Couples "Elly III"

      Elly III

        When I awoke, I lay there for a few minutes trying to sort things out. 
      The clock said 9:08. After reminding myself that this was a Saturday and I 
      did not have to go into the place I laughingly refer to as "work," I began 
      to wonder: Had I dreamed it? No; there was a wet spot where she'd lain. 
      And I became aware of the aroma of fresh coffee (half- Sumatra, 
      quarter-pound each of French-roasted Mexican Altura and French- roasted 
      Colombian, dripped in a Braun Melitta-filter pot) I rolled to my feet, 
      pulled on my faded blue terrycloth robe, slipped into my slippers (clever 
      name for them, eh?) and thwap-thwapped into the living room. 

        Elly had opened the shutters and glorious sunshine was pouring in 
      through the fourth-floor windows of my tenement apartment. She was doing 
      wonderful things for my old, blue Dior robe (the tattered one that came 
      halfway to my calves). A cup of The Good Stuff was on the battered old oak 
      table next to the love seat and she'd switched the stereo to play through 
      the living room speakers, the ones in the books shelves. It was something 
      called "LITE FM" and I hated it. "LITE" means no calories and calories are 
      a measure of heat; no-one was ever going to accuse Ann Murray or Kansas of 
      generating heat with their music. 

        On Elly's lap was the three-ring binder in which I keep photocopies of 
      my published stories. 

        She looked up as I entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she'd been 
      weeping. "Oh, David," she said, "I can't believe you wrote these!" 

        "Why not?" I already knew which one had elicited that response. "Because 
      I like to fuck?" 

        Her expression collapsed. "Why do you have to spoil it?" 

        "I'm a package deal. With the beautiful story comes the guy who 
      supported himself for a couple of years by writing brilliant, sensitive 
      stuff like `Lezzy Bitch' and `Mom, Sis And Every Body'. And if that 
      disappoints you, think what it does for me, okay?" 

        She looked down and pursed her lips. I tried to ignore the Parting of 
      the Robe. She murmured, "I guess that's fair. I mean, you'll take me as a 
      package deal, I guess I have to do the same. You don't mind being with a 
      slutty bimbo who loves being fucked and cumming all the time." She looked 
      up at me, beautiful blue eyes wide and bright. 

        "I don't mind and I don't think you're slutty." 

        She closed the binder and set it aside. I was disappointed that She 
      wasn't compelled to finish what She was reading. She leaned forward and I 
      got a good view all the way down the front of her robe. She opened mine 
      and sucked my cock, still coated with our juices from the night before, 
      completely into her mouth and began using her tongue to wash it. The 
      inevitable happened quickly. 

        She pulled back and released it and looked up at me. "I get off sucking 
      cock. Drinking semen makes me get over." 

        "I know. So does being licked or having a cock inside you -- " 

        "That's different. Then I can't stop cumming and I don't want to. But 
      drinking it, getting off that way -- then it's just once and I'm in 
      control." 

        "And the other way you're being controlled." 

        "No -- no, the other way I'm out of control, I can't control myself. 
      That's why I started studying Yoga when I was fifteen -- to help me learn 
      to control myself. I controlled my eating and stopped smoking and never do 
      drugs anymore and hardly ever even drink. And I never, ever masturbate. 
      That way nothing controls me but me and no one can control me or hurt me 
      or take advantage of me." 

        "That's why you want it to hurt you when you fuck." 

        She nodded gravely. "If it doesn't hurt -- well, you saw what happened." 
      She was blushing. "I just keep getting over..." She dropped her eyes. 
      "It's not natural to be such a slut. That's why you're the first man I 
      ever let lick me and that was just because I like you so much." 

        I frowned, pulled my robe closed and sat down in the rocker facing the 
      couch. "Last night you told me you liked it -- before I licked you." 

        "No, I didn't -- " 

        "You're not a good liar." 

        "But you are the first -- " 

        She stopped and tears welled up. 

