Pussy Charming Pt 06

What you've missed: I woke up from a coma after a motor cycle crash, to find that my penis could talk, and more than that, when it wanted, it could take control of the rest of me. It was able to sing in a way which it called 'pussy charming' in such a way as to entice nearby females to come and shag me, which it demonstrated for me with a 50 something overweight nurse called Elaine.

After my pussy charming cock continued to provide me with mature, BBW pussy, I started to call it Marlon, because when it was soft it reminded me of Marlon Jackson from the Jackson 5. A nasty encounter with Doris the cleaning lady convinced me that I'd been going wrong lusting after skinny young girls in the past. My recovery continued well, until during an evening session with Elaine the Nurse I asked her whether I'd be able to go home soon. She informed me that first I needed to speak to Dr. McGowan. Elaine had overheard me talking to Marlon several times, and was worried that I was still suffering from my head trauma. She had arranged for me to see Dr. McGowan -- the psychiatrist!

Marlon promised me that he wouldn't make me do or say anything bad in front of Dr. McGowan, so that she wouldn't sign my release papers, but I wasn't sure whether I could trust him or not. In the meantime we had a visit from Geraldine the vicar, and Marlon revealed that assholes are good for shagging, but not so good for having a conversation with.

In our meeting with Dr. Julia McGowan she revealed that she knew all about my sexual adventures since awakening from my coma. I came clean, as it were, and told her all about Marlon. She, in turn, revealed that she had her own talking pussy, a German speaking Katherine Hepburn lookalike. I persuaded Julia to discharge me, if you'll pardon the pun, so that Marlon could give her Katherine exactly what she wanted, in the course of which Marlon made me give her such a licking that it severed the connection between Julia and her talking pussy, and returned her to 'normal'. I began to worry what would happen to me if I was ever 'cured'.

Returning to my flat after so many weeks in hospital, I found that my landlady, Mrs. Golightly had let it to a small, seemingly crazy young woman called Cassie Smith, who attacked me with mace. When we called Mrs. Golightly to come and sort it all out for us, I begged Marlon to charm her pussy so that she would give me back my flat. To my surprise Marlon refused, and explained that he couldn't, because both Mrs. Golightly and Cassie Smith were ladies who like ladies. On my urging Marlon improvised a new pussy charming song, which brought the two of them together, and after this they offered me the chance to move back in as Ms. Smith's flatmate.

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The atmosphere in the flat was rather uncomfortable for a few days after I moved in. However, after a while we began to get more used to each other, and as we learned more about each other it became easier to find and respect each of our own living space. For my part I learned that I actually had a few things in common with Cassie, namely: -

•We both liked Domino's ham and pineapple stuffed crust pizza

•We both loved watching "Big Brother"

•We both liked licking larger, older women's pussies

All of which made for some interesting, if rather surreal conversations. It was during one such conversation, which took place in an ad break while we were watching the Big Brother eviction show, that she asked,

"Why do you do that, then?"

"Do what?"

"Talk to your prick."

"I don't."

"Get out of it! You do it all the time, even when you're not actually having a wank -- which you do very often, by the way. You even call it Marlon, for fuck's sake." Yes, she was a sophisticated girl, was Cassie.

"Look," I said, "alright, maybe I do. But it's harmless, alright?"

"Sure." she replied, "Look, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I'm just curious though. I've got two brothers, and I knew a couple of guys while I was going through my 'experimenting' period, but none of them had conversations with their dicks, or gave them names. I just wondered why."

"You won't believe it if I tell you."

"Probably not. But tell me anyway."

So, much as I did with Dr. Julia, I told her everything. Her reaction, though, was quite different from Dr. Julia's.

"God, I've heard some crap in my time, but that load of old shite takes the biscuit!"

"It's true!"

"Yeah, right!

I don't know why, but for some reason her disbelief really annoyed me.

"Well, there's no need to be like that," I sniffed, "I mean it's not as if I can do anything to prove it to you."

"Hell, dipshit, maybe you can't, -- but I can!" yelled Marlon.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything." said Cassie, with a puzzled look on her face.

"Not you," I replied, "Marlon." I lifted the waistband of my shorts so that I could see him clearly, "What did you just say, Marlon?"

"Bloody hell," scoffed Cassie," it's like a pervert's version of the Sooty show."

I ignored her, and listened as Marlon explained,

"All I gots to do, is to talk to da pussy, an' find out some secret o' hers. An' you know that pussy jus' can't keep no secrets!"

