Good Things Cum
Story codes: Mg10, Mf12, mf, cons, voy
Summary: A young voyeur is frustrated that she can't do more than watch, and takes a chance with the single man in the back apartment.
The following work of fiction is written by Admiral Cartwright (a pseudonym) and presented for entertainment purposes only. Copyright © effective 2016. Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a violation of intellectual property law and may result in some serious shit. Unless, of course, you ask the author first.
“I like. Puhleeze, don’t stop again!!!”
“As ever, your work is in a completely different league.”
“Damn fine writing. Way above the norm. Intelligent and written so one could identify with it if one had experienced the same.”
“Loved the story, the realistic portrayals of events, real considerations.”
“The character development is excellent. The mix of lust and love and life is extremely well done. This is a darn good story.”
“Fantastic story, love the idea she was the initiator, and the voyeur idea, as I also love to watch.”
“One of the best I have read in a very long time.”
PLEASE READ: written descriptions of sexual activity have been determined by USA courts to be lawful to produce and consume, including depictions of “minor” characters. However, USA law may not apply in your area of origin; further, readers may be required to be of legal age in their respective locations. If your local laws prohibit you from consuming such material, stop now.
The author does not endorse or condone sexual activity involving persons deemed by applicable law to be incapable of consent thereto.
The Admiral’s first story in fifteen years is based on some fact. I’ll let you decide where fiction takes over.
No pussies were harmed in the production of this adventure.
Good Things Cum
“I saw you and John have sex last night.”
It took everything I had to not jump out of my skin. Even then, the adrenaline rush was hard to hide—the ten-year-old girl from the main house just told me, matter-of-factly, that she had watched two grown men, me being one of them, having sex.
“Oh, really,” I challenged, finally finding my voice somewhere.
“And where were you?”
“Up there,” she said, pointing to the opening in my ceiling. Not more than 18 inches square, it looked like attic access; always dark beyond, I’d looked up at it many times, wondering if anyone could see me from the other side. Now, just like that, it all came together.
A few months before, when my girlfriend and I were still seeing each other, Joanne came bounding in one night through the connecting door from the main house back to our converted studio apartment as Catrina and I lay naked in bed, under the covers, watching TV. (I was surprised the door was unlocked. In hindsight, I realized that Catrina was not.) Joanne, then nine, sat at the corner of the bed behind my shoulder, almost out of my view. Only moments later, Catrina reached over and started stroking my cock, which responded all too quickly. Her movement, though covered, was as obvious as my developing erection; I leaned over and whispered into my girlfriend’s ear, “You do know she can see what you’re doing.” It was more a statement than a question.
“I know,” came the response.
“Can I hold it?” I heard an instant later.
I turned my head to look at Joanne, who had an expression on her face that I couldn’t quite read. When I turned back to Catrina, her expression was impossible to miss—almost an evil grin. We’d been together since she was fifteen and legally emancipated. In my early 20s then, she clearly knew I skewed young; bi-curious herself, we had tried once to seduce a physically mature 12-year-old girl, who had politely declined. 12 and nine are miles apart, however, and Catrina could not have been certain how I was going react to this. I flashed her a look, then grinned back, shrugged my shoulders, and told my girlfriend, “it’s your toy.”
She let go of my now-very-hard cock and leaned back. Joanne needed no further invitation, almost jumping forward as she slid her hand under the covers and took hold, a firm grip, but not too tight. For several seconds, she just held it, then simply let go and sat back.
And that was it.
Now ten—her birthday was the day before—Joanne was sitting on my bed in just her nightgown and underwear, not even three feet from where I sat, fully dressed, slightly shaking my head. “Of course,” I said, looking at the opening in the ceiling as if the dawn was coming through. “That explains everything. How long have you been watching me, anyway?”
Another figurative light came on. “You and Catrina had your little handful all set up that night, didn’t you?”
“Yep,” she said, now looking down at her hands, as if afraid to look at me. This was odd given her sudden confession—and I mean sudden, since the conversation was completely benign to that point.
Catrina and I had broken up a couple of months before, and I’d had only a few sex partners since; two young women from my job, and one man I’d met at some pickup spot nearby. I couldn’t resist asking Joanne if she’d seen me with anyone else, and she said no. John and I, meantime, had been roommates for a couple of weeks, and John—like me, in his mid-20s—was still questioning his sexuality. (I had no doubt of mine; I’ve been actively bisexual since age 17.) John and I slept in separate beds, but nudity was common and natural, and John had sort-of come out to me. We’d talked about it for a few days, and I’d told him to let me know if he was ready. The night before this now-very-interesting discussion with Joanne, he was ready. And it was good.
“What all did you see?” I pressed on. Joanne said she saw everything. “Everything?”
Time to talk seriously dirty, I thought, grinning. “You saw my hard cock sliding in and out of John’s mouth?”
“Yep.” No hesitation, but not exactly talkative.
“You saw John’s cock sliding in and out of my mouth?”
“Yeah. And you can deep-throat, too. That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” I answered, eyebrows up, but I didn’t want to stray off-course just yet. “And you saw John’s rock-hard cock sliding all the way in and out of my ass?” I let her have it, the full-on, grown-up fuck-talk.
A little enthusiasm there. Interesting. “Hm. And watching two men fucking and sucking each other’s cocks didn’t turn you off?” An honest question; I was still a bit incredulous.
I lay back on one elbow, just looking at her for a moment. Finally, she looked at me, a hint of a twinkle in her eyes, a nervous smile on her lips.
Certainty took me over. “No, of course not,” I answered myself. “You were turned on!”
“Yep,” she almost beamed.
Again, I looked up at the ceiling. She wasn’t lying about the view—from her vantage point, she literally could have seen every inch of two cocks and their naked, writhing owners having a lot of fun together. Indeed, she must have seen it all—and my thoughts shifted to her: what she was experiencing; what she was doing.
“What was your favorite part?” I asked.
“When you squirted your cum up in the air.”
Really?! That got my full attention—and my cock’s as well.
