Sex in the Sky

“”Well… the end has come at last. It’s taken me a little over a year to write this story and I’d like to say a big thank you to all the kind people who have read A Boy Who… in its entirety (some of you, amazingly, more than once!) You’ve been very patient with me, and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful comments and e-mails you’ve sent. It just makes me happy to know that you’ve taken some pleasure from Rayne’s sorry tale and that makes all the hard work worth while.

I wrote A Boy Who… for my friend Ant, who originally wanted a role in a vampire tale. This epilogue is for him. It’s a strange little piece, written as a bridge between Rayne’s life and his Unlife. I hope I’ve done him justice.

A Happy New Year to you all!

Love… Sadie.xxx”"

*

TEN YEARS LATER:

(LONDON — SEPTEMBER 1999)

It was already dark outside when Mr. Wright left the cinema on Shaftesbury Avenue. A steady drizzle made the pavements gleam in the coppery glow of the streetlights. He turned up his collar, dissatisfied with the cinematic fare, which overzealous reviewers had tried to work up into some kind of priapic orgy when in truth it was nothing more than a fairly tame rom-com with a bit of full-frontal nudity thrown in to piss off the censors. He walked back up to Piccadilly in search of a cab, reflecting ruefully on warmer days and sunnier climes. In a few weeks he would be off to Cornwall to spend a short break on one of his boats with some close friends, but for the time being he would have to be content with this business trip to the Capital.

It had been several years since Ant had last lived in London. When it finally became too expensive to moor in Greenwich he upped anchor and moved up the Grand Union to Oxford, spending a year or two on the outskirts of the bustling academic town before finally settling in the Black Country. His businesses there and in Cornwall now yielded enough income to purchase a house and add to his collection of sailing vessels. One was the yacht down in St Mawes, where he was currently looking forward to some well-earned R+R. The other was a restored restaurant boat moored on the Canal du Midi in France. Currently Terry Goodwill was minding the latter for him. He hoped the old bastard had not managed to sink it during some wild party.

Terry had barely known what to do with himself in the eighteen months since Daniel Leland’s death. Although they had never been lovers, he and Leland had been a virtually inseparable couple for nearly twenty years. Ant felt sorry for his old friend. The boat got Terry out of Ambonne and kept him busy. There were still boys there every weekend, even though Goodwill was in his sixties now. Ant could almost hear him chuckling; “You can keep a good man hard but you can’t keep a hard man down, Rosie!”

He felt guilty at having missed Daniel’s funeral. Terry had brought his body back to Dulwich, where apparently the old man still had surviving family. It had been quite a send off, by all accounts, though he wondered what the blue-rinsed, well-to-do relatives thought of the glamorous porn starlets gathered at the graveside, and vice-versa! Ant had been over in Ireland on holiday at the time. He did not find out that Daniel had passed away until after his return to England, although the news still saddened him. Leland could be a contrary old so and so but he was a loyal friend. He had never turned Ant away from his door in times of need. Even though they had not seen one another for nearly five years, he still felt the sorrow acutely. In some ways he had been closer to Dan Leland than to his own kin.

The memory of Leland and the glorious summers spent at Port Ambonne turned his mind unexpectedly back to that bizarre time, nearly ten years ago, when he had fled to the Cap with Rayne Wylde. Jesus Christ! His friends still refused to believe that story; that he had once dipped his wick into the sweet, hot flame that was rock band Whipsnade’s crazy, beautiful, screwed-up lead singer. The band were in all the magazines and Wylde was on the front cover of the tabloids at least six times a year for some form of riotous behaviour, usually being escorted from restaurants and clubs, or the back of a police car.

Last week he had seen the boy in action for the first time since Ambonne. Okay, so Rayne had been performing with his band on Top Of The Pops, but apart from pictures in the press and on the worn sleeve notes of ancient porn videos, he had not set eyes on the little hussy since Rayne ran out on him in 1989. It had been a revelation.

He was quietly aware that the boy — no longer a boy now — was the singer with a well-known band, but had not realised just how successful they were until he tried this week to get a ticket for one of their upcoming concerts in London. The helpful girl on the sales counter told him apologetically that all five nights at the Roundhouse had been sold out since February when the shows went on sale.

Ant would have been the first to confess that he knew nothing about pop music but Whipsnade had invaded his consciousness over the past twelve months. It had been a shock the first time he opened a magazine (one of the Sunday supplements, he thought now) to see that achingly familiar face staring insolently back at him. Initially he refused to believe it was the same boy he had dragged out of the snow all those years before but as his brain assimilated the accompanying interview he was forced to accept the truth.

At least the young man was no longer hiding behind a pimp or an alias these days. He hoped, with only a hint of bitterness, that this meant he was ‘finally’ comfortable with his identity. From the interview he did at least glean enough information to know that Rayne had not yet settled down. He coyly fielded enquiries about potential girl/boyfriends, although he was candid about his assorted addictions and the trouble they had got him into over the years. The magazine said he was 25. Mentally Ant calculated that the singer had to be at least 29 years old if he had been telling the truth about his age back in Agde. He looked pretty good for a man approaching thirty.

