The Halfling

This is a Memory from George, but he can't write so I get credit for posting it to Literotica.

"When I was one and Forty, I heard a wise man say,

A girl who's only half your age

Can Fuck your pain away

But I was One and Forty, and thought him only blue.

But now I'm four and Forty,

And Oh, Tis True, Tis True"1

So there I was, a new Department Chair where I had to have an assistant immediately. The University took four months to approve and appoint someone, but I had outside funding, so I could thankfully skip that step.

But I was new to town, and didn't know who to hire. I had fantasies of finding a fantastic grad student, desperate for money, willing to do anything for a salary.... How do you find that when you don't know anyone?

There was a young woman, a co-worker, but she was married and had a job, so I never considered her; until she offered, because her husband had been laid off for a few months.

She was certainly easy on the eyes, but I felt my dreams disappear, for she would not be the stuff of libidinous desires.

I had to have someone; she could do the job, so I sealed the deal. Christy was her name, one now burned into my memories.

Well, as the hours passed I found she was very bright, had a wicked sense of humor, and flirted back as hard as I dared try. Seems she had gotten married to a guy at 16 who now by 21 showed way less ambition and work ethic than did she.

Interesting, but still..... I wasn't going to get caught in that kind of trap. I had worked too hard to get my position to lose it in a harassment complaint.

I don't know if it was just perception, or a subtle shift in clothing and hair style, but every time I met with Christy she got better looking, and I had to remind myself that I wanted to keep my job.

Then I was notified that there was a training conference in St. Louis for both researchers and their assistants. We arranged to go, set up two rooms, and I was off for four days with a girl half my age.

We drove to the airport and Christy regaled me with stories of her limited experience with travels and how her father (younger than me) had worked in a coal mine. She took photos of the plane, the airport, the scenery from the window. I don't think she ever stopped talking or sat still.

I started being glad I had a separate room. We were professional and excited until I went to the desk.

"Sir that conference ended yesterday." I was in shock. How had I made such a mistake -- WAS it a mistake? You can go crazy trying to second guess yourself.

"Christy, I've run into a little problem. Apparently I got us here on the wrong dates, the training seminar is over."

"What will we do? How will I explain this? I don't...well I... so what will..?" She dissolved into tears.

I patted her shoulder awkwardly, trying to reassure her. My thought was that we had to cover this; I couldn't go back and announce this stupid a move.

"Look hon, for now, it's late, we're tired. Let's just check in and think about it." I only got one room, tho' since I was going to probably pay for this mess.

The hotel was nice, with not only a bedroom but a sitting room. A place where we could talk without the subtle presence of a big old bed.

"Look, we have to stay as we had planned. I'm afraid no one --spouses, schools, anyone, will believe we came on the wrong date.... We just have to hang out, have an unplanned vacation, and pretend we were in training."

"I've never done anything like this before....I just...I...I...I" at that point she was back in tears, and sobbing, so I opened the mini-bar, and pulled out the rum.

She took it from me without question, and after two tiny bottles started to take some deep breaths and lose the edge of panic. By then she was just gently crying on my shoulder, and soon after our lips met. Briefly, and bumping together on accident, like strangers on a train, then longer, friends seeing each other at a party. Then they moved to dear close friends holding on in the bomb-shelters during a raid, clasping blindly, afraid to let go.

My hand discovered her breasts to be as soft as those of ghosts, and somehow her blouse got opened and I found a nipple with my mouth. I learned she liked that; she liked it a great deal. I nudged her to the next room, removing clothing as we went, and saw her boobs were those of a child; so proud they had no droop, almost perfect swollen cones; mangoes from paradise. But then, compared to me, she was a child; not legally, of course, but in my mind.

As we lay back upon the bed her thighs opened and she wrapped her legs around mine -- no hesitation there. I placed my swollen empurpled head at her opening, and she surged against me. Our tongues caressed, her hands touched my face, and I ran my fingers over pale ivory dappled with tiny freckles.

I had an absolutely clear thought: "My God, she's going to let me put it in her!" Then all dissolved into warmth, and touching, and pistoning until I exploded somewhere deep inside her velvet walls and spent everything I had. I'm ashamed to admit that I was so horny by then I hardly noticed if she came.

I learned the first time I got to lick her syrup from her source that I could feel her spasm with my tongue and fingers, but not that first day.