"Do it!" I urged, then turned and looked at Cassie.

"Right then, Cassie," I began, "I've just been talking to Marlon. Now, I don't want this to freak you out," she snorted in derision, "I don't want this to freak you out," I continued, "but Marlon is going to speak to your . . . pussy . . . and he'll find out some things about you which I couldn't possibly know. That will prove what I'm saying."

"Oh, for God's sa -- alright, then. Go for it."

I waited, and Marlon told me what I needed to know,

"Alright, to start with, you're wearing red knickers."

"Lucky guess. Common colour -- you might have - "

"-crotchless -"

"- How the f-"

" - Your middle name is Gladys, after Gladys Knight, although you always tell people it's Germaine, after Germaine Greer - "

"- Wh -"

" - You tell everyone your favourite novel is "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand, when it's really "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - "

"-bu -- "

"- And you were eighteen when you had your first sexual experience at your school prom, with the Head Boy. You were half an hour older when you had your first orgasm at your school prom with the Head Girl. "

There was a minute or two of awkward silence. For a moment or two I was afraid that Cassie was going to blow her top, and go on the attack again, but fair play to her, she was made of sterner stuff, and once she had recovered the power of speech she shook her head, and said, in a low voice,

"Jamie . . . that is some scary shit. I mean, I, all of that, every word of that was . . . well I never told anyone about the prom . . . Look, I don't know how you know this --"

"You told me."

"No I didn't."

"Alright -- your pussy told my cock, and he told me. Same thing."

Cassie didn't say another word. She got up from the sofa and went to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Oh dear." I murmured,

"Hmmm, " mused Marlon, "I think she mighty pissed off wit' her blabbermouth pussy."

She was too. Or with Marlon. Or with me. To be fair, I don't think she knew herself, and it took her a good couple of days before she was even ready to talk to me about it. Still, I had plenty to think about to keep me occupied as it was. The next day I'd planned to go across the city to my parents' house. I was worried about them, and not a little peed off that nobody had been to visit me in hospital.

Marlon made a particular nuisance of himself on the journey across town. I don't know if you've ever stood on a crowded London tube train, while your semi erect cock is shouting,

"Hey, asshole, I gotta quiz question for you! How many times you got me laid since we got outta hospital? BUZZZ! Time's up dipshit. The answer's ZERO! NONE! ZILCH! ZIPP-O! Hey, pissface, I's talkin' to you. I need some pussy!" -- but believe me, it's not a very enjoyable experience.

We pulled into the next station, and the bored announcer's voice came over the tannoy,

"The Next Station is King's Cross/ St. Pancras. Change here for --"

"PUSS-Y! PUSS-Y! PUSS-Y!" chanted Marlon.

"- Northern line to Morden, Metropolitan Line to Amersham, and Piccadilly Line to Cockfosters-"

" Yeah, baby! "screamed Marlon, "Keep yo' goddam fosters, the Cock is already here!"

"- Stand clear of the doors please." For just a moment I considered positioning myself so that Marlon would be jammed between said doors, which would at least shut him up for a few minutes.

At length I arrived outside my parents' house in Bolsover Road, and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. I banged on it a couple of times more, with no acknowledgement or sign of life from within the house, and so I started to yell through the letter box. This didn't provoke any activity from within the house, but did at least bring Mrs. Goody, the next door neighbour, out of her front door to see what the commotion was all about.

"Hot damn, yeah!" shouted Marlon. "We got pussy! Ladies an' asswipes -- we have pussy!"

Perhaps I should explain that Mrs. Goody had been our next door neighbour for as long as I could remember, and never, never once, never in my wildest nightmares had I ever pigeonholed her in my mind as 'pussy'. I guessed she was somewhere between 55 and 65, and several stone overweight. Her grey hair was bunched up in rollers, which were held in place by a pink chiffon headscarf. She was like a bullock in a twin set, and for as long as I could remember she had been one of those ladies who walks in a particular way which I believe is technically known as 'leading with the knockers". And what knockers they were! I don't know who made her undergarments, but there must have been some serious architectural and engineering work designing the contraption to keep her twin zeppelins pointing so determinedly ahead.

Mrs. Goody was not, it must be said, overjoyed to see me,

"Bleedin' hell, stop bangin' the shit out of that door, will you?" Then she seemed to recognize me. "Oh, it's you. Where you been hidin' yerself then?"

