Copyright © 1997   BillyG.   ALL Rights Reserved.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author.  This story may be freely
distributed with this notice attached.  The author may be contacted
through mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.












                                    MARTINA

                                                    By BillyG


       On the south side of my bedroom, there's a large window box, easily
big enough for two friendly people to sleep or to play.  The blinds allowed
thin strips of late afternoon sun to lace across Martina's nude body as I 
traced feather-soft, random lines across the swell of her breasts, almost, but
not quite touching the sensitive  nipples.
  
       "Oh, you tease, you," she murmured in slight protest, pushing her
breast at my retreating finger tip.
  
       "You ever read anything by Nancy Friday?" I asked,  cupping the swell
of her tit at her side.
  
       "Yes . . . but sometime back.  Wasn't she the one who wrote about
women's fantasies?"  Not to be denied long, she reached for and tweaked
her own nipple, pulling it up and rolling it between her thumb and
forefinger.
  
       "The same," I replied.  "Did you read the story -- or was it a recount
of a fantasy? -- about the woman, a mother as I recall, who was wearing a
long white dress and who went walking with her son one day?"
  
       Now pulling on both her nipples, Martina complained, "What're we
doing?  Are we making love, or are we having a literary discussion?"
  
       "Both actually.  Stay with me a moment and you may see where this is
going."  Then pausing, I ran a light touch from her throat down between
her breasts, across  her abdomen and just touched the ends of her public
hairs with the flat of my hand.  "As I recall, this woman was walking in
front of her son in the country, up a trail perhaps . . ."
  
       "Oh, God, that tickles!" Martina interrupted, scrubbing her public bush
with her finger nails until I grabbed her wrist, holding her gently but firmly.  
  
       "No, babes.  Not yet.  I know you're hungry, but let me set the pace. 
Surrender to this, won't you?"
  
       Her eyes blazed for a moment and then she gave a little smile and said,
"Well . . . okay . . . but I'm wet    NOW."
  
       "Just let go.  Surrender to the experience and you'll be delighted."  I
continued, "As this woman in the long white summer dress was walking
with her son, she became aware that she had to urinate."
  
       With a huge smile, Martina squealed, "Oh goody, it's one of THOSE
stories!"
  
       Laughing, I said, "Of course.  What'd you expect from someone like
me.  But listen up, you squirmy thing."
  
       "Okay, okay.  But first, won't you touch me just a  little lower?"
  
       "You mean . . . down there?" I asked with an astonished gasp.  "You
mean . . . your . . . your pussy?"
  
       "Yes, Billy!  My pussy.  My cunt!  You've hardly started this dumb
story and I'm leaking and I'm itchy and I need something INSIDE me."
  
       She attempted to push her hand, the hand I was holding, into her
crotch as she lifted her hips to meet herself, but I pulled her away, saying, 
"The woman HAD to pee.  She was desperate and at the same time, it felt
good, but her son was there.  What should she do, do you suppose?"
  
       Martina laughed and struggled again, trying to free her hand, and said,
"Well, she should take a god damn *pee*, for cripes' sake."
  
       "Right in front of her son?"  I asked, shocked, still holding her wrist
but lowering my head that I might touch her nipple with the tip of my
tongue.
  
       "Of course.  Oh, shit . . . I don't know.  How old's her son anyway?"  
And then, "Do that again, Billy!"
  
       "Say  'please.'  He's, oh . . . fifteen, sixteen.  Old enough to by horny. 
Do what again?"
  
       "Lick my nipple.  PLEASE.  Lick my nipple, please."   And then,
remembering the story, she asked, puzzled,  "Horny?  What kinda story is
this, anyway?  A  mother and  a son?  And she has to pee?  Is this an incest 
watersports story.  You some kinda PRE-vert?"  Martina  licked her lips
and rolled her eyes, indicating how shocked and morally outraged she was.
  
       Lightly licking one, and then the other nipple, I continued, "So she just
out and announces to her son -- without looking at him -- that she has to
pee."
  
       "Oh, racy, racy."
  
       "Shut up and listen, woman.  I may have to spank you at this rate," I
threatened in my best oil-can Harry voice.  "The son had been walking
behind her for a reason.  From time to time the afternoon sun shown
through her dress, outlining her long legs."
  
       With a big-eyes look of surprise, Martina asked,  "You *sure* Nancy
Friday wrote this?"
  
       "Kinda.  I may be buffing it up a bit, but who cares?"
  
