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From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: {FriarDave}JDR"Constance 3"( mF MF Mf ff 1st m-solo f-solo voy )[3/5]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own
risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes some of the thinking behind the pattern of the
reposts, as well as the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
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====================================================================
What follows is fiction. Hopefully, entertaining and not too heavy-
handed. This work contains heterosexual activity between adult men and
women, and between adults and legal minors. A little same-sex
exploring between some minors. There is absolutely no domination,
submission, violence, piercing or bathroom sports. There's a little
nausea, but not related to the sex. The only drugs are some brew and
some scotch. There's a bit of coercion, but not what you're probably
thinking. If the presence or absence of any of the foregoing is
disturbing to you, don't read this. And please don't inflict it on
those who don't knowingly ask for it. --fd, 10/1/94
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag.
====================================================================
=====================
CONSTANCE
By Friar Dave
friar_dave@mhbbs.com
(Copyright, 1994)
Part 3
* * *
To her surprise, Constance found that there really was a lot of junk
to get out of the attic. Pushing a stray strand of fiery red hair from her
sweaty forehead with a dusty hand, she surveyed the five cartons of
soon-to-be-landfill. She heard the water run in the bathroom. A moment
later, Ronnie appeared, face and hands clean. The light shirt was filthy
and sweat-plastered to him. She marveled at the lean, stringy muscles on
his frame. He really was going to be a hunk.
"We got a lot done in an hour, didn't we, Ronnie?"
"We sure did, Mrs. McEvoy." His eyes kept dropping to her bust, where
perspiration had soaked the fabric to transparency and plastered it to her
tits. "Can I have a drink of water?"
"Of course -- I should have offered. Help yourself to whatever you
like." She swung the refrigerator door open, knowing what the cold air
would do to her nipples under the damp shirt. "In fact, I have some
Gatorade here somewhere..." She dropped to a crouch and reached into the
refrigerator, knowing the posture tested the loose knot in the shirttails.
In the chrome edging, she could see the reflection of his eyes, his gaze
searching the front of her shirt.
Her nipples were hardening.
"There it is." She reached a...little...farther. Her fingers closed
on the cold glass. She withdrew it, stood and closed the door. As he took
the bottle, the shirt tails let go. The damp cloth clung to her breasts,
revealing the inner swells. "Ooops."
Constance grabbed the tails and quickly retied them. Ronnie snapped
his eyes away a moment too late. He blushed.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. McEvoy."
"That's okay, Ronnie. No harm done. I don't mind you looking at me."
The blush deepened.
"Do you like looking at me?"
"Gosh, yeah!"
"Then go ahead and look. I don't mind."
"You don't?"
"Why should I? You're a nice young man, and I know you'd never tell
anyone."
"Never in a hundred-million years."
"So you just go ahead and look. In fact, I like it when a handsome
young man I can trust -- like you -- looks at me."
His gaze began exploring -- tentatively, at first, then more boldly.
Once or twice he looked at her face, and she smiled in encouragement. She
didn't fail to notice the lump in his jeans.
After a few more seconds, he swallowed. "Well, uh, I guess we better
get back to work, huh?"
"There's no hurry, Ronnie. We already got more done than I hoped.
But if you don't want to look at me anymore -- "
"Oh, I do!" He clamped his mouth shut. "It's just that, well, when I
look at you I start to, I dunno, I start to -- "
"You start to get hard?"
He nodded guiltily.
"That's okay. I like knowing I can make you get hard."
"It's just that, well, it's just that then I need to -- I dunno -- I
need to -- you know -- "
Her pussy was getting very damp. "You need to take it out and rub it
until you shoot."
He nodded a bit too quickly.
"Like you did yesterday, when you jerked off looking at me in the
yard."
His eyes widened in horror, and he was about to say something --
probably apologetic, she guessed.
"No, no, no -- that's fine, Ronnie." She stepped close to him. His
bulging eyes followed her tits as they approached -- and stopped just short
of his chest. "I'm so happy that looking at me made you want to jerk off."
