"So, Tye," I went on, "I had a great day, shopping. Got lots of things for us...well, for me, to use on you. Kathy slept on the way back. As much as she cleaned herself off, semen kept drooling out of her as we came back here. I had to stop the car and towel her off twice. Whoever those guys were (wink, wink) they came something fierce, loads and loads."
"Then, since you were still asleep, I changed clothes--into some old stuff--and went out to do some gardening."
Tye blinked, twice. Then once more. And said the only thing he could, under the circumstances: "Uh, Chaz, those aren't your gardening clothes. Those are your everyday good stuff, from last month."
"Oh, yeah, now I remember. Can I have your pocket knife?"
He handed it over, with raised eyebrows.
Starting at the neck line, and taking my time, I cut off my old outfit, from neck to ankle, including the panties, bra and half slip. I shrugged out of the newly-created rags, and posed before him. I smelled like light perfume, a little sweat, mild odor of semen, and girl-scent. The black cupless bra offset the light tanned pale skin. The crotchless pantyhose framed my bare hips, butt, ass and love opening.
And that opening was now half-shaved, with the sensual vaginal lips bare to the world--and to him--and with my remaining fur just above my slit. Just enough of it for decoration and 'bounce'. I didn't worry about the shaved area: there was gonna be enough slippery girl-goo there for any four women. I slipped my feet into 4" heels, and pressed my twat into his face!
"Lick my clit," I ordered him roughly. "Carry me over to the picture window and open the cranks on the sides. Spread my pussy open to the sun, press me back on the magazine stand, and then lick me until I tell you to stop. I'm going to scream an' moan an' groan, while you work on my pussy. And don't you dare pull off, I've got plans for your pud later."
"Oh, yes, and bring a towel, we don't want the delicate finish of the wood stained with girl-juice or man-drool, now do we?"
- - - - - - -
I won't describe the scene that night. Just these little tidbits. As tye and I went back to the bedroom, I flipped the porch light on and off a couple of times, and left the front door unlocked. Then he and I started to snuggle. Imagine his surprise when a second warm body slipped behind him, shoved big, interested hooters into his shoulder, and immediately zeroed in on his stiffening cock. We three played around some, then Kathy sucked on his cock while I played with her clitoris, and got it all stiff. Then she mounted him, and started plunging up and down, having an orgasm about every minute-and-a-half. I played with her tits.
Tye finally got off in her, 'though how he held off for so long, I'll never know (whomever he had that affair with must have had a great time). Then Tye, limp and fucked out, and Kathy both got their fingers in me, and sucked my nipples until I came, gloriously, over and over. Multi-orgasmic is such a nice term, isn't it. Then we slept like the dead.
In the morning, Tye and I gave her a key to the house--and she gave us one to hers--and we all went out to breakfast.
- - - - - - -
Time passed, along with quarts of sperm and gallons of girl- juice. How did I get along without it. It? Regular cock, regular, frequent fucking, sucking, and caressing.
Screw this celibate shit! Sure, I can live that way; any woman can. So can some men (damned few!). But a few ignored, sexless night beget some mean, nasty, negative days, which engenders another no-sex night. And, you'd better believe it, a man can shut down, just as well as a woman can. You start to use the little sex you get or give as a put-out for "good" behavior on your partner's part. You gain a little weight, 'cause you know he doesn't like grossly fat people, an' you're into punishing him for something you're not quite sure what it is. Then a little more weight, and a little more. It's easy to convince yourself that sex is dirty, messy, and something you don't need, except for some brief affairs, maybe (or maybe not). Which make you feel guilty, and let you punish him some more for making you do that stuff. You'd think, 'if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even bother with it: the symphony and the ballet and the kids are quite enough, thank you very much.' Sure as hell, if he strays, you'll let him know about it for years afterwards.
A year of that, and it's a habit. Living this way gets into your blood. Then your boobs start to shrivel and dry up, and you make sure that he's not getting any on the side. You start treating him like property: he's yours, after all--the license says so--even if you don't use him.
