Chapter 4
The following Saturday morning Larry left for Bombay. The girl he left behind was sulky, moody,, depressed-"a bitch!" Gert admitted to herself, kicking the electric dishwasher in the kitchen.
Not only had she not been granted an opportunity to try out her milk-bath-and-butter techniques on Larry-he'd spoiled that by wearing the living bejesus out of her, which really she shouldn't have been complaining about-but it now looked like she wouldn't get a chance to perfect those techniques. Not with Gil, she wouldn't.
Gil the man of milk turned to a man of jelly when Larry had opened the door to his furtive knock the morning after his return. The light was on, Larry's doing, and Gil had heeded the call, one which no doubt he'd looked for daily.
"Milk?" Larry roared. "Who the hell wants milk around here? I can't stand the stuff!"
Gert, who had been in the kitchen with Larry and seen Gil's knees begin to shake, interceded fast.
"Larry, darling, that's no way to talk. After all, what's wrong with a man trying to drum up a little trade? It's part of the free enterprise system. You aren't against free enterprise, are you?"
"Hell no, I'm just against milk." He leered at Gil. "Good man, do you know what W.C. Fields said about milk?"
Gil helplessly looked past Larry to Gert. "N-no. Does Mr. Fields live on this block?"
Gert laughed in spite of herself. For his part, Larry warned Gil that if he or any other purveyor of white fluid showed his face around his door, "I'll pull your goddamn udders off and stuff them up your goddamn nose!"
Well, Larry had always been like that in the mornings.
"Bitch!" Gert repeated, now nursing the toe that had kicked the dishwasher. What she needed was a good screwing.
Good screwing? God, what had she had just that morning, before Larry took off for the airport? A damned good screwing, that's what. Then what was it she needed?
She looked around her. There on the counter top was a piece of paper. Her shopping list, made out two days ago. Eggs, meat, flour, sugar, coffee, orange juice, et cetera.
That's what she needed. At least part of the cravings of her flesh would be satisfied by such. Twenty minutes later she climbed into the front seat of her Firebird and whipped out of the driveway. Her original intention was to take the ten-minute drive to the shopping plaza. There she could not only buy the food she wanted, but look over the latest thing in pants suits. Larry made good money and it was about time she started spending more of it. But she never got to the shopping plaza.
She was stopping for a stop sign when she saw the boy.
He had just pulled his bicycle up to the curb ahead of her. He was lifting some grocery bags out of the wire basket on the handle bars. He was about sixteen or seventeen. About six-feet-four, two hundred pounds, and all of it muscle-and, from the looks of him, hot blood. The weather was on the chilly side this morning, and he was wearing just a tee-shirt, those big, mountainous biceps rippling. His hair was blond and longish, but not too longish. His face-he turned and made Gert gasp-was that of a Nordic warrior. No, check that; the eyes were clear all right, but there was an upturn of the mouth that was a kind of sneer-smile that But why try to analyze? He was Leif Ericson's face on Hercules' body with the inner spirit of Attila the Hun. He was, in short, yummy.
But he was about sixteen or seventeen, Gert reminded herself. True, she answered, but then that is the age of highest sexual prowess, is it not?
Perhaps. But Gert, dating, after all After all, what?
Well, sweetie ... you wouldn't want to be known as a cradle robber, would you? So who's to know?
Gert, girl, you've got an excellent point there. Follow that carer, bike!
She crossed the intersection and parked. While she awaited his emergence from inside the house. God! What if some suburban bitch was beating her to it?-she checked her appearance in her car mirror. Fine, just fine. But she re-applied a little lip gloss. Ah! there he was, walking god-like down the walkway and climbing up on his silver charger bike, dammit! and We're off!
The grocery store was five blocks from Gert's house. She'd never known it was there until now. All goes to show, she thought to herself.. Support your neighborhood merchant and all that.
The store interior wasn't all that interesting, except for her main interest who, as she entered, was engaged in stacking some empty boxes in a corner at the rear of the store.
Without consulting her list she picked up a basketful of items at random from around the store including some ingredients for the sex session already starting to shape up in her mind. She didn't want him leaving for more deliveries until she had checked out.
She waited until he stepped to the counter. She went over to him, laying a slightly trembling hand on his shoulder.
"You're new here, aren't you?" she asked. It was not a very original opening line, but it was something.
He shook his head. "I've been here a couple, three months. Just Saturdays and Sundays. I go to college."