"You are?" he breathed.
"Sure. I just wish I could have seen it."
He looked confused for a moment, then uncertain -- and then amazed.
"You mean you want -- "
Her fingers moved up the inner edge of her damp shirt, following the
line of stitching -- on one side the buttons, on the other, the matching
holes.
How appropriate, she thought.
She toyed with the fabric, tugging, fondling, feeling it pull and
move, sometimes reluctantly, on her tits, taking satisfaction in thinking
of the number of times Jack had put the buttons into the holes of this same
shirt, then tossed it aside when it grew a bit older, a bit worn, a bit too
familiar.
"Please," she whispered, lifting the cotton and pulling it slowly
back. "Please show me."
She uncovered her breasts.
"Unnnnhhh..." He looked almost delirious. His fingers were clumsy on
his belt, clumsier on the waist snap.
"Let me?" she cooed, opening his jeans. Now committed, she was eager
to see his fresh little-boy cock. She kept her eyes on his as she bent her
knees, pushing the jeans down over his lean hips. She left them at his
knees, still watching his face. Her hands trailed up his thighs to his
hips, to the elastic waist of his briefs. Only as she began peeling them
down did she look at his crotch again.
"Oh!"
The sound escaped. She hadn't expected *this*!
The head of his cock and fully half the shaft was protruding out of
the legs of his briefs.
"Oh, that must hurt...." she cooed, dropping to one knee, then both,
and carefully working the briefs down. His dick bobbed up at her face
level, throbbing and bobbing at an angle of 60 to 40 degrees "That must be
very uncomfortable..."
"Un-huh."
Well, I didn't get into this for the conversation, she reminded
herself.
"And you hold it like -- this, right?"
She closed her right hand around the shaft at the midpoint. Barely
closed her hand. He was quite thick. Much thicker than Jack.
"Ahhhhh -- yes, Mrs. McEvoy."
"And you jerk it like -- this?" She began to move her hand up and down
on his shaft.
"Y-y-yes, ma'am!"
So polite.
"Mmmmmm -- I like doing this, Ronnie." She looked up into his face,
saw the slack-jawed pleasure replacing the slack-jawed astonishment. "Do
you like it when I do this for you?"
"Oh, yes, Mrs. McEvoy!"
And it was true for both of them. She was enjoying it, though not as
much as he was in terms of sheer, physical sensation. In fact, why
shouldn't she enjoy some sensation. Her gaze still on his face, she raised
her left hand and cupped her right tit, enjoying even the touch of her own
fingers, savoring the weight and firmness of her own breast. She ran her
palm and fingers over the globe of fatty and erectile tissue and applied
the pads of thumb and forefinger to the aureole and, finally, the engorged
tissue of her nozzle. The look on his face would have been enough to cause
involuntary vaginal secretions, but the physical sensations and the
psychological trappings and associations of the situation added to the
quantity and viscosity of the secreted lubricant being generated within her
vagina and to the excitement impelled engorgement of her labia majora.
Meantime, his cock had begun to ooze.
"Oh, look," she breathed. "It's starting to leak. Does that mean
you're going to shoot soon?"
"Hu...hu....hu....hu..."
She translated that to "Yes."
"Can't make a mess, so..."
Constance Gudsmonsdotter McEvoy leaned forward and licked the tip of
the fat glans. Then, C.G. McE. -- granddaughter of an Icelandic
immigrant banker and a Wisconsin schoolteacher, winner of the Miss
Propriety Medal in sixth grade and Bible Studies Award in the summer of her
twelfth year at the Green Bay Church of the All Holy Sunday School,
runner-up in the wet-tee-shirt contest at the Northwestern U. Lambda Chi
Alpha Rush Week Bauhaus -- calmly opened her mouth very wide (the boy
really did have quite a fat dick) and sucked his glans into her mouth.
The effect on the kid was -- well, cataclysmic.