Watching him on TV last week, Ant saw some of the same defensive aggression behind his wide, kohl-ringed, emerald eyes. Rayne Wylde might be ten years older and spelling his surname differently but he still seethed with latent anger. His voice was stronger than Ant remembered from that long-ago gig at the Camden Falcon. It swung from a sweet falsetto croon to a crowing snarl as he swamped the microphone and stared challengingly into the camera. Poised on the edge of the sofa, unable to take his own eyes off the screen, all Ant could think of was the memory of that soft, sweet mouth wrapped around his erect cock.

It made him hard then and there, and he had no way of explaining to Elaine that once he and Wylde had shared the pleasure of that stiffening flesh. Like the rest of his friends, she would not have believed it, for a start.

Ant had been with Elaine since the spring of 1996, when he bought his house. Elaine worked for an estate agency, and whilst he did not actually bring her any business, for some reason the pretty branch manageress did accept his invitation to come out for a drink. A drink led to a meal and then a couple of pleasant days out and a weekend on his boat in Cornwall. Elaine shared his bed on that trip. Two months later she sold her own flat and moved in with him.

He loved her soft, sensuous curves, the fall of her dark hair and the swell of her gorgeous breasts, overflowing his caressing hands as he sank down onto her and into her. Elaine had the sweetest, wettest cunt he had ever tasted and he loved to lose himself inside her. He had not yet told her of his appetite for boys, nor did he think he ever would. It was not that he feared her disapproval, more that they were two separate parts of his life now. A part of the thrill of coming to London alone was about the secret cruising. It allowed him to do something daring and forbidden; something for himself, never to be spoken of in the polite circles Elaine moved in. Although he loved her and he enjoyed the time he spent with his girlfriend, the thrill of doing something dangerous still turned him on like nothing else.

Piccadilly Circus was oddly quiet in the gathering gloom of this rainy evening. He pushed sodden hair out of his eyes and scanned the streets for a taxi, but the black cabs he spotted were either occupied or running empty. Instead he set off on foot along Piccadilly itself. Even the whores around the Circus Plaza were unappealing tonight.

Outside the Ritz Hotel, one of many glamorous venues dotted along that famous thoroughfare, he was forced to swerve out into the road to avoid a sudden throng of people. He crossed to the opposite side where he was able to observe from the kerb with a little more detachment. They swarmed like bees or feeding pirhanas, converging on the colonnaded entranceway with a single-minded determination. He saw cameras flash as someone came out into a cordoned area beneath the portico but it was only a doorman in a top hat and long tails and the air of tension holding them together relaxed briefly.

Ant spotted a cab with its light on just then and abandoned his brief spectator’s role, stepping back into the road and waving a hand to attract the driver’s attention. Fortunately the vehicle was slowing to navigate around the throng that spilled off the opposite pavement and it stopped for him at once. As he opened the rear door to let himself into the warm, dry, black leather interior, the swarm began to buzz again, more urgently this time.

“King’s Road, please,” he told the driver with a sigh of relief at escaping the rain and the chaos.

And then the other door of the cab opened and admitted a howling, baying scene like some Dante-esque vision of Hell.

RITZ HOTEL, LONDON — SEPTEMBER 18TH 1999

“This is not good!” The tall, impossibly-skinny, blond-dreadlocked youth, who had been pacing back and forth across the foyer for the last fifteen minutes, as near to the doors as he dared, now stared aghast at the growing pack of restless reporters trying to shelter from the rain beneath the portico of the Ritz Hotel. There was not much in the way of space out there and he was visibly unhappy with the situation. What had begun, earlier in the evening as an informal round of civilised interviews with the broadsheets in the Palm Court Tea Room, was now turning into bedlam as those elements deliberately excluded as a result of recent hostilities between the band and the press in Dublin got wind of the game plan. Now the press-pack was growing by the minute. “Not good at all. Can’t we call the police?”

The polish concierge, who had been hovering by his shoulder for a little while, wearing a polite and would-be-helpful smile, shook his head.

“They say that they have right to be there.”

“This is your doorstep,” the lanky, blond fellow told him irritably.

“Technically, no,” his companion pointed out. “I am only employee here.”

“But you can make them go away,” the blond insisted more adamantly. “This is ridiculous.”

“If you go out and talk to them, maybe they go away,” the little man answered him as diplomatically as he knew how.

“If we go out there now they’re gonna kill us,” the taller one pointed out to him, shaking his head until his long, honey coloured rat-tails of hair swayed like the thongs of a whip. “You’ve seen them! They’re savages!”

“They cannot kill you. That would be crazy,” the concierge told him soothingly.

“They are paparazzi! They are not sane men!” the blond shouted at him. He wheeled away irately, clutching his head in both hands. “For Christ’s sake, where the hell is Chaz?”

He glanced at his watch again and paced back across the foyer to the group of bemused looking people waiting on a circle of velvet upholstered sofas near the bar. They were a dissolute looking bunch for sure, but not — he considered — worthy of a full scale press riot outside one of London’s most prestigious hotels. If it had not been for the Dublin incident earlier in the year none of this would be happening.

“What’s the score, Matty?” That was Ciaran Hartney, their laconic Irish bass player, who was sprawled with his feet up on an oriental lacquered occasional table, a half-empty pint glass in his hand, looking probably the least concerned of their tribe. Ciar stood a towering six feet three inches and was possessed of a fearsome Celtic stare that would probably have cowed the most determined journo. Maybe he should go out and talk to the press, Matt Greening thought grimly.