"Good morning Mrs. Goody, " I replied, past experience having told me that while politeness had no discernable effect on this hippo in curlers, perceived rudeness invariably earned a clip around the ear and a kick up the jacksi. " Have you seen my Mum?"

" No I ain't!"

"Oh, ok. Sorry. Do you know where she is then?"

"Maybe."

"Well, would you tell me?"

"You ain't said please."

"Oh, sorry, " I replied through gritted teeth, "Would you please tell me if you know where my mother is?"

Maybe I was imagining it, but there was just the hint of a smile playing around the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes,

"Say it like yer really mean it!"

Marlon had never been less than semi erect at any time in the last three days or so, but now he rose to heights of magnificent indignation within my pants, and even though he was muffled by two layers of clothing I could clearly hear him shout,

"To hell wid that! I cannot take this shit no more! Time fo' pussy charming!" He began to sing, and once again it was a slightly different song from that which I'd heard him use before. This one, well, the closest thing I can compare it to was a combination of the throbbing, insistent baseline of "Heard it through the grapevine" overlaid with the whale deep groanings of a Barry White on acid.

"Now, " shouted Marlon through my lips, " Get yo' fat self in yo' house, and yo' fat ass around my face, an' yo' fat lips around ma cock! Per-lease!"

"'Ere!" She replied in indignation, "I ain't fat! I'm jus' big boned!"

"Well lady, yo' ass-bone's sure one hell of a size! Now, do you wan' me to do some very nasty things to yo' fine fat ass, or not?"

"Oooh," Mrs. Goody murmured, her hands shooting towards her own tits, and caressing them through her dress," Yes please! I thought you'd never ask!"

In a small part of my mind I was already asking myself if doing this with someone I already knew before the accident was such a good idea, but that small part of my mind was most definitely not in control. Marlon was. As Goody dragged me by the left hand through the front door, he took my right hand, and used it to yank down the zipper of the bulging marquee she used as a dress. Goody was all for pulling me upstairs, but Marlon had other ideas first. He roughly pulled the dress from her shoulders, then, with the words, "Hey Presto!" he ripped her massive knickers away from the largest, roundest, most pimpled ass I had ever seen in the flesh. My trousers and pants were already around my ankles as Goody placed her hands upon the fourth step of the stairway to steady herself, while each of my hands grabbed an arse cheek, and pulled them apart, enabling Marlon to spring forwards, and bury himself as far as the balls in her dripping pussy. After no more than five or six strokes, though, he jerked me backwards, out of the cavern of delight, with the words,

"Y'all gots to be patient and wait yo' turn!"

And then he sprang forwards again, but this time into her tight and puckered ass.

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH," Goody began to scream, and then, as Marlon began to work up a head of steam, and an ever increasing rhythm, Goody began to sing her own siren song, "Oooohhhh . . . I got a luvverly bunch of coconuts!"

"'Ave a banana!" sang Marlon, entering into the whole music hall spirit of this jolly episode,

"'Ere they are all standin' in a row!"

"Ave a banana!"

"Big ones, small one's, some as big as yer HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDD!!!!!"

Marlon temporarily returned control to me, gasping as he flopped from her cum-filled shitter,

"Tha's the ass taken care of. Now for da pussy!"

Once again he reasserted control, and flopped me forward, grabbing Goody's gargantuan knockers from the side. "Yeah, don't you worry now, you gonna get some too, ladies!" he crooned romantically, "bu' first we gots ta take care o' the pussy! She ain't about to wait no longer, y'unnerstand what I'm sayin' here." Whether the tits did understand or not, it was pretty clear that the pussy got the message, and it started to gush, and Marlon slid in as smoothly as if he was on rails. Fair play to Goody, she was nothing if not inventive with her song repertoire, and favoured us now with,

"Come, come, come and make eyes at me, down at the Old Bull and Bush - "

"You getting plenty in yo' bush right now, momma!" shouted Marlon, and he redoubled his efforts, bringing her off twice more in the process.

Goody turned over, and slid slowly down the few steps, collapsing into a heap at the bottom.

"Now. . . " said Marlon, through my lips so as she could hear his instructions, "Ain't gonna be no bullshit singin' now. You gonna suck ma cock, till I come over them bodacious titty mountains, then you is gonna tell me where my parents is. An' I ain't gonna ask twice. You got that?"