I seriously could not recall a time that I hadn’t cum inside Catrina’s pussy or mouth, so this was perplexing. I asked Joanne if she’d seen me squirt before, and she had. Turned out I didn’t always have a partner when she watched, and just me jacking off excited her, too.
“Have you seen anyone else cum?”
“Yeah,” she answered, and things got a lot more interesting. Turned out my little neighbor was quite the voyeur.
Joanne lived with her mother, a single woman in her late 30s whose boyfriend was there as often as not. Joanne’s older brother was a senior in high school, and tended to keep to himself. It was her cousin, a 15-year-old girl, who was the inadvertent mentor. Her aunt and guardian, Joanne’s mom, was of a very liberal bent when it came to sex; she knew her niece was active—very active, actually—and decided that things would be better and safer for the girl if she had a stable place to fuck. The cousin wasn’t particularly careful about closing her bedroom door, either, and Joanne would watch. A lot.
One night, Joanne continued, she was almost caught in the act by her mother; so, instead of peeking in from the hallway, out in the open, she decided to try hiding in her cousin’s closet. From there, she could finally see the real action, like the girl’s pussy getting seriously pounded by her boyfriend. Several times Joanne had gotten away with this until she leaned out once to get an even better view, lost her balance, and tumbled from the closet. The boyfriend was livid and ordered Joanne to get out of the room; her cousin intervened and asked instead if Joanne liked to watch. Following an enthusiastic if sheepish yes, the older girl convinced her boyfriend to let Joanne stay. On several occasions after that, she was allowed to get an eyeful of cock-sucking, pussy eating, and full penetration fucking, from up close—as in, inches away—but with one proviso: she couldn’t touch. Anything. At all. Finally, she was allowed to watch as her cousin took a load of cum into her open mouth; after Joanne tried to lean in to get a squirt of her own, the boyfriend decided enough was enough, and that was the end of that.
It was only days later that Joanne discovered the opening in her closet floor, almost directly above my bed; she’d been watching me, when she could, ever since.
So Joanne, at all of ten years old, wasn’t just horny—she was frustrated! She wanted to do more than just watch, and more wasn’t forthcoming. The idea of a ten-year-old, sexually frustrated horn-dog was hard to process; the handful of my hard cock that one night suddenly made all the sense in the world.
I was quite the voyeur as a teen, and I empathized with my young friend. It was exciting as hell but also quite frustrating, watching others having all the fun when the best I could do was take matters into my own hands. I swear, I’ve wasted more DNA than a fire in a crime lab. So—what was Joanne getting out of all of this?
“Do you play with yourself while you’re watching?” I asked, genuinely concerned on top of being horny as fuck.
“Do you make yourself cum?”
She smiled. “Uh huh!”
“Hm,” I said. “I’m surprised I never heard you.”
Joanne’s expression changed suddenly. “Actually,” she blushed, “I thought you did once.”
She’s blushing, after all this? Turned out she was seriously embarrassed by the one time I’d looked right at her when she was cumming. I’d seen nothing, I’d heard nothing; apparently, it just happened to be at that moment that I wondered yet again whether someone could see me. I assured her that, no, I never knew.
Still, this might have explained why she waited so long to open up—and I had just poured a metaphorical bucket of ice over a very hot discussion. I had to heat it back up, and fast. “Do you put your fingers inside your pussy?” Yes, Joanne said. “How many can you get in?”
“I dunno, three, I think.”
My cock was straining against my jeans this whole time, and it was starting to hurt; but, for the moment anyway, this was about keeping her turned on. “You know ...” I let that hang a second with just a hint of an evil grin. “I like to watch, too.”
“Yep. Watching people cum is really hot.”
“Girls, too. When they play with their pussies, and their bodies start to get all tight and shaky and they get these big smiles on their faces ...” That did it; a slight grin, a dreamy look, and Joanne was back into it. “You know what I’d really like right now?”
“You to make yourself cum. It’s my turn to watch.”
“Uh—” She hesitated for a moment, eyes wide, as if this was a direction she hadn’t anticipated. Then her face lit up. “Okay!”
Joanne peeled off her underwear as if the thin cotton was the only thing holding her back. Lying on the bed, she spread her legs wide, and I drank in my first view of her little, hairless pussy, slightly red, flushed from our straightforward sex talk. Her fingers went straight to the spot where her tiny clit was hiding under its equally underdeveloped hood, and began rubbing in little circles. I wasn’t sure if she’d learned this herself or if her cousin showed her, but it was working—Joanne screwed her eyes shut and let out a slight sigh.
I leaned forward to get my best view possible just as she dipped a finger inside her little hole and brought some moisture—that I didn’t know a ten-year-old girl could produce—back up to the clitoral area, where she started rubbing with a bit more speed, sighing almost silently all the while. A few more times she moistened her clit, and her legs began to twitch. Once more into the honey pot and back, and her legs clamped together, lifting her still-tiny butt from off the bed as she rode her orgasm, little squeaks coming from between her lips. Finally, she plopped back down, her legs fairly fell apart, and she lay there gasping.
At that point in my life, I hadn’t noticed having any attraction to the prepubescent. Still don’t, with the occasional exception. But, goddamn, that was hot!
Already restrained by blue denim, my cock was seriously hurting by my leaning forward. When I lay back for some relief, I grunted an “ow.” Joanne, still coming down from her orgasm, asked what was wrong. When I explained, she said, “so take it out.”
“You take it out,” I countered, grinning.
She didn’t need to hear that a second time. Joanne reached for the snap of my jeans and nearly tore it apart. No subtle moves, this one, as she unzipped my fly, reached in, grabbed my cock, and pulled it out, not at all gently. “Ow,” I flinched, prompting a quick “sorry!” But the end result was the same—my cock, literally never harder, was out, breathing, and pulsing happily in her gently stroking hand.
Joanne, who had been leaning over my right leg, moved to a spot between both legs and sat, knees forward, like a frog. Anyone on the other end would have had a great view of her little pussy and asshole, and I instinctively looked over her head toward the large west window. Nothing. I looked at the opening in the ceiling. Nothing. Still, I made a mental note to ask her about that later.