He had been managing this band for too long. Whipsnade were doing well in the charts and they were making money, in spite of the insane amounts that went on their ‘excessive’ rock lifestyle but Matt was exhausted from running around after them. It was like managing children sometimes, which was ridiculous too. With the exception of guitarist, Sean Courtney, they were all older than him. It was not fair, he decided with another shake of his head. Why couldn’t someone else be the sensible one for a change?

“We can’t go out the front way,” he declared now, wishing he had agreed to be an accountant like his brothers. Wishing Rayne hadn’t taken it into his head to deck that mouthy photographer last month in Dublin. “They want our blood.”

“Correction…” That was pink-haired Noriko Mori, official band mother and keyboard genius. The curvaceous Japanese-American girl was perched on one arm of the long sofa, with the band’s maverick singer Rayne Wylde draped languidly at her feet smoking a roll up and looking smug. “They want his blood!”

She pointed one long, magenta talon straight down at the top of Wylde’s dark, tousled head.

“Great thinking! Throw Mouth Almighty to the press and we’ll make a run for it out the back door!” Ciaran chuckled, raising his pint to her appreciatively.

“Thanks a bunch, you lot!” The singer blew out a long streamer of smoke, aiming it upward into Noriko’s face. “I’ll remember this!”

As she was waving the smoke away, looking unconcerned, the other two members of their party returned from their brief reconnoitre of the rear of the building. Their drummer, Simon Hathaway ran a hand through his short, spiky auburn hair and slumped down on a vacant chair shaking his head. Little Sean tugged fretfully on his chestnut ponytail and stared at the throng beyond the main doors with an anxious frown.

“No joy,” Si exhaled. “They’re out the back as well. I think Chaz tried to get round that way but he can’t get near.”

“He’s driving a 20 foot, bullet-proof Merc!” Rayne exploded incredulously, swinging himself into a sitting position so that he could glare at his oldest friend. “What’s his fuckin’ problem? Run the bastards over!”

“It’s that kind of attitude towards the press that got us in this situation to begin with,” Sean reminded him tersely.

“They started it!” Rayne countered.

“You broke that guy’s nose!” Sean was staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and openly hostile.

“He shouldn’t have invaded my personal fucking space then, should he?” Wylde was shaking his head again irritably.

“I do not believe you, sometimes!” their young guitarist huffed, turning his back and staring miserably out towards the seething rabble beneath the portico.

Several hotel guests occupying the bar were now glancing warily in their direction, monitoring the heated exchanges between the band members in case something interesting kicked off. At least two of them were reporters from their earlier, prearranged press conference in the Palm Court Tea Rooms, who had hung around to see what would happen now that their tabloid brethren had arrived. Matty was conscious of this, and also of the fact that Rayne was beginning to loose his cool.

“It’ll be all right,” Matt heard himself say distantly. “They’ll get bored with this in a while. We’ll have another drink.”

As he spoke one of the unfortunate doormen stumbled back into the foyer looking rather less composed than he had a few moments before. The doors closed smoothly behind him and the brief chorus of howls that followed him was swiftly muted again. A camera flashed hopefully just before the press were shut out.

“Call the cops!” Ciaran remarked from his deep, comfortable armchair in the foyer, utterly unconcerned. “We’re being harassed here!”

“They’ll bill us,” Matt reminded him gloomily.

“Let them!”

For a moment all eyes moved back to the ashen face of their singer-singwriter, stretched out on the sofa opposite Ciaran’s chair. Clad in black from the high-collar of his Alexander McQueen coat to the tapered toes of his ebony, cuban heeled boots, Rayne Wylde was a brooding shadow. The rumpled sable bangs of his shoulder length hair and the darkness of his snug-fitting attire were only alleviated by his pale, heart-shaped face; leached of colour by a recent mystery illness that had stalled the band’s European tour midway through. Currently he could barely talk, let alone sing. The press alleged that he was in rehab. Rayne Wylde insisted it had been pneumonia. The flashpoint of this argument had been the punch up in Dublin. At the moment it looked set to culminate here in the Ritz Hotel.

“I’m serious,” he croaked.

“I know, babe,” Matty soothed. “Kris’ll go ballistic though.”

Kris Speddings, the head of SOLD Records had been less than impressed about having to bail out his primary asset in Dublin. The police were already in talks with Whipsnade’s gig promoters about the cost of manning the upcoming shows in London. Then, twenty-three days ago, Rayne lost his temper and punched out some wisecracking arsehole from the Daily Mail in the foyer of Dublin’s Point Hotel. The scumbag had asked for a knuckle-sarnie, to be frank, but about five photographers got a good shot of the knockout blow and it made the front page of most of the tabloids the next day.

‘Whipsnade Beast Goes Wylde!’

Hilarious… Not! At least, Kris and the Board of Directors did not seem to think so.

“Not bad for a half-dead junky, yeah?” Rayne had remarked insouciantly when he saw it.

“No publicity is bad publicity,” Matt had valiantly reminded the Board, but this only earned him a ‘look’ from his generally tolerant Boss that warned him his head was in danger of winding up on a spike outside the record company’s Notting Hill Gate offices.

“What’s gonna be more expensive? Cops or getting’ a couple of rooms here until they get bored and piss off to hassle someone else?” Rayne stretched out wearily on the sofa, tilting his head back into the cushions and closing those pale, tired eyes again.