After an utterly relaxed nap, curled together as puppies would wish to be, she whispered that she had a request. Would I be willing to pretend that she was 18 and a virgin, and I was teaching her all about sex?

That fantasy was OK by me, but I wasn't very good at it. I hadn't really remotely expected such, so I was not a very smooth pseudo-Pedophile.

Christy spent hours and hours thinking about sex. She had dozens of roles for us to play, and some I got good at, some I never knew the script.

For instance, a little later, she cut her brown eyes at me and said, "I know what you're thinking."

I was mostly just basking in afterglow, but was willing to hear...

"You figure that since I'm all tied up you can force me to have anal. Please at least use some of the KY in my suitcase, please don't hurt me." She wasn't tied up; I hadn't even come close to the thought, but who turns down an ass fuck?

Soon she was face down across the bed, her wrists restrained with invisible ropes, while I lubricated nether regions of her sweet firm ass, and myself.

I got above her and began to push in, and she writhed and said "I can take it, I can take it, and you can't make me reveal the secrets this way! Do your damnest, I can handle anything you torture me with!"

Now I loved the back door, no problem, and she was tight and firm and hot, but I sure felt like I hadn't read the script. She was right; I never forced her to yield a thing, not even exactly what we had been doing. But all these years later I remember every ripple of her rectum.

We did the standards; I talked all ghetto and she pretended to be straining on my huge black cock.

She dressed me in panties and bra, and acted "like a man" toward seducing me. (It worked, I'm a slut). I even sucked the strap-on she wore after she put eye make up on me.

I liked the more visual -- the naughty nurse outfit I could tear off to play doctor; the harem dancer clothes I could tear off to work my will; the Policeman outfit I wore so I could arrest her and tear off her clothes to do a strip search. There seems a common theme there.

We also did office sex, high school sex, slave sex both ways, and strip poker.

The pure imagination seemed to show I was not as advanced as her, because I never got my lines right, and always seemed to be in some other scene. But, hey, lots of screwing.

One fantasy that was weak was the three-some, which she often said she wanted. She had been in bed with another couple, he was drunk, did the other girl and then passed out. So I proposed a solution.

"Honey, we can hire a whore to do whatever you want. Stop when you want to, use her for yourself, three, whatever. That's easy to do."

"But I've never even met a whore. I'm afraid I'd be freaked.... But I could always just watch her do you... would you do any position I wanted to see?"

"Anything that satisfies your desires I shall make so.'

Soon we had another 'training conference' in a big city, and went there just for a "forni-cation." After discussion, we agreed I'd hire an escort to come to the room; Christy would look her over, and give me a sign as to what she wanted.

Judy arrived, took care of financial requirements, and dropped my pants shortly thereafter. As I stood there getting head, Christy smiled, pulled off her own clothes and pulled Judy onto the bed.

In short seconds they were both naked, mouths locked together, standing on their knees, with each other's hands busily exploring. I grew to levels of tumescence never before known.

For awhile I just watched in awe as the Sapphic vision soared, but then crawled their way and began to caress all the lovely lady parts that begged for touching.

It's honestly a blur then; I know I fucked Christy doggy style when she was eating Judy. I know I shared Christy's cunt with Judy as we licked her side by side. I boned Judy with her legs around me as Christy rode her face and I teased her nipples as she came.

Watching a woman spread another woman's labia to lick and suck is fascinating. I suspect they have a better grasp of what to do. And I adore the feel of one woman's hand on my cock while it's driving in and out of another.

Finally Judy had to leave; Christy managed one last screw, and then said she was too sore for anything else. I jerked off beside her, spurting over her thighs and sides, and fell exhausted to a dreamless sleep, if not the sleep of an angel, at least one of a well-cum man.

Never have I felt so totally drained, so empty of every drop of semen, as that cherished night. I think she saved my life -- with a bad marriage and a tough job, she was my stress relief.

One day I had a horrendous argument with my bitch wife, and went to the office. She met me there, and I jerked her panties down, shoved her against a file cabinet, and slammed into her so hard she cried.

Afterwards she said she had never had an anger fuck before, and I guess neither had I. I just know the bile in my mouth was gone with the taste and smell and feel of her, that shooting buckets in her drained my hate as smoothly as pouring out a bottle, and after that I was happy to scream at the harridan, as I had found a back-up plan.

Sometimes lovers save your life.

*

¹modified from A.E. Housman