"How nice," Gert said. "And what time do you generally finish?" She added hastily, "Finish here, I mean, I won't be home until quite late, and I was wondering if you could make my delivery your last stop."
"Sure, ma'am. How is six o'clock? You're in the neighborhood?" She nodded yes. "Good, I live close by and can just go home from your house without coming back to the store."
She gave him the address and left. At home, she waited rather impatiently. But TV soap operas helped her pass the day-those plus her preparations. She had pulled her hair back into a pony tail and put on jeans and a tee-shirt. Her method was going to be rather direct and she didn't want any apparent age difference distracting him. Not that she was old but he was only sixteen or seventeen. She was sure he would put her in the older-woman category.
The off-the-kitchen bell rang and he stood there with the two boxes of groceries she had ordered. The, canned goods and six-packs of beer she had bought showed their heaviness by the strain on his arm muscles. She motioned him to a counter. The counter was in a corner. And so was he. All according to plan. Standing behind him, one arm reached to open a cupboard at his right. The other hand was reaching around to his left to grab a can of asparagus tips from one of the boxes. She pressed him against the waist-high counter, her stomach pushing into his buttocks. Her knee lifted-rubbed gently between his legs. She brought the asparagus around in front of him, in front of them, and arched her other arm-hand around to reach it. At the encircling contact, he shuddered slightly, and she noted with pleasure that those lovely biceps of his had grown thousands of goose bumps.
"Er, if you wait a second, I can move for you," he said.
Gert chuckled deep in her throat. 'I'll just bet you can. And I plan to take you up on that."
"Ma'am?"
She dropped the can to the counter and stepped back one pace, waiting for him to move back with her. As he did her hands darted down the front of him and found the main muscle that she was so curious about. She bet that rippled too. It did, along with the rest of him.
With a grinding, circling motion of her hips on his rear and a gentle stroking of his balls through the thick denim fabric of his jeans she put her first question to him:
"Now that I've introduced myself to Peter, here, what's your name?"
"Ru-dy," he said, his voice cracking between the two syllables. "Rudolph, actually."
"Rudolph," she repeated, putting on her throaty voice. Difficult name to make sound sexy, she reflected. It could have been worse, though. Try Throckmorton on for size some time. But her attention was wandering.
"Rudolph, I bet I know what you'd like right now."
"Mmmm?" he gurgled.
"A sandwich."
"Sandwich?" Again his voice-cracking split the word beautifully, the last syllable moving up the scale about two octaves.
"Of course. A penis sandwich." She thought about the term. Maybe the boy hadn't had Latin in school. "A cock sandwich. And aren't we luckyyou brought the bread and the cock with you, both of the essential ingredients."
Grasping his crotch firmly she turned him to her, not missing a beat in her stroking of his now-expanded tool. Pain and confusion crossed his face and he opened his mouth to speak.
He didn't, couldn't, as her tongue darted in the opening and she pulled his chest down to hers. Hesitantly his hands moved around to encircle her. Then suddenly his mouth began working hers furiously, probingly. Wow! He at least knew how to French kiss. She wondered what else he knew how to do.
As his fervor increased and his hands found their way over her body-roughly, but somehow knowingly-she reached up her hands, pulling at his big-buckled belt. He flinched as she pulled down the zipper and dropped his blue jeans to the floor. His mouth and hands left her as he made a frantic grab for his lost, denimed dignity.
His shorts were the jockey type, less easy to whisk one's hand into than the boxer style, but Gert's speed was sufficient to the task. The boy's frantic grab was stopped short when both his hands came to reflexive rest upon both of hers which had in turn come to rest on his throbbing male member.
"Now," she said, "about that sandwich of mine."
"M-m-madam, I'm not s-s-sure-"
"You're quite right, Rudolph. We shall require some bread, won't we? Without bread it wouldn't be a sandwich, would it? Whoever heard of a sandwich without bread? Did you?"
Her questions had been accompanied by massaging motions around and up and down his length, which felt like quite a handful but which she couldn't afford the luxury of eye-inspecting at the moment. She kept looking into his eyes, for fear he might at any instant decide to get scared and bolt out the door. But that cock of his felt great, and the wetness on the heel of her palm told her that her finger flexings were having their desired effect.
But he was just a baby, remember that. God, he might come just from her hand-motion-after all, how many jerkings-off by an expert had he ever experienced? Poor scared kid-of course! How stupid of you, Gert, he probably was afraid that "My husband," she said, and felt his cock start to soften, "my husband, who is away for the week, he says that there's no such thing as a sandwich without bread. Wouldn't you agree, Rudolph?"