Joanne’s face was so close I could feel her breath on the tiny hairs of my upper thighs and balls. Her first sight of my erection up close, and she was fairly savoring the moment. Moving it up, down, side-to-side, she continued a slow stroking motion that she’d no doubt seen dozens of times. With her other hand, she lifted my balls and moved them about, getting a complete feel for the aroused male anatomy for the first time. The look on her face was something I’d never seen before, a mixture of fascination, joy, thrill of the forbidden, maybe; just a guess. A tiny bit of pre-cum had escaped the tip, but not her attention, and I nearly jumped when she leaned forward and licked it off.
“Was that cum?” she asked.
“That’s called pre-cum,” I offered. “That helps act as a lubricant when a cock slides in and out of a pussy.”
She grinned. “Or a man’s butt?”
I grinned back. “Or a woman’s butt, too. That’s not usually enough, though, butts usually need extra lubricant.”
“Oh, that’s what John put on his cock. Okay.”
Joanne looked down and saw more pre-cum; this time, she put the entire head of my cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue a bit, then let it pop back out. I grunted. “Mm. Feels good. So, you’re sure you’ve never done that before, huh?”
“Nope.” She smiled, as if recognizing the compliment, and took about half my cock into her mouth.
They say we learn by doing but, well, bullshit. Enough watching works just fine—and she was a very good watcher. Taking her sweet time, she slowly bobbed up and down on my very happy cock, even keeping her tongue involved. Every so often she’d let it pop from her mouth and giggle at the sound, then use her tongue on my shaft and balls. She hadn’t learned to use the tip of her tongue in a tickling motion just yet, but so what? She was good, because she wanted to be good, and I lay there, arm propping up my head, watching this little girl with a mix of amazement and pure pleasure, slowly building toward release.
“You gonna cum?”
“Not yet,” I answered, “but I’m getting pretty close.”
She dove back onto my twitching cock, trying to take it deep, and came up coughing. She tried again. Same result. She got the tip past her gullet on the third try, but no more. “How,” she asked between little coughs, “do you do the deep-throat thing?”
“Practice. Some adults—actually, most adults—can’t ever do it. I can when I’m in practice, but I still have to fight down the urge to choke.”
“Oh.” She looked back down at my cock as if it were an opponent, issuing a challenge. But this was the wrong time. I was close to cumming, and I selfishly wanted her to finish.
A thought hit me. “Does your cousin deep-throat?”
“No. She uses her—oh, yeah! I remember!” Joanne took my cock into her mouth once again, this time using her hand to stroke the last bit that she couldn’t swallow. After a couple of minutes, she got the timing down, moving her hand up and down in tandem with her mouth. I was ready.
“Ohhhh. Joanne, here it comes!”
Tensing and arching, I sent the first squirt into her closed mouth; she backed away and let her hand do the rest of work, watching intently as I shot my cum about three feet up, landing with an audible splat on my belly. It was only since last night, but there was a lot. Squirt, splat. Squirt, splat. Two wide little eyes drinking it all in, even as the spurts became fewer and less intense.
My muscles relaxed and my breathing slowed; her hand slowed, not quite stopping. Clearly, she was pleased with herself—she’d just made a man cum for the first time—but her smile wasn’t a smile, quite.
“So, what do you think?” I croaked.
“It tastes funny.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. Cum is an acquired taste, even among most people who can stomach it, and I told her so. “The more you eat it, the more you get used to it.”
Joanne slurped up what was still oozing out from my cock, and licked the rest off her hand, as if she expected the taste to change. “It’s kinda like ... like that paste stuff at school, but ... it’s saltier.”
“You eat paste?” I managed to not chuckle.
“Well, you are really, really good at eating cock, especially for someone who never did that before. I loved it. Any time you want my cock in your mouth, it’s right here.”
“Okay,” she giggled, beaming.
It was a weekend day, so Joanne had never bothered to get dressed; now, it was starting to get dark outside. “When do you need to go home?”
“It’s prob’ly dinner soon.”
“Okay, wash up, then,” I said.
She got up and headed for the kitchen sink, but the handles were too far back; she went to the bathroom instead.
On her way out, she gave me the same evil grin she saw from Catrina that one day. “Next time, you gonna make me cum, too?”
I grinned back. “Bet on it.”
Joanne was back the next morning, like she couldn’t wait to see me again. As soon as I’d closed the door, in fact, she jumped up into my arms and pecked me on the lips, like a young girl would do.
“I wanna eat your fucking cock!”
Young girl, my ass.
The evil grin washed over my face again, but darker this time. “Don’t be too enthusiastic, or your mother is going to wonder what the fuck is going on over here,” I admonished. She understood.
“And watch your fucking language.” I tried to look serious, but failed completely; we both cracked up laughing, her into my shoulder.
One more peck of a kiss, and I let her down. Joanne took my hand, leading me back to the bed. I’d only just stepped out of the shower when she knocked on the connecting door, so I was naked, still damp, the bed wasn’t made, and oh-well-fuck-it was my attitude. In a flash she was back between my legs, sitting frog-like, fondling and sucking my cock, soft inside her mouth for the first time. Only briefly, though; I had a pulsing, raging hard-on in seconds.
Joanne stopped for a moment, long enough to sit up and pull off her nightgown. No panties today, she was fully naked for my eyes, a new experience for me. Sure, I’d seen young relatives shirtless, but never naked. Just enough baby fat to not look thin, she was well-proportioned, near as I knew. No sign of breasts yet, still completely boyish from the waist up, her sex the only thing betraying, well, her sex. The tiny hood of her tiny clit stuck out, barely but obscenely, as she sat on her knees long enough to throw the nightgown aside. In a flash, she was back on my cock, slurping in about four of my six-point-five inches.
“You taste like soap.”
“Sorry,” I said honestly. “I just got out of the shower.”
“’sokay.” She leaned back in, licking my balls like a cat slowly washing itself, from the underside of each testicle up to the base of my cock. She then ran her tongue up the slight crease between my balls and up the sensitive underside of my cock back to the tip, where she swirled her tongue around a few times and took my cock back into her mouth.
