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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: elly1.txt (MF, oral, anal, anilingus)
Authors name: Friar Dave (Address Defunct)
Story title : Elly Comes of Age
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This story is copyrighted (c) 1996. All rights reserved.
This story may be posted to free sites as long as no
changes have been made to my story, and the author name
remains attached.
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PART 1 OF 4
"David!"
I opened my eyes wider and scanned the crowded Sunday-
morning sidewalk. Sunday morning in a neighborhood
that's almost all Polish, Italian, Irish and Latino
means the sidewalks are Mass confusion, if you get my
drift. And I was not all that fully awake anyhow,
having finished Saturday night only six hours before.
"David!" The voice was right in front of me now. I
looked down.
Recognition came slowly. I blinked. "Elly?"
She smiled prettily and hoisted herself up and gave a
little jump to plant a light kiss on my beard, catching
me by surprise.
I stared at her. "You look unbelievable," I said, with
complete sincerity. And her appearance was more than
half the reason I hadn't recognized her.
I hadn't seen Elly in about 18 months. She'd just
turned 19 a few weeks before we'd last bumped into each
other. She'd been pretty much as she'd been the first
time I'd met her, three years before. Elly was very
short -- four-foot-seven, I learned later -- but not
petite by about twenty pounds. Elly could have stood to
lose that much and maybe a couple of pounds more,
because a great deal of baby fat still clung to an
otherwise fine-boned frame. She had a pretty, round
face and Big Hair and seemed determined to dress as
unattractively as possible. The last time I'd seen her,
she was still just the plump, sweet, smart kid who
sometimes needed someone with whom to talk.
Elly had made some serious changes. Make that Changes,
with a capital "C."
The change that was unavoidably obvious was her
figure. She'd done away with most of the weight; the
rest had been redistributed. She'd always been buxom;
now she'd melted the baby fat and what was left was
just busty. Even dressed to de-emphasize it, she had an
astonishing bust, the more so for her otherwise-slender
frame.
She was dressed to de-emphasize it, but nothing could
hide it. Elly had a figure designed by the feverish
imagination of a 14-year-old acne farm. She was very
slim-hipped. She had no waist at all; the way she
cinched her fashionably cut loose jeans betrayed that.
Her waist couldn't have measured more than 18 or 19
inches.
But even the oversized flannel shirt (it was spring,
but the Weather Gods had left some nip in the air to
remind us that winter wasn't very long gone) and the
oversized vest, unbuttoned, couldn't hide her the swell
of her breasts. Words like "massive," "huge" and
"coconuts" came to mind. I probably could have worn the
shirt she had on and I'm a size 42; she still couldn't
button the top three buttons over those tits.
But as fabulous as her figure was, as radiant as her
newly slim-med and well made-up face was, it was her
vivacity that commanded attention. She was glowing and
vibrant and gushing with news. She'd just signed on for
a co-op in Flushing and then she'd lost her job at
Shearson Lehman -- but it didn't bother her. She was
looking for work as an administrative assistant and was
sure she could find it quickly. I agreed. Best of all,
she'd done something I'd nagged her about in most of
our last conversation -- she'd had the doctor do a
biopsy of the cyst in her uterus -- and it had been
removed early enough to insure that she was healthy and
free from The Bastard That Kills.
Damn, she looked good! Her jeans clung to slim hips
and legs that were just a shade to short for her
diminutive height. She'd had her hair cut differently,
a bit longer and fuller. Her eyes sparkled and her lips
and nose were perfect for her face. Elly had turned
into a little beauty.
But she wasn't happy. She'd been taken with this fella
for the past couple of months, an Afghan refugee, and
she had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't be
devastated if she left him. That, to her, meant he
didn't care much.
We talked and she told me she had a job interview for
Tuesday morning and she was tickled at the idea of
meeting me for lunch when she was done. I sensed a
tingly tension with her. She'd gone from a pudgy
sixteen-year-old to a devastatingly sexy twenty-year-
old and I wanted to explore it more.
She called at noon and I had her come to my office, in
the Village. I brought my company's job listing with me
and took her to a good neighborhood restaurant, China
Bowl. Their prices were reason-able, the ambiance was
unhurried and a sign in the window proudly proclaimed
that they never used MSG.
