Chapter 3
I argued with myself all day, but at three o'clock I checked out and headed for home. You get pretty dirty working on the loading docks the way I do; I wanted to take a shower and change clothes before reporting in at the doctor's office. The doctor! Christ, she was more like a WAC officer, at least from what I had heard of them, a cold potato who was all business and expected to be obeyed.
When I reached the door to our apartment I heard voices inside. I leaned my ear against the door, and sure enough, they came from inside. It surprised me, then I realized that I had neglected to tell Laurie that I had an appointment and so would be home early. But then, I told myself, perhaps it was just as well; with someone there we wouldn't be able to talk about anything personal. I eased the door open. I stopped dead in my tracks. Laurie, stark naked, was sitting in an overstuffed chair; she had her legs drawn up, her feet on the edge of the chair. One of the neighbor women, a sort of nondescript redhead who had a tendency to drink too much, was just as naked and sitting on her knees in front of Laurie. I couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but she was obviously shoving something in and out of Laurie's cunt. Then I heard her say, "Now, just relax and enjoy it, honey.
That's what dildos are for; when a husband can't take care of his wife and she doesn't want another man, these little creatures come in mighty handy!"
"Oooooh," Laurie groaned, her eyes closed, "I know I shouldn't be doing this, but it feels so good!"
The other woman giggled. "Tell me, honey, does Mark have a tool anywhere near as big as this one?"
"Oh, yes! Yes!" Laurie groaned. "Mark has a beautiful one. And lovely balls. They ought to put balls on these things."
Another giggle. "That's a good idea! Maybe I'll write to the manufacturer. How does it feel, honey? Is it getting you good? Is it clicking your clit?"
"Oh, yes, yes! God, it's going clear up inside me the way he does when he's at his best."
The woman kept working it in and out; she reached down between her own legs, and after a couple of seconds I knew that she was giving herself a first class fingerfuclang. "I wish my husband had one like that," she said almost wistfully. "If he did, I wouldn't ever use a dildo!"
Laurie was obviously up on a cloud. She started moving her hips around; she grasped her own breasts in her own hands and fondled them roughly, flopping them around. She started pumping her hips up off the cushion, sticking her legs out and letting them go over the other woman's shoulders. Her face was different than I had ever seen it-but then, I guess that I had never really seen it during the height of sex. I always had my mouth busy one place or another. But now I saw it, a look of pure animal lust, of animal fucking. I didn't want to see any more. I closed the door softly, turned and retraced my steps.
In the car I just sat, the vision of what I had seen refusing to leave me, God, my wife as much as fucking another woman! Only then did I really see the woman; upstairs I had seen only Laurie, spread legged with the thing up her cooze, playing with her big tits with that look of pure lust on her face. But now I saw the woman, her pale hips spread on the floor at Laurie's feet, her big tits hanging down under one arm as she fingered herself with one hand and "fucked" Laurie with the other (with the dildo in it). "Now, just relax and enjoy it, honey!" she had cooed. "That's what dildoes are for; when a husband can't take care of his wife and she doesn't want another man, these little creatures come in mighty handy!"
Little creatures! Laurie had told her that my tool was as big as it...."Oooooh, I know I shouldn't be doing this, but it feels so good!"
When a husband can't take care of his wife....
Anger coursed through me. That fuckin' Laurie had told her that I couldn't get a hard-on! Just because I couldn't satisfy her lust, she was going to tell the world about it!
"How does it feel, honey? Is it getting you good? Is it clicking your clit?"
"Oh, yes, yes! God, it's going clear up inside me the way he does when he's at his best."
Shit! I switched the ignition on, backed out recklessly, and started away. I drove around, deep in thought, and finally I was in the parking lot outside Dr. Moulter's office. I stared at the building, arguing with myself. Finally I shoved the door open and started in.
Miss Redhead-with-the-big-tits looked up and smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sheffield, you're right on time!"
I followed her down the short hallway, only half interested in her rounded buttocks, her swaying hips, and the ankles whose shapeliness weren't hidden by the white stockings she was wearing. She pushed the door to the examination room open and stepped back.