Joanne’s hair was loose today and blocking my view, so I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. She was hardly an expert fellatrix at this point in her young life, but what she had witnessed coupled with a real desire to be good at it was not going to get any complaints from me. She knew enough to keep using her tongue while it was in her mouth, and that alone was amazing.
Joanne let her new little friend pop out with a giggle, took a breath, and tried to swallow my cock whole, stopping at about five inches. She choked out a “Fuck!” and tried again, ending as the last. “Why can’t I do that?” she sputtered.
“Don’t try too hard. When you get it, you’ll get it. But,” I said, “it’s time to take a break. I want to eat you now.”
“Ooh!” she squealed. Once again, she didn’t need to hear something twice and, in a flash, her head was on my pillow, her legs were splayed as far as they could go, and her face was pure Cheshire Cat.
I slid my hands under and around her thighs, resting them on her tummy. Leaning toward her young—oh, so young—pussy, I saw a droplet of moisture. I breathed in deeply and got ... well, nothing, really. I’m not sure what I expected, but there was no obvious aroma. Make no mistake, clean pussy is by far the best pussy, but there’s usually something. Oh, well. I planted a kiss on her undeveloped pussy lips and began a slow journey of my tongue’s own, from the base of her slit to the clitoral hood and back, savoring a very slight sweetness. Again from vag to clit, flicking my tongue ever so slightly as a flourish. I looked up at Joanne’s face and she was watching me intently, open-mouthed, part-smile, part-awe. It was her first, no doubt, and she was going to love every moment of it.
I moved my hands up to brush her face; Joanne closed her eyes and let her head fall into the pillow. My tongue continued its gentle trip up and down memory lane—hey, a new memory is still a memory—as I brought my hands down Joanne’s neck, to her shoulders, down and back up her arms, and to her boyish chest. I wonder if this will even do anything for her, I thought, as my fingertips traced circles around her tiny areolae and gently scraped tiny nipples. Her breath caught, and she sighed.
Well, you learn something new every day.
I gently caressed her ribs and tummy, finally bring my hands to her little mound. Lifting my head, I could see her clit, still tiny but definitely aroused, peeking out from under the hood. Gently, I pulled the surrounding skin up and out, exposing her little bud even further, and I tickled it with the tip of my tongue. Joanne stiffened, squealing.
“What was that?!”
I chuckled. “I’m tickling your clit.”
That was a surprise—apparently, this part of the anatomy lessons was skipped. “Your clitoris. Most people just call it a ‘clit’. It’s that little bump at the top of your pussy that feels really good when you rub it.”
She still looked confused. “Tickling ... with what?”
My evil smile returned. “Just watch.”
Joanne craned her neck, and I pulled back the skin just firmly enough to expose her clit to her own eyes. The tip of my tongue made contact in the rapid, up-and-down tickling motion that drives women—and men—crazy. A tiny “Eep!” was her response, eyes wide and awe-struck at this new sensation. Soon, she collapsed back into the pillow and let the warm waves wash over her in prelude to orgasm. Leg muscles started to twitch involuntarily; belly muscles joined in. Her butt cheeks clenched. Her hands moved as if by instinct to the back of my head. This was gonna be good.
Orgasm slammed into Joanne, who clamped her legs against my ears. (Ouch.) Her neck muscles pushed her head farther and farther back into the pillow, so far that her shoulder blades came up off the bed. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyooh!!” she squealed, softly, trying to stifle the noise as she’d learned to do while watching people not named Joanne having actual sex. Now, it was her turn, and she rode her cum hard, bucking, collapsing, bucking again, shuddering, squeaking, taking it all in.
I eased up with my tongue as her orgasm subsided, once again licking gently, hoping she would let go of my head long enough for my tongue to reach the opening to her vagina. Finally she obliged, and I got my first real taste of her pussy, the liquid gold that is the result of orgasm. Never had the term “honey pot” been more apt—she was legitimately sweet-tasting and sweet-scented.
Oh, yeah. Young pussy. Maybe not this young, usually—but, well, yeah. I love it.
Aside from ragged breathing that slowly found its normal pattern, Joanne didn’t move for several minutes. She has to be okay, I reasoned, she’s still breathing.
I scooted up the bed and lay down beside her, brushing her cheek. “Hey. You okay?” Her eyes blinked open, unseeing at first; finally she looked at me and managed an “Oh. My. GOD!” I had to stifle a laugh; she sounded like a teenager, window-shopping at the mall. “That was ... that was ... oh. My. GOD!”
“You gonna live?” I joked.
“I’ve never cum like that. I’ve never ever ever cum like that! Ever ever! Ohmygod! Fuck!”
The no-not-yet joke was tempting, but I bit it back. “Welcome to the real thing,” I offered instead. “Now you know why people love sex so much with other people. Making yourself cum is good, but when we make each other cum it’s like, a whole new world.”
(This was years before the Disney song. Stop laughing.)
“Oh, yeah, you’re s’posed to cum, too,” she practically sang, and somehow found the energy to scurry back to where she could sit between my legs. By this time I was producing pre-cum like crazy, and she was licking everywhere to get all of it. I took the opportunity—that was part of the point, after all—to remind her how to use the tip of tongue to tickle and, oh, did she get it right. Wow. Electric. My cock jerked in her hand, and she giggled. Tickle, jerk. Tickle, jerk. Like she’d found a completely new toy, she kept that up until I got used to it, and the jerking stopped, and she gave my cock a well-fuck-you-then look that nearly cracked me up. Once again, she regarded her new favorite plaything like an adversary.
And there was unfinished business.
With a breath as if she were going underwater, Joanne again tried to take the whole of my six and one-half inches all the way down her throat. The result was still the same.
As she came up coughing yet again, I decided to lie, just a little. Deep-throating was not all that difficult for me, once I learned how to ignore my gag reflex. Joanne was, let’s face it, still a future woman, and her throat had to be narrower, right? “You’re not going to get it all at once. Nobody does.” The lie, not that she knew it. Would it help? “Take your time with it. There’s no hurry, my cock doesn’t have anywhere to go,” I joked. She chuckled. “Let it get just to the point where you want to cough, and then back off. Go a little deeper when you can, and then back off. If that works right”—now I was being honest—“you’ll be able to deep-throat.”
