Chapter 4
He had completely lost all self-consciousness, Mala noted with deep pride. Pride for him, pride for herself. It couldn't be easy for a young, sensitive boy to convert so quickly to the earthy interchange of male and female. Some men, as she knew, never made it. But Jerry Jonas did.
"I've got to piss," he said, sitting up, giving her an affectionate spank on the smoothness of her rump as she lay on her side.
"Let me kiss him, first," Mala said, caressing his prick. She was joyful to be asking, and, by asking, to further solidify the foundation of adulthood and equality she was trying to build for them both.
She looked up at him as she sucked him, noting the film of clean sweat all over him, enjoying the sharp smell of lust that hung between them. Her own cunt flavors were rubbed into his dark pubic hair, slathered on this large, soft cock she was sucking so gently, so firmly, and it thrilled her, as it always had. To be a woman, to have a mature cunt, to generate the richness of taste and aroma that sex and sex organs gave, that was a contemplation which made her grateful in every fiber.
His testicles, quite large for a boy of fifteen which had been drawn so tightly against his pole as the storm of cumming grew in them, now hung low in their relaxed sac, and she took them softly into her hand, holding their weight, loving their for what they were, the atomic energy which made this boy a natural adept at the slogging, lusty joy of fucking.
"It tastes so good," she sighed, taking the limp but still fat organ from her lips. "Some of me on it, and some of you. I love the taste of your cum."
He stood above her, happy, feeling like a real man for the first time in his life. "If you lie on your back," he said, "I can suck up a lot of it for you right out of your pussy." He laughed. "It ought to be nice and warm. Would you like that?"
Since it was exactly what she had been hoping, the idea struck through her with a little flash of cunt pleasure, and she hugged him hard around his naked hips, pressing her face into the soft and aromatic bush of hair.
With an athlete's ease and precision, she rolled back, holding her cunt lips open, willfully dramatizing the raw glory of her genitals. There was a hard glare of late afternoon sun coming into the room; she knew that her vaginal orifice, gaping open after her breathtaking orgasm, would throw back a live glow like red neon. And that lumps of drying semen would lie like little gifts of taste and savor in the troughs of her inner lips, now returning to normal size and appearance.
The boy lowered his shining face between the raised thighs, glanced up just once to smile into her delighted eyes, and softly placed his lips around the open hole, usually so primly closed by the little pink bubbles of slick membrane.
He made his first suck hard and long lasting, as she had hoped he would, and it gave her a brief burst of orgasmic joy.
He knee-walked up to her face and leaned above her, smiling, holding his mouth tightly shut.
With a little moan of joy, she reached up and took his head in her arms, pulling him down, getting her mouth on his, going in between his lips with her tongue, opening a tiny sluice for the jism to leak into her mouth, over her taste buds, getting that first slickness, that richness of flavor, his and hers.
Simply because it seemed so right, she felt for his cock and found it, holding it gently, squeezing as she sipped their combined cum-flow. It was a soft, warm handful, and she milked at it with tenderness and feeling, going clear up to his belly with each stroke, her thumb and first finger meshing in the wetness of the hair at the base of his cock. All of it was hers to have and love, the closeness of this warm, smooth skinned boy, the fertile rankness of the smells from his secret places and from hers, the glories of the flesh, even to the hair under his arms and under hers.
There was the steamy acridity of sweat, sharp as wild onions, and the faint nitric aroma of urine. Some day, she thought, I'll lie in the tub and have this big boy stand over ME AND PISS IN MY FACE.
It was such a heady thought that she gulped and sucked in the last few drops of the mixture of semen and girl-flow, and almost cried out in exasperation. But it had a compensation.
As she frequently did when she was excited and loose with the forces of lust, her bladder had leaked a dozen or more golden drops of her urine into the lips of her twat.
She kissed the boy and whispered: "One more suck, my darling; there's some more cum still up me!" and shivered with expectant lechery as the compliant lad moved around to where she held her legs back her cunt apart. It was chicken shit, in a mild way, since he was too drunk on sex to care and too innocent to know. A little of my piss can't hurt him she told herself determinedly.
Sooner or later, he'll have to drink a quart of it! And anyhow, I want a taste!
To her deep joy, he made a very visible jerk, or leap, as he sucked in something new, but immediately plowed his face into her streaming slit with more vigor, and his tongue's play proved that he was showing appreciation for something, even if he didn't know what it was.
This time, when he came back with his pursed lips in a smile of fervid beauty, and put his mouth to hers, she tasted the harshly aphrodisiac bite of her very own piss, mixed with the tapioca slickness of the buds of semi-solid cum that he had dredged out of her with his tongue.
Without asking, she walked into the bathroom with him and stood by him, her hip touching his buttocks, holding and aiming his cock as it swelled and throbbed to eject the golden stream from his bladder. He laughed happily as she squeezed it, turning his head and leaning down to kiss her. He was saying "thanks," she knew, for his raunchy, complete introduction to sex, and she caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth as she thought of the days to come, when she would draw him deeper and deeper into a more kinky type of sex. He was so wonderful now that she could not be sure she wanted him to change; she had known of men who, once they had gone over the line of normality, either could not or would not call a halt.