So that was the problem! That cock of his suddenly sprang to life again!
"Sandwich without bread? N-no, ma'am-"
"All good sandwiches got bread, right?"
"R-right!" he blurted, and suddenly his arms made a grab for Gert.
But she was too fast for him. Stepping backward hurriedly, she looked at the red-tipped cock she'd just been working over. Christmas, what a piece! And bulging like it was ready to spill out everything right on the kitchen floor. She'd stopped just in time!
But he was hooked now, she knew. Her tone changed to one she thought of as appropriate to Concentration Camp Commandant:
"Then, Rudolph, get the bread, and bring it to the living room. At once, if you please. I like to eat-ah certain things in the living room."
Turning on her heel and giving her butt a provocative twitch, she led Rudolph and the bread into the darkened living room. She put on two lamps, low. and faced him. She almost laughed.
He stood there looking at her like an overgrown lap dog, with one hand clutching his jeans high, but not high enough (his extended prick inhibited movement upward), and the other hand clutching the loaf of bread like a squeezed football. , "Stop being silly," she told him. "Lay down on the couch. On your back," she added.
When, unsurely, he did as directed, she knelt beside the soft overstuffed couch and brought her mouth down to his, offering him her tongue, hoping to distract him from his uncertainty. Her hands worked his jeans downward again and she lingered over his freed cock until she knew it was finished growing. And grow it had done. She had been right. The muscle rippled and bulged the same way his biceps had. Yes, a sandwich. A delicious cock sandwich.
He was past resisting now. Desire showed on his face and in the way he was kissing her. She stood up and disrobed, pleased by the way he took in her body and by his look of slight shock as he realized she wore no panties or bra.
Unwrapping the load of bread caused another look of surprise, but she was pleased to see he wasn't off at a jog. That would have been difficult, though, with the pants still wrapped around his legs. She had it all thought out. Well thought out.
Kneeling again she took a slice of the bread and wrapped it around his penis. Black pumpernickel bread, white cock. Color coordinated-beautiful.
She looked at the bread and the cock within it. A hot dog, sort of, and the balls below were mustard and relish, of course. She tried a little 'of the seasoning, circling her tongue over the hairy, goose-bumped surfaces. Her one hand stroked his legs, the other still wrapping the bread around and around his pulsating prick. His breathing got heavier, his body trembled.
She got up on the sofa with him, her bare bottom in front of his face, wondering briefly if he'd know what to do with it. With her mouth on the tip of his cock she started eating. Eating the delicious looking penis sandwich she had envisioned all day. With a nip at the hard crust of the bread at the tip of his cock she chewed and chewed, her mouth gently chewing around his cock, swallowing a bit of jism with the small mouthfuls of bread. She had made the decision. She intended to eat the whole slice no matter how long it took her. If he could stand it, that is.
Licking his cock under the bread on her upstrokes she let her saliva soften the bread. Then, as she brought her lips down hard around the white cock, the black bread broke off in her mouth. With her lips compressing the cock and making it slide back and forth in its black sheath she worked the bread into small bits, her mouth sliding from side to side in slow sensuous moves. She worked slowly, easily, down the root, enjoying the mixture of textures and tastes. The graininess of the pumpernickel, the sweet jism coating the bread, the smooth hardness of his shaft. Good sandwich, good meal. Yet She was getting hornier and hornier. The thought of the muscle-bound bulging cock stuffed in her mouth filled her body with a desire to be stuffed all over. As she chewed and sucked and swallowed, her free hand worked its way to his rear. She forced a finger deep into him. His body went rigid, his chest arching into her stomach. He grabbed her buttocks, squeezing them, hurting them with the strength of his powerful hands. She ate at him harder, faster, caught with the frenzy of the rough fingers kneading her behind. Her fingers drove into his anus, as she writhed atop his body, humping his chest, mouth-fucking his cock, devouring his cock, the bread, the jism. Eating him, working at the bread to be done with it, to be able to just suck and draw on the ramrod-stiff muscle without gagging on the bread that was filling her throat. She wanted her throat filled with the length of the hot tool spitting in her mouth.
She wanted something else, too, but so far he hadn't given it to her. His face was inches from her cunt. In fact the pressure of his hands against her rump was pushing her bush into the side of his cheek. All it needed was a small effort on his part to bring him into an eating position of his own. But, damn him, he wasn't making the effort.
Ah, well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed....