"Doctor will be with you shortly," she said. From her manner I told myself that Dr. Moulter, whatever else she was, wasn't like my wife; she didn't blab. She hadn't even told her nurse what my problem was.
Couldn't you hear it? "I've got a health young patient, more than adequately hung, who can't get an erection with his equally young wife!"
For some stupid reason I remembered a buddy of mine who had worked in a hospital telling me about a case they had gotten one night. "You wouldn't believe it!" he had said. "They hauled this stretcher in, but there wasn't one patient on it, there were two. This guy had been fucking his best friends wife and she panicked or something. Her goddamned pussy just clamped down on him, he was hung up in her and couldn't get loose."
Well, at least it would be just as embarrassing!
The door opened and the good doctor was coming toward me, blonde, beautiful-and efficient! Her smile disappeared almost immediately, though, a look of irritation sliding across her face. "You shouldn't waste my time, Mr. Sheffield! You should be stripped when I get here."
"Well, I ... the nurse didn't tell me...."
"Strip!" she snapped out, planting her feet a short distance apart and crossing her arms over her breasts. I noticed in that moment that her face looked more tired than it had the day before, there were slightly dark shadows under her eyes. She apparently hadn't slept well the night before and was struggling against being totally irritable now.
I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to clean up," I said, pulling my T-shirt over my head, unbuckling my pants, opening my fly and sliding them off. "I had to come right from work."
She was watching me with slightly narrowed eyes. "Is there some reason why you don't wear shorts?"
"Well, I ... I've just never liked them, that's all."
"Like to hang free, is that it?"
I felt my face reddening a little as I crawled up onto the table. "Yeah, I guess that's it." Yes, as a boy I had liked to "hang free." I had liked for people to get a pretty good idea of what I had in my pants; it frequently paid off. Older and married, I had seen no reason to change the pattern.
She stuck the ends of the stethoscope in her ears again as she moved up alongside the table. She started moving it around my chest, stopping here and there to listen. She almost deliberately brushed it across each nipple, and if anyone thinks that a man's nipples can't be as sensitive as a woman's they're all wrong. My recalcitrant member started reacting, swelling a little and lifting up off my balls. As she moved it down over my belly she demanded, "Did you obey my instructions last night?"
"Well ... well the truth is, I did last night. But...."
"But what?" she moved it to the base of my continually hardening cock.
"Well, when I first got home ... I was a little pissed off at you, so I ... I gave it a go."
"And?" She was running it up one side and down the other of my now thoroughly hardened cock.
"It didn't work."
There was no response. She moved the end of the stethoscope back down my took sending it up and down the lines between legs and body. She took a sounding from my balls. She shoved it under and got it at the spot where my scrotum hooked onto my body, a gesture that sent me several inches off the table. But despite all that, I wasn't as embarrassed as I had been the day before-maybe I was just being fatalistic, accepting what had to be (or what seemed to have to be).
"All right," she raised up again, "I'd like another specimen."
"You mean...?"
"That is exactly what I mean!"
I shrugged my shoulders, then reached down, grasped my tool and started working it.
"Why did you get ... as you called it ... 'pissed off at me?"
"Well," I answered, still stroking gently, "it didn't make sense. I mean ... my being able to get a hard-on here but not when I was trying to make out with my wife."
For the first time a hint of a smile crossed her lips, her eyes seemed to twinkle briefly. And, as if it were inadvertent, this time she hadn't turned away. She just stood there with an almost expressionless face watching me slowly beat my meat. This time it didn't bother me. I could only wonder if she had any feelings at all. What woman with feelings could stand there emotionlessly and watch a guy beating on a man-sized whang? I decided that she was either a dyke or had a husband who kept her very well satisfied.
"Do you enjoy doing what you're doing?" she asked.
"Well," I answered honestly, "it feels good physically, but I can tell you for sure this isn't my cup of teal Hell, I quit doing this when I found out about girls I"
"After your affair with the teacher, is that it?"
I nodded. Yes, after Celia had showed me the art of fucking I had willingly given up a meat beating. Then she took me by surprise. "Would it be more enjoyable for you if I did it for you? You know," she smiled, "there's no reason why the necessary shouldn't be pleasurable if it can."
