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From: "DG" <dg@newsguy.com>
Subject: {ASS*} New: "The Man Who Ate Women" by DG {MFFFF... ,oral,
humor}
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========================================================
The following piece of fiction contains strong sexual
content and is meant to be read only by adults. If you
are not at least 18 years old, or if you are offended by
this type of material, please do not read any further.
========================================================
"The Man Who Ate Women"
by DG
I don't drink much these days, but five years ago, when this
tawdry incident happened, I was at a time in my life when I drank
heavily almost every night. The prevailing wisdom in my social
circle was that you couldn't have a good time without alcohol, and
we all considered ourselves harmless social drinkers. If you'd
asked me the definition of an antisocial drinker, I guess I'd have
described someone who throws up on your shoes or crosses the
double yellow line and turns you into roadkill. Anyway, the point
I'm trying to make is that I was loaded.
It happened at one of John Kindle's infamous weekly house
parties, the ones where he would invite maybe a dozen people and
fifty or sixty people would show up. Kindle was a college buddy
of mine who had told us all that the internet was going to be the
Next Big Thing. We had ignored his advice while he was busy
putting his money where his mouth was, and now he never had to
work again.
I was a regular guest, and while you never knew everyone, I
had enough buddies, male and female, to feel relaxed and
comfortable. The atmosphere was a sort of post-college hip thing
- people two or five or even ten years out of school trying to
recapture the feeling of freedom and belonging of those
undergraduate days.
Dressing down was the absolute rule. The guy in the muscle
shirt and hightops might be a corporate lawyer on the fast track
to partner, and the woman in the tie-died shirt and clogs could
easily be a buttoned-down drone with Anderson Consulting. I was
in grad school at the time, so as I saw it I had a right to wear
loose jeans and sandals and a "Legalize Pot" t-shirt.
There was plenty of sex at these parties. Not as much as you
might hear about the next day, of course, but I know how to
separate fact from bragging by now, and there was plenty of fact.
All those people trooping up and down the stairs to the second
floor weren't inspecting Kindle's famous record collection or
checking out the new wallpaper in his study.
I guess I got about my fair share. I didn't try as hard as
some guys, and sometimes that works out better anyway. My God,
with guys like Jerry Shauhnessy or Guido the Italian Stallion, if
they didn't have a real solid line on some trim by ten or eleven
you could see the panic in their eyes, like a hunter on the last
day of deer season. My normal pattern was to wait until things
thinned out a bit, maybe 1 a.m. or so, and then take a casual look
around to see who might be available. Lately it had been Amy
Hauder more often than not, and I sensed I might be drifting into
a relationship in my usual aimless way.
We were down in the basement, where the laid-back cool
regulars hung out, and the conversation was moving right along.
Just the right mix of edgy critical people like Jennifer Chase and
Seth Jabovic to stir the pot, and type-B conciliators like me and
Doris and Amira to calm things down and smooth over ruffled
feathers when the pot started to boil over.
You can just about set your watch by the topics. From nine
to ten its all gossipy chit-chat: "Did you ever meet...", and "Did
you hear what so-and-so did last week," that sort of thing. When
that gets old we move on to politics and issues of the day.
Imagine a younger McLaughlen Group sitting around in beanbag
chairs with drinks in their hands, smoking up a storm.
Once the budget is balanced, the trickier foreign policy
issues have been settled, and pot is legal and available in every
supermarket, the boy-girl thing finally bubbles to the surface.
Call it midnight. And once you get on the topic of sex and
relationships you never get off it, because nothing ever gets
settled in *that* area.
We had more gals than guys in the circle that night - Jimmy
and Big Herman were at a Blackhawks game, I think. The previous
night there had been a strange incident at one of the fraternities
on the local campus, and the rumors were flying.
"It's called a train," said Seth. He waved a thin white hand
dismissively, sending a trail of smoke floating upward.
"Disgusting, really, but certainly not a crime."
"Sounds like the police think it was a crime," said Jennifer.
"I heard they dragged a bunch of hungover frat guys in for
questioning."
Seth shrugged. "Of course, if the woman files a complaint
afterward, they have to investigate."
"Investigate what?" asked Amy. "Can someone tell me what the
hell a 'train' is?"
"A gangbang, of sorts" said Seth. He pushed back a lock of
dark, lank hair and went into professor mode. "A woman at a party
decides she wants to take on all comers. She'll go into a room,
and the guys will line up outside the door to take their turn. A
whole train of guys, one after the other."
"But why?" asked Amy helplessly.