He had a point, Matt conceded. Plus he had seen the pin-prick pupils of those eyes. Rayne was completely wrecked and the younger man was just thankful that he had managed to hold it together for the actual interviews and the formal photo session. Matt could not even remember letting him get out of sight, but someone must have got to him. Briefly Matty experienced another surge of irritation, tinged with envy that Rayne could get off his tits so easily and not even share with him. Things had been a bloody sight easier before the band got this big. He remembered promoting their first album with a surge of pleasure and pride. Back then everything had been fun. He and Ray fucked each other every chance they got. High on life and no small amount of illicit substances, they enjoyed every minute.

Now their relationship was almost exclusively business. Matt Greening could hardly recall the last time Rayne had been straight enough or horny enough to get inside him. It did not help that his former lover was still so fuckin’ gorgeous. Even wasted, exhausted and desperately ill, he was beautiful to Matt’s stinging eyes.

“Like I said, we only need to get ‘him’ out. It’s ‘him’ they want.”

“I am sorry, my dear, I meant no disrespect to your highness.” He kissed her on the forehead and stood back up straight, his cock once again towering above her. The head now was more purplish and swollen. “I shall heed your bidding.” He firmly grasped his erection in his strong hand and slowly moved it up and down the shaft. “But, my lady, it would be helpful toward this end that you seek if you would provide yourself some further inspiration.”

Tammie smiled. She sat back on her haunches, her hands clasped on her bent knees, looking the part of the innocent ingenue. “But, my knight, what can I, a fair maiden, offer thee?”

“It would be of some benefit, my princess, if you would remove your remaining attire. I believe the beauty of the fair princess would serve the kingdom well.”

Tammie laughed. It was a fair request, and one with which she was more than happy to comply. She looked him in the eyes. He stopped his stroking but kept his hand firmly grasping his cock. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She slowly pulled the straps from her shoulders, keeping her eyes on his. She removed her arms from each strap, being careful to keep the cups in place over her breasts. When the only thing that remained holding them up was her hands she smiled at him, and let the bra fall from her body.

Her breasts were darling. They were perfect little white cups, each capped by a perky stiff nipple. The nipples seemed unusually large, perhaps because they were perched on such petite titties. He reached for them but she waved him off.

“No, my knight, these are not for you, at least not this night.” She did not want to go too far on their first date. If he insisted, she would give everything to him. She felt so much for him, but she did want to go slow, to at least save some things for the future.

He understood. He pulled back.

Tammie leaned back until she was lying on the floor in front of him. Her perky breasts kept their firm round form as she was lying down. She reached for the waistband of her panties and pulled them down; slowly, being careful to keep her legs together.

However, when she pulled her knees up to remove them from her feet he got a glimpse of what she was about to show him. He gasped. The slit of her pussy was so diminutive.

Keeping her eyes on his eyes, she could see his rising excitement. She never realized how much power a woman could have on a man. He was the powerful one, the strong one, but he was now putty in her hands, entranced with every little movement she made. She spread her legs apart to let him see her most personal, intimate part.

His eyes widened in delight. Her cunnie was just like Ashley Lightspeed’s. It was the cutest little cunnie he had every seen. As good as, if not better than, Ashley’s. There was hardly even a mound, at most a tender curve of flesh with a graceful, delicate cleft down the center. He could not imagine that she could take a cock in that tender little crevice. And there was no growth, no hair, nothing to hide it. It was so pure, so sweet, so delicious.

“I shaved it for you. Is that alright?”

“Tammie, it’s the prettiest I have ever seen.”

Warmth swept through her. She was deliriously happy. She brought a finger to it, lightly tracing along the tender slit. “I like it better this way. It sometimes gets itchy, and it can be such a pain to shave it, but I think it looks better, and,” she smiled, “feels better.” She was feeling it, sliding her finger up and down the cleft as she lay at his feet. She could feel her wetness. She stopped, realizing what she was doing, right in front of him.

“Don’t stop, Tammie. Continue, and I will do the same.”

She looked fearfully at him, uneasy at the suggestion, butterflies in her stomach as well as her pigtails.

He asked, “Does not the fair princess masturbate?”

“Sir, Jimmy, don’t ask me that. I can’t talk about that.” She covered herself, down there, with her hand.

“You wanted to learn, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell you about things like that. Do you masturbate?”

“Uh, I think that is an obvious yes. Aren’t I doing it for you right now?”

Tammie realized that was a very good point. In fact, it would be nice to share such a thing. She had not planned on this but it would be a good first date, to share something like that. “Has any of your prior girlfriends masturbated, did it, for you, with you?”

“None, my lady.”

She said softly, hesitantly, “Alright then.” She laid down in front of him, her pigtails draped across the floor. She spread her legs openly for him to watch her, and then slid her finger up and down her slit. She looked into his eyes. His eyes had gone to her little, wet crevice. Her eyes returned to his large, stiff cock.

He increased the strength of his grip on his cock, firmly sliding his hand up and down its length as he gazed at her sweet, tender pussy with its delicate, tender breach. Oh how much he wanted to touch it, to lick it, to fuck it, but for the moment it was still so good to see it, to see her cunnie get so wet and aroused by her touch.

She moved a single finger up and down, feeling her smoothness, her fissure, and her wetness. She stopped at the top, at her clit, and used all of her fingers to circle and wiggle the flesh surrounding and covering her clit. She liked to masturbate this way. She would press down hard and manipulate the flesh, not really rubbing or feeling, more like massaging and wiggling.