Goody just nodded, licking her lips slightly in anticipation,

"WHAT -- DO -- YOU - SAY?!" Marlon thundered out of my mouth.

"Please, Jamie. . . " Goody replied, "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!"

"Now that's one pol-lite pussy!" Marlon then rammed forward into her mouth, not even allowing her time to take her dentures out. He fucked her face furiously until, just as I could feel the familiar tightening in my balls he pulled me backwards, and shot his wad all over Goody's fabulous old knockers.

Goody did keep her end of the bargain, although it has to be said, she wasn't exactly gracious about it. With the words, "I spose you wanna cuppa tea an' all, you filthy little pervert." she handed me an envelope, and followed her tits out into the kitchen, where, doubtless, she managed to convince herself that she'd had no part to play in what had just happened between us.

The letter, when I opened it, informed me exactly why my parents hadn't been over to visit. Some three months earlier Mum's work syndicate had won a jackpot on the lottery. She'd always wanted to go on a Round the World Cruise, and so her first act with the money was to book herself and Dad on one. She'd left a message on my answerphone, but I'll be honest, I only ever checked my messages once in a blue moon. The day that they'd left had ironically been the day of my accident. It would be at least another fortnight before they got back. So at least that was another mystery solved.

"Sugar?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Urrrggghhh! Dirty little sod!" grumbled Mrs. Goody. "I meant, do you want sugar?" I looked at her chest, and Marlon again began to rise from his ill-gotten slumbers, "I'd like two lumps please, Mrs. Goody."

"Filthy little bleeder," she moaned, unzipping her dress and reaching for my zipper, "I'll be glad when you've 'ad enough!"

She was, too.

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Things came to a head with Jamie that same evening.

"Jamie," said Cassie rather abruptly, plonking herself down on the sofa and letting fly with a loud fart as she did so -- as I told you earlier, she was a confident and sophisticated girl -- "Jamie, we've got to talk about this whole talking pussy thing."

"Sure." I said. "What do you . . . what can I . . . ummm. ..?"

"Jamie . . . if there was some trick to what you did, I mean, if you used some other way of finding out my secrets like that. . . well, I wouldn't be annoyed if you told me. Well I would, but I'd be relieved as well. But if what you told me is true -- "

" It is, Cassie. I'm sorry, but there's no trick to it. It is what I said it is."

"But that's so crazy."

"That's the way I look on it. I keep thinking that it's maybe some stupid weird dream that I'm going to wake up from. But I never do."

Cassie got up and walked around the back of the sofa. Judging from the smell she'd just let another one go.

"Can you . . . " she asked, hesitantly, " can you . . . hear . . . my vagina yourself?"

"No!" I replied indignantly, "That would be weird! No, Marlon does the talking. And the listening." I thought for a moment . "In fact, " I continued, "a lot of the time he does the thinking too."

"No surprise there." replied Cassie.

"Thanks. I'm trying to be serious."

"I'm sorry. So -- you didn't read my mind then?"

I laughed,

"No! Marlon doesn't read minds."

"Jus' pussies!" he shouted,

"He just said something to you, didn't he!" exclaimed Cassie.

"How did you know?"

"Your crotch just started twitching like you put a live rat down there." So he had. "What did he say?"

I told her.

"What -- anyone's pussy?"

"Well, yes, that is no, I mean. It's like this. You see Marlon can talk to anyone's pussy if it -- if they're close enough to him. Just the same as you can talk to anyone who is in earshot. Now just because you talk to someone, it doesn't mean they're going to say anything back to you, does it? Well, it's the same with Marlon. He can talk to a pussy, but it doesn't mean that the pussy is going to say anything back to him. It's not like hypnosis or anything like that -- he can't make a pussy do anything it doesn't want to. Mind you, he seems to be very persuasive - in a macho, foul mouthed, sexist and perverted way, of course."

Cassie walked back round and sat down again on the sofa, facing me.

"What does it . .. she . . . my pussy. . . sound like, then?" she asked, a curious look on her face. I looked down at my crotch.

"Well, Marlon," I asked, "what does she sound like?"

"Sound like a pussy to me!"

"Yeah, I know that, but you know, what sort of voice does she have? What accent? What language does she speak?"

"She speakin' pussy, dipshit! When I'm talkin' pussytalk, I don't hear no accent."

That was true. I remembered how he'd understood Julia's Katherine without knowing a word of German. How to explain this to Cassie, though?