        "How old were you when you let a woman lick you?" 

        "A year before I met you, my cousin and I, we -- we --" 

        "You liked it." 

        "Yes, dammit!" She shouted and then looked away. Softly: "I used to 
      masturbate and get over every night before I went to sleep. But when Adele 
      licked me, I went nuts. I licked her, too, and she went nuts, too. That's 
      when I realized what a slut I am, because she was the biggest slut you 
      ever saw and I was getting over just like her." 

        "How do you know she was a slut?" 

        "I'd seen her doing it with guys and men. She'd do it with any guy she 
      saw, sometimes whole bunches of them. It was like she couldn't get enough, 
      like she was an addict." 

        "Sounds like she was a sex addict, alright. And a slut. But you're no 
      slut." 

        "How can you say that? Only a slut would get over the way I do -- " 

        "You're saying that every woman I ever cared about is a slut?" I 
      growled, as menacingly as I could. It must have been pretty effective 
      because her eyes widened, she jerked back on the couch and cringed, 
      holding the robe closed. I'm terrific at terrifying insecure women under 
      five feet tall. 

        "No! I just meant -- " 

        "The hell! You said a multiorgasmic woman is a slut and every woman I've 
      ever cared about has been multiorgasmic." 

        "But -- " 

        I pointed at the frame photo of a nude torso on the wall. "You've met 
      her. Is she a slut?" 

        "Her?" Disbelief. 

        "What about Livinia?" 

        "Who?" 

        "The Filipino woman who used to work in the laundromat. Is she a slut?" 

        "But she was always nice and pleasant and polite and never -- " 

        "That's two. You've met both of them, talked with them. By your 
      definition, they're sluts -- because they're multiorgasmic." 

        "I don't understand," she whispered. 

        "You read a lot, Elly. There've been hundreds of articles in women's 
      magazines about women being naturally multiorgasmic." 

        "I don't read those articles. They start me thinking and then I want to 
      get over too much." She blushed. "Even just talking about it, now, makes 
      me -- you know." 

        "Horny." 

        "I can probably get over just by thinking about it and imagining it, I 
      think." 

        I stared at her for a long time. "Elly, I know women who'd kill to be 
      able to do that." 

        "Really? Are they slutty?" 

        "Nope. Elly, what do you do when your sweetheart wants you? Make him 
      hurt you?" 

        "He can't help it. He's so, you know, big that it always hurts to have 
      him inside. We hardly ever do that, because he likes to have me suck him 
      off. I like that." 

        "I know." 

        Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing me at the moment. Pornographic 
      images were in her field of vision. Her nipples were swollen points 
      jabbing the front of the tautly held robe. Considering that the robe is 
      terrycloth, that's pretty impressive. 

        "And I like you," she said suddenly. "You listen to me and talk to me. 
      But you're telling me to take a chance and give in to being a slut." 

        "When you wanted to lose weight, you didn't stop eating completely, did 
      you?" 

        She shook her head. "I just learned to eat regular meals and eat the 
      right stuff." 

        "Same thing. Get crazy only when it's right for you and do what feels 
      good with the right people. Use your head the way you did when you were 
      dieting. You're acting like an anorexic -- someone who's compulsive about 
      not eating so he can avoid being fat." 

        "So you're telling me that you don't think I'm a slut, that it's natural 
      for a woman to get over so much and that the way I'm doing it isn't really 
      healthy for me." 

        "In my humble opinion." 

        She looked up at the Library Wall. I watched the robe, to see if the 
      nipples were going poke holes in it. I didn't think so, but I wasn't 
      willing to put money on it. 

        "I don't know," she mumbled. 

        "Think about that while I get some coffee." 

        "Mm-hm." 

        I stood and went over to stand before her. She refocused her eyes on me. 
      She was slightly flushed and her breathing was shallow. "And one other 
      thing," I said. 

        "What?" 