Our waitress, who went by the name of Alice, was
familiar to me. Alice and I had played trade smiles and
try-to-catch-the-other-one-looking games for about
three months. Alice, who was about Elly's height, came
over for our order, took one look at Elly's
preposterous bust not-too-effectively hidden by a very
conservatively cut neck-high collar and gave me a look
that said she was sure she could never compete with
THOSE.
Elly and I had a pleasant lunch and she thought my
suggestion was nice -- that she stop by my place later
in the week and see what I'd done with it.
She rang my bell at 8:03 on Friday and I buzzed her
in. She was wearing jeans again and a simple, plum
blouse under a loose cardigan. The blouse was tucked
into her waistband and when the cardigan came off, it
looked like she'd stuffed a pair of cantaloupes into
her blouse.
I gave her a glass of white wine -- her choice -- and
the two-bit tour. She thought my alleged cat was cute.
She admired the photo montages of friends and family
and the cat.
She enjoyed the stereo -- choosing a recording by
Kitaro, much to my surprise and pleasure -- and ooohed
and ahhed at the little study I created; it's the place
where I write.
In the living room, she admired the nude torso framed
on one wall. She asked; I told her: "Yes, that's her.
It was taken by one of her former lovers." But what got
her was the opposite wall:
"Did you READ all of these?"
I am always surprised when someone is impressed by
Library Wall in the living room. I explained to her
that if you read for an hour a day, you read a couple
of books a week. In thirty years, that's around three
thousand books. If you save some books -- well, you
pretty quickly end up with the Library Wall. My living
room is only twenty feet long, so a wall of books isn't
that big a deal.
But Elly was impressed. We sat, drinking wine and
talked. I asked after some of her friends. One was
dying of AIDS.
"I'm glad I got out of that crowd," she said. "When
they started getting into stuff past a few joints, I
got scared. He was doing needles, so I guess that's
where he got it."
"There's lots of ways to get it."
She drained her glass. "Don't I know it! When I went
to get tested for it -- "
"You did?"
She nodded, eyes wide, as I poured more wine for her.
Of course she did, she said -- as if there were no
other reasonable course. She was crazy about her Afghan
refugee. "You think I want to take a chance on killing
him? No way!"
Which was, I told her, exactly the way my Significant
Other and I felt and why we'd gotten tested.
The talk moved on to cheerier subjects and later,
after more chatting and catching up -- and her doing in
two-thirds of a bottle of wine -- she started examining
the titles of the books. She asked if she could look at
one on a high shelf. I started to get up from the
couch.
"I'll get it. I just wanted to know if it was okay to
look at it."
"Sure, help yourself." She got the little folding step
stool from the corner and set it up. It's only a four-
step job, so she had to stand on the top. I went to
steady her -- remember that wine -- and as soon as I
got there, she turned halfway and started toppling.
I caught her, with my hands at her trim waist. Her
cheeks were flushed and the redness was spreading down
her neck and throat and in-to the vee of pale flesh
exposed by the three unfastened buttons.
She put her hands on either side of my face, bent and
kissed me. Her breath was sweetly tinged with the wine
and her lips were taut and urgent. They opened
immediately and her tongue danced with mine, teasing,
then searching and demanding. Her tongue was rather
long, too, she seemed to have no difficulty running it
over the roof of my mouth and I know it reached farther
than any other I'd encountered. It was somehow making
me even more aroused.
Without breaking the kiss or moving my hands from her
waist, I lifted her off the step stool. She wrapped her
arms around my neck and I had to bend to maintain the
kiss as I stood her on the floor.
I put my arms all the way around her and pressed her
up and against me. Her breasts, so huge and full, were
crushed against me. She was arching her back deeply to
catch my leg between her thighs and rub her denim-clad
crotch against me. I ran my hands up and down her back,
then reached down and covered her ass, one hand to a
cheek. Her hips were so narrow and her butt so tight
and hard that I was momentarily taken aback; it was
almost like squeezing a preteen girl's ass. (Not that
I've ever done that)
But there was nothing kid-like in the heat or
experience in her hungry kiss or the way she was
writhing against me. And there sure as hell was nothing
childlike in the massive pressure of her firm,
bounteous breasts against me.