She looked at Jerry with a mother's smile, and asked softly: "Do boys wipe with toilet paper? and felt not at all guilty as she feigned innocence. knowing that the boy needed to be in a position of leading, or thinking he was leading.
He held her soft, warm hand on his dick and flipped it, showing what boys did. "Oh, you shake it!" she cried. "You shake off that last drop! Oh, it's so pretty!"
Her guts ached with the pleasant aftermath of this intense fuck, so much better than she ever dared expect from a boy. There was still a motion of sucking deep inside her; it was the time she loved, when a truly resounding orgasm had cleared her, at least temporarily, of the demands of lust.
She went to the bed and lay against a couple of enormous pillows, and watched him with deep pleasure and satisfaction as he leaned, unconcerned, to look at his face in the mirror of the tall antique dresser. "I feel so good," she said in a low, quiet voice. "So very, very good, my dear! Do you know it's almost time for dinner?"
He threw himself down beside her. "I'll have a hell of an appetite tonight," he said. "I hope you haven't spoiled your appetite, swallowing that jism. It's pretty rich stuff, isn't it?"
She patted his prick, now boyishly soft again, soft and sweet.
"I've been swallowing it ever since I was ten years old," she said boldly, determining to solidify the basis of reality on which their friendship rested. "It never spoiled my appetite yet!" She watched his face as he took in the fact that she had belonged, in sex, to many others, and rejoiced when his reaction was a quick smile.
"I guess girls have it better than boys," he said. "All they have to do is lie down and pull their panties off, and there'll always be some guy to take care of them. Boys have to suck around, and buy 'em stuff, and take 'em to dances. And then, nine times out of ten, they laugh at you when you try to take hold of them. Get your finger in their cunts, I mean."
Mala pulled him down to her and kissed him. "Aren't you even going to ask who introduced me to sucking and fucking?" she asked. "Put your hand over my pussy," she requested. "Not hard; you don't have to stick a finger into it; just give it a little tender loving pressure."
He laughed delightedly. "All right, you don't want to talk about girls having it easier than boys. Getting it easier than boys, I should say." He laughed at his little joke. "So tell me, who got you started?"
"I did," Mala answered promptly. "And you and every other boy who lets a girl's 'no' put him down is out of his gourd. I don't believe there's a girl alive who, somehow, somewhere in her, doesn't want to get fucked. Or rather, I expect they want to fuck someone, to give of themselves. I'll bet there are a few guys in your school, even in your group, who instinctively know this, am I right?
They're the guys who get all the fucking they need, and more."
"Y-e-e-s," Jerry said slowly. He was unconsciously working a finger into the sweetly hum i cleft just where it began, in the thick mound of soft tissue that held the thickest part of Males blonde cunt hair. "I know a couple. They don't talk about it much. They never say they've fucked some girl. But other guys, fellows who go down to Garth's farm when there's a gang-fuck going, or a group-grope, or just a plain old get-together, see these guys with their chicks. That's one way you know they've screwed so-and-so. But there's another way."
He laughed, and his voice was thick with interest, so Mala didn't prod him.
"You know what it is? The girls tip it off! I never thought of it until now, right this minute! Wow!"
He snuggled down alongside the woman's breast, hefting the weight of the one nearest him, his breath coming quicker, and took a long, sweet, kissing suck at the nipple, shrunken in size from what the fuck had left it, and turned his face to kiss into the-haired sweetness of her armpit. "It's like a cunt," he whispered. "Isn't it? That's why girls let hair grow under their arms. What do you think?"
"Maybe," Mala answered, playing with his brown curls, damp with his sweat. "Maybe it's just that they like to be natural. Tell me how the girls tip it off."
"Why, hell!" the boy cried. "I'm so fucking dumb. I bet I can tell you almost every girl who's been fucked in our school. And what guy fucked her. Yes, sir, it's a cinch!"
He looked away, collecting his thoughts, then turned back. "Take a guy, let's call him Timmy Schultz. Girls like him, and he-likes them, but he doesn't go steady. All of a sudden, some little chickie, say her name's Lennia Bruce, starts to come up to Timmy every chance she gets, walking down the hall, coming out of a class, on the campus, by the buses, and she just stands by him and looks at him like she could eat him up. Not jealous-or what's the word?"
"Possessive," Mala supplied.
"Yeah! Possessive! Not possessive, I mean. Just sweet, like she loved him. Putting her arm around him, looking up at him like he was the only guy in the world. Yes, and bringing him a Coke in the cafeteria or at a ball game. Then, a week or two later, without any breakup at all, there's a new girl following old Timmy around, hugging him, patting him, bringing him stuff! And the first girl doesn't seem to mind. That's funny!"
In his excitement at the discovery, Jerry had sat up, but Mala pulled him down again, his body smooth and warm against hers, their sweat now drying, leaving their closely contacted skins with a dry, warm humanity of feeling that made Mala shiver.