It threw me for a second, then I thought: What the hell! I pulled my hand away. She leaned over and wrapped one of hers around it, her flesh warm and smooth, and went to work. And she had meant it when she said pleasure could be added; she didn't just hang on and jerk it off, she hand loved it off. She'd stroke it a couple of times, then her hand would slide up over the head and play with it before sliding back down to the full shaft. She kept that up, flopping it around a little in the process, and the feelings started getting better and better. I couldn't help myself; my midsection started squirming around, my legs stiffened; then my breathing started coming hard and finally I felt my come shooting out. It lit in gobs on my belly and legs, and I knew that she had a supply of it running down over her hand. But she didn't quit; she milked it dry, releasing it only when it went limp in her hand.
"Well!" she half-chuckled, reaching for a towel. "I'll say one thing for you. When I want a specimen I get a healthy one!"
She washed her hands, then took a slide and gathered up another glob from my belly. Throwing a dampened towel onto my stomach, she said, "Come directly to my office this time," and left the room.
For just a moment I wondered if she actually did anything with those "specimens" she took. What, I asked myself, could a glob of come tell her? But still ... well, it did seem professional even if the methodology seemed a little strange at times. I knew nothing about the medical sciences. I did know that a friend of mine, a young fellow who worked on the loading docks with me, had had his balls cut (a vasectomy, he had called it) so that he could screw without knocking anyone up. He'd told us how the doctor (who happened to be a male in that case) had had him do the same thing. "After screwing eight or ten times I had to go into the office and beat off a load for him so he could be sure the operation had worked!" Maybe what P. H. Moulter, M.D., was doing was professional! Probably if she had been a male I wouldn't have thought anything about it.
She was sitting at her desk when I reached her office. She was bent over some papers, but I could see a change. Her white lab coat was unbuttoned, hanging loosely, and I got a glimpse of a real set of knockers pressuring the material of an almost flimsy blouse. Her bra held them up firm and pear-shaped, nicely tipped, but I had the feeling that if that bra were taken off they'd take on their own shape, becoming two ripe melons ripe for the tasting. I lowered my eyes, but there was no more to see; the desk cut off any possible view of what was at that juncture of torso and legs. Left to the imagination ... well, I could only run my tongue across my upper lip, because she was an attractive woman and for the first time real femininity had been displayed. I contented myself with stealing glimpses of those lovely knockers while she continued to study the papers in front of her. Finally she raised her big brown eyes.
A mixture of humor and accusation crossed her face. "I thought that you told me it didn't work with your wife yesterday." , "It ... it didn't," I half sputtered.
"Well, then, who did it work with?"
"What ... what do you mean?"
She let another smile cross her lips. "My friend, you can fool a lot of people, but you can't fool your doctor. I know that you ejaculated last night."
"You ... you do?" I stuttered, dumbfounded.
She nodded perfunctorily. "I compared the number of sperm between your orgasm of yesterday and the one today. I know that you ... in a language you no doubt understand ... dumped a load between the two."
I felt my face reddening, then I decided that I had better tell all. I told her about my failure with Laurie, how I had ended up sleeping on the couch; I told her how I had awakened during the night with a hard-on, rolled over and found it caught between the cushions. "I didn't mean to, but ... well, it felt good, so I...."
She chuckled. "So you seduced that poor, innocent couch!" She shook her head, but it was not in disapproval. "You do like your sex, don't you?"
Not waiting for an answer, she leaned back in her chair. She stuck the pencil end between her teeth again, clicking it back and forth. It obviously was a habit she had for allowing concentration. Finally she pulled it away, and said, "All right, you and your teacher friend, Celia, began your tryst when you were fourteen. For the better part of year you met at least three times a week, and in one form or another you ejaculated at least twice each time you met Is that right?"
"Well ... yes, that's right"
"What did you like the most? Which activity, which position?"
I tried to remember. I remembered Celia lying on the bed on her back, beautiful and luscious. I remembered climbing up over her, fondling her lovely tits and rubbing my hard cock against her soft downed pussy as we French kissed. I remembered getting the head caught between those wonderful pussy lips and then slowly pumping it into her, pumping until we reached orgasm.