"I don't know, you tell me," said Seth. "Must be a deep-down
female fantasy."
"I don't think so," said Doris, and other girls shook their
heads as well. "It's repulsive."
"Lack of self esteem, probably," said Jennifer. "Some girls
get so brainwashed by our male-dominated society that they into
equate putting out with being popular."
This was a typical Jennifer Chase troll, and everyone ignored
it.
Brad shifted in his beanbag and said "I was in a bar once and
a girl got up on a stool and announced she was going to give a
blowjob to every guy there. She said she lost some kind of bet,
but obviously that was just a silly excuse."
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "And?"
He shrugged sheepishly. "What do you think? I was like
third in line, out of a dozen. It's not like she was wasted or
high or something - she knew what she was doing."
Jennifer snorted. "Oh, so then it's OK."
Brad looked embarrassed. "So what, you think I shouldn't
have?"
"I wouldn't expect anything different from a man."
"I can't believe a woman would ever do that," said Amy. "So
demeaning."
I spoke up. "If she does it of her own free will, and on her
terms, is it really demeaning? I mean, if she has a fantasy about
a gangbang or whatever, can't you give her credit for feeling
liberated enough to act on it?"
Several people spoke at once. Fatefully, it was Jennifer who
raised her voice and continued to speak.
"How can you think a woman could really enjoy something like
that? How would you like performing oral sex on a dozen women you
hardly know, one right after the other?"
I felt a little lurch in my stomach. Back then, I had a sort
of policy of always speaking my mind and telling the truth, no
matter what. I think I was under the influence of some subversive
writer. Walt Whitman, or maybe it was Ayn Rand.
"I'd love it," I said. "This may shock you, but that happens
to be a deep dark fantasy of mine."
There was a predictable round of laughter. They all thought
I was kidding, except for Seth, who isn't easily fooled.
"It might be dark, but it isn't deep any more, Steve-O," said
Seth. "Its right up here on the surface where we can poke it."
"Very funny, Steve," said Amira in her faint Hindu accent.
"But really, come on."
"I'm serious," I said. "Really. So it doesn't seem so odd
to me that a woman might fantasize about the same thing."
In a loud voice, Jennifer said "You're telling me, you would
go up to one of the bedrooms right now, and we could go announce
to everyone you were going to...going to do a..."
"Taco train?" suggested Brad.
"...Oh, very nice Brad. A cunnilingus train, and you would
service any woman who went up there?"
"Sure," I said. "But no women would go for it. You chicks
are all so dainty and refined. Only men have the sturdy mental
outlook required to take advantage of free, no-strings-attached
sex."
"You're lying," said Amira. "I bet you wouldn't do it." Her
voice was accusing, but I noticed a twinkle in her brown eyes.
"Oh, I bet he would," said Seth, winking at me. "Don't
underestimate our Steve. He's right, though. None of you women
would have the guts to take him up on it. Unless maybe if he was
blindfolded, so he couldn't see who he was eating..."
I felt my cock start to worm its way down the leg of my jeans
like it had a life of its own.
Amy said "Let me get this straight - Steve would be lying
blindfolded on the bed, and we would just go in there anonymously
and sit on his face?"
"And if he correctly identifies all the women by taste alone,
he wins a special prize," said Seth, ever the wit.
"A case of Scope," said Amira, and everyone laughed.
"It's an amusing idea," said Jennifer. "But I guarantee he
won't get any takers."
"Only one way to find out," said Seth.
Jennifer looked at me challengingly. "What do you say,
Steve?"
I swallowed hard. "Is the blindfold necessary?"
There was a chorus of yesses and nods.
They were all looking at me. Seth and Brad were amused, of
course. Jennifer, the sturdy field hockey player with the firm
jaw and blue eyes, looked triumphant, like she was about to win an
argument. Amy, the skinny blonde who was the only one I had gone
down on before, looked embarrassed. Mindy and Doris just looked
curious. Amira was the only one who looked like she was turned on
by the idea. When our eyes met, she dropped hers and smiled.
"Let's do it," I said.
"Good man!" said Seth with a chuckle.
I went up to the second floor with Seth and Jennifer, who
seemed to be the self-appointed referees for each gender. We
found an empty bedroom and cleared the coats off the bed. Seth
found a scarf and tied it around my head, almost burning me with
his cigarette in the process. He left a generous gap at the
bottom, and I could look down and see my shoes.
"Can you see anything?" asked Jennifer.
"Not really. You want to go first?"
"No way. I'm going to go tell all the women it's free head,
no conversation needed. We'll see if you get any customers."