       "Not me, big boy.  Buff  away.  So, what'd she do?  Piss in her pants?"
  
       "No, my little pants wetter.  What she really wants to do is show her
butt to her son.  You see, they have the hots for each other and neither
knows it.  This is her way of letting him see her, get it?"
  
       Pushing her breasts at my mouth again, she shook her head and said,
"Um . . . I don't think so.  Sounds too complicated for me."
  
       "I'll go slow.  Watch my lips."
  
       "I'll watch  em, if they're wrapped around my nipples, or better yet, on
my clitty."
  
       Talking slowly, I continued in my very best story voice, "So, she
picked up her long dress and, holding it above her waist, she pulled her
panties down with the other hand . . ."
  
       "Facing him or away from him?"
  
       "Which way do you want?" I asked.
  
       "It'd be better if she faced him," she offered.  "That way, she could
watch him watching her.  You know, make eye contact as she's taking a
pee.  Sounds hotter that way."
  
       "Okay, got it," I said, again licking her nipples.  "So, facing her son,
watching him looking at her and pushing her panties down, she stands there
a moment, her black public hair in bold contrast to her pale skin and the
white dress."
  
       "Uh, 'scuse me again.  The white dress *mean* anything?  I mean, like
she's no virgin."  Martina, who normally spoke very correctly, could 'act
dumb' when she wanted to pretend.
  
       "Sure it means *something*.  How about the purity of  their
relationship . . . or something like that?  At least up to this point."
  
       "Yeah.  I can tell the way *this* story is going that purity isn't going to
play a major role for long!"
  
       "Hopeless," I muttered, feigning turning her over for a spanking. 
"This is gonna hurt me more than . . ."
  
       "I give.  I give.  Sorry, boss.  I'll be good.  Honest.  Don't beat me,
again!"
  
       With a dubious tone, I relented, "Well-l-l-l.  Just this once."
  
       In a fake breathless voice, she interrupted again,   "Oh, please go on,
sir.  Do tell me.  I've just GOT to know."  And then in a little girl voice, "
Did the mommy in the white dress show her pussy to the jerky little boy?"
  
       Nodding,  "Just that.  Looking at him, she slowly squatted and with
legs spread, her cunt completely exposed, she began to pee. looking her
son in the eye."  Then I added,  "By the way, I should tell you that this
wasn't a tinkle.  This wasn't a *little* pee.  This was a real gusher, a   
torrent!"
  
       Martina gushed, "Oh, isn't Nancy Friday a *wonderfully* gifted writer. 
This is so poetic, isn't it? And    I just LOVE how you tell a bedtime story!"
  
       I moved down and glanced at the junction of her thighs, at her swollen
and wet cunt lips.  Sniffing her musky scent, I observed, "If it weren't for
the soggy condition of your cunt, I might think you were funnin' me."
  
       "And then what happened?  Did they DO it?" she asked, slowly rolling
her hips and again making a half-hearted reach to touch her self.
  
       "No, not then.  This is a SLOW build up."
  
       "Slow is an understatement.  You give new meaning to the term
"slow."  Don't you know about cruelty to frustrated and terminally horny
chicks'?"
  
     Responding to Martina's needs for ministrations, I gently stroked and
squeezed her soft mounds.  Her nipples erected, hardening and extending
out in little points from the dark circles surrounding them.  She whispered,  
"Oh, Billy, I love that.  My boobs are so sensitive. That's.    sooo . . .
gooood."
  
          I knew that if my hands felt that good on her breasts, my mouth and
tongue would feel even better.  I moved my mouth to her right breast and
stroked my tongue across its top. Martina jerked in reaction to the contact,
and then pulled herself even further back.  With her hands wrapped around
the back of  my neck, she leaned back and thrust her breasts up to me,
inviting me to give them oral caresses. 
  
      "Yes, Billy, suck on them.  Oh, God, Billy, I've longed so much for a
boy to suck on my nipples.  Suck them.  Please, Billy, suck them...suck
them hard."  
  
     As I took a nipple into my mouth, she muttered,  "Yes!  Yes, yes, yes. 
Like that.  Oh, God, yes.  Suck on them...suck them...suck like a baby."
  
          Seeing the pleasure I was giving Martina, I doubled my efforts,
taking the whole center of her breast into my mouth and sucking on it.  As
I did so, I stroked my tongue in  circles around her nipple, moving it across
the pebbly-texture of her areola.  I pulled my mouth away from her breast
until just the hard extension of her nipple was still between my lips and
nibbled on it, biting with just the gentlest of nips with my teeth.