"Oh, Mrs. McEvoy! I'm -- "
Which ended the verbal intercourse. The fat cock in her mouth swelled
still more and an ooze of precum became a gusher of semen.
Constance was amazed. She'd expected him to cum very quickly, but not
instantly. And she'd expected a lot -- but there was a limit to her
expectations.
Then she was stunned. Where *was* it all coming from? It seemed like
he'd been hooked to a pool, a reservoir, a lake of semen -- and still it
came. Her cheeks literally bulged before the first spurt -- spurt, hell;
it was a geyser -- stopped. And then it started again, before she'd
finished swallowing.
He came enormously. Again her mouth filled, and her cheeks swelled,
this time so much that her lips parted and some spilled out.
More than most guys can cum has spilled out, she thought.
She swallowed, and he grunted again. Sploosh! Her mouth was filled.
She sucked as hard as she could, hoping to drain him before she lost
control and started coughing. He just grunted and spasmed in her mouth
again.
And, suddenly -- surprisingly, because swallowing semen hadn't been
her favorite thing even when she'd done it more often -- she found herself
aroused. *I'm* doing this, she thought. *I'm* inspiring this beautiful
young boy to cum this much. *I'm* his first woman.
He'll never dismiss me or take me for granted or forget me, she
realized, and an immense tenderness grew in her.
Yes, baby, she encouraged him in her head. Give me it all!
Sploosh! Another tremendous wad of 12-year-old cum rocketed into her
mouth. More leaked, more dripped down her chin, onto her heaving tits and
her tit-manipulating hand and forearm.
Goosh! Another big load...but perhaps a bit less? Yes, definitely.
Not much, but some.
"Oh, Missus -- Missus -- "
Splurt! Certainly somewhat less now. She swallowed, sucked and moved
her tongue on the underside of his glans as she whacked her hand up and
down the stalk of his fat dick.
Mistake. Her tongue and suction were novelties that inflamed and
inspired him; her hand's movement was familiar and relaxing. His prick
swelled still more, and then he unleashed a torrent of cum into her mouth.
It came and came and came, like a hose in her mouth. She swallowed
desperately, but it was still ejaculating, and she wasn't breathing easily.
She pulled her mouth off his prick, and he hosed her face.
The eruption paused, and then he proceeded to spatter her face, neck,
exposed breasts and hands with a greatly diminished load, i.e., about the
quantity usual to a guy in his 30s.
He sagged, his knees buckling for a moment before he caught himself.
They were both panting. The fat shaft in her hand had shrunk to about
half-mast. Almost for the first time she noticed that he had only the
faintest sprinkling of dark hairs around the base of his cock.
Twelve years old, she thought, recalling with a mental shiver that
males didn't hit their sexual prime till five to eight years later.
Oh, my, she thought.
She turned her sperm-slick face toward his, taking proper note of the
insistent heat in her crotch -- not to mention the humidity down there.
"I liked that, Ronnie, but now I have to wash off." She put on a
thoughtful expression. "We both should. Will you help me get washed?"
His expression was sorely puzzled.
"Let's take a little shower, stud. You and me. Naked. Wet.
Slippery. Okay?"
Still befuddled, he managed to pant, "O-okay, Mrs. McEvoy."
She stood, still with a handful of fat, young cock, and gently led the
boy toward the bathroom -- the one off the master bedroom.
* * *
"Anyone home?"
Nancy pushed the door open, puzzled. It was unlocked, so someone had
to be home. But there'd been no answer to the doorbell, even after she'd
held it down and counted one-Mississippi 75 times.
But someone had to be home. Lisa's dad worked out of his house
sometimes, and he --
Well, she thought, maybe not today.
And Lisa's mom did have a job in Ridgewood, as a receptionist for a
doctor's office.
Still, the door wasn't locked. Lisa should be home.
"Hello?" She closed the door behind her. She remembered movies where
innocent girls had entered empty homes that should have been full. Some
deranged escapee from a mental hospital could be in here. Arab terrorists.
Wait a second, she reminded herself. My great-grandmother is from
Iraq.