They left, turning out the overhead light and leaving the room in
semidarkness. I went over to the bed and lay down, moving
awkwardly with the blindfold. Nothing happened for a while, and I
started regretting the whole thing. Ever since I hit puberty and
the hormones started to rage, I'd been fascinated by the idea of
eating pussy. It seemed like such a perverse, unnatural thing to
do, and yet it had such potential to give pleasure to women.
Ah, women. Fascinating, ethereal, creatures, superior to
men, or at least to boys, in every way. Able to humble us with a
sly look, or a toss of the hair. They seemed to have some ancient
knowledge passed down to them regarding relationships and men and
sex, so that a girl of thirteen or fourteen somehow possessed the
accumulated wisdom of generations while us boys had to flounder
and blush and stammer as we slowly figured things out for
ourselves. But it seemed to me that these godlike creatures had
an Achilles heel, and that it was the very thing that was also the
source of their power.
I sensed from a young age the uneasy relationship women had
with their genitals. They were ashamed of the way they looked
down there, and the way they smelled, and tasted. They couldn't
understand how men could be attracted to the oozing slot between
their legs like bees to a ripe, pollen-heavy flower.
To nuzzle between the legs of one of these creatures was to
upset the balance of power. It was to worship at the altar of
womanhood, and at the same time it was to strike a rebellious blow
against the all-powerful spell that held men in the thrall of
women. If you were sucking a woman's cunt, you were sacrificing
yourself for her, and yet she was in your power.
As I matured, I naturally discovered that things weren't
quite so dramatic. Women weren't all-knowing creatures after all,
and they weren't the enemy. They were subject to base desires and
cravings just like men. But like so many things that affect us
strongly when we are young and malleable, my fixation remained
long after the world view that shaped it had shifted. I still
craved the act of joining my mouth and tongue to a woman's secret
musky inner regions. It was submission and power combined, and it
was my constant fantasy.
But lying there alone in the dim bedroom, I was having second
thoughts. Some fantasies should remain just that, and I was
almost relieved that no women were taking me up on the offer. A
few more minutes and I could rip off the blindfold and claim a
political victory.
There was a thump outside the door, barely audible over the
base vibration from the big speakers downstairs. Two female
voices, each trying to shush the other.
The door opened, brightening the room, and I swallowed hard.
Drunk female laughter, and then the door closed again.
"He's in there!"
"I told you. Now go on..." The rest was muffled.
This is humiliating, I thought. I'm out of here.
The door opened again, and this time they came in and shut it
behind them. I could hear their heavy breathing as they looked at
me.
"Hi," I said.
"Party Girl here wants to sit on your face," said one. "I'm
just her chaperone." This struck them as funny, and they both
broke into choked laughter.
"Is that what you want?" asked Party Girl. "I
mean...really?"
"I lost a bet."
"Oh...OK. So it's not like you really want to..."
It would be easy to say something that would get me off the
hook. Even through a haze of alcohol, she was hesitant about
inflicting her cunt on a stranger.
"No, I want to. Besides, I can't settle the bet until I
actually get a bunch of women to sit on my face."
"Shit, what the hell then. Is the door locked?"
"Yep," said the chaperone.
I heard the rustling of clothing, and then the bed shifted
sharply. Through the crack in the blindfold I could see she was
wearing a short skirt which she had rolled up around her waist.
All she had taken off were her panties, and maybe her shoes. Her
thighs nestled on either side of my head, and I caught the first
whiff of her pussy. It was pungent, with a faint undertone of
urine, but not unpleasant. She had probably showered before the
party, but had of course been dancing and drinking since then.
She kneed me in painfully in the ear, apologized, and then
her pussy was in my face.
I licked up at her awkwardly, pushing my tongue into the damp
folds. The taste was tangy, the smell stronger now. Pubic hairs
tickled my nose. For the first few minutes it didn't go very
well. I couldn't really reach her clit without straining my neck,
and she kept squirming around, alternately pulling away and then
mashing her cunt into my face as she tried to get comfortable on
the soft mattress.
"Hold on a sec," she said.
She wedged a pillow under my head, and then scootched forward
a bit. Then she sat back down, lowering her pussy into just the
right position. Dinner is served, I thought. I dove back into
her wet and pleasantly musky cunt, and went to work on her clit.
Before long she was grinding herself gently against my mouth in a
pleasantly familiar rhythm.
"He's good at this, Cheryl," she said huskily, forgetting
about staying anonymous.
"Oh yeah? Are you going to come?" Cheryl the chaperone's
voice was teasing.
"Maybe..."