Jim bent his knees as he worked at his cock. He rarely masturbated standing up. He preferred lying down, although standing up at times seemed to give him a more intense orgasm, and the sight of Tammie masturbating in front of him, for him, more than compensated for having to stand.

Tammie increased the intensity of her manipulations. She stuck a finger of her left hand into her slit, into her hole, and worked it in and out, as the fingers of her right hand pressed down hard on the area of her clit, frantically wiggling the flesh. Her breathing was getting louder and faster. She had a desperate expression on her face. If one didn’t know you would mistake it for fright, even horror, but it was instead an expression of intense excitement and arousal. She was going to cum, she was going to cum right in front of a guy, in front of Jim.

Both of them could hear the sounds of their joint masturbation: the slapping of Jim’s fist slamming up and down his shaft, and the squishing noises of Tammie’s wet cunt as her fingers frantically manipulated her flesh.

Jim could see her passion, the excitement in her eyes. Her gasping, whimpering, panting, and squeals filled the room, melding with the sound of his fist slapping and her cunt sloshing. ‘Oh man,’ he thought, ‘I’m cumming,’ and his jism burst forth in an intense, full spray.

Tammie’s eyes widened at the sight and she exploded in her own orgasm as she watched a white line spew from his cock, shoot through the air, and fall across her naked body in a wet, warm splat. She watched his cock twitch and pulse as gobs and ropes of cum shot from his cock. It was like he was repeatedly shooting out little white missiles and tracers from his cock. She spasmed in rapturous waves of pleasure as she saw and felt oodles of cum splash onto her body, on her tummy, her thighs, her boobies, even her face. She didn’t try to protect herself. She enjoyed it. She was lost in the sweetness of her own orgasm as Jim’s load rained all over her.

When he was done he squeezed out a few remaining drops onto the floor and put his dick back into his pants. He was exhausted. He needed to sit down. He got down to sit beside her. He saw that her body was covered in his cum. There were drops, puddles, and streaks everywhere. She even had one drop on her cheek. He saw another one sliding down the side her nose. He picked up her hand and held it in his own.

Tammie was panting. Her little titties were still rapidly rising up and down with the exhaustion of her own climax. She looked at him and squeezed his hand as she caught her breath. She smiled. “You made a big mess, Jimmy.”

Jim felt guilty. “I’m sorry, I, uh.”

She cut him off. “It’s ok, I liked it. Look.” She directed his attention to her elvish, smooth pussy. “You even got me there.” She used a finger to coat her little cunnie with his cum, like it was a softening cream. It made her white, bare slit glisten. She then brought her finger to her mouth and licked off the remaining fluid. She finally got to taste a guy’s culm. It was kind of salty. She liked it. She knew what she would want him to do the next time, but she told him instead, “You will have to be more careful next time.”

Jim pulled her to him so that she could curl up in his lap. He held her tenderly.

She looked up into his eyes. “Do you want there to be a next time?” She realized that he hadn’t actually said anything about that.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, her cheek, and her nose, tasting a bit of his own cum. She had not bothered to clean it off. She liked having it on her body. He replied, “I think there should be. We have a lot to learn from each other.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I certainly hope you liked it. Again, I am happy to get suggestions for new ideas and for ways that it can be improved. And, please do vote; it’s most encouraging!”

“Oh god Ms. McMillan your so good!” I moaned and that did it for her, as soon as I called her ms. McMillan she came hard, her back arched up and her breasts were thrust towards my face as I felt her pussy get hotter and a sudden rush of liquid leaked out down the sides of my cock that was buried inside her pussy and down her ass.

This new sensation was all I could take, I may have cum just a short time before but it sent me over the edge and I shot a little more cum from my aching cock into the condom. This time I did start to go soft and pulled out, Ms. McMillan quickly grabbing my cock and sliding off the heavy with cum condom looking at the reservoir of cum I had deposited with a smile.

She looked at me as I watched her hold the condom, it was glistening with her juice and the lube it came in, licking her lips I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t what she did next that’s for sure. Taking the condom she lifted it over her head and turned it upside down, the open end now right over her mouth and my thick cum ran down the inside and dripped out onto her tongue, every bit she took, dripping it into her open mouth and onto her outstretched tongue swallowing all my seed shaking the latex cover to get every drop, this making some small spots drop onto her cheeks, she smiled and put the used condom on the side draws then smiled at me.

My cock had got hard again and was glistening the cum it had been swimming in inside the condom as I watched what Ms. McMillan did with the cum I had left, she leaned forwards and took my cock in her hand before flicking her tongue over its head and wiping off the cum, moaning as she placed her lips around it and sucked me clean, I was close to Cumming again, but I didn’t have much left to cum with!

“You taste very yummy,” she said with a big grin as she wiped off the small cum spots on her cheeks and them licked her fingers clean of it. I didn’t say anything I was too shocked and excited to, she got up off the bed and came over hugging me, our naked bodies pressed together, her head on my shoulder since I am about 6 inches taller then her.

“Do you still live close to the school” she asked me with a giggle

“I still live the same place I always did” I said my hand rubbing her naked ass gently, she wiggled it a little

“Good, because you can meet me after school is out anytime for extra lessons on your technique” she said looking up into my eyes with a wink.

“Once again this is fiction but I really wish it would happen! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing, and Ms. McMillan if you read this you are still my dream woman!”