Or a crazed rapist. Or Freddy Krueger.
"Freddy Krueger?" she muttered. "Can you say, 'par-a-noi-a'?"
"Lisa!" she breathed. "Where the hell are you?"
She froze. Had that neem a noise from upstairs? Where Lisa's room
was?
Time to visit the kitchen. That was where the movie-of-the-week
heroine always found the tools of defending hearth and home.
"You're 13 years old," she said aloud. "You are not Emma Peel."
She froze, hearing a sound from above again.
"Fuck Mrs. Peel," she said, grabbing the first utensil at hand -- in
this case, hot-dog tongs. Her best friend might well be in trouble.
Hot-dog tongs in hand, Nancy left her shoulder bag on the kitchen
counter and headed for the stairway to the second floor of the split- level
post-war VA-approved house (with 3 brs, furn rec rm, wbfplc, 2- cr grg &
babbling brook at rear of hedge-brdrd yrd!!!). Her best bud might need
her, might be in deep goo.
No time to get squeamish, she told herself, tightening her grip on the
hot-dog tongs and cat-footing it up the stairs.
* * *
"Oh, YES!" Constance wailed, as the 12-year-old with an IQ of 80
slammed eight fat inches of turgid meat deep into her hungering cunt. Her
knees were next to her ears, her thighs and tits were bruised, her pussy
was sore, and she hadn't cum so much since she'd been on the honeymoon
cruise to Acapulco with Jack about 600 years before.
"Is this okay, Mrs. McEvoy?"
"YES! Don't stop!"
He slammed to her limit again, his shoulders driving her legs back and
forcing her pelvis -- and cunt -- higher. She felt his swollen, tight
young nuts against her asshole.
"YES!"
* * *
Sid's eyes were watering. That was how he knew it had been too long
since he'd blinked. Still --
That's my boy! he exulted.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing through the scope. There was
Mrs. Constance Big-Tits McEvoy getting ploughed by his own son -- and
loving it. And the boy didn't seem exactly to be in pain. Again and again
the kid put it to her, again and again she was obviously getting her
cookies, again and again, Sid was cheering for his boy.
That's the way, kid! he whooped inwardly. Show the bitch a good time
and LAY THAT PIPE!
Of course, he was starting to get a sore arm. After all, he was no
kid himself anymore; at 40, he was a bit old to be choking the chicken for
the second time in a half hour. But he really couldn't help himself. With
the spotter scope fixed on the uncovered window of Mrs. Constance
Redheaded Big-Tits McEvoy's bedroom, he had a great view. There she was
with her legs up over the kid's shoulders, mouth open, boobies jiggling and
obviously cumming to beat the band.
He envied the kid. He wished he could have been in there. He wished
Mrs. Howley next door in boyhood Brooklyn would have shown him the ropes
the way Mrs. Constance Tight-Little-Ass McEvy was teaching his son. The
important thing was that it was getting done.
He wondered if he could cum again, but then he saw her legs tighten
over his son's shoulders, and he imagined her little red-furred pussy
tightening, and Sid knew he was going to cum again.
He pressed his eye to the lense. She was rolling over onto her hands
and knees, the gorgeous little ass up and begging, one hand between her
legs to guide Ronnie's swollen stalk home in a single thrust and --
She was cumming again!
* * *
Constance screamed into the pillow, burying her face in the sweat-
dampened cotton. Behind her, Ronnie was on his knees. He'd cum in her
twice in the last 30 minutes, but now it seemed like his oversized young
cock had been anesthetized. He pumped her pussy rapidly, relentlessly,
artlessly -- and effectively. She couldn't seem to stop cumming.
To her amazement, though, he was obviously ready to let loose again.
His strokes got shorter and -- incredibly -- faster, and then she felt him
cumming inside her again. Constance was amazed: She could feel it --
still, despite the enormous previous loads he'd poured into her pussy. She
felt another gut-wrenching orgasm rising inside herself as his semen and
her juices squished out around the stretched edges of her cunt and dribbled
down her shivering, quivering thighs. Again and again, he surged into her.