        "While I'm drinking my coffee in the dining room..." I took her hand put 
      it over her cunt and squeezed. She gasped -- but didn't try to stop. "I 
      want you to touch yourself." 

        "I don't know -- " 

        "Please, as a favor." 

        I didn't have to wait for a reply, because her fingers were already 
      moving of their own accord. I would have preferred to stay and watch, but 
      I wanted my coffee -- and to keep the conditions I'd set. 

        I fed to so-called cat and sat down to drink my coffee. I did not look 
      at the clock and tried not to scald myself with haste. I also tried not to 
      visualize what was going on in the living room. 

        I remembered Elly as I'd met her. She was mentally rather mature for her 
      age -- 16 -- and sold donuts at a local store, over near the subway. Her 
      poise and perception and literacy had impressed me. Becoming acquaintances 
      and even friends was odd. 

        Odd because I am truly repulsed, physically, by overweight females. 
      (Don't take this as sexist, please; I suppose that the vast majority of 
      women are repulsed by overweight males, too.) That made it easy to be a 
      friend to her, to be a confident and, occasionally, mentor -- because 
      I knew I'd never be tempted to hit on her and she could sense that I was 
      safe. 

        As time passed, she would sometimes call me late at night, after her 
      strict (Old Country Polish) mother had already turned in. She knew that I 
      stayed up late and l encouraged her to call. There was something fragile 
      about her. She needed a friend, a man whose interests weren't confined to 
      fucking her, or who -- like me -- wasn't at all interested in fucking her. 
      Considering her weight, that was no problem for me. 

        After she left the donut store, sometimes we'd bump into each other. 
      More often than not, it was at the local video store. We'd chat a bit 
      while we walked as far as my corner (she lived much farther east, in the 
      old end of the neighborhood) and one night we stood and talked for almost 
      an hour. Neither of us wanted to stop sharing of ourselves. 

        She'd ask about my girlfriend -- though "main squeeze" was more like it, 
      since my girl and I had sort of an open relationship -- and I'd ask what 
      new love was in her life. She was a hopeless romantic, falling in and out 
      of love weekly, but usually had to worship from afar. Eventually, we 
      simply lost touch with each other. 

        Her footsteps in the hallway snapped me back to the moment. I finished 
      my coffee and looked up, expecting to see her come into the dining room. 
      Instead, the steps changed direction and then I heard her bump into the 
      door jamb -- she is Polish, after all -- and then heard her hit the bed. I 
      heard sheets rustle. 

        Then: "David, please come here." Her voice had a quaver in it. Being not 
      nearly as dumb a I look, I immediately went to her. When I got there, she 
      had the covers pulled up to her neck. Only her flushed face, framed by 
      disheveled hair, was visible. Her hands wee moving beneath the covers, 
      though, clearly cupping and gliding over her breasts, then sliding down 
      her torso to move at the juncture of her thighs. 

        I closed the door and looked down at her from the foot of the bed. My 
      cock was already throbbing hard beneath my robe. 

        "I just kept getting over until I had to have you. Oooo... What would 
      make you hot?" she breathed. Her eyes were half-closed. The heaving of her 
      breasts beneath the light blanket increased. "C'mon -- tell me." 

        I walked around to stand beside the bed next to her head. She started to 
      reach for me. 

        "No -- keep touching yourself." 

        "Does that turn you on?" 

        I opened my robe. "What do you think?" 

        She licked her lips. "Whatever you like ..." 

        "I want you to -- " I stopped, watching her reach between her legs under 
      the covers. Her legs parted wider and she hunched her shoulders. Her 
      breathing deepened. 

        "You want me to what?" 

        "It turns you on having me watch you, doesn't it?" 

        "Yeah!" 

        "I want you to cum for me while I watch you." 

        "I can't -- " 

        "Yes, you can." 

        "But I want you inside me, where it aches -- " She kneaded her cunt 
      frantically. "I need it so baaaaad inside me..." 

        I reached behind me and into the top drawer of the dresser. When she 
      opened her eyes, they widened. "I want to watch you using this." 

