"Sounds weird. Sexy-dirty… "
"You said it. Weird. I sure liked it though, the way she was fawning over me. So what the hell, I just kicked off my sandals and told her to lick my feet, too. Just on an impulse. And she crouched right down and obeyed me, without even a whimper. Worshipping my feet the same as she had done to my hand. Both feet. Kissing them, one after the other. Sucking my toes into her mouth. Rubbing the soles against her face, her cheeks; talk about weird! Hey, look at my tits, the nipples popping out. See? I'll be damned. I'm getting excited just thinking about it."
"M-me too. Excited… " Alison squirmed, almost afraid to glance up, turning her gaze ever so slowly. The vision sent an even stronger excitement streaking through her. Those huge breasts, the nipples already encrusted with passion; was there ever anything so beautiful? "Your little blonde slave-girl must have been fun. Tell me more, huh?"
"My little blonde slave-girl. Yeah. And that was just what she looked like down there on her knees in front of me. Even then, that was how I thought of her. My slave. Someone to do my bidding, whatever I wanted… "
Vera's voice went on, somewhat indistinct now, murmuring to herself and then fading into reflective silence. A new noise became faintly audible, a rustle of motion. Alison gasped. Her excitement grew fierce, almost violent in nature. That hand right there before her eyes was it really happening? She couldn't see it clearly, of course, only as a big moving bump inside the white panties. Digging under the waistband and into that fleshy crotch. The fabric seemed tissue-thin now, stretched like that, sheer enough to show practically everything. The hairy auburn shadow. The pouting pubic bulge with its vertical gash, big, thick-lipped, parted and plundered by those marauding fingers…
"Hey! What are you staring at? My cunt?"
"C-cunt. Love your cunt, love it, love it. Cunt!"
"You're not so bashful any more, eh?" Vera was smiling coolly, an expression belied by her heavy-lidded blue eyes. And by the slow writhing of her buttocks on the cushioned chair. But her other hand lifted the wine glass for an almost unconcerned sip. "You want to suck it a little? Yeah. I guess you do."
"Let me, let me."
"Good girl. Don't worry, you'll get your chance. My cunt loves that pretty rosebud mouth of yours."
The half-hidden hand appeared suddenly, coming up out of its nest. An invitation perhaps? Alison waited hopefully. But no, it was only a casual caress, a benevolent gesture of approval, the moist fingers touching her face, tracing tiny curlicue patterns on her chin and cheeks. They reeked of female flesh in heat; did it have to be that hand? Was the glass too important to be set aside?
Then, abruptly, her momentary vexation melted as the impact of the sexy reek struck a responsive chord. If she couldn't suck cunt yet, wasn't this an intriguing substitute? Nice cunty hand. She kissed it. Nice cunty fingers. She sucked them into her mouth. And when they pinched her tongue and pulled, she followed their guidance and lowered her head with a sense of exhilaration, all but tasting the real thing itself. Nice cunty cunt…
"Through the panties. Suck me through the panties!"
Another delay? Would this torment never end? But then, somehow, the urgency in that throaty voice tapped a corresponding source of urgency somewhere deep in Alison's body, turning her complaint into a need for cooperation. Eagerly she lavished a mumbling myriad of kisses upon the gauzy material, adoring kisses that approached the intimate target with open-mouthed intensity. Or as close to her target as possible, anyhow the netlike nylon crotch, sex-drenched and sloppy and savory beyond belief! She munched it avidly, gluttonous now, no longer frustrated by the oddly exciting barrier; wasn't this just another novel idea from her novelty-conscious lover?
"My cunt now. Suck it! Get rid of those goddam panties and grab yourself a mouthful, baby."
A frantic tug, an equally frantic wriggle of hips that was all it took. At last! How soft it felt, infinitely softer than the softest fabric. Cunt. The real thing. With those voluptuous thighs rising to lock her in now, two big creamy bars of flesh-growing tight, tighter, penning her inside the delectable dungeon. How lovely to be doing it once again, loving her lover in this humble, terribly delicious way…
"Ouch! Take it easy, will you?"
"I I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Don't quit. No harm done."
"But what did I do wrong?"
"Never mind. Just be a bit more gentle, huh?"
"Vera? Teach me? Show me how? I do so much want to please you, make you happy. Won't you help me?"
"Some other time maybe. Don't worry about it. Besides, there's not that much for you to learn. You're a natural. A natural-born cuntlapper, you know? That horny blonde slave-girl of mine was better at licking my hand and my feet, of course but she couldn't suck this good. Not as good as you, darling."
Alison shuddered. It sounded kind of dirty, that name. Sexy, though, real sexy-dirty. But she was already awash in wet cunt, already adrift in the dreamy fulfillment of her newly discovered identity a cuntlapper, a natural-born cuntlapper! and wasn't it a thrill, a sexy-dirty little thrill?
It was only a dream, of course, but such a lovely dream! Judy stirred in her sleep and wondered how a dream could possibly seem so real. So vivid. So sexy! It was sure happening, though; wasn't this what the kids called a wet dream? The wettest of wet dreams. And her body was about to get what it craved so badly. If he would just hurry up and do it! Mike? Fuck me, fuck me? But no, this guy was much too slow, too cautious, nibbling at her neck so gently not like Mike at all nibbling at her neck and kind of inching down toward her tits. Rocco? Eddie? Oh shit, they weren't that slow either. Any one of those guys would have been slipping his meat into her by now. Slipping it in and socking it home, right where she needed it most, right up her craving cunt. Come on, whoever you are, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!
Not that this guy was so awful, really. Pretty nice in that gentle way of his. But why didn't he identify himself? Judy thought about opening her eyes and taking a quick look. But wouldn't that mean the end of the dream, the end of everything? She didn't dare risk it. Especially since that nice warm mouth had reached her breasts at last, sucking now, suctioning, pulling a nipple between those clever lips. No interruptions, then. Let it go on and on like this, even if she never got fucked. Although he was bound to get around to it eventually, wasn't he?
Well, no, maybe not. Where was that mouth moving to? There? Is he going to suck my cunt? That settled it. Judy knew who her dream-lover was. The old guy, the neighborhood fishqueen, the queer old fart who used to pay her and then go down on it. Ten bucks a crack, that was the standard rate. And there were cracks a-plenty, too every young slut on the block must have tried him at least once; ten bucks wasn't bad for a few minutes' work. Or a few minutes' relaxation, better yet. Even fun, sometimes. How that horny old bastard could eat pussy! He loved it. And an awful lot of pussies loved being eaten, her own included.
But wasn't it weird to be dreaming of him now? Dreaming of a fishqueen? Judy moaned and sank deeper into her comatose state, snuffing out the intrusive spark of consciousness that had aroused her curiosity. That lapping tongue was already on its way. Let her body be aroused, not her sleep-happy mind. Her flesh felt hot and steamy down there, opening in readiness as the ever-gentle hands parted and positioned her thighs. Ah! Yes. Now. What a deliciously dreamy delirium!
It was better than the real thing, somehow. Could that be possible? A dream-tongue better than a real one? The lecherous old John had never been this great. She had to tell him so. That tongue of his, so soft and moist and slippery inside her cunt; oh shit, she just had to let him know how good it was. Even if it was only a wet dream. And she reached out then, her hands groping, flailing, making contact with the bowed head…