When she finally broke the kiss, she leaned back in my
arms, otherwise remaining pressed against me and
letting me support most of her weight. Her eyes were
closed and there was a small smile on her flushed face.
"I have wanted to do that for four years," she said.
"And I've wanted you to do that, too." Her eyes opened.
"Did you know that?"
I shook my head.
"And you don't remember the time I told you that one
of the things I liked best about you was that you'd
never tried to come on to me."
Again, I shook my head.
"And you don't remember telling me that you liked me
and thought I was cute, but that I felt bad about
myself and that was why I was overweight."
I was starting to remember something, now ....
"And do you remember telling me that if I was a few
years older and about 20 percent thinner, then you'd
have more of a problem not making a pass at me?"
"Uhhhh --- Well -- "
Her smile widened. "I'm a few years older and a lot
thinner -- mostly -- and just like you said, you're
making a pass at me. And guess what?"
"What?"
"Pass received." She brought one hand up and quickly
unbuttoned her blouse. The bra she wore wasn't meant to
be sexy. It was meant to contain and support breasts
that belonged on an over-endowed woman a foot taller
and thirty pounds heavier. It wasn't containing them,
though. Her tits swelled up and around the edges of the
cotton, creamy swells of billowy pale flesh that was
just tinged with a flush of arousal. And that made it a
VERY sexy damn bra.
I swallowed.
Her fingers went to the clasp between the two
overflowing cups. Her fingers moved. The clasp
released. The bra slid back partly, un-able to deal
with the pressure of her large breasts.
"Did you ever suspect that sometimes when I called you
and asked about relationships and how they could be, I
was sitting in my bath-robe?"
"No, I never -- "
She was shimmying her shoulders and the bra was
opening wider and wider.
"Or that sometimes, when we were talking, I was
getting wet and starting to touch myself, imagining
what it would be like to have you making love to me?"
"Not even once."
She shimmied and the cups fell back from her breasts.
They were magnificent. The bra hadn't been able to
contain them and judging by the firmness of the twenty-
year-old tits jutting up at me, it hadn't been
absolutely necessary for support, either.
"I used to imagine you kissing and licking my breasts
-- not like the grabby guys my own age or the dirty old
pigs that were always copping feels -- but just
sweetly, lovingly, hungrily devouring my tits ... Would
you like to do that?"
"Guess what, Elly?"
She frowned. "What?"
"Pass received." I lifted her easily and turned,
setting her tiny butt on the arm of the loveseat, then
I bent slightly and began kissing and licking her
magnificently excessive tits, trying furiously to live
up to the lurid imaginings of the pudgy sixteen-year-
old who'd encased this gloriously sexy twenty-year-old.
I tried to guess what she'd fantasized, planning to
live up to it if biologically possible -- but abandoned
that effort in, oh, five sixteenths of a second. So I
just went with instinct and me.
I bent and licked her shoulders, then down her arm. I
trilled my tongue in the hollow of her elbow and
watched the goose bumps rise and felt her shiver. Then
I went to work on her breasts.
Twenty years old or not, tits that big are required by
Gravity to have some sag to them and hers weren't
lawbreakers -- but they were bending the rules pretty
good. I licked the under swells of each gorgeously
curved mound and then kissed along the outer edge. Her
aureoles were no larger than twenty-five-cent pieces,
making them oddly tiny in proportion to her tits, but
the nozzles themselves were outstanding. They swelled
up and out, stretching easily three-quarters of an inch
and as thick as pencil erasers.
Her hands had come up to either side of my head and
she was trying to force my mouth onto her nipples. I
let her -- but my mouth draped over each one, open, and
I withheld my tongue, so no matter how much she pressed
my face into the firm, fragrant abundance, her nipples
were untouched.
She was moaning for me to attend to them, but I had
another idea. I figured a girl with such huge, gorgeous
breasts probably had her nipples grabbed by every moron
who got his digits near them. I also figured that
absence makes the frond grow harder. So I stayed
completely away from touching her nipples.
It made her crazy.
But while my lips and tongue were busy with her
abundant upper attractions, my hands had been steadily
caressing and stroking her curvy, slim legs. My right
hand was gently moving up and down over the denim-clad
chub of her mons. I could feel the heat through the
fabric of her jeans and whatever else she was or wasn't
wearing beneath them.
Continued in part 2...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 1