I remembered sprawling in a chair, legs spread, and Celia between my legs playing with my balls as she sucked on my prong, her hard-nippled tits brushing against my legs. I remembered the beautiful feeling of erupting into her mouth.
I remembered her sometimes playfully rolling over onto her back and saying, "Take me like a dog, Mark, honey. Take me like a bitch," and my taking her that way, bent over her so that I could play with her tits while I sent my tool up and down that tight moist channel at that tissue-tickling angle. Biting her on the shoulders as my load spurted and throbbed out.
I remembered lying on my back, Celia straddling me with her back straight, reaching down and rubbing my cock up and down her sweet slit; finally leaning forward with her tits swaying to me, her pussy closing in over my prick, taking it inch by inch until our pubic hairs were merged, then our rolling over so I could give it to her in long, powerful strokes.
I remembered the sixty-nines we'd had, her sucking on my whang while I mouthed and tongued the beauty between her legs, sinking my tongue into her to tease her clitoris, to tongue-fuck her to wildness as she mouthed me up the same mountain.
I remembered times when she wouldn't let me fuck her, "danger periods" during her menstrual cycle, but she'd have me straddle her, run my dong up between her tits and fuck myself off that way while she held them tight and warm around it. Sometimes during those periods she would he beside me, her tits against my chest, and stroke me off; then she'd lean over and lick my cock and stomach. "Oh," she'd say, "I love your come. It's young and sweet as honey!"
"Jesus," I said from out of my memories, "I honest to God don't know! I liked it all."
P. H. Moulter, M.D., accepted that with a nod. "Well, then, tell me what happened after Celia left town."
"Well," I searched back into my memory again. "My dad grounded me. Grownups seem to think fucking only goes on at night, yTenow!" The word (the "fucking") came out easily; I was loosing all my reservations, my inhibitions. Why wouldn't I after what she had done and what I had had to tell her. Certainly if a "doctor" has sucked on your cock, beaten it, even if only for medical purposes ... and certainly if you'd told her all about your screwing, there's no reason for social niceties!
I told her what had happened. The anger, the hatred that I had felt toward my father for sending Celia away was almost like hot lava in my bloodstream. It brought resentment, and the determination to show him, by God! even if he didn't actually know. At least I would. I'd especially show him because he'd be self-satisfyingly thinking that he had cut off any and all sexual activities.
I found out in the morning that she was gone, and there was no doubting the reasons. During that morning I flirted around with a fifteen-year-old blonde in our class; she wasn't too bright, that's why she was in our group, but I wasn't after brains! She had a fairly good set of knockers, a nice ass, and while I had never had it, I'd heard that she had a well-used but also well-educated pussy. In the last exchange of notes before noon recess she agreed to meet me when the bell rang.
Just before the bell rang I played with myself enough to get a hard-on, sticking my hand under the desk and rubbing my cock. Covering it with my books, I met her in the hallway. Making sure that no one was looking, I moved the books and let her get a look-and then a feel-of it. That's all it took; we headed for the cloak room hi one of the now deserted classrooms. We dropped our books and went into a clinch; mouths meeting, I started giving her a good feeling up. Rubbed her sides so that I could get a little bit of tit in each hand, slid my hands down lower to massage her firm buttocks, all the while grinding my whang in against her pussy. She was nervous but hot, and for me the nervousness seemed to add excitement; I built on that heat, getting her to the point where she couldn't have quit if she had wanted to.
There was nothing to he on except hard floor, and not all the time in the world, so I just kept on loving her up while I got my fly open and my cock out She felt it and knew what to do; while we kept on kissing and I kept playing with her tits, she pulled her skirt up and her panties down. The head of my cock got caught between her cuntlips, I started thrusting it to her. She started cooperating immediately, matching her hip movements to mine, and away we wentl We were really jazzing if off, and when we started shooting it must have looked like a Saint Fitus dance. We were both trying to keep the fuck motion going, squirting out our juices, but the feeling was so fantastic that we had to fight against falling. If anything, that only heightened the sensation. I grabbed her warm buttocks in each hand and, battling for balance, unloaded into her.