          Martina whispered, almost a hiss, "Yeesssssss, like that. 
Just...like...that."
  
     Then, altering the pace and the sensations, I told her,   "Just turn over,
little girl"
  
       "Oh-oh.  You going to spank me, daddy?"
  
       "Trust me.  Just turn over."
  
       As Martina softly grunted, turning over and laying on her belly, she
asked, "Why do I have to turn over to hear a story about a broad pissing in
the woods so her wimpy son can watch?"
  
       "You ask too many questions.  God, it's tough to tell a story around
this place," I complained as I slipped my hand between her thighs just
below her pussy lips, barely touching her pubic hair.
  
       Pushing her ass up, Martina sighed, "You're right.  I surrender.  Then
what'd they do . . . the mom and her horny son?"
  
       "Maybe he was more hot for her buns than watching her take a leak. 
What do *you* think?"
  
       "Well, screw *him*.  I know what *my* buns want."
  
       Running a finger from the perineum, through the crack of her ass, just
grazing her anus, I asked, "This?"
  
       "That feels nice."  Then, in a tentative voice, she added, "But I'm a
little afraid."
  
       "Afraid of what?" I asked, very slowly tracing a light touch around her
little rose bud.  "That I'll stop?"
  
       "That you'll hurt me."
  
       "Martina, please know that it is not my intention to ever hurt you.  To
the contrary, it *is* my intention to pleasure you, to please you, to drive
you to the place where you beg for more.  Nothing, I mean absolutely
nothing, will ever be done without your permission.  At any time, you 
can simply tell me to stop.  I assure you, I will."
  
       Her mind might have been apprehensive, but her body had a different
agenda.  Again, her hips and ass pushed into the air, opening up pussy and
ass hole to my gaze.  
  
     Grabbing some water-based lubricant, I put a dollop on my forefinger
and placed it right on her anus, saying, "I suspect you're going to enjoy
this.  You're probably as anal erotic as I am."
  
       Turning her head to look back at me, she asked with wide eyes,
"YOU'RE anal erotic?"
  
       "Yeah.  Ain't our bodies wonderful?"
  
       "Ever been butt fucked?" she asked with consummate tact.
  
       "No.  You wanna be first . . . get my butt cherry?"
  
       With a husky laugh, she admitted, "I just might!"
  
       I continued to trace patterns around her anus, dipping in occasionally
to apply light pressure to her sphincter.  "You ever get it up the butt?"
  
       She hesitated and then in a rush, said, "Uh . . . I've *tried* it.  Wasn't
bad, but wasn't good either.  I mean, I guess my mind's open, but it *did*
hurt a little."
  
       As I applied soft, constant pressure with the pulp of  my forefinger,
Martina continued to push back against me.   "Feels good, huh?" I asked
her.
  
       She didn't answer, save pushing against my finger, as her sphincter
slowly relaxed.
  
       With my other hand I continued to touch her pussy, caressing her lips,
her womanly furrow, nearer and nearer to the hooded clit at the top of her
flooded and swollen slit.  
  
       She moaned, giving incoherent testimony to her mounting passion.  
  
       My own train of thought was disrupted.  I'd lost track of the story I
was telling her.  I'd lost track of any planned seduction.  I'd drifted up to
some altered state of semi-awareness, keenly in touch with my erotic
senses and Martina's responses.  I was playing her and more, I was 
playing myself.  
  
       The tip of my finger had slipped unaware into her anus.  I could feel
the warmth and the softness.  The tone of her sphincter had given way to a
buttery softness that seemed to pull  me in farther.  She was slowly rolling
her hips, pushing up against me and with each backward push, my finger
slipped in another millimeter or so.  Ever so slowly, I was entering her ass. 
And both of us were loosing track of where we were.
  
       At the same time, I was, as slowly, pushing a finger into her cunt from
the back, reaching for that area right behind the public bone where
Grafenberg's spot resided in many women.  I wanted to touch her G-spot
from within as I rolled her hard clitty from without.
  
       She'd pulled her elbows under her body and was using her arms to help
grind her pelvis against my fingers.  Her head was down, her face partially
covered by her hair, her moans muffled, yet clearly, her moans were the
voice of  pleasure.  
  
     "Yes, yes, yes," she breathed into the pillow.
  