About a minute later she did, with a short, high-pitched
groan that was equal parts surprise and pleasure. Putting modesty
aside for a moment, I'm really very good at eating pussy.
She rolled off me, giving me a needed breath of air, and then
she kissed me briefly on the lips and said "Thanks, stranger."
Cheryl was laughing. "You little slut, I can't believe you
just came on his face!"
Emboldened by my success, I said "I bet I can do the same
thing for you."
"I wish I was wearing a skirt," she said. "Maybe I would.
But I'm not taking my pants off."
"You can wear my skirt, and I'll put on your jeans," said
Party Girl.
There was a moment of silence. Cheryl had clearly been
trapped.
"Sit on my face," I said. "I promise you won't regret it."
"Well hell, I guess its just one of those nights my Mama
warned me about," said Cheryl. I heard the welcome sound of a
zipper going down. Some rustling and giggling, and then another
warm shape looming above me, and another unique fragrance.
Cheryl's pussy wasn't as pungent as her friend's, but it was
amazingly wet. As I stroked my tongue up her slot, her puffy lips
opened, releasing a warm gush of pussy cream that soon was running
down my chin.
"Oh wow," said Cheryl. "Stranger, you sure know how to make
a girl feel good."
"Told you so," said Party Girl.
Cheryl settled herself in more firmly, and the world narrowed
down to a wet pussy, a firm little nub, and my tongue. Somewhere
above me, Cheryl started saying "oh...oh...oh..." at regular
intervals. My cock was a constant throbbing lump in my pants, far
in the opposite direction.
When she came, she tensed up and became completely still, an
orgasmic response that was uncommon but not rare. I loved it,
because it allowed me to sense the minute changes in her
physiology - the sudden thickening of her outer lips, the swelling
and even the quivering of her clitoris.
"Oh fuck yes!" said Cheryl. We were both gasping for air.
"That was a fucking ride!"
"I want to go again," said Party Girl. "Shit, what I really
want to do is take this guy home and lock him to my bed."
"I'm supposed to serve all comers," I said. "But if no one
else is waiting..."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
My two new friends swore under their breath and pulled
themselves together. Then there was a low-pitched conversation at
the door.
"Guess what?" called Party Girl.
"A line around the block?" I ventured.
"Not quite, I mean women aren't quite so bold as to stand in
line, but the word is that you've got some more customers
waiting."
"Better send 'em in, then."
And in they came, in a continuous stream, sometimes alone,
more often in groups of two. I ate pussy steadily for the next
two hours, or so they told me later. As far as I was concerned,
time pretty much lost meaning.
How many? I honestly don't know. At least twenty. Twenty
new pussies: twenty new smells, twenty new tastes. There were
cunts so hairy that it was like eating out a broom, which was sort
of a drag, and there were a few that were shaved slick and bare,
which isn't really my preference either. There were small cunts
with tightly-folded lips that had to be teased open with a rigid
tongue-tip, and big cunts with soft lips that enveloped my tongue
and nose in a warm, musky embrace.
Some of the women were obviously just doing it on a dare, and
they would just climb on and then back off after a cursory
tonguing. One women was so drunk that she kept losing her balance
and felling off the bed - the second time that happened I sent her
away. Of those that actually allowed themselves to get into it, I
was able to make about two out three come, which I thought was
pretty damn good under the circumstances.
One girl ground her pussy into my face for about ten minutes
straight, stranded in the lonely territory just short of orgasm,
swearing like a sailor and gasping out instructions which I
followed to the letter. Despite our best efforts she was simply
unable to come.
"I'm just too fucking drunk," she said finally, with
endearing honesty. She was close to tears with frustration.
"Don't take this personally..."
She lifted herself up a few inches off my face and started
rubbing herself. I watched through the ever-growing gap in my
blindfold, fascinated, as her fingers savagely rubbed and pulled
at her cunt. When I sensed she was finally about to come, I slid
down and jabbed my tongue up into her slick hole as far as I
could. She let out a guttural shriek and went off like a Roman
candle. She was one of the women who insisted on giving me her
phone number.
The door opened, and someone came in and loosened my
blindfold. I found myself looking up at Amira.
"How's the man of the hour?" she asked. "The gang wants to
know how you're holding up. Jennifer Chase wants me tell you
she's going to have to reconsider her entire world view because of
this."
I smiled at her and sat up. "My face is sticky, my neck is
stiff, and my tongue and jaw are exhausted. Other than I'm
great."
"I thought you might be working up a thirst," she said,
holding out a cup of beer.