"Gee whiz," she finally managed, "for a younger boy, you sure know how to do it!"
"You ain't so bad yourself," I answered, pulling my cock out and wiping it off with my handkerchief. I reached out and got her whole pussy in my hand, gave it a real good feel, then started putting myself away.
Later in the afternoon I got to thinking about it more. I mean, about my dad sending Celia away, taking the only thing that really meant something to me away. Thinking he was cutting off my nookie. I got mad all over again, wrote the blonde bomber a note and then asked to be excused. I sneaked down the hall into the girls' lavatory, into one of the booths. She came in a few minutes later and I was ready for her; sitting on one of the toilets, I had my pants down and a hard-on sticking up and waiting. She went to her knees, wrapped her lips around it and went to work. A few seconds later I grabbed her head, holding it tight, and drove my whang clear back into her mouth, pouring a load down her throat. She almost gagged, but she took it and practically begged for more. At least she begged me to meet her some evening so that we could get completely naked together and really have a ball.
There was a neighbor woman I sometimes did yard work for. She was about my mother's age, in her late thirties, real nice lady. She had always been kind to me, friendly, but I decided that she was going to be more than that. It wouldn't be bad, either, I knew; even though she was older she was a good looker and had a good figure. I used a real corny approach, but one that I thought was worth a try.
Always in the middle of my work she'd invite me into the kitchen for a soft drink. This particular afternoon, sitting at her kitchen table, I stretched my legs out in front of me and slouched down with my buttocks barely on the edge of the chair. Finally I said, "Mrs. Thurston, I got a real problem and I can't talk to my folks about it. Could I ... could I ask you to help me?"
She almost gurgled, overjoyed with the opportunity to help a "poor youngster." I guess not having kids of her own made her feel overly motherly. Anyway, looking down and acting nervous, I said, "Well, I ... I'm afraid there's something the matter with me. This...."I put my hand on my cock, "this thing swells up and gets hard. Sometimes ... sometimes it even drips a little, you know, a sticky-like stuff."
Her eyes widened and she swallowed. She seemed about to come apart at the seams for a couple of seconds, her face got flushed; but then she asked me if I knew the facts of life. We tossed it back and forth a little, she stayed nervous and seemed to be struggling with herself, but finally she said if I'd swear myself to secrecy she'd show me what it was all about so that I'd know that I didn't have to worry.
In the bedroom she told me to undress. I already had a hard-on, and with a combination of braille and verbal expression she explained my genitals to me. She lingered over my balls, stroked my cock a little, and then explained how the male organ was made that way and got hard that way so that it could enter the female to deposit a "seed" that would become a baby. The next step, of course, was for her to undress and show me the female organs, with a graphic description. Nothing would do, of course, the lesson wouldn't be complete if I didn't have a practical experience to couple with the theoretical. She laid on her back on the bed and I mounted her. I sucked her tits to see how a child got its milk, and (with her help, which I let her think was necessary) got my cock up her hot channel and started fucking. "You keep going like that you, see," she said, "and a fluid comes out holding the seed."
A few moments later, breathing hard, she gasped' out, "You'd better stop, Mark. I don't want you shooting off in me."
"I can't!" I cried out, fucking her with gusto. "God, it feels so good I can't stop."
Her own hips kept moving, her own breathing was hard, her tits heaving up and down, but she cried out, "All right, all right, keep fucking, but pull it out when it starts to shoot!"
I gave her a royal fucking, but I obeyed. When I felt it ready to pop I pulled out, shooting all over her pussy and between her legs; then I crumbled against her.
Two afternoons later, when we were having the soft drinks, she showed me a rubber and explained it to me. That afternoon, and in others that followed, I didn't have to pull out. But I didn't like the feel of the rubber, and especially shooting into it, so I didn't go over there as often as I might have.
There were other girls at school and some in the neighborhood. "What it all adds up to," I told Dr. Moulter, "is that he might have thought he'd stopped me, but he hadn't. I was screwing afternoons, three or four times a week."
"Just one ejaculation at a time?" she asked.
"Well, mostly, but every once in a while ... you know, like one afternoon...."
