Good Neighbors Ch 07

Chapter 07 - EDITED

Liz is a Survivor

This is Liz. Thank goodness I finally have enough strength to write this. Teaching so many young men can be so rewarding, but golly -- it takes a lot out of a lady like me too!

The shock of learning yesterday that Lena had seen how I came home the night before was bad enough. Discovering that my best friend was sleeping with my son would have sent me over the edge if it hadn't been for the fact that I was doing the same thing with her son, Jeff. And, truth be told, I did not want to stop

any

of my shenanigans with Jeff.

Abbie and I didn't know what to think and we didn't know what to say when Lena suggested we be honest with Benjamin and Jeff about all this. It was all so confusing for me. To make matters worse, Edward, Marty and Preston had tagged along with Abbie and I to Lena's. To be

really

honest, I was also a little distracted by the prospect of enjoying Edward's gorgeous, mammoth cock all afternoon.

Nothing -- absolutely nothing went according to plan yesterday.

Instead of one long and lovely afternoon spent in the company of Edward, as I had hoped, Lena sent me home with Marty tagging along reluctantly at my side. I still had some worries about what he might be hiding in his mysterious little bag. I had to watch with glances over my shoulder as Edward followed Abbie home. Abbie looked positively tiny beside him.

At the time, none of this seemed at all fair. I had gotten out of bed late this morning refreshed and without a care in the world. Benjamin, my son had decided to go hiking for the day with Abbie's son. Then Edward called and asked if he could come by and return all the clothes I had left in his truck. He even apologized for not being able to find my panties. This was turning out to be a truly wonderful day, I told myself. Well, except for the panties, of course.

Now, here I stood in my own living room with Marty. I had met him before. I think he even came by the house a time or two. He was still holding that darned little bag in front of him like it contained all the answers to life as we know it.

"Well, Marty -- you certainly are a young man of mystery," I began when I had him seated on the couch. He was clutching his precious little bag tightly in front of him in his lap and I was eyeing it with more than a few misgivings.

"What do you mean? I know your son Benjamin. We've met before," he told me defensively.

"Oh, I'm talking about your little bag there," I answered, glancing at it, "Mrs. Haffenshaft seemed to be really happy that you brought it, but I still have no idea what you have in there."

Marty became self-conscious. "Oh, this!" he said, lifting it out of his lap slightly, "I probably shouldn't have brought it at all. It's just something I put together after Mrs. Haffenshaft's -um, class last night. She told me I could --um try out my skills with her. I thought I would have a chance to --um spend a little time with her and use this."

I was even more worried now. "What's in your little bag?" I asked bluntly.

"Well, just a few things to do some-," he paused here, unzipped the little case and opened it wide for me to see, "-um trimming for her."

I peered into the open bag and there, nestled inside were a very long and professional-looking pair of barber's scissors, a razor, comb, mirror and a small canister of shaving gel. I was so surprised to see a razor and scissors that it didn't dawn on me immediately what Marty and Abbie had in mind. My mind conjured up bizarre rituals and strange hidden bald spots in my best friend's beautiful head of blond hair.

Marty saw the panic in my face and flipped out too, "All this was for Mrs. Haffenshaft! We don't have to do anything with these tools, Mrs. Nobbing! Just forget I even brought them."

"W-w-well . . . what were you

going to do

to Mrs. Nobbing?" I asked cautiously.

"Trim her -- her- um-

down here

!" he half whispered, motioning to a spot in his lap where a proper lady is never supposed to look.

I don't know who was more embarrassed. I know I was more than a little shocked. It had never occurred to me to consider shaving or trimming what my late husband, Ned loved to call my 'bird's nest.'

We stared at one another a moment longer. The thought of shaving off all of Abbie's curly (at least, I assumed it was curly) hair at first struck me as more than a little freaky. Then I suddenly realized that up until a couple of days ago, I had always regarded my broad hips and my firm, big bottom as unattractive. Until two days ago, I had always been ashamed of my big ass. But Edward and Jeff had practically stood in line to hold it and do the most wonderful things with my ass. Now I had an entirely new perspective on my bottom. If my outlook concerning my backside could change that quickly, then what about my

frontside

? I had never even given much thought to my pussy's actual appearance or whether young men might find it attractive. It was -- well, just my pussy. Perhaps under all my thick, curly brown hair there was something more. Perhaps my pussy was just as attractive as my ass -- at least to some young men. I bit my lip and considered my next move. Marty was trapped there on my sofa for the moment and my pussy certainly needed

something

. Actually, after so much sex last night with two of the absolutely biggest of cocks I would surely ever encounter, my poor sweet pussy lips now felt a bit forgotten and lonely. They were all

tingly

.

