she can clearly see.

She's in no hurry to get up. Undulates her thighs, rippling her wet gash up and down my trapped face in long slow slithers, exhaling in pleasure. Before she eventually stands, pulling her uniform pants back up. When she looks down at me I feel curiously self-conscious, she reaches out with her booted-foot to stir my erection, nudging it playfully from side to side across my gut with an expression of absolute control. The sole of her boot applies increasing pressure on my balls, massaging with cruel intensity until I'm red-faced with tension. She has me completely under her power. Squinting up at her, all I see is a captor's triumph.

'Right, into the car. Do it.' I stumble up. I thought after what's just taken place she'd release me. That I'd paid my dues for whatever obscure by-law I've maybe unwittingly transgressed.

'My clothes' I protest.

'You won't need them where you're going.' Although she scoots them up and tosses them in an untidy pile in the back of the squad-car. Pressing my head down as I squat into the rear seat. Naked and confused. I can smell her vaginal odours on my face. Taste her pussy on my tongue. A recalcitrant strand of wiry pubic hair trapped between my front teeth, which refuses to get dislodged. My mind spinning in mixed-up confusion. She kicks the motor into life and accelerates away at breathtaking speed, speaking into her com, although I can't pick up any coherent words.

I relax back into the upholstery as best I can. It's hot and sticky up against my bare skin, and it's difficult to find a comfortable position with my hands cuffed behind me. We travel down a considerable way beside the bayou, greenery and wetland flashing past. The road a glowing snaking endless ribbon which the car devours. Until we pull into a one-street town, like stepping back in time, a lazy antebellum realm, a lost Acadian community. 'Bright lights, big city. Huh!' A one-horse town - except it's not even a horse clip-clopping between the shafts of the kind of antique buckboard I last saw in a TV Western, it's two muscular men hauling and straining. Nosing down the main street, at every bump of the uneven surface the squad-car shakes and rattles. The sound makes some of the locals look up and idly watch us pass. They resemble extras in a hard-times remake of 'Grapes Of Wrath'.

I'm thinking, for no particular reason, of Mrs Robinowitz. I was graduating from college, she was twenty years older than me, one of my mother's ladies who lunch. Her husband has sleazy affairs all over Manhattan, with his junior interns and any pair of cute parted legs he can access. So she decides revenge should be served hot and throbbing. It's like a movie. She's my 'Mrs Robinson', sophisticated in ways I never even suspect possible. A dark-haired temptress of sensual appetites. I'm her eager pupil. She teaches me everything there is to know about matters of love, and ways to please the female anatomy. The technique of smoothly un-catching bra fastenings, and unhooking stockings from suspender belts. Other guys at college complain their girlfriends won't give them blowjobs. I stay silent, because she's sucking me off with ravenously skilled frequency.

As she tutors me in the oral-sex art of licking my way down from the pouting pudental cleft of her delectable pussy, ways to gently nip the labia minora lips with my teeth, to tease little circles around that delicious clitoral morsel before flicking it with my tongue-tip, co-ordinating tongue and fingers, using my lips to press around it as I use my tongue more firmly. Again and again, until I do it to her requirements. Not so much love, as fascination. Besotted by her. Until I discover she's also using the Hispanic pool-boy, who has a bigger cock than me. So long ago, so far away now...

Oh Mrs Robinowitz, you took this pasty-faced nineteen-year-old by the hand, and by the cock, and you made me a man. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I'm forever grateful.

A reception desk. Charts on the wall, but too localised to make out any detail other than contour lines. Community Notices. No 'Wanted' bills. A passive well-ordered town. The arresting officer, I overhear, is Sheryl. The desk-jockey is Emmylou, a smiley blonde matron built more for comfort than speed. Then I'm in a windowless holding cell. A girl who looks to be native American brings a drink and a burger. I tell her 'I'm just a lonely boy, lonely and blue, I'm all alone, with nothing to do.' And she smiles so sweetly it melts me. I ask her where the hell we are.

She says 'you've stepped off the map. This is Cunt-Lick County. Things are different here.'

I look at her, not sure if she's sending me up. 'Do I get my phone call?'

'No wifi here. Something to do with the ring-mountains. You could mail a letter.' And she's gone.