        "I couldn't -- " 

        "That's what would get me really turned on." 

        "I can't -- " But even as she objected, her eyes were locked on the very 
      realistic eight-inch dildo. I pulled back the bedcovers, exposing that 
      magnificent young body. She started to remove her hand from her soaked 
      pussy, but I covered her hand with mine and then kissed her slippery 
      fingers. She barely hesitated in her furious masturbation. She was holding 
      her labia apart with the fingers of one hand and furiously rubbing her 
      clit with the other thumb while trying to force two fingers deeper into 
      that sweet, syrupy little slit. 

        I stood and took the K-Y from the same drawer and smeared a liberal dose 
      on the dildo. She focused on it like a bird watching a cobra as I brought 
      it slowly down between her thighs. When I put the tip against her exposed 
      cunt, she jerked. "Cold," she said. 

        "It'll get warm fast." 

        She rolled her hips and pressed her pelvis down and toward the dildo. I 
      pushed it a little and she gasped as it began to slide in. Her fingering 
      of her clit speeded up. I worked the latex head back and forth a few 
      times, watching her rhythm alter. When her cunt was reaching for it all 
      the time, I pushed the head all the way in. She gasped and then groaned 
      and began revolving her hips around it. She took the labia parting hand 
      away and began caressing her breasts. I was jealous. 

        "It feels so big in there, so good and big and stretching me so 
      muuuuu..." 

        I led the tit-fondling hand down and placed it on the shaft, then took 
      my fingers away. She worked it back and forth experimentally a few times, 
      then began slowly pumping herself with it, taking the inch-and-a- half 
      thick dildo deeper each time. 

        "Oh, yeah, this feels so good, feels so good, feels so good," she 
      breathed, chanting in time to her thrusts. Her hips were taut, now, and 
      she was starting to arch her ass from the bed. Suddenly, she arched higher 
      and rolled slowly over onto her belly. She pulled her knees up, leaving 
      her shoulders and face flat on the bed, and began pushing that latex prick 
      deeper. Whatever she was muttering was lost in the pillow. 

        I looked at her in profile. Her face was turned toward me and was 
      totally slack with pleasure. Her hair was a singular, disheveled mess. Her 
      position was crushing her over-sized tits so they bulged out to either 
      side of her. She had her knees pulled up so far that her kneecaps were 
      pushing against her breasts. Her sleek little ass was outthrust 
      beautifully. And her hand, still gripping the base of the dildo, 
      occasionally appeared briefly between her taut thighs before disappearing 
      back between. 

        I reached out and began lightly caressing her back. After about twenty 
      seconds, she was cumming -- hard. She kept pumping her pussy with the 
      indefatigable dildo and her pussy kept pumping right back: She kept 
      cumming. I took my fingers from her back and she moaned, "Touch me! 
      Please!" She was cumming faster now and I didn't want to spoil the mood or 
      anything, so I accommodated her. It was a great sacrifice. 

        I traced my fingertips on the overflow swell of her left breast and she 
      continued pumping, now with less regularity. She was starting to lose her 
      coordination and all self-control. I leaned forward and kissed her hot 
      cheek gently and whispered, "You are so beautiful and wonderful. You're 
      turning me on beyond belief!" 

        She just moaned and continued getting off on what she was doing. 

        I went to the foot of the bed and bent and began kissing and licking the 
      small of her back. Inches beneath my chin, she was thrusting the dildo 
      harder and harder into herself. I grabbed her buttocks and gave them a 
      squeeze, then spent some time nibbling lightly on them, then kissed and 
      licked them. My hands stayed busy on her hips and thighs, caressing. She 
      was moaning softly and continuously now and her whole body was shaking. 