There was still very much an I-love-you-but-I-hate-you look on her face as she looked down at my hard-on, but her expression had softened a bit. My cock hadn’t softened at all. Into her mouth it went once again, a little deeper, a little deeper; I felt her convulse slightly, and she backed away. One cough escaped her lips this time. Just past her gullet on the next pass, and she again coughed but once. Could she really get it all?
Five and one-half inches of cock made it into her mouth when she tried again. A slight convulsion, but no cough. Again, and all but the last inch. And again. Joanne wasn’t backing off completely any more; my cock never left her mouth again as she kept working at it, trying to make that last little bit disappear. So close, so close—but I was already there, and I couldn’t hold back any more.
“Joanne, I’m gonna cum,” I barked, and she pulled back enough to keep the first couple of inches in her mouth while letting her hand take over the work. I came, and hard. My hands grabbed the sheets as I pumped stream after stream of fresh cum into Joanne’s mouth, her lips tight on my shaft. Her other hand started tickling my balls—a trick she’d learned from her cousin, no doubt—and I saw stars on my eyelids.
Coming down from an intense orgasm is almost as good as the orgasm. I was acutely aware of every sensation—every nerve ending tingling, every hair standing up straight, every heave of my chest, every sound from my mouth, every little movement up and down my cock as Joanne gently made love to it. When my eyes finally came into focus, I saw the junction of lips and penis, and no cum anywhere—she’d swallowed it all. “Wow,” I said, barely.
Pop. “Was it as good as mine?” she asked sincerely.
I had no idea, but, “it sure felt like it.”
Joanne beamed at me, a grin that was all teeth. “I like cumming with you.”
“I like cumming with you, too.”
“You wanna fuck me?”
“Uh—” Well, shit, how do I let her down without her crashing and burning, I wondered. “Joanne ...”
“Don’t tell me I can’t!”
She was serious. She’d heard “you can’t” too damned many times, I figured, and ... and, what? How do I not be just another person who tells her she can’t?
“You can,” I improvised, hoping something would come to me. “I know you can. It’s just—it’s just that you—” Fuck, come on, gimme something to work with, here. “Your body”—that’s it!—“your body may not have caught up with your brain yet.” She squinted, not at all sure she was going to like this. “Your fingers,” I continued, “how many, in your pussy?”
Stalling worked; I had it now. “Okay. Look at your fingers. Even three of them are a lot smaller than my penis.” (I almost said “cock”, but the anatomical reference made sense, so I went wth it.) “Your mind is ready but your vagina may not be. You’d have to be able to take two or three of my fingers without any pain to be sure—”
For all I know, Joanne could actually see the light suddenly flash on above my head as the solution struck me: “Hey, you know what a dildo is?” She did; both her mom and her cousin had dildos, and neither was as careful with them as they should have been. “I got an idea,” I continued. “I can buy you a dildo, and—”
“What if my mom finds it?”
A valid question. “I can keep it here.” A valid answer. “Actually, maybe a couple of them. I can get a smaller one so you can get used to that, and a bigger one so you can get used to that, and then my cock”—back to the fuck-talk—“would slide nicely into your beautiful pussy, and no pain.” I let that hang in the air a moment, and asked what she thought of my idea.
A hug and a quick kiss was my answer.
I hadn’t yet had the chance to go buy some dildos when we got together again, on a school night. We weren’t sure how long her mom would let her visit, and there was just one thing I wanted to try anyway. Gently eating her pussy so as to get her hot but not too worked up, I slicked my finger with saliva and entered her, all the way, with no distress. I finger-fucked her slowly to keep her loose and relaxed, then gently pulled it out, wet a second finger, and tried slowly to insert both. At the second knuckle she jumped, clearly in pain. I backed out a bit, but not completely, until she relaxed again. Back to the first knuckle and out, and again; I tried going just a bit deeper with each push, but past the second knuckle was not happening. It was hard to tell who was the more disappointed.
Just as I slipped my fingers from her little channel and leaned forward to eat her again, a knock on the door and a stern reminder that there was homework to do ended our night.
The adult novelty shop was only about a mile away. It was a familiar place; a sizable video room was used by many men, and the rare couple or single woman, to cruise for sex. I had a different reason for being there on this day: perusing the “marital aids” for some appropriate tools for a very young vagina. Hanging near the top of the pegboard was a set of three vibrators; not dildos, really, these were plain white with slight grooving along the length of the surface. One looked to be about four inches long and was narrower than two of my fingers; perfect. A six-incher and an eight-incher were included, the largest about the girth of my cock, maybe a bit bigger.
I kept looking for a few more minutes to see if there were any of similar sizes that more closely resembled penises. There was none; the set would have to do.
My purchase completed, I went into the video room to see if there was any action happening; nothing. I’d come straight here from work and it was dinnertime for most people—especially married men who would be with their families rather than out hunting for cock.
It was several weeks before Joanne and I got any time alone together. Her mother’s boyfriend was spending a lot more of his time at the house, and he thought her visits with a single man in his apartment were way too frequent. Whether he suspected anything, I had no idea.
I had been living alone for a while; John had moved out. Our night of sucking and fucking was great, he said, but he decided that gay sex was not for him. He wanted his own place where he could entertain girlfriends without embarrassment, and a studio apartment with another guy just wasn’t going to cut it.
Finally, one weekend afternoon, Joanne was left with her cousin while the rest of the family was out doing something, and she knocked on my door. I let her in, and she gave me a bear hug, her ear buried in my belly. I leaned over and hugged back, and we just stood there for several seconds. “I missed you,” she said into her shoulder.
“I missed you, too.”
Joanne released me somewhat, pointed her face upward, and puckered her lips. I leaned down and kissed her, mouth slightly open, intentionally kissing one lip, then the other. She relaxed her lips and responded, a more grown-up kiss for the first time. I led her to the bed and sat myself down so our faces were about level, and resumed our kissing, hands at the small of her back. Her hands found the back of my neck, and soon we were kissing passionately, tongues dueling, lips touching, apart, touching, smashed together, barely brushing each other, the works. We were flushed, hot and horny, and my cock was bitching about my jeans once again.