Sleeping is not easy. But I guess I've slept in worse places. Waking with dawn, the sun burns my eyelids red and warms my skin, as I'm herded into the back of a pick-up truck, still naked, with three other naked shackled men. A bony unshaven oldster, dull and silent, a gangling vacant youth, a grey middle-ager with a slack gut hung over shrivelled genitals, they seem cowed, beaten. They don't answer, even when I speak directly to them. Two female cops - Sheryl and Emmylou, get into the cab, and we accelerate away, out of town, off the road, and onto dirt tracks leading their way deeper into the everglades. The track curves and winds under and around tall gaunt trees, tangled foliage framed black against clear sky.

Pulling in where the carnal odour of Spanish moss oozes from the bayou's core, we're hustled out and armed with shovels. 'This is where you get to pay your debt to society with a little community labour' Sheryl laughs, shotgun held loosely. The others seem to know what's expected of them, so I follow their shambling path into the scummy water up to my knees and across to where the levee is in need of shoring up, repairing erosion or storm damage. It's hard physical work, dirty too. I'm scared of leeches, turtles and whatever other weird snappers lurk in the weeds. Strange bird-calls whoop from the tree-tops, and flying bugs drone with bloodsucking intent. There are dragonflies as big as swallows. But the two women sit casually on a fallen log, watching us, as an SUV arrives, with a third cop and the native American girl who carries a hamper and chilled beers.

Eventually, Sheryl yells for me, and beckons, a predatory glint in her eyes. As I move to comply, dripping foul trickling bayou-water, I see that she's standing to remove her panties. I know what to expect. She sits back on the log, her legs parted, and simply snaps her fingers at me. Emmylou watches with an amused smile as I dutifully go down into a dog-crouch and nuzzle in between the open legs, seeking pussy. I can smell her genital-juices. My skin already flinching-hot and tingling, my throat dry with anticipation. Moist tongue extending, creeping forward between my teeth, its tip running up and down the full parted lips, slithering into the succulent moistness. There's a pulse thumping in my ears. This time she allows me to work at my own pace. Her breathing turns into a succession of moans as I begin licking and lapping, each moan louder than the one before, and she's tossing her head from side to side.

'He's good?' says Emmylou, shrugging her own underwear down and off.

'Sure. You wanna try him?' And I pad around on all fours like a hungry sex-beast in between new legs and begin licking up into her velvet gash framed by a bush of silky golden hair. She shakes and trembles as I'm gulping into her, choking on the thick overwhelming aroma of body-sweat and vaginal-juices. She's breathing fast through open mouth, obviously approaching orgasm already. I imagine her eyes closing, eyelids fluttering. Sheryl watches my head delving into the open crotch as she fingers her own wetness. Despite myself I'm fiercely aroused, a slavering animal drunk on the fecund perfume of female, my hard cock bobbing and swaying as my head squirms and wriggles deeper into fleshy weeping wetness. Her excitement builds, grabbing my head in her firm hands, knotting her fingers into my hair, and pushing my mouth down into her. I can hear the muffled gasping of her lungs, the heavy thudding of her heart pulsing blood. The third cop - Dinah, has joined the weird tableaux, sneering down at the erotic spectacle we present, while the girl hands out chilled beer to the three older women, then hangs back uncertainly.

'Hell, I'm getting me some of that' snorts Dinah after less than a moment's consideration, pulling her uniform pants down and off, and lying on her back on the grass. With a sense of inevitability I transfer my oral attentions to the third pussy. But as I'm teasing my tongue into the juicy orifice I catch an unexpected side-glimpse of Sheryl cooing 'White Dove, over here child'. The Indian girl gracefully slips off her doeskin dress, and crouches delectably naked between Sheryl's legs and resumes the pussy-licking that I'd begun. I'm numb, nothing shocks or surprises me here any more.

Diligently ignoring what's going on, the other three male prisoners toil at the levee wall, building and strengthening the flood-defences, as my mouth is flooded with tides of pussy-juice. Dinah trembles, to the squelching sound of wet slurping, heavy breathing, and gasping groans. Shaking with the raw rage of sexual passion ripping through her body, she clamps her legs around my head, pressing me down into the oozing convulsing softness, her thighs twisting and bucking around and beneath me, screaming as orgasm hits her. I'm lightheaded, as if submerging underwater and I'm breathing through gills. My heart pulsing sounds into my ears. It seems to go on forever, until the final throb, and she relaxes back onto the grass breathing more easily.