I had almost forgotten about it, but she had asked and reminded me. There was an eighteen-year-old girl in our neighborhood, a tall blonde who was lithe but all woman. She had small tits, but they were still nice, with big nipples that were easily excitable. She had narrow hips, much like a young boys, but the mound between her legs was really something! She was a junior college student who got home from classes in mid-afternoon, and her folks both worked so she had the house to herself. One afternoon, just being stupid, I had flirted around a little when I saw her walking down the block, and the next thing you know I was walking the rest of the way home with her.
Inside, the door closed behind us, she didn't beat around the bush. Throwing her books aside she said, "Okay, you were talking like you're a big man, let's see you live up to it!"
I had her in my arms in half a second; then we had flopped onto the divan with her on her back. I was French kissing her like crazy, rubbing her tits through the material of her sweater; then I ran my hand down and back up under her skirt. I got her pussy held good and gave it a couple of squeezes, and already I could feel her silk panties getting damp. And I knew! just knew!-that old as she was, she was cherry. I ran a finger between the two folds of flesh, pushing silk into it, and she damned near went out of her mind. I reached under and fingered her asshole, exciting her all the more. "You ready to get undressed?" I finally demanded.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly, her chest heaving. "If you want it," she finally whispered, "you have to undress me and take it!"
I undressed her, pulling her clothes off almost roughly because she cooperated not at all; and then she was lying there with her slim young body completely exposed. I could really see those tits now, the big nipples just waiting to get sucked on, and the blondish hair barely hiding her tight-lipped pussy. The hair was damp; she had already done a little self-lubricating from the fingering I'd given her. I stripped, noticing that her eyes had opened slightly, that she was watching me, and when I slid my pants down and my whang popped up a little gasp seemed to escape from between her lips. She unconsciously grabbed for her pussy with both hands, covering it. I just laughed. Then I straddled her, keeping my body up off hers. I leaned down and tongued her tits, mouthed the nipples, suckled. I nibble kissed my way down to her belly, around it, then back up. I gave those yummy little tits a little more attention, then moved my lips up her throat and finally to her mouth. As my tongue forced her lips apart and went in, her resistance melted. She raised her upper body a little, hard nipples scraping against mine, her hands slid up over my shoulders. I wiggled my ass a little, running my hot-headed cock all around, finally dragging it through pussy hair. Her legs spread. I moved mine so I was between hers; then I lowered my hips. I reached down and fingered her a little more, even sending a finger into her for a bit more lubricating; then I took hold of my cock and positioned it. "Get ready, baby, you're going to loose your cherry!" I told her, and I stabbed her with a long stroke that sent my entire length into her. She cried out, thrusting her hips up off the divan, and I knew that I'd been right I'd gotten another cherry! Oh, man, it was tight and nice in there, and I really gave it to her-and she really loved it. We belly banged with full enthusiasm, my nuts banging her on the ass with each plunge. I felt her fingernails digging into my back and her legs trying to climb me. I fucked harder and faster, wanting to come when she did. We did. We banged bellies and stayed glued together, her pussy throbbing, my cock throbbing, gasping into each others mouths. I could feel the sticky, hot come seeping out around my buried cock.
During the recuperation period she confessed that she had played around a little, necking and groping (but never skin; she had let guys feel her pussy through her panties and she had felt their cocks through their trousers, but no more). She had been mostly teasing this afternoon, not thinking that anyone as young as I would have had the experience or would go through with it. But the loving up and seeing my cock had pulled out all the stops; she couldn't have turned back then if she had wanted.
"Heavens!" she laughed, "Who'd believe that anyone as young as you would have all that and know what to do with it!"
But the dam broken-having once seen and felt male meat-a hunger had been admitted to. Almost blushingly, she told me that she had heard about and would like to try ... well would I think she was awful if ... When she couldn't get it out I merely put my hands on her head and pushed it down to my crotch. I felt her cheek against my limp meat; then she took it into her mouth; she tongued it and sucked it to hardness. Then she started working on it. I reached out, got hold of her hips and swung her around, burying my mouth in the blonde forest; I licked and kissed, then started tonguing. We both blew our wads a second time.
After that we met at least one afternoon a week, and we never climaxed less than twice.