Ah, but that sweet little voice in my head. Now I'm 'Little Miss Anything,' and I'm cherished, held, caressed (sometimes pretty publicly, true: he can't seem to keep his paws off my boobs or out of my pants). I "glow" just about all the time. I get to wear sexy--even high-class slutty--clothes, and he seems to love it. He moved his computer and work station out to the living room, so I can shove my boobetttes or my pussy in his face every now and then (I have to let the poor guy work sometimes, or we'll loose it all).
I love those french-cut blouses, and my boobs have firmed up to a nice jiggle bounce. And they've grown, too. I'm a C-cup, now...not that I wear a cup, except to tantalize him.
'An the other guys that look me over. Tye says I still talk in my sleep, and lately I've got those dreams back, about other cocks, 'an...
Even Kathy's amazed. From the time that I see a hard (or even half-hard) cock, until I'm there, blouse back over my shoulders, boobs bare, skirt up or pants down, legs spread or butt in the air, wet and ready to play...8 seconds flat! (Oh, OK, it takes me longer to wet up, so I watch his crotch, and when I see the bulge or he starts to play with himself, I start thinking about cocks, and fucking an' sucking an' nipple- playing. An' if he really catches me by surprise, well, a little saliva on the cock-head, on the way from crotch to woz, does wonders, until I catch up with the demand.
But, I once timed myself: from not interested, to slippery- slidy, wet (on the outside, even)--two minutes, 48 seconds.
...Whoeeee!!!...
(I nearly lost the plastic stopwatch inside, though. Tye was in a hurry!).
(I keep trying to stretch my hood. One of these days, Kathy and I are both gonna play with stand-up clits, 'an then...)
But Tye, bless his perverted little mind, and horny big cock, keeps coming up with...
- - - - - - -
"Hey, Chaz, come over here a sec., would you?"
I strutted over, wearing not quite enough for all that leg (and some tanned tit on the side). Not a bad 'dish'. "Ya' wanna fool aroun', big boy," I intoned, looking over his shoulder, tongue in ear.
He had a library book open on his lap (darn, couldn't see if there was a bulge). He pointed to a picture, showing...a complicated way to tie a set of hands together. What? I flipped to the front of the book (checking on that bulge, in the process: oh, yes). It was a book on magic tricks that could be done with common, household items. The open chapter was one all about things to do with a bit of rope. The picture he was talking about showed a simple-appearing knot, designed to hold the hands together: but, two quick pulls on hidden loops, and the knot loosened a lot. Another picture showed the illustrated wrists looped over a post.
I didn't read the text much. "Oh, ho, our hero wants another hobby, besides diddling 'little miss Anything'. Oh, no, we don't." I started to feel out his crotch (definite bulge), just the way he liked it, cool fingers on warm cock-skin. I tugged the loose ends on the wrapper I wore (Frederick's of Hollywood slut-ware special), until it would take one tiny pull to have it fall off.
"Here, let me try it with this," he grinned, handing me a gift-wrapped box, ribbon, bow and all.
Wheee! I like gifts. For a few seconds, there was sound of tearing paper, rending ribbon, mangling boxes. Then, wowie! A couple of new sheer silk scarves, large and liquid in my hands. I put one hand back on his rising cock, and drew the scarves over it, being sure to check the cock-head for pre-come. No pecker tracks staining this stuff.
He took one, folding it over to a long, narrow strip, and-- concentrating--tied the knot in my out-stretched hands. Hey, that really did hold my hands together, but good. An', ya' know, silk is pretty strong stuff, anyway. Then he had me, flexing my wrists, tug on the hidden loops. By golly, the knot did fall into two big loose loops. Hey, pretty smart.
Then he re-tied me, and then moved so close that I took a step back, and another, and another, an' fell backwards onto the couch. His hands pinned me there, while he ordered, "OK, little miss 'Anything', let's watch you masturbate. Both hands. All tied up." He jerked the trailing ends of my wrapper, and it slithered apart, exposing my boobs and those traitor nipples.
The big bastard, he got to watch a show, before I even got started, as the nipples rose up and got stiff before his eyes. The only thing I had on were slippers and crotchless panties. Not much good, those panties--they just sort of pointed the way for my fingers.
Not that I minded.