Joanne’s cousin rapped on the door, with exceptionally lousy timing. (Then again, it could have been a lot worse.) “Joanne, are you in here?”
“I’m right here,” she answered. I gestured toward the door, then silently got up from the bed and moved to the dining room table. Joanne let the older girl in and we exchanged greetings; the conversation quickly turned to something about going shopping. Joanne said she’d be right over, and walked to where I was sitting.
“I gotta go,” she said to me as her cousin walked out, closing the door behind her.
“Can I show you something first?”
I got up and walked to one of the kitchen drawers, pulling out the vibrator set. Joanne’s face lit up, then changed to something closer to confusion. “Why don’t they look like cocks?”
“They didn’t have any like that, small enough to fit in your little pussy,” I nearly apologized. “Besides, the idea is to get you ready for the real one, right?” She smiled.
I asked if she wanted me to keep them here; no, she said, she knew a good hiding place and wanted to be able to practice more often. She lifted her nightgown and tucked the package into her underwear; it promptly fell out. We figured out a way to secure her new little friends, kissed each other open-mouthed, and off she went.
Into the bathroom I went, and my hand went to work.
Several more weeks went by, during which time the family and I saw each other only in passing or when I visited them in the main house. Joanne would smile and wink when no one was looking, and I would respond with a kissing motion. Her cousin, meantime, was between boyfriends and took a shine to me, leaving Joanne with a jealous pout that was almost comical. I liked the older girl, too, but—well, to let that happen could easily blow up in all our faces. I played it as if her advances were cute, and nothing more.
Joanne bounced into my apartment the next Saturday and proudly announced that she had something to show me. As she lay on the bed, I could see an odd outline in her underwear; she peeled them off, and the medium-sized vibrator was, all but the end cap, inside her little pussy, some five inches deep!
“See?!” she beamed. I beamed back, sat down on the bed next to her, took hold of the end cap, and began to slide her substitute cock slowly in and out of her very real pussy.
Her head hit the pillow as she sighed, “oh, yeah.” I moved up to where I could reach her little clit with my tongue, and began a gentle tickle. Joanne tensed immediately as orgasm began, starting deep in her little channel, both vaginal and clitoral, like nothing she’d experienced before. She clamped both hands tight over her mouth, trying to stifle a real scream, with limited success. Her legs squeezed my head, then let go, then squeezed again. Her entire body shook and bucked and writhed as if it had no clue what it was supposed to do, and it was impossible to maintain contact with her little clit, so I backed off.
At that instant, there was a loud banging on my door.
I hesitated for just a moment, then it was as if some instinct kicked in. I slipped the vibrator carefully from Joanne’s vagina, wrapped it in her underwear, and shoved it under my mattress. I pointed her toward the dining table as I walked to the connecting door, opened it, and ...
For an instant I stood there, stupidly, wondering if had been imagining things. Then the rapping came again from a few feet to my right; someone was at the main door.
A face full of acne handed me an envelope, then turned and left without a word. I opened the envelope and pulled out an eviction notice.
It wasn’t just me. The same notice was served to the main house, to Joanne’s brother; everyone else was out doing something and would return presently to some awful news. “You should be with your family,” I almost cried. Joanne was crying.
The next few weeks were a blur; when I wasn’t at work, most of my time was spent apartment-hunting. Joanne’s family was only a bit luckier; they would move in, temporarily, with her mother’s boyfriend in a much smaller house while they searched for something bigger. They were ready before I was, and invited me over for a going-away party of sorts. Afterward, I gave the women hugs while mom’s boyfriend and Joanne’s brother offered curt handshakes. The lot of them were gone when I got up the next morning.
I secured my new place a couple of days later, and began the process of moving my stuff. Imagine my surprise when I began to move the bed; an inadvertent gift had been left behind, a reminder of times simultaneously sexy and not.
The next time I saw Joanne could not have been any more by accident. There had been significant economic changes over the previous two-plus years, and I had been let go from a job I’d held for more than five years. Literally two weeks away from being homeless, I found work driving an ice cream truck. It was enough to live on, but just barely.
My ‘break’, if you can call it that, came when another driver was let go, and a route in a somewhat nicer neighborhood opened up. There were several schools along this route, and I quickly rearranged my schedule to be there for as many final bells as possible. My commissions were much better, if still not nearly where I was at my last job. Things actually got worse as the summer arrived, when school was out and kids were spending more time with their friends, and less money at my ice cream truck.
Hotter days were better, usually. One such afternoon, a slow trip around a cul-de-sac had the desired effect: several kids had run out, cash in hand, for a treat, finding a single spot along the curb to congregate. Music off, engine off, parking brake on, I moved to the service window to go to work.
And Joanne was there.
Now 12, she hadn’t yet filled out a whole lot, but she was clearly not the same little girl I knew. We chatted somewhat benignly as I served her and the rest of the kids and, one cheerful “see you later!” later, they’d all skipped off.
For the next several days, I’d turned into her street hoping to see Joanne again, and did not. Times were still tough, and some days I’d see no kids at all for long stretches of my route.
I worked seven-day weeks for a while, since I really couldn’t afford not to. It paid off when Joanne showed up again the following Saturday.
We got to do a bit more chatting this time after a couple of other kids had wandered off, treats in hand. This was the larger house they’d found, finally, just a few months before, and their rent squeezed away a lot of unnecessary expenditures, like ice cream. Joanne told me that things were good, for the most part, but really boring at times. She couldn’t hang with her friends too often if they were doing things that involved money, and this was still several years before anyone heard of an “Internet”.
To the point, finally: “Can I ride along with you?”
No argument from me, but “if your mother says it’s okay.”
Joanne ran into the house, and I waited. And waited. Nothing.
I still had a day’s work to finish so, figuring the answer was “no”, I started the engine, put ’er in gear, leaned forward to switch on the music, and heard “WAIT!” Joanne was running toward me, and I stopped, set the brakes, and opened the door. She had endured a short lecture, argued back and forth over whether to wear a sweater, and just made it back out before I could drive off. Truth be told, I had planned to circle back before leaving the neighborhood, just in case.