Without being told I slither around to finish Emmylou, but as my face descends into the gaping gash I catch White Dove's dark brown eyes as she licks Sheryl, and I swear she's smiling at me, as we lap in unison, crouched side by side. It's undeniably erotic matching my cunnilingus to hers in dripping slathering cunt-licking lust. The two older cops grunting and moaning, their twitching spasming hips making thrusting fucking motions, Emmylou pushing into my mouth, Sheryl into hers. The joint orgasm is a tremendous convulsion of fleshy power.

I relax back a little. Teasing my tongue in little squiggling swirls around the swollen clitoris, until she laughs and pushes me away so I sprawl onto my back.

'See that disgusting arousal' says Sheryl, pointing at my dribbling erection, 'see to that will you, White Dove? You enjoy that kind of thing.'

'I just love the twisted way your mind works, Sheryl' guffaws Emmylou.

And the naked girl complies so beautifully it takes my breath away. I'm lying on my back. She moves over me into the sixty-nine position, sliding the smoothness of her almost-hairless groin across my face, and in around me, I can feel the ripple of her long raven hair cascading over my thighs as her cool slender fingers encircle my aching cock and heft it up... taking the pulsing glans in between her lips and deep into the warmth of her mouth. My hands curve up to encircle her, clasping the roundness of her bottom and drawing her down so I can lick that sweet little pussy.

Some insensitive men say all vaginas are alike. They know nothing. Each woman is different, in taste, form, reactions. Sheryl dark and loose with plump pussy-lips. Emmylou blonde and voracious. Dinah tasting fleshy and rich. While White Dove is as coy and delicate as a mouse's ear. She's a delight, a joy. Despite the slick rawness of my well-used tongue, wriggling into the folds of her vagina shocks warm pulses of pleasure through my body, matching the rage of sensation as she begins sucking hungrily on my cock. I'm oblivious to the three men working in the bayou. I'm oblivious to the three women watching us. My universe contracts down to the single point of her delicious little cunt... and the pulse of my cock lodged in her throat.

It can't last long, I'm so fired up. I can feel the tingling begin at the base of my spine, my balls contracting, my cock swelling and expanding up against the palette of her mouth. She forces her hips down into my face in exquisite orgasm, but unexpectedly lifts her head at the last moment so that when I cum explosively the white spurts jet up in dribbling streams across my heaving stomach. So our audience can see, for their benefit. I lie back, befuddled, near passing out with the intensity of it all. She sits over me, arching her back as she kisses and licks the messy head of my cock...

Lewd and raucous, Sheryl, Emmylou and Dinah are laughing out loud at the naked entwined spectacle we must present. I no longer care. I'm way too far gone. High on the post-orgasmic afterglow washing through me, drifting in a half-dream delirium. Images of Mrs Robinowitz bending over me, smoothing my hair encouragingly, saying 'Good Boy. You're getting better at it. Rest awhile, then we'll begin again... begin again... begin again...' I breathe in, feeling clean air rush down my throat like moonshine.

Later, driving back into town, I'm more aware, taking note of things I'd not observed before. The way blank-faced men walk three paces behind their women, dummies with slouched defeated gait. Two women approach from opposite ends of main street, their men ambling ungainly behind them, be-strung with bags and packages. The women meet outside the café and begin talking, the men wait in dumb acceptance. The women sit in porch-chairs at a low table and order, spreading their legs. Obediently the men go down... to the opposite woman, as if a common courtesy, in beneath the table, in beneath the dresses, licking and lapping, as the women gossip, sip lattes and nibble beignets, with only the slight facial pleasure-wince to indicate the oral sex going on below. There's a skin-crawling strangeness to its weird normality.

I mean, you get no argument from me. I've always considered female the superior gender. Males the hunters, users, up-setters of the natural balance. Women the creators, nurturers, lovers. But this is simply bizarre.

That same night White Dove visits me in the holding cell. I'm trying to sleep. Just drifting off into an uneasy doze when she separates ghostlike from the shadows. I watch her in that curious state of drowsy half-awareness. She unfastens the lock. Throws my clothes inside at me. It's only when they hit my skin that I realise it's real, not some dream.

'Get dressed. You don't belong here' she whispers. 'You're not like the rest of them. You're a tiger among zombie-sheep.'

I dress so hurriedly I near lose balance and fall over. She leads me past the unoccupied reception desk, out onto the street. The moon is high and full. The night filled with the croaking of frogs, the sound of wind in the trees. An owl hooting. A lone coyote howls in the far distance. She leads me. I follow. Up the wooded gradient sloping its way above the town. The higher we get, the more distant and insignificant the community looks.