"So-o-o . . ." I began cautiously, "What were you going to do with Mrs. Haffenshaft's um . . .

lady parts

?" I asked. "Were you going to shave everything off?"

"Oh no! Definitely not! I got a vision of exactly how her -- um --

lady parts

should look. I was just going to trim and shape it. I almost feel like what I wanted to do was art, you know. I wanted to make something that was already beautiful even more beautiful!" Marty was showing a surprising amount of passion for this subject.

"And you think Mrs. Haffenshaft's pussy is beautiful?" I asked. I know I slipped a bit in using the word 'pussy,' but I couldn't help myself. This young man had aroused more than just my curiosity.

"I think every woman's

p-p-pussy

is beautiful," he sputtered.

"Even mine?" I challenged.

"Well . . . well . . . yeah. Even yours," he answered, a little shocked by now at the direction our conversation was taking.

"Let's just see what you think!" I told him bluntly. I sat down in the wing-backed armchair directly across from his place on the couch and began kicking my shoes off. Finished with that, I lifted my bottom out of the chair just long enough to peel my yoga pants and panties down to my knees. I stripped them all the way off then, threw my thighs open across the arms of the chair and abruptly asked, "So. What do you think?"

I couldn't have spent more than half a minute stripping my stretchy pants off. Marty was staring at me in shock. I don't think he expected to have me expose myself like this. Heck, I hadn't expected to be so brazen either.

"W-w-well . . . It's more involved than just looking at your -your pussy," he began, "And you have a very

interesting

pussy. But I have to see the entire human form before I can get a real idea about how beautiful your pussy really is and how it ought to be

sculpted

. Your pussy is part of a much larger whole."

"You mean, you want to see me completely nude?"

"Yes," Marty told me, in a most earnest voice.

Half a minute later my stretchy exercise top and bra lay on the coffee table on top of my pants.

"Is this what you mean?" I asked as I settled back into the chair again.

"Can I come closer?" he asked.

I nodded and he rose and crept cautiously to stand in front of me. He stared down at the thick curls on my belly, gazed upward to my breasts rising and falling softly as I breathed, glanced at my face and shoulders as if he were a workman preparing a job estimate and then crouched until he was at eye-level with the triangle of thick fur between my legs. He remained in this crouched position for a long time, alternately glancing up to my boobs and then down over my thighs, belly and bush once more.

Suddenly a light came into his eyes and he smiled, his eyes never leaving my pussy. "Exactly!" he announced. "You have a gorgeous pussy but I can make it

one thousand

percent lovelier!"

"And now you want to trim my pussy too?" I said. I'm sure my skepticism came through loud and clear.

"Yes! And I can show you exactly how it will look!" he told me excitedly. His enthusiasm and confidence were unmistakable.

"Okay. Show me," I countered. I was intrigued but still skeptical.

"Okay," he said. His right hand darted to my pussy and began to brush my fur to either side of my slit. "Imagine this part, here trimmed away . . ."

Marty's words became a blur to me. As I stared down between my legs his index finger came to rest squarely on my clit. Apparently, that tingling in my clit was stronger and more distracting than I had thought. I gulped. My pussy was awfully wet -- wetter than I realized and Marty was now going on about the shape he imagined and how careful he would be in trimming around all of my most tender and prized real estate. I fought off the urge to simply close my eyes and let diddle me into an unintended orgasm.

"Can you picture it too?" he asked.

Time must have passed but all I knew was that Marty's finger was now poking just inside my slick little hole and it was hooked across my clit. Marty's hand must have been holding steady but my hips had begun to roll against it. I bit my lip again. I seemed to be biting it a lot.

More time must have passed. Marty was excited now. So was I.

"So . . . what do you say, Mrs. Nobbing? Would you like to give it a go?" he asked. He was staring up at me, grinning like a young idiot.