We had made a running joke out of her asking me what I wanted to drink. I always answered with the word beer, and she always laughed retrieving a coke for me from the fridge. Moments after entering her apartment, she asked me the same question, and I in turn responded with the same pat answer I’d been giving her. This time however, I was surprised when she actually produced two beers handing me one.

“Just don’t tell anyone I gave you that,” she said conspiratorially handing me the bottle. “Since we’re not actually working tonight, and in celebration of your achievement, I bought a six-pack in anticipation of your getting a good grade, and as a way to surprise you,” she said with a wink and a smile.

I wasn’t sure how to take that initially. But as she sat down across from me at the table, we soon fell into an easy comfortable conversation culminating in our polishing off another beer.

“Can I use your restroom?” I asked.

I realized that in all the time I’d been coming here, I had never once needed to use it. Though in the back of my mind, I am sure I had purposely refrained from needing to do so out of some unnecessary need to honor or respect her privacy. Not that I would have snooped through her medicine cabinet or anything like that, but I didn’t want her wondering if I ever had either.

Karen smiled pointing down the hallway. “It’s kitty corner to my bedroom, next to the spare bedroom,” she stated.

I quickly headed down the hall, her bedroom door open. As I approached, I glanced in seeing the neatly made bed in her room. Though her closet doors were now shut, I saw a flashback to the time they had been open with her standing just inside them. Just before reaching the turn in the hallway, I heard her footsteps a short distance behind me. As I turned in search of the bathroom, I saw her a few steps behind.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m dying to get out of these work clothes,” she informed me.

I grinned, reaching the bathroom door. “I know what you mean,” I said trying to sound as casual about it as she had. But the excitement of knowing she’d be taking off her clothes hit me full in the face. Stepping inside the bathroom, closing the door, I waited momentarily expecting to hear the sound of her bedroom door closing. It didn’t. Inching the bathroom door open quietly and carefully, I saw that she had in fact closed it, but that a good inch or more remained open. With my heart beating wildly, and a catch in my throat making me dizzy as I stood there contemplating my next act, I tiptoed back out into the hallway towards her bedroom door.

Upon reaching it, I was careful to ensure that I didn’t accidentally bump against it while leaning closer towards the small opening to peer inside her room. At the angle where I stood, it was impossible to see her directly. But once again her vanity mirror provided me with the means to see her as she stood off to one side of the bed changing.

I watched as she quickly slipped the tight fitting sweater she’d been wearing over her head. Reaching around behind her back, she quickly managed the clasp on her bra, letting it fall almost lazily down her arms as it fell away from her breasts. Closer than I had ever been, I nearly gasped with outright appreciation for how beautiful they really were. Letting the bra fall away from her arms down onto the edge of the bed, Karen casually reached up, cupping both breasts in her hands, massaging them.

I am sure she wasn’t doing so in an effort to stimulate herself. It was more like taking a pleasurable scratch after having something so confined, being suddenly set free and needing a good rub. But when she finished doing that which took no more than a few brief moments, I then watched as she actually placed her fingers about each one of her semi-erect nipples, actually pinching them.

“Holy shit!” I thought silently to myself. That had been no subconscious movement, but a deliberate one as she actually fondled her nipples until they stood hard and inviting to my gaze.

I nearly backed away from the door, time was slipping away far too quickly for me to remain inside the bathroom much longer. But as her hand traveled down her tummy to part the waistband of her skirt before slipping down between her legs, she froze me in place as the expression on her face changed to one that I had never seen on any woman’s face before.

I’d like to have seen and observed a lot more. A hell of a lot more! But fearful that she would soon wonder what was taking me so long, I crept back as quietly as I had arrived. I quickly flushed the toilet without peeing though the urge to do so was still upon me, and made some flourish of exiting the bathroom on my way back down the hallway towards the kitchen area. A few minutes later Karen rejoined me, now dressed in her comfortable but bulky sweatpants and shirt that I had grown accustomed to seeing her in whenever she was home.

Normally we’d be hard at work sitting at her kitchen table. As it became obvious to us both that conversation had reached a lag, Karen retrieved the last two bottles of beer, then motioned for me to join her in her small but cozy living room. I accepted the beer sipping it cautiously as much more of it would again have me racing to the bathroom, which presently might be difficult for me to justify.

“Want to watch a little TV or something?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said simply taking a solitary chair adjacent to the couch she was herself sitting on.

As Karen began to flip through channels searching for something for us to watch, I noticed that periodically the remote seemed to malfunction pausing momentarily on one channel or another.

“The batteries are failing,” she explained as though reading my mind. “I knew I should have picked up some,” she added.

She continued however, where seconds later as we both sat gazing at the TV, a scene appeared of a man and woman lying in bed, naked, in a very steamy embrace. Karen fumbled with the remote, even pointing it more directly towards the TV, but there the scene remained as the couple continued their erotic coupling while we both sat there watching them. Frustrated, Karen finally stood shamefaced by her look, her expression one of embarrassment as she finally reached the TV, shutting it off.

“So much for that!” she replied trying to ease us both through what had been a very awkward moment.

Once again my nervousness and naiveté made an appearance.

“Are you seeing anyone?” I asked too close on the heels of what we’d been sitting there watching together.

As though the TV had magically turned itself back on, she glanced down towards the blank screen as though some image of the couple together had popped back on once again, causing me to ask her that particular question.