       Now I had both fingers in her.  One in her pussy and the other buried
in her rectum, as deep as I could push.  We'd developed a rhythm.  As I
pulled a finger partially out of her ass, I'd push the other finger deeper into
her cunt, reaching and touching the G-spot.  Then, alternating, I'd slowly
pull out of her pussy and simultaneously penetrate deeper into her ass guts.
  
       As she softened, I slipped a second finger into her buttery ass.  Her
only response was a stronger moan of pleasure.
  
       "Oh, God.  Oh, God," she murmured, pushing against me.  "Oh, God,
that's good.  That's so good.  I  can't believe it.  It's incredible.  Yes-s-s-s!
Do me, do me."
  
       I moved directly behind her, between her legs, and leaning forward,
asked, "Martina, I want to slip my hard cock into your ass, baby.  Do you
want to try?"

       "Oh, shit!  I can't believe this.  I can't believe that I DO want you to. 
Yes.  Yes, do try.  But, please, slowly.   Don't hurt me."
  
       "Here's the deal, babes.  I'm going to put the head of my cock on your
anus.  I'll hold still.  You back onto it  You'll be the one who determines
what happens.  Okay?"
  
       "Oh, you prick.  You're gonna make ME do it, aren't you?  You're
gonna make me fuck myself onto to you, you clever bastard!"
  
       "Yep, that's the deal."  I poured a generous portion of "Probe"
lubricating oil over my hard on and then slowly pulling my two fingers out
of her butt I positioned the head of my turgid cock against her open ass
hole and said, "It's up to you, girl.  Want it?"
  
       Martina didn't answer right away, save to slowly push back against my
cock.  The head slipped in side of her with ease.  
  
       Looking down, I could see the round spheres of her ass cheeks below
me as I held her waist with my hands.  I could see intimately well what she
could not, my hard cock slowly slipping into her ass.  
  
       "It's going in, Martina.  I can see it.  My cock's slipping into your ass,
girl.  Feel it?  Feel it inside you,  Martina?  In a second you're gonna have it
all!"
  
       I could barely hear her chant, "Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Fuck me.  In my
ass.  Oh, God.  Yes, fuck me."
  
       I didn't move for a few moments, again waiting for her to *want*
more.  "Let me know when I can move, girl.  I want to fuck into you.  I
NEED to fuck you.  I need it so badly.  Tell me.  Are you ready?"
  
       "Yes-s-s-s," she hissed.  "Christ, yes!  Move.  In and out."
  
            I slowly pulled back, watching her anus clutch my cock until I
could see the ridge of the cock's head, just inside the stretched skin of her
now relaxed sphincter.   Then, as slowly, I pushed in.  All the way.  Then I
pushed a little more, holding her hips at her waist.  Slow and controlled. 
Slowly in and then slowly out, almost all the way out, then back in.
  
       "Faster, Billy.  Do it faster.  Do it harder.  Pound me!  I want you to
go fast and deep.  I want you.  In me.  Deeper. Oh, God, it's so good."
  
       "Martina, I'm fucking you, girl.  I'm fucking you in your ass, right in
your little shitter.  Deep in your ass guts.   I'm inside you and I can feel
your heat and the tightness of your ass around the shaft of my cock.  Feel
me, girl?  Feel me in your tight butt, in your most private place?
  
       I'd ceased to think.  My mind was running on with the most erotic and
delicious imagery.  That, in turn, was driving my words.  Aroused beyond
belief, I was carried along by the intensity of passion.  Powerless.  I
couldn't stop if I wanted to.  The momentum gained was taking me over
the top.
  
       "I'm losing it, girl.  I'm gonna cum soon."
  
       "Yes, me too!  Cum in me, Billy.  Cum in my ass.  I'm right with you. 
Let me feel your hot cum in my butt!"
  
       We rushed right past the point of no return.  I prided myself on some
ability to control my orgasms, but this one was a runaway train and there
wasn't a prayer of controlling anything.  I held on to her hips and just
jerked and quivered as I groaned, "I'm cum-m-m-ming, babes . . . I'm
coming . . . now!"
  
       She screamed and went rigid, shuddering under me as my cock jetted
into her bowels.
  
       Then I lost all awareness.
  
       Some unknown time later, I heard a voice, "Oh,  God!  I just can't
believe what happened.  I lost all track.  I didn't know where I ended and
you began."  
  
       "I lost myself.  God, it was wonderful."  
  
       "What happened?  To us?  To me?  And what, god dammit, happened
to the broad in the white dress and her wimpy offspring?"
  
                   
                    END
  
         
  
       
 













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