I wasn't thinking straight. I was thoroughly distracted by his naughty little finger tormenting me so and I answered him the only way I could under the circumstances. "Sure, sure," I mumbled.

That's the exact moment when I lost control. I remember that distinctly. I nearly lost my mind then too. Marty suddenly extracted his finger from my sticky little slit and abruptly replaced it with his tongue. He began rolling his tongue over my already tingling clit.

I yelped. Marty's assault on my poor clit shocked me. It also sent me into a tailspin of delirious orgasms.

I came to with my ankles locked together behind Marty's head, my thighs crushing his young, impressionable ears. I could only hope he hadn't heard any of the atrocious, filthy things I may have said with my ample thighs covering them.

"I think you're ready for me to begin my work now," he announced. He spread my legs and draped them across the arms of the chair once more, stood and gazed down at my now quite sloppy puss. "I am going to need a large pan or basin and the thickest, plushest towel you have. Just point me in the right direction and I'll find it," he told me, still grinning.

His sweet young face was a mess. I'm afraid the sticky sap from my pussy had mixed with his saliva and the whole gooey mess was positively dripping from his chin and nose. As he stood there awaiting my directions, all he could do was lick his lips and smile. He didn't even try to hide his befouled appearance.

I motioned toward the hallway and wheezed out, "Guest bathroom. Under the sink."

Marty turned and darted down the hall. An instant later I heard water running and decided he had found it. In all my entire life I had never had this happen to me. My husband Ned and I had enjoyed sex a lot, but I suppose we had lived a pretty dull sex life. He had

never

done anything like this with me. Ned had never shown any interest in having me give him what is commonly called a 'blowjob' either. He was attentive as a lover and God knows he had the strength and stamina of a bull. Still, his tongue had never done

anything

like this to my pussy and I began to wonder if most men enjoyed having their lovers assault their cocks the way Marty had laid siege to my poor unsuspecting little pussy.

I was still panting to catch my breath a couple of minutes later when Marty returned carrying a small pan of water, a thick guest towel and a washcloth. Amazingly, he still hadn't bothered to clean his face.

"I hope I didn't take too long," he told me, setting the pan down and then carefully lifting my bottom and sliding the towel beneath it. "I'll be careful. I promise," he assured me.

Somehow, he seemed so at home and completely comfortable kneeling there between my open legs. I felt reassured, even hopeful as he plucked up the scissors, slipped a finger back into my opening and purred, "This is going to be gorgeous!"

I suppose hooking a finger into the crest of my opening and pressing it across my clit helped him to steady my pussy as he worked but it did odd and perplexing things to me. I didn't cum, but I desperately wanted to. I couldn't stay still, but the part of my body I most wanted to move, my hips and belly and pussy, were securely anchored by Marty's hand. It was a marvelous, wonderful feeling, but still, I wanted to explode.

Then Marty began to snip away at my little thicket. He would make a few cuts, pausing every few seconds to brush away all that he clipped. He was being very careful. He was also driving me absolutely crazy! In addition to the finger inside me and across my clit he was now taking long moments to stroke the tender lips of my pussy too. I tried to squirm but couldn't. All I could do was bite my lip and fight the urge to moan out from all this delicious torture.

Marty snipped first around the very edges of my opening. I could feel him briefly down low, near my rectum for several moments and then, he must have been satisfied there and he began to clip up high along the crest of the fur on my belly. My eyes were shut tight by now and I could only feel his finger against my stiffened clit and the occasional touch of the scissors along the swelling crest of my belly.

"There," he announced at last, "All we need to do now is smooth out the rough edges!"

For the first time since he began, Marty withdrew that glorious tormenting middle finger from my poor clit. I immediately took a deep, sweet breath of fresh air. My pussy instantly felt lonely, though. I sorely missed all that pressure on my joy buzzer.

Marty didn't leave me lonely for long.

"Mum-m-m . . . Huh!" I half-groaned and half-squealed. Marty was slowly swabbing me with a warm, damp washcloth from my rectum to my belly.

"Bet that feels good," he purred.

I opened my eyes just long enough then to find Marty gazing up at me with the happiest, most satisfied expression on his young face. It was as if this was his calling and he was fully, completely immersed in all that he was doing right now.