“Why do you ask?” she said wondering, only then tearing her eyes away from the screen in order to face me.

“Well for one, you’ve never mentioned having a boy friend. And two, you’re too pretty not to be.” My question had taken her by surprise. But to be honest, my asking it had taken me by surprise too. I’d certainly wondered, been curious about it. And now seeing her vulnerability, I’d caught her off guard. I hadn’t meant to purposely make her uncomfortable, that hadn’t been my intent. But in all the time we had spent together, I had never seen anything that even remotely hinted at her having any kind of relationship, nor had we ever discussed anything quite as intimate as that since the first night we had gotten together.

Bolder than I had ever been, and perhaps more so than I should be, I sat there looking at her expectantly.

She was blushing, “You really think I’m pretty?” she asked bewilderment clearly etched within her tone of voice.

“Very,” I quipped back. “Especially when you wear your hair down,” I added feeling light-headed, almost giddy.

Still obviously taken aback, embarrassed, she smiled as her hands automatically reached up behind her head undoing the ponytail she had been wearing. Seconds later she shook her head out, her hair falling in a near perfect frame around her face.

She laughed.

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s said I looked pretty,” she said demurely. “And I’ll confess to you Chad, it does feel good hearing it!”

I don’t remember having picked up my beer. But I had, realizing it and taking a long pull from the bottle as I continued to lock my eyes with hers. Sitting the bottle back down on the small corner table next to me, I was immediately reminded of my almost painful need to pee.

“I gotta go again,” I said lamely, standing up.

When I did, I saw her eyes travel down towards my crotch, drawing my own down as I followed her gaze. I was hard, painfully stiff, the bulge more than noticeably pressing against my pants. Without so much as another word by either of us, I hurriedly made my way back down the hallway towards the bathroom. Needless to say, it took several moments for me to finally be able to urinate, my mind ablaze with thoughts, feelings and sensations. By the time I had flushed the toilet, washed and dried my hands, I was confident that the almost surrealistic moment we had shared together would have passed.

She was waiting for me in the hallway outside the door to her room.

“Chad,” she said catching me by surprise. “I have a confession to make. I know you were watching me earlier from the doorway. I happened to glance up and catch movement in the hallway through my bedroom mirror.”

I hadn’t even considered the possibility that if I could see her through the mirror, that she could have also seen me. But she had. Speechless, I merely stood there open-mouthed staring at her.

She continued however without pause.

“Knowing you were standing there, watching me. It excited me Chad. I know I shouldn’t be admitting this to you, but it did. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve even been as excited as I was. And I can’t believe that I then did what I did…”

“You mean when you…”

“Yes,” she admitted, her face flushed, her breath heavy as though she was having trouble breathing.

“I didn’t know how you’d react. One part of me was wishing, willing you to come through the door. The other…well the other was wishing you would leave, which you soon did.”

She was about to say more, but I never gave her the chance. In the next instant I had crossed the short distance separating us and gathered her into my arms. A millisecond later, my lips had found hers and we stood, kissing passionately, all thought of what we were doing, and who either of us were having melted in that puddle of lust we stood making together.

When I felt her hand upon mine as it rested lightly on her waist, I thought for sure she was about to force it away, thus ending our kiss which for me became the most intense experience I had ever had in my entire life. I was dead wrong of course, and thankfully so. As her hand covered mine, I felt it lifting me, not moving me away from her, but upwards, until it rested even more lightly against the firmness of her cotton covered breast. Like a cat kneading some downy covering, my hands and fingers flexed, digging softly into her flesh, eliciting a soft mewling sound from her as they did.

I heard more than saw the door to her bedroom opening. In the next instant, I was floating along side her as we somehow managed to move without breaking just inside the door to her room. Only then did I glance up into her face, seeing the expression of desire in her eyes that I had only fantasized and imagined in the privacy of my own bathroom.

I didn’t know what to tell her, what to say. I could merely stammer out my fear and lack of experience regarding women in so few words.

She didn’t seem surprised by that. A knowing look, a gentle touch as she led me further into her bedroom. Guiding me like an experienced dancer across the room, I felt myself gently pushed down onto the end of her bed were I collapsed unceremoniously, still staring at her as she reached down grabbing the waistband of her sweatshirt, pulling it up and over her head in one fell swoop.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, the words sounding far away as though someone else had actually spoken them.

As though in slow motion, I first saw the gentle swell of each rounded breast come magnificently into view. Time stood still as that sensual female flesh appeared in small increments until those caramel colored nipples were suddenly revealed, each capped by a taut, deliciously well rounded nipple. By the time she had finished removing her entire shirt, I felt like I had lived and died a thousand life times. Then, just like I had seen her do before, she cupped each within her hands, massaging the flesh, but unlike before, this time she did so with the intention of caressing herself, and not as though massaging out some hidden ache or pain she’d been nursing. As she crossed her arms, each hand finding a swollen nipple, she pulled them, pinching them until they were even harder, firmer than they had been if that were possible.

“Oh my God Karen!” I heard myself saying in repetition. “You truly are beautiful!”

Though the color had remained within her cheeks, it became quickly apparent it was no longer from shyness or embarrassment, but from pure unadulterated lust and desire. Without so much as a single breath, she pulled down the hem of her sweatpants, rolling them gracefully down her legs, revealing as she did that she had likewise removed her panties before putting them on. Revealed before me, another sight I had never before seen, a thin carefully manicured strip of fine downy soft hair reaching upwards from the apex of her sex towards the most sensual looking naval imaginable.