With nowhere to sit, Joanne held on to the pole at the front of the freezer unit as I continued my run. After helping me serve some kids on the next street over, Joanne blurted out, “I’m finally growing boobs!” She puffed out her chest. “See?”
There wasn’t much but, yes, those were definitely boobs. I told her to hold her shirt tight so I could see better, and they were indeed coming along quite nicely. She started to flash them, but I stopped her. “We’re still in the middle of your neighborhood. And that’s a very see-through windshield,” I joked. She laughed, and on we went, along several streets before the next time we saw any kids; so, we caught up. Her mom and boyfriend were married now. Her brother decided to go into the military, and they hadn’t seen him in months, beyond letters and Polaroids. Her cousin was still living with them, but friends and boyfriends ate up most of her time. Joanne had mostly books and the TV and a radio, and that was about it. Once again, she complained that her life was just bo-o-o-oring.
Finally, some kids stopped us, and Joanne helped me pass out their ice cream. The kids walked off, and I motioned Joanne toward the back of the truck. “May I see your boobs?” She grinned, reached for the hem of her shirt, and pulled up, revealing her small but nicely rounded tits. The truck was cool in the back, and her nipples stuck out from otherwise flat areolae, the puffiness of new growth already gone, not unlike a grown woman’s. I reached out and took one in each hand, caressing, tickling, savoring. I kissed her, leaning over far less than I’d had to before, and it was passionate, as if we were making up for lost time. Still, I never forgot that we were parked along a residential curb, and suggested we get going. Sure enough, more kids were just walking up.
I dropped Joanne back off about an hour later, not wanting to wear out my welcome, and invited her to join me anytime she got permission to do so. Each time she did, we stayed out just a little longer.
I chose to go to work on Independence Day, having no idea how that would pan out, but I needed the money. Nothing. Lots of people, but nothing—they’d blown all their money on fireworks, and some parents actually looked angry. I almost turned in my truck and went home, but I decided to hit Joanne’s neighborhood first. She came outside, with permission, and we hit the rest of the neighborhood, with nothing to show for it. A change of scenery was in order.
“Hey, you want to see my shitty little apartment?”
“Sure!” came the enthusiastic answer.
My place was little, all right. Another converted apartment, this one was in a quite sizable house that had been divided into six studio apartments. Mine was actually the largest of them, with its own separate access, which was an important detail in my search from two-odd years before. Everyone else had to use the main door into a shared hallway; some even had to share a bathroom. My kitchen was barely wide enough to walk through; the bathroom was average; the combined living and sleeping area was neither roomy nor cramped. Basically a motel room, it served its purpose.
It took about five seconds to show Joanne around, and I ended the “tour” by turning on the air conditioner. It was hot, I needed a shower, and I said so. “Do you mind?”
“Can I join you?”
“I wish.” The shower was tiny; I only barely fit in there, and I was a lean guy back then. “But you can jump in after me.”
Peeling off my clothes in front of a 12-year-old girl struck me as funny for a fraction of a second, even though this 12-year-old had seen me naked who knows how many times, never mind the blow jobs and pussy eating. My shower was more a rinse than anything, just long enough to get clean. When I walked out of the bathroom, toweling off, Joanne was already naked; she smiled, kissed my shoulder and walked straight toward the still-running water.
As I finished drying off, I suddenly remembered something I’d been holding onto for more than two years. When she came out of the bathroom, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding up her vibrator. “Remember this?”
She squealed slightly, wearing an incredulous smile as she walked up to me and took her old toy from my hand. “You still have this?!” I had to bite back a smart-ass response: no, I bought a new one exactly like it. Instead, I smiled back. Joanne looked at it, then back at me, and an evil grin I hadn’t seen in years was back in full force. She tossed the vibrator over her shoulder, pushed me back onto the bed, and lay on top of me, chest-to-chest, belly-to-belly, groin-to-groin, for the first time.
Well, sort of. Not quite five feet tall, she needed a gentle tug from me to come face-to-face, where we looked at each other with pure lust. My hands found her ass, still small but well-rounded. Her eyes found my lips, and her lips quickly followed, kissing me gently but assuredly, our tongues wasting no time. My hands caressed her ass, sliding up her back, to her ass, to her upper thighs, to her ass, our kiss getting more and more passionate, my cock getting harder and harder. We stopped every so often, looking into each other’s eyes just long enough to catch our respective breaths, and went right back at it. Her hands found my face and mine hers, as this small girl cast fully aside the little girl in favor of the desperately horny woman-to-be. It was a remarkable sight, a remarkable feeling, a remarkable experience, and one of the hottest damned kisses I’ve ever known, all from a ball of lust that would have made no sense to anyone who didn’t know her history.
When next we took a breather, I rolled us over until she was flat on her back. I started with her neck, planting gentle kisses as she sighed her approval. We were both worked up, so I pretty much set the foreplay to fast-forward and kissed a straight line to one young breast, taking as much into my hot mouth as I could. “Eep!” came the response and, for a moment, little Joanne was back. I suckled for a few seconds, then let go and tickled her nipple with my tongue. A more womanly moan followed, and I kissed my way across to her other breast, suckling and tickling, drawing more breaths and moans. I traced a line with my tongue down her chest, down her belly, and circled the fair tuft of pubic hair atop her developing mound. Gently pulling the skin away from her now-well-developed clit, I was about to dive in when she pushed me away.
“No,” she said, perhaps never more sure of anything in her life. “I want your cock inside me.”
I started to ask if she was ready for full penetration, but the look in her eyes ... yeah, she was sure. I crawled up and knelt between her spread legs, rubbing the tip of my cock up and down her slit, spreading a generous amount of pre-cum into the space between her still underdeveloped labia. Gently, I pushed forward, and the head popped right in. In a bit, out a bit, in a bit, now I was taking my time. Her eyes were locked onto mine locked onto hers, and a completely new level of joy took over her face as my six and one-half inches disappeared completely into the hottest, most perfect silken sleeve I have ever felt, to this day.