I took the cup gratefully and downed it in one long,
delicious gulp. "God I needed that."
She chuckled, her teeth showing white against her dark skin.
"Ready to get back to it?"
"Actually, I think I've had enough."
"Aw, too bad. I guess I'm too late, then."
"I didn't realize you were here as a customer," I said,
looking at her with new interest. Amira was one of those women
who are all curves, and she looked too young to be in law school.
Dark, arched eyebrows over liquid brown eyes, full red lips, a
round face framed by thick wavy hair. Full breasts, round hips
and thighs, but a surprisingly narrow waist. My cock, which had
been up and down all night, began hardening again.
She sat down next to me, and said "Steve, I just wanted to
say that you've got a lot of guts acting out your fantasy like
this."
"You think so?"
She dropped here eyes, and said. "Please don't tell anyone,
but I have a similar fantasy. Like the girl at the fraternity the
other night."
"You want to be train fucked? You're kidding!" The idea of
sweet, quiet Amira taking on a whole fraternity seemed beyond
crazy, and I couldn't help laughing.
"It's just a fantasy," she protested. "That doesn't actually
mean I'm going to do it."
"So you don't think you'll ever go through with it?"
She shook her head. "No way. For me, a fantasy like that
should just be a fantasy. Besides, I'm a virgin, and I won't lose
my virginity until I'm married."
She smiled at the surprise on my face.
"It's a religious thing. I choose to honor it, but I also
choose to use a very narrow definition of virginity."
"Ah, I see what you mean. Would you like to be my caboose
then?"
She wrinkled her forehead for a second, then laughed. "Yes,
I'd be honored to be the last car on your taco train." She
wriggled out of her tight jeans and then peeled off her black silk
panties with a self-conscious look on her face. I eased her onto
her back and spread her legs.
Her pussy was sweet and clean, with a spicy fragrance that
suggested she had dabbed some perfume down there. I took my time,
enjoying the feeling of being on my stomach rather than on my
back, steadily bringing her closer to orgasm with a newfound
confidence in my abilities. When she began to squirm and pant, I
concentrated on her clit, sending her over the edge with a final
swirling flourish of my tongue.
"Wow," she said simply, a few seconds later.
"Practice, practice."
She rolled onto her side, raised her head on her hand. "Let
me ask you, have you had any...relief tonight?"
"Nope. With me its all give and no take. I just give and
give and then give some more."
She giggled. "Would you like some take, for a change?" she
asked shyly.
"God yes."
"OK, you just lie still and let me take care of you."
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling in happy
exhaustion as Amira unzipped my jeans and delicately extracted my
cock. She crouched over me, her dark hair shielding her face as
if by modesty. Her tongue was warm and soft, her motions
tentative and unpracticed. She held my cock gently inside her
mouth, like she was afraid of damaging it, and moved her head up
and down in a slow and steady rhythm. In the state I was in, it
was enough. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift along
patiently with the sensation.
"Here it comes," I said.
Amira lifted her head and took over with her hand, stroking
my slippery cock with a firm grip. I groaned and spilled out my
load in a prolonged spasm of pleasure. When it was over, the room
seemed to be spinning in lazy circles, and I felt drugged. I lay
there limply while Amira cleaned me with a towel and zipped me up.
"You're an angel," I said.
She smiled. "If my mother could see me right now, she
wouldn't think so."
The next morning I was hung over, sore, and vaguely
depressed. Instead of leaving me fulfilled, the escapade sent me
into a funk that lasted for weeks. I remember thinking that Amira
had it right - it was much better to let a fantasy remain a
fantasy, and to remain true to your morals.
I called up Amira a few days later and asked her out. She
turned me down, politely but firmly, which only reinforced my
feelings for her. I obsessed over her for a while, and then I
eventually came to my senses. Still, I was shocked when, a year
later, I heard that she was dropping out of law school because she
was pregnant.
Today I look back at the incident with a strange mixture of
distaste and pride. Should you act out an extreme fantasy when
you have the chance? You're asking the wrong guy - I still
haven't decided yet.
The End, "The Man Who Ate Women"
© Copyright 1999 by DG (dionysian1@hotmail.com)
Author's notes:
1) This story has been growing slowly on my hard drive for the past
year, expanding now and then by a few lines whenever inspiration hit,
like a ball of sourdough in the back of the refrigerator. I'm glad
to be posting it, finally.
2) Please email me at dionysian1@hotmail.com if you have any
comments on this story. I reply to all emails.
3) You can find all my stories on my web page:
http://baird.pair.com/dg.htm
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