John C Douglas Wild cherry
CHAPTER ONE
Like most teenagers, Kitty was eager for sex but afraid-after she was introduced to its excitement she became the neighborhood femme fatale!
"Don't answer it, Steve!"
Glenda Walling's words were muffled, drifting up from between our naked bodies like little puffs of supersaturated steam. They sprayed my left nipple with their hot wetness, then floated upward to blend with the sounds of coital fusion and the insistent jangle of the telephone.
The words were also a little strained, which was not at all surprising when you consider Glenda's position at that moment and the fact that I was ramming nine inches of prick in and out of her awkwardly placed cunt.
We were on the king-sized water bed in my apartment, Glenda on her back with her statuesque legs shoved up and back until the slender ankles formed an erotic frame for her disheveled hair, and her delightfully tight pussy was elevated at least two feet above the bed's obscene undulations.
Suspended above her contorted body, I was braced on both arms, my fingers clutching her ankles to maintain the angle of her juicy slit, fucking her with a rhythm dictated by the searing waves of pleasure that tore through my tightening balls with every delicious slide.
Since my chest was directly over her face, Glenda had unhesitatingly started licking my tit, finally covering the small circle with her wet lips and providing the full treatment. Like everything else she did, the action seemed designed to satisfy her own desire, rather than something she was doing for my benefit.
When the phone rang, I came to a pelvic halt with my cock rammed hard against her womb. For Glenda, this provided the opportunity to exercise those highly trained vaginal muscles and she began a powerful flexing which made me groan each time the hot pressure rippled up the length of my prick.
Ever screw a woman with a cunt that rippled?
That's the only way I can accurately describe the sensation. She would tighten the lips of the slippery pussy about the base of my cock until the shaft seemed to swell even larger with the engorgement of trapped blood. Then, as her almost painful grip relaxed, she would clamp down with the next muscular ring, repeating the movement until the torrid depths were chewing at the very tip of my joint, feeling for all the world like a dozen greedy mouths sucking and licking the throbbing head.
More than once she had brought me off with that technique, urging me to remain perfectly still while that feverish cunt sucked and milked my cock to a wild, jerking finale. That was another thing about Glenda that kept me coming back for more. No matter how I emptied my balls with her, she gave every evidence of enjoying it just as much as I did.
I had to shift my body to reach the bedside phone and the motion shoved my dick still deeper into the undulating grip, making her whimper and dig her nails into my ass. Her left leg, freed from its improbable elevation, wrapped about my waist like a copulating snake, levering her ass upward and causing the waterbed to amplify the movement transforming it into a series of slowly diminishing strokes that slid the flexing cunt up and down my prick with predictable results.
"Steve Grammer," I gasped into the phone wondering just how I sounded to the person on the other end. Probably as though I was being squeezed by an affectionate grizzly bear. The comparison was appropriate. At least nine inches were being given that treatment, but the result was quite different.
A decidedly female voice informed me that Western Union had interrupted my journey toward paradise in order for that sprawling monopoly to increase its financial worth by the price of one important message.
"Read it!" I groaned, adding a thrust of my own to the fading motion of the bed and hearing Glenda's happy gurgle as my prick slid past her ever hungry womb and buried its head in the slimy folds of ecstatic tissue.
"Are you alright, Mr. Grammer?" the disembodied voice asked solicitously. She sounded young and I permitted my writer's mind to fashion an appropriate image of a concerned face, soft eyes peering anxiously into the phone while her taut-nippled breasts rose and fell in mounting excitement.
"Honey!" I gasped. "You wouldn't believe it! Just read the damn thing!"
"Well!" The voice was indignant and I imagined the sleek thighs clamping together, barring access to that cute little slit. "There's no cause for offensive language."
"Look, baby!" I growled, trying to force Glenda's ass through the bed by adding more weight to my hips. "I'm fighting a war and you broke in on a decisive battle."
There was a moment of silence and I could hear the faint hum Ma Bell has never successfully eliminated. Then she gave a suppressed chuckle. There was nothing more, but I knew that she knew and secretly approved. I could almost see the thighs relax, separating and revealing the moist lips of her young pussy, oozing its honey as she shared vicariously in the act she could now visualize.
"Steve Grammer, Apartment 12-A, Tolson Building," she purred, and I imagined one hand busy between her thighs as she continued.
"Dear Steve: Sorry to disturb. Stop. Emergency forces sending Kitty to you and Gloria. Stop. I will pick her up next Monday. Stop. Love, Nadine. That's Nadine Harley, 6148 Madi…"
"Yeah!" I interrupted. "I know. Thanks, sugar."
Her "You're welcome, Mr. Grammer," slid down the wire and curled about my balls like a warm, wet tongue. I cradled the phone with a soft curse and, for the first time, Glenda stopped wriggling her cunt on my dick.
"What's the trouble?" she asked gently. I released her right leg and she let them both drift down to the bed, creating only a minor earthquake in that cuntal embrace.
"My sister," I grunted. "She's sending her kid here for the rest of the week."
"Good!" she murmured. "It'll keep you out of mischief."
"Good, my ass! She thinks Gloria's still here. I haven't told her about the divorce."
"Why not, Steve? That was months ago."
"You know how it is. We write each other about once a year. I haven't seen her since Christmas before last. Christ! I'll have to call her."
"Why? Can't you put up with a kid for a few days? You've got plenty of room here."
I eased my prick out of her protesting cunt and wobbled to the edge of the waves, digging my toes into the carpet and reaching for a cigarette. Lighting it, I inhaled and let the smoke escape with a noisy sigh. My cock, still hard and slick with Glenda's juices, stared up at me with its single eye, seeming to weep in sympathy as a single drop of jism oozed out like a thick tear. I jogged my memory, counting the years and the birthdays.
"The kid," I said solemnly, "is fifteen years old and female."
"Huh oh!" Glenda sat up, making two attempts before the shifting surface would permit her to assume a yoga position, her cunt winking at me with wet, red lips, the black hairs glistening with the product of our incomplete fusion. "You're right! You'd better call her."
I handed her the cigarette and lit another for myself, reaching for the little book in the drawer of the bedside table and finding Nadine's number. As my finger punched out the eleven numbers, I let the years slip away and recalled that summer afternoon in '57 when Nadine introduced me to the exciting mysteries which were to become my vocation and hobby in the months to come.
At thirteen I was already well developed, although my opportunities had failed to keep pace with my ability. My experience with girls was limited to a mutual exploration and finger massage which, although pleasant, left us unsatisfied.
Nadine, at eighteen, was equipped with far more than her rightful share of dips and curves. Twice, since I became twelve, she had permitted me the arousing pleasure of watching her bathe, and the sight of those creamy smooth mounds and the furry triangle with its mysterious vertical slit had stiffened my precocious cock to a painful hard which I later diminished by furious masturbation, imagining, of course, that I was really shoving it in and out of Nadine's twat.