Mesmerized, held in a hypnotic trance, once again in slow motion, I watched as her hand traveled downwards between her legs as she parted them ever so slightly, a finger disappearing from view momentarily, motion, then withdrawal as she lifted it upwards towards her face. I watched as her fingers sought out her mouth, parting her lips like a welcome lover as she tasted herself, sucking the abundance of juices she found there with a degree of ecstasy and delight that triggered a release of wanton lubrication from my straining, still confined penis.

As she continued to lick whatever residue of her femininity she had found there, her other hand made the same trip downwards, until it too had sought out and found the nectar that existed between her legs. This time however, as she withdrew her hand, rather than reaching up to repeat the erotic performance I had just witnessed, she crossed over towards me, holding out that tantalizing finger. As she did, I took it as delicately as though she’d offered me some sort of fragile flower in danger of falling apart within a sudden unexpected breeze. Slipping it into my mouth, I lost myself in the fragrance of her musky smell, delighted at the sweetness that assailed my taste buds, short-circuiting them momentarily as I became intoxicated, drunk in the essence of her soul.

Sitting as I was, when Karen stood next to me, her breasts hung invitingly at eye level. After savoring her sweet tasting finger, it became natural to me to reach out, cupping her perfect twin globes within my hands. I drew each of her hard nubs in turn within my mouth, paying equal homage to them, sucking, licking and causing her knees to weaken as I drove her passionately towards bliss.

As excited as I was, I couldn’t quit shaking however. Every nerve ending in my entire body was aflame. The fact that I was sitting here caressing and kissing the first breasts I’d ever seen, let alone touched, had overloaded my senses. When I felt Karen pull away, forcing me to relinquish that soft female flesh, I thought briefly that this magical moment had come to an end. Karen knelt on the floor before me, her eyes sweeping across my face in wild desire. As her hands began to fumble with my belt, then tugging at the zipper on my jeans, it finally registered as to what she was doing.

“Lift your ass up,” she whispered, instructing me.

I closed my eyes. As strange as it may sound, the gentle coaxing of her voice as she helped me remove my pants reminded me a little of my mother helping me to undress when I had been a much younger child. And though the comfort of that soothed my nerves, the last thing I wanted at this particular moment was to be reminded of my mother! That concern melted like ice cream on a hot summers day however as I felt the coolness of the air within the room suddenly envelope my prick as it burst free of my jeans and shorts, both of which now entangled themselves around my ankles. The touch of Karen’s hand about my swollen member sent a series of shock waves coursing up and down my spine. With my eyes still shut, now feeling as though held that way with glue, I sensed a differing feeling, unlike anything I had ever known before.

“Chad. Lay back honey, relax!” she spoke hypnotically to me.

I felt Karen’s lips gently working the super-sensitive tip of my prick, her tongue lightly dancing along the shaft of my cock. I kept my eyes tightly closed, almost afraid that if I opened them, she would dissolve in front of me like some sort of mirage, waking to find myself in bed, alone…dreaming.

But it was real. Her mouth softly devoured me in ways that I could never have imagined. Her hands gently caressed my arousal in slow gentle strokes that accompanied the teasing, tantalizing manipulations of my tightened balls as one hand cupped, caressing and kneading them.

“Does it feel good honey? Do you like that?” she asked, the sound of her voice dream-like as she spoke.

I could only moan, uttering unintelligible sounds and emotions as they all fought for the right to escape my lips in some effort to assure her that I was indeed enjoying the incredible onslaught of my tingling prick.

I felt the smile on her face surrounding my hardness as she accepted that, drawing me inside even deeper than she had been. I felt the warmth of her throat, the gentle caress of her tongue as she all but swallowed me, felt my ball-sack tighten in anticipation of release, suddenly aware of that possibility. My eyes opening in bewilderment, near panic as I fought briefly to sit up.

The sight of Karen kneeling before me, my prick disappearing in and out of her mouth as her head bobbed in lusty playfulness quickly dispelled any fear or anxiety I might have had. Seeing her, watching her, was the most erotic, joyful thing I had ever witnessed.

Karen drew my orgasm from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I wasn’t really aware it had begun, as my entire body was one simultaneous climax. She knew what was happening however, coaxing my balls with her hand to release the pleasure that had been building there. Her mouth lovingly sucking the head of my prick as the first glorious jettison of my ecstasy began filling it with sweet tingling sensations of pleasure that threatened to rob me of my sanity.

The two things that took me by surprise more than anything else, was the intensity of my orgasm, and the fact that I was spending myself inside Karen’s mouth. In all the years since I’d first learned to masturbate, I had never experienced such a pleasurable orgasm such as this. And watching as Karen’s succulent lips continued to drain my seemingly continuous jettison of cum was beyond my wildest expectations. Though she didn’t actually swallow my cream, as she allowed it to flow back out from the corner of her lips, the visual knowledge of what she had done for me as it poured from her mouth sliding back down the side of my shaft sent additional spasms of pleasure throughout my entire body. As the force of my climax ebbed, she continued stroking my shaft, now using the slick pearly substance of my cream to further pleasure me with. Only then did she look up into my face, smiling with the faint traces of my sperm clinging to her lips in a decadent, yet sultry display that once again took my breath away.