Marty never missed an opportunity to provoke my poor pussy. He drew that delicious warm cloth slowly up through my opening, touching every last nerve ending in me. I groaned as it rose gently up through my slit and caught at my labia. I have never had my pussy given so much exquisite, loving attention in my life. It took great effort, but I managed to fight off the urge to scream.

My 'stylist' began to apply shaving gel next. His fingers slithered up along either side of my opening with the gel, working both the gel and my pussy lips into a frothy mess as they went. My head rolled back against the chair and my eyes closed. I was going to let Marty do anything he wanted with me now.

Marty may have spoken to me along the way from this point forward but if he did, it was lost on me. I remember feeling the razor nuzzling softly between my thighs and once it scuffed lightly just above my rectum. It prodded and skated smoothly over the slight swell of my belly several times. And then, suddenly, Marty's work was complete. He must have wiped me clean but I don't remember. All I felt down there now was cool air wafting over the lips of my pussy. I was shamefully aroused. I wanted something long, hard and hot to hump on and I wanted it now.

"Wow!" Marty exclaimed. He was still stationed on his knees between my legs with the same excited grin on his face. "Here!" he said and handed me a small mirror from his little bag, "I think you're going to like what I've done!"

It took a few seconds of fumbling before I could roll my hips upward, then direct the mirror into position for a proper view of his handiwork. I almost let the mirror slip out of my hands! My little bird's nest had been transformed into the most inviting, gorgeous little spot I could ever have imagined. I never thought my pussy could be made to look so . . . so . . .

inspiring

! Even I wanted to stroke it, admire it now!

"Do you like it?" my budding young artist asked.

All I could manage was a warmly mumbled "

um-hum

." I was distracted and still holding the mirror with one hand as I ran the fingers of my other hand over this newly shaped terrain.

My bush wasn't a bush anymore. Marty had snipped and trimmed and sculpted it until it had the loveliest inverted teardrop shape. It framed and skirted my pussy. It arced and curled just over the crest of my sweet little slit and then it narrowed along the sides where it plunged toward my rectum. Along either side of my opening, he had trimmed and shaved it into the thinnest of little wisps of pubic hair. It was absolutely thrilling for me to trace a pair of forked fingers over the close-cropped near-stubble he had left between my legs.

"Fantastic!" he squealed and then, without any warning at all, he buried his young face in my poor, tingling little pussy.

I wasn't expecting this sort of assault on my pussy, but I didn't let that keep me from cumming anyway. In fact, I began to experience the most unladylike orgasms. I could hear myself cursing (that's something I rarely do), my hands clawing at Marty's head until I could finally grasp him by the ears and hold him tightly against my quivering, red-hot little firepit. His behavior toward me was positively obscene -- vulgar even, but after seeing the magnificent results of his work on my pussy, I could forgive him for taking such bold liberties with me, even if I was his teacher.

As I sat back in the armchair, my legs thrown wide open, Marty's tongue and nose doing unspeakably filthy things to drive me crazy, I began to wonder if I would ever find out what Marty's cock could do. I must also confess that right now, I didn't particularly care.

I also began to question my attitude toward this sort of activity. Ned had certainly never shown an interest in cunnilingus, or in fellatio for that matter. I had kissed and licked his cock a time or two but Ned had always asked me to come up and plant my pussy on his big, wonderful cock before I could really get comfortable with his cock in my mouth.

What if Marty -- and perhaps all these other young men might enjoy having me suck their cocks, I wondered. What if these young men wanted to kiss my pussy just like Marty was doing right now? I tucked these thoughts away for later. Marty had given me lots to think about but right now, he had given me so much more to

feel

that I decided to let myself go a little crazy and cum like I imagined a cheap trollop might. A few moments of this sort of pleasure and I began to envy trollops.

"Whoo-oo-y!" Marty whistled out from between my legs.

A lot of time had passed by now. I don't know how long Marty had been torturing me, but his spittle was trickling down my crack and I felt like I had run or been dragged over the full course of a marathon. I couldn't cum anymore. I just knew I couldn't. I think my poor pussy was about as frazzled and weary as it had ever been. A pussy can only stand so many orgasms -- at least that's my opinion.