Constance was almost faint with pleasure.
When he'd finally slowed and his prick seemed -- she wasn't sure -- to
lose a trace of its rigidity, Constance straightened one leg, pulled the
other up close to her heaving, swollen tits and executed a surprisingly
nimble shift that ended with her on her back and him atop her, still locked
inside her.
After long moments of gasping, he raised his head and looked down at
her, his face a study in confused doubt and satisfaction.
"Mrs. McEvoy?"
She tried to still her panting. She tightened her hold on the young
stud above her...still buried in her. "Yes, Ronnie?"
"Mrs. McEvoy, is this...okay?"
"What do you mean, Ronnie?"
"I mean -- well, what we're doing feels so good for me, It seems like
it must be wrong."
She considered...carefully.
"Ronnie, did you want to do it?"
"I guess."
"You guess?"
He looked a bit puzzled for a moment. "Well, I knew about how to do
it, but I never thought it would feel this nice."
"It's not easy to describe how nice cumming feels."
"Not that part," he said, snuggling his face against her hair. She
heard him suck in a deep breath through his nose. "I know how good it
feels to cum. I've been shooting my stuff for a year. But -- this."
He hugged her.
"This close stuff, the being-together-after part. Just, kind of, like
having something together, just you and me -- just together. It's so
nice."
Constance felt a sudden upwelling of loving and closeness. She
tightened her arms and legs -- and pussy -- around him.
"Wow!" he gasped. "I felt that!"
She tightened again -- just her pussy.
His 12-year-old prick began swelling in her again. She groaned
softly.
"Want to do it again?" she asked.
He nodded vigorously.
"Well, it isn't hurting you, and it isn't hurting me, and we're the
only ones here -- so I guess it can't be too wrong."
She clenched him again.
He smiled down at her. "I think you're right." And began moving his
hips.
* * *
"Hi, Ralph." Jack settled onto the stool and took a few beer nuts from
the bowl on the bar.
"Mr. McEvoy, you're a bit early today. The usual?"
"Please."
The bartender filled a stein with stout and set it on the bar top.
"Special occasion?"
"Celebrating, Ralph. I just lost my job."
"I always got the impression that you enjoyed your work, Mr. McEvoy."
Jack took a couple of long swallows. "Tell you the truth, Ralph: I
did. And the perqs could be great. But I was going nowhere fast."
"Got something else lined up, eh?"
Jack nodded. "One of my neighbors has been telling me for about a
year that he wants to start a small business with an equity partner. He's
also been telling me for about a year that if had someone in it who could
sell like I can, we'd be printing money inside of a month." He took another
slug of the stout, enjoying the spreading warmth in his belly. "Well, with
the buyout I just got, I can be an equity partner."
"That sounds terrific, Mr. McEvoy. What kind of business is it?"
Jack finished his stout. "I'm not sure. It's some kind of virtual
reality gizmo for home computers. Hey. Lemme have another one, willya?"
"Sure thing."
Jack glanced at his watch. Well, sure, he had time for another
one. He'd take the 3:50 home, surprise Constance with the good news.
Maybe even get a rise out of her. No hurry. When he'd called Harry from
the office -- his last call from the office -- he wasn't home, but he'd
left a message with his daughter. She always seemed like an awfully bright
kid.
"Thanks, Ralph."
He was sure Harry'd get his message; Lisa was dependable.
======================================================================
More in a coupla-three days. All comments and criticisms welcomed via
Email or posts (but please post only in .alt.sex.story.DISCUSS).
Sorry, but I can't Email sections. The folks giving me access have to
pay by the pound for their traffic, and they're just a small group,
not some big, well-funded organization. -- fd.
======================================================================
===============================================================
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag. For
information about The Abbey, a spam-free place for writers and
readers of adult material to gather, email Friar_Dave@mhbbs.com.
================================================================
=====================
CONSTANCE
By Friar Dave
Part 3
-30-
--
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