I wanted to take my time and savor this new shared experience, but Joanne was having none of that shit. With her hands on my ass and her tongue down my throat, she was nearly feral, desperate to cum around my cock for the first time. I got the point and pounded into her, my balls slapping against her with each thrust, as she built, and built, and built. And exploded.
Joanne literally screamed in orgasm; I didn’t care, let the dirty old men in the apartments next door listen in. Joanne’s ankles met, slapping aloud into my lower back, as her legs tried to push me even deeper where there was no deeper. I fought hard with my own orgasm, willing it back, because if there was ever a moment that she could get pregnant, this was it. Clamping my groin muscles as best I could, I kept pounding Joanne’s no-longer-immature little pussy until finally she collapsed, spent, wheezing like the old men no doubt holding drinking glasses up to the walls separating them from my fucking awesome little lover.
“Did you ... cum?” She croaked. Not yet, I answered. Her eyes popped open. “Good!”
I have no idea where she suddenly found the strength, but she rolled us over until I was on my back. Up on her knees, she found her way to my cock and swallowed it whole. “You did it!” I almost yelled, eyes wide, as she slid my cock from her throat and swallowed it again. Once more unto the hilt and she backed away with an odd expression, licking her lips.
“Is that me?”
“Yep,” I smiled. Apparently, Joanne had never tasted herself.
She shrugged her shoulders and dropped her head, engulfing my cock yet again, and again, and again, with no hesitation, no gagging, no stopping, every centimeter, every stroke. I was going to cum, and she was going to make me. I grabbed her hands, trying not to squeeze too hard, and came, jet after jet, swallowed along with my jerking cock each time she went deep, this fucking 12-year-old girl taking everything I could give until there was no more, her head still bobbing, my head now spinning. It was almost too much.
Or maybe it was too much. My next conscious thought was that Joanne was lying next to me, one leg bent over my belly; when I looked over, she was studying my face as if she’d never seen it before. I pecked her gently on the lips and whispered—only because my voice was gone—“that was unbelievable. That was,” I practically gushed, “the best cum I’ve ever had.” Joanne smiled.
“You know how long I’ve waited to get your cock in my throat?”
“Two years?” I half-joked.
“More than that,” she half-joked back. “I’ve been practicing with a fucking piece of plastic ever since we moved.”
There was genuine disgust behind that statement. She went on, reminding me that there were three vibrators in that package I’d bought her, and the one currently hugging my carpet was the middle brother. She still had the bigger one, and had gradually stretched her pussy and her throat over the next several months, hoping to see me and my cock again someday.
The unfinished business, finally, was finished—and, I swear, she was glowing. I know I was.
We got to share each other once more, one agonizing month later. No unfinished business this time, no rush; we made love. A 28-year-old man and a 12-year-old woman, for all intents and purposes, made love. Exploring each other’s bodies, exploring each other’s erogenous zones, we caressed, tickled, played, kissed, loved. I’d had the presence of mind to buy some condoms after our last, animalistic sex, and we took our sweet time, trying different positions, changing each time she had a gentle but insistent orgasm. Finally, with her on top, we found our final climax together, finished together, fell limp together, slept together.
A sudden jerk from her leg woke me up; Joanne was still sleeping, dreaming of who knows what. I closed my eyes, then jerked them back open. Shit, what time is it? I looked at my watch: three hours since we’d left her house! “Joanne!” I almost yelled. She jerked awake. “We have to get you home, it’s been three hours!”
We took turns cleaning up with a washcloth and quickly dressed to leave. As I locked my door, I noticed one of my neighbors standing near my work truck, undressing an obviously 12-year-old Joanne with his eyes. The old man looked at me disapprovingly, then back at her. "Do you need my help with anything, young lady?" he asked Joanne, as if concerned for her welfare.
Joanne looked at me with a grin I'd come to know only too well. Striding purposefully to face this interloper, she grabbed what was left of his withered, old package, frowned slightly, and shook her head. "I doubt it."
Laughing all the way, I drove us quickly but carefully back to her house, where I dropped her off with no further ceremony. “Thanks for your help,” I acted. “See you next time.”
There was no next time.
As the summer ended, the guy whose route I had taken over came back to work. For whatever reason, he was promised ‘his’ neighborhood back, and I was reassigned. I tried once to visit Joanne, but I dared not turn on the music, and no one at the house saw me. The other driver did, though, and bitched to the manager; when I tried to explain that I was just visiting a friend, I was told in no uncertain terms that I was to do so on my own goddamned time.
I was slowly saving up whatever money I could, and finally managed to buy a little PoS car with enough cash left over to work on some things. The heater was first, since the weather was changing. A full tank of gas followed. Finally, I drove over to Joanne’s house for the first time in almost four months, and ... it was empty. A “for rent” sign swung in the breeze. I walked back to my car and sat, crestfallen, shivering cold despite the blowing heat, dreading the drive, alone, back home.
The next morning offered an answer, but not a happy one, when a familiar face stared back at me from the the local newspaper. Joanne’s stepfather was on the front page, about to go to trial on charges of forcible rape. Of a child. A family member. An unidentified family member.
My heart sank. Joanne’s cousin was 17 or 18 now, and—and I caught myself. I wasn’t wishing rape on her, certainly. But I couldn’t escape the feeling that Joanne had been the victim. An even darker thought hit me at that moment: was she my victim first? I didn’t want to believe that. Silently, I started arguing with myself. Everything was consensual. But she was ten. But she was even hornier than I was. But she was ten. But we didn’t fuck! Oh, yes, we did. Okay, but we fucked the first time, we made real love the last time. But she was 12.
But we were good.
So many changes in the years since: new jobs, new homes, new locations, new families. There’s been nothing quite like the experience I shared with Joanne, though. The memory lingers—so much so that I decided recently to look her up on social media. It took some effort, but I found her: entrepreneur, married, divorced, boyfriend, two beautiful kids; to all appearances, a happy woman.
No, I haven’t contacted her—sleeping dogs, and all that. Still, I’ve made the choice to consider ours a happy memory. Joanne, if you’re reading this, I hope it’s a happy memory for you, too.
Because, dammit, we were good.
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