        I licked down the sweet, narrow furrow of her tiny, taut ass and when I 
      got to the opening, kept right on licking. She was quivering all over, 
      cumming without pause, now, and with growing intensity. I located the K-Y, 
      and lubed up a finger while rimming her teeny little asshole. I thrust my 
      tongue against pinpoint opening, then licked up and down and kissed the 
      inner swells of her cheeks again. Then I put my slippery fingertip against 
      her anus and slowly massaged the K-Y into it. 

        "Yessssss...." she hissed loudly. I pressed the fingertip in to the 
      first knuckle. I could feel the dildo pumping through that thin membrane 
      separating the channels. Her ass clamped down on my finger and spasmed 
      powerfully as she continued cumming. I worked it in farther and then 
      carefully moved it in and out. I thought of how it would feel to have my 
      prick in there and regretted that she was so tiny that my dick would hurt 
      her too much. Doubly regretted it, because she was obviously enjoying what 
      I was doing back there and she moaned when I removed the finger. 

        I went back to the side of the bed and rolled her onto her side. She 
      slowed her pumping and looked up at me. Her eyes focused for a moment and 
      she said in a distant, amazed voice: "I just can't stop getting over, 
      David! I just keep cumming!" 

        "It's so wonderful," I answered. I rolled her over the rest of the way. 
      She reached up with one shaking, juice-soaked hand and grabbed my stiff 
      prick. 

        "Please?" she said, pulled me toward her face. "Please?" 

        I straddled her and felt the her huge breasts brushed the backs of my 
      thighs. Her nipples were stiff as spikes. I lowered my cock to her eager 
      mouth and that long, limber tongue flickered out to guide it the rest of 
      the way to her welcoming lips. She locked on to my dick about halfway 
      down. I leaned forward, onto my outstretched arms, and looked down to 
      watch as I slowly, carefully, pump my dick in and out of her mouth. Beyond 
      that, her wondrous tits thrust upward, capped by outrageously swollen 
      nipples. And beyond those, I could see her hips canted up, her knees wide 
      and feet flat on the bed. She was holding the dildo almost motionless and 
      fucking it with urgent thrusts. Every half- minute or so, she would hold 
      herself still and catgut taut and cum in shuddering waves. The room was 
      ripe with the smell of hot pussy. 

        It was too much for me and very quickly I was pulsing in her mouth. I 
      didn't have to tell her I was cumming; she knew it was imminent. She 
      sucked maniacally, cumming constantly as she did. 

        When I finally began spurting in her mouth, she gobbled my cock to the 
      back of her throat and gulped me right down and in. I felt like all my 
      semen was exploding out of me in one long, uninterrupted stream -- and she 
      was drinking it all and cumming so hard that she was arching on the bed 
      beneath me. 

        She drained me dry and kept sucking. I pulled my spent dick from her 
      lips and rolled to one side. She continued cumming, her hand a blur as she 
      rubbed her clitoris, her hips chattering up at the dildo held in fast by 
      the other hand. 

        She was gasping a word. I put my ear close and finally made it out: 
      "More...more...more..." Each time it was a little explosion of barely 
      modulated breath. I leaned down on the bed and began licking her breasts 
      and then suckled her. I ran my hands lightly all over her. She was cumming 
      constantly now, without interruption. I licked lower, over her abdomen and 
      then around her mons. I caressed her thighs and reached beneath the 
      lightly cup and squeeze her ass. Her buttocks wee in constant spasm as she 
      came. 

        I leaned farther and she grabbed my hair and forced my mouth down to her 
      clitoris. As she kept grinding her cunt on the dildo, I sucked her clit 
      carefully into my lips and began lightly running my tongue around -- but 
      as fast as I could: swirling. I wrapped my arms around her slim hips and 
      grabbed her ass and bore her back down to the bed. 

        "YES!" she screamed suddenly, loud enough to scare the neighbors dog 
      into barking. Her body began writhing, serpentine, beneath me. She wrapped 
      her arms around my waist and pulled herself to me so tightly, I thought 
      one of us was going to break. Her mouth was against my abdomen and I felt 
      her screaming nonstop against me as she came. 