"Not so funny," she said with a smile. "The girl wanted it. Which is like I said. They liked Timmy but what they wanted was to become women, to feel that marvelous sense of being attached to a man-a boy-by one of these wonderful gadgets She stroked his prick, holding it up, letting it drop in its warm, fat limpness. "And Timmy knew this. He didn't take advantage of the girl, or of her nature. He simply saw that something very lovely and loving was ripe and ready to be plucked."
"Whew!" Jerry blew his breath out noisily. "I'd like to pluck a few of them, myself! There's some real choice chicks in Oakdale. Hey, you aren't getting the idea that these guys are cherry pickers, are you?" he asked. "Most of these girls are around thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Don't you suppose they've been fucked before?"
"Maybe so, maybe not. What difference does it make? Do you think it's wrong for a guy to get a maidenhead? Or a girl to give one up? Hoto! They're an embarrassing nuisance. Most girls break them with their fingers, or a hairbrush handle, or a douche nozzle, just to get rid of them."
Jerry looked slightly dazed, but his young cock had grown slightly, just in the last few minutes. "What a waste," he muttered. "It would be so great to break one!"
He turned to Mala, gripping her fiercely, kissing her hard, running his tongue deep into her surprised mouth. His left hand automatically went down between her thighs, so warm and gently sweated where they pressed together, and his hand, rough and demanding, spread her cunt so suddenly that she jerked and heaved, trying to escape. His long right arm was clear around her, under her shoulders, and he forced it further so that his hand could grab her breast in a painful, happy grip.
Glad of what was happening, once she realized its portent, Mala pressed herself closer to his smooth, heated body, opening her thighs and humping her bottom to make the slippery grip of her cunt available to the boy's fingers.
He held her for long, long seconds, furiously tonguing her, fucking his ringers in and out of her suddenly fired-up pussy, in a paroxysm of youthful lust.
He let her go and sat up, grinning, wiping her spit and his from his lips, making a big show of sniffing at his dripping fingers, then of licking off the cooling glaze of cunt-oil from his fingers.
"You tried to get your whole hand in, didn't you, Jer?" Mala said. "You know, I'm not loose unless I forced myself to relax and open up."
Immediately, his boyish face fell. "Golly, I'm sorry, Mala," he said earnestly. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"
She patted his prick, now much fatter, and smiled. "Don't worry, baby," she said. "Outside of some murderous guy really trying to ruin a girl, it's hard to damage one of these." She patted her pussy. "And hurting a little bit, I mean for a guy to get hot and rough and just a little over-eager, is some of the best fun there is. I know a couple of things that, well, things we can do later. Hey, look at the time! We have to go to dinner!"
They walked hand in hand to the big house, Mala in a thin summer dress that gave tier breasts full play to swing and jounce and jiggle, and their hard rub against the fabric made her nipples pop out.
Jerry had suggested it might be better if he left first and went in through the kitchen. "Old Miz Charles might start wondering about us," he said, so like a small boy that Mala hugged him and kissed his cheek.
"What would you think if I told you that you could fuck 'Old Miz Charles' as you call her and that it'd be wonderful?" she asked him.
He stopped short and looked at her as if she were crazy.
"You've got to be kidding!" he exploded. laughing. "Why, she's older than my mom! A woman that old!" and then he blushed.
"You've thought about it, haven't you?" Mala guessed shrewdly. "What did you do see her naked, too?"
Jerry began to laugh and cupped his hand under the firm cheek of her ass, wiggling his fingers in between, into the softness between her legs, feeling warm, slick moisture strike through the light fabric. "Man, you know it!" he gasped. "And you're right, too; I did think about it. You know something-she's not bad."
He stood still in thought for a moment, then said: "Hey, Mala, what're you trying to do, get rid of me? Listen, just because I said I'd like to stick it into some of those little chickies at school hey, that was just talk. None of them's half as good as you. I'll bet on that!"
She took his arm affectionately. "Jerry, I promise you, if I could help you get one of those kids, I'd do it in a minute. And maybe I can. Girls talk to me; they'd better. If I'm going to coach any gymnast, they have to talk to me."
They are in a large, bright room which was actually a bay on the big formal dining room, with a view out across the lawns to the surrounding ring of ancient oaks and Monterrey pines. Mrs.
Charles served them, as well as Mr. Charles, and then sat down with them without self-consciousness. Mala was interested to see that the cuddly little woman had changed into a less severe dress, a blue cotton with a deep scoop neck, and with more room for her big, soft breasts to show themselves. They had no sag, and Mala was impressed.
When the meal was over, and it was getting dark, Mala said good night, smiling impartially around the table, and went out into the fragrant evening, listening to the whir of random insect the rustle of some small animal in the dead leaves in a thicket, deeply enjoying the scents and sounds and quiet of the soft darkness.
She felt warm and content, in the way that only a full-blooded woman can know after a long and happy use of her body.
"A lot to be said for fucking in the afternoon," she murmured to herself, half aloud. "Gives you a chance to think about it, feel it again, enjoy it all over for the second time."
She suddenly was swept by a desire for sleep. It had been, after all, a long day, a hard day, a day of surprises. And of the deepest sort of satisfactions.