Gert-Mohammed stopped the motions of her mouth and fingers, took a little bounce on her hip and whipped her snatch. Rudolph took it full in the mouth, coughed, sputtered and jerked his head up. "Wha-wha-" he said.
"That's a good mouth formation, but inhale when you do it-hard. Ready?"
"You stopped," he said, looking like his eyes were about to pop out. "Why'd you stop?"
"Because I hate to eat alone. Join me, Rudyyummm!"
And her lips took the tip of his cock in a twisting, rolling kiss-suck that popped when she suctioned herself free.
"Do like that, Rudy-now," she said, moving up his ass and around his cock, and again she shoved her snatch to him. Crap, he probably had some stupid idea about germs or something, which was stupid, like, if you're willing to stick your unprotected pecker in that hot, hairy hole, what was so goddamned scared about your fucking tongue which didn't even have a hole in it, which made it a hell of a lot safer from any would-be creeping cruddies than that pecker which after all was an inviting tunnel running through all sorts of intestinal tracks and....
Crap! He probably was just too fucking young. Probably he'd never eaten a pussy before and just didn't know how. But young people were supposed to have imaginations, weren't they? And just how much fucking imagination did it take if you've got a pussy staring you right in the face?
Oh, screw the whole thing, she decided, resolving to get rid of the rest of that fucking black bread and let the Hercules prick roar around in her cunt her cunt her cunt her cunt-oooo-wheee! HER CUNT!
And then his tongue in it, darting in and out so unexpected but there, there, there, and-oooo-so right there, right in there, right on, under, around, out, in, against, between, through. So young the tongue, a young tongue, it sounded like a Chinese dish-Yung-Tung soup, please. Slurp! And from the feel of what was going on down there he was eating it Chinese bowl-style, cupping his hands around the bottom and lifting the lips and drinking there from the goodie-slurpies deep down in the bottom of the billowing bouncing baby bowl....
And his body twisting, turning, as she finished chewing the last morsel of bread, a hard crust that seemingly took forever to disintegrate, swallowing it whole and pulling with lips and fingers the length of his cock as she did. Now. Now, she thought and she sucked and worked his cock with pliant lips until she felt him ready to come. He was forcing his tongue and his prick deeper into her; she responded by shoving a second finger up his ass to join its mate already there, her other hand, no longer finding room on the cock, sliding down to caress his balls.
Their bodies were working together now, her cunt squeezing his tongue, squeezing harder and harder, pushing her-his wetness in and out of her, his massive hands kneading her buttocks with a wayward thumb, a roamer, forcing its way into her rectum.
And then, with a pow, a teasing, weird sensation that-oh God, not now! But it was: his body started the slow all-over shudder that she knew signalled he was coming. She screamed within herself-she had to come, too, but she couldn't feel anything building within her. But she had to come. She just had to. But then with a deep moan and spasming body he came into her mouth, lava-thick, molten hot come filling her mouth, spilling out of it, smearing over her face, over his belly.
She collapsed over his cock, disbelieving. Shook. Her body screaming and aching.
If she talked he would be sure to get up and. go. But if she didn't, if she didn't how could she tell him what she needed. He was too young to know, to sense her need.
Her fingers moving gently in his rectum, she tried to kiss life back into his tool. Nothing happened. He was spent. She lay there disappointed, her bottom still heaving, unable to stop. That bottom wanted to be fucked, and fucked it would be-she hoped.
Pulling her fingers from his rear she slid down his body. Down to his toes. She licked the tops of his feet, hot licks. Then his ankles and shins. His knees. When she got back to his inner thighs he was quivering. Her breasts felt his tool hardening again, pushing against her soft tautness. She swung to the floor and lay there. She knew he was ready again.
She spread her hair behind her, running her ringers through it, arched her back, swung her hips in gentle arcs through the air.
Without a word, without a sound, he rolled from the sofa onto her and into her. The move was deft, but it was about the only thing that was. Once inside he ground the living bejesus out of her, which was precisely what she needed.
And while he labored over her she met his thrusts, feeling, knowing that this time she was going to make it and make it good, also knowing that afterwards she'd easily bring him to jumping his blocks off. She thought about her penis sandwich invention and was pleased. Larry would really appreciate this one. And at least he'd know what to do so that their mutual face-fuck would bring them to bliss together.
Boy, he'd love it. White cock and black bread. Great color coordination. And there were several other variations on the color scheme.
Like, for instance, bread, cock and marmalade.
Yummy, she was thinking, as Rudolph's efforts started her up the Big Cock Candy Mountain.