        She came harder and harder and then, abruptly, went silent. Her hips 
      hunched and then relaxed and she fell shiveringly limp. The dildo was 
      pushed ever so slowly out of her cunt, followed by an enormous 
      accumulation of Elly juices that seemed to pour out of her. Even as I 
      rolled away, hearing her panting slow, she shuddered and came again. 

        I sat up with my back to the wall and looked at her. Elly's body 
      continued, slowly, to shake with pleasure, as if echoes of the orgasms 
      were still bouncing around in there. The flush was just beginning to fade 
      from her chest. 

        I stretched out beside her and took her into my arms. The bedside clock 
      said noon. I nestled her, spoon-fashion, against me and kiss the side of 
      her neck. She smiled in her sleep. I smiled back, anyhow. When she woke I 
      would tell her that she had helped me realize a fantasy I've had since I 
      was eighteen: To be with a woman and help her cum so hard and so much that 
      she passes out from the sheer pleasure of it. 

        Forty-five minutes later, I was awakened by the sound of the shower 
      running. I donned the ratty old robe, creaked out of the bedroom and 
      knocked. 

        "Come on in!" I heard her drawing the curtain. 

        She had drawn it open. Elly stood there with her hair in the incredibly 
      stupid pink showercap I keep for guests, with water sluicing off her 
      incredible little body. I had great fun watching her use the Ivory Soap on 
      the astonishing curves, and my cock had even more fun in mind. She spotted 
      the growth and her eyes half-closed and her nipples began to swell. Her 
      hands dipped between her legs and started moving, then withdrew. I started 
      to pull off the robe. 

        "Don't," she said softly. "I have to get going." 

        "Don't you want me anymore?" 

        She grabbed my hand and put it between her legs. I slid a finger deep 
      inside her. The hot moisture in there wasn't from any shower. 
      "Desperately," she said softly, putting a kiss on beard and pushing my 
      hand away from her cunt. "But I have to run some errands and do some 
      housekeeping." 

        "Still think of yourself as a slut?" I whispered. 

        She laughed and straightened, completing her rinsing. As I watched her 
      towel herself dry, she said, "Right now? No. But when I want to, I'll be a 
      slut, alright. Like before." She shook her head in amazement and wrapped 
      the towel around herself. "I never would have imagined I could ever cum so 
      much! I actually passed out from it!" 

        I walked her to the bedroom and watched her dress while I told her about 
      the fantasy. 

        "That's the kind of fantasy I would've thought you had, David." She was 
      wearing her jeans and had her bra on, but not clasped. She leaned up to 
      kiss my chin. "It's too bad that once you do something, it can't be a 
      fantasy anymore." 

        "Naaaah. I'd like to do it again -- lots." 

        "Really?" 

        "You betcha." 

        "Me, too. The same goes for my fantasy." 

        I frowned as she hooked the bra and reached for her plum-colored blouse. 
      "What's that?" 

        "The one I've had since I was sixteen -- about you." 

        "I'm ready." 

        She gave my stiff dick a squeeze. "So I noticed." She button her blouse, 
      saying, "And I've had other fantasies, but I've always suppressed them." 

        "I'd love to hear them." 

        "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours -- that is, if you've got 
      any left." 

        "Don't worry. I've one or two left, maybe even three." 

        She cocked an eyebrow at me. "`Lezzy Bitch' was it? How many of those 
      books did you write?" 

        I made a face. She laughed as she bent limberly and straight-legged -- 
      as if to taunt me with her body -- to pull on her sandals. She 
      straightened and said, "You know, I really would like to see that book." 

        "`Lezzy Bitch'?" 

        "No, the one on the shelf -- `Fear of Flying'." 

        We went into the living room. She retrieved her handbag (which is what 
      they call a canvas steamer trunk with a strap on it) and I gave her the 
      book. 

        At the door, I asked, "Can I count on getting this book back?" 

        "Hand-delivered," she said and started down the stairs. She waved from 
      the third-floor landing.