Erin Go Bra(less)

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further! 

This story is for entertainment only.  It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction.  The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact.  I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here.  The characters in the story are entirely fictional.  You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

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.

* * * * * * * * * * 

We take a brief detour (Not again!) from two series - "Dots and Dashes of Color" and "Service With A Smile" - to explore the deep meaning of the Festival of The Green.  No, not the day Mr. Marcus consumed too many chili cheese dogs at Wieners R Us.  St. Patrick's Day.  

Mr. Marcus goes after an Irish lass who perpetrated violence on his dear sweet Annie, and runs into a bride's maid green with jealousy.

We know who drove the snakes from Ireland, but what motivates Mr. Marcus to drive his snake into young women?  I present the cir-cum-stantial evidence . . .

* * * * * * * * * * 

I'd forgotten it was St. Patrick's Day, although the green ties, green dresses and green doughnuts in the food cart in the lobby should have been an obvious clue.   Actually, the green doughnuts could have been moldy ones unsold from the previous Friday.

I escaped any encounters with colleagues, customers and my boss all morning, completing several technical specifications.  My brain was drained, and I was in no mood for conversation.  When lunch hour rolled around, the usual eat-together crowd headed off to Hennessey's.   No surprise when they came back plastered.   Before any face- or buttock-copying broke out, we all got early dismissal, to prevent serious mistakes while inebriated.  In fairness, they let everyone go home early, including all of us sober blokes.  Someone thought it was funny to pin a "Kiss Me, I'm Jewish" button to my jacket.  Oh well, nothing else I was wearing was green.

---

On the couch at home, I harmlessly paged through the local paper, checking out young female athletes in the Sports section.  The silence was interrupted by the front door squeaking open.

"Hello?"

Annie peeked out around the corner.  "Hi, Daddy."

We were supposed to have a family dinner that night.  All we needed was my wife to get back from who-knows-where.  Annie had her back to me.  Odd.  "Turn around, sweetie."

Annie stood with a hand over one eye.

"What happened?"

She dropped her hand, exposing a black and blue shiner.  "Marty Kelly punched me in the face."

"What?"  Some classmate punched my only daughter?  I jumped up, letting the paper scatter to the floor.  I knew precisely where the student directory was, in the kitchen next to the phone.  

"Daddy, don't!"  Annie pleaded.  She was pulling at my arm.  "You'll only make it worse."

I ripped the page of "K"s from the booklet and stormed off to the garage.  "Someone needs to teach that kid a lesson."

"Daddy!"  Annie stood in the kitchen doorway as I backed out of the garage, beckoning me back.  I could feel the blood throbbing in my ears.  How dare some bully sock my Annie in the face?  What is this world coming to?  Annie wouldn't hurt a fly.  She might, however, unzip one.

I obeyed all the traffic laws, despite my foot's desire to floor the accelerator after every stop sign.  A series of deep breaths lowered my blood pressure but did nothing to curb my mission, to confront the young man who brutalized Annie.

I stopped at the proper address, turned off the engine and yanked at the handbrake.  I was up their front steps in two leaps, and leaned heavily on their doorbell.

A young boy, maybe seven, opened the front door.  This couldn't be the kid.  "Are you Marty?"

"No, that's my sister."

Sister?  He must be mistaken.

"Maaaaaa," cried the boy.

A woman walked over, a baby nursing on one breast.  I heard crying of another child somewhere in the house.  "What can I do for yee?"  The baby pulled back, exposing a fat red nipple.  "You'll excuse me.  She needs feedin'."

"Of course."  I was jealous.  Her breasts were pale, nice sized, obviously milk-laden.   "Your son Marty hit my daughter Annie and gave her a black eye."

She pushed back the screen and gestured me in, past an entry table.  "You met my only son.  The other three are girls.  Marty is spelt with an 'i'."  She walked into their living room and motioned to a family portrait on the piano.  Her and her husband, a burly brute I'd prefer never to meet, a red haired young lady, the young boy and two babies, dressed in green, not traditional pink.

"Okay, I got the gender wrong.  Still, there's the issue of Annie's assault.  Can I speak with Marti?" I asked.

The baby in her arms lifted her head towards the nipple, blocking my view.  "Best not.  I'll speak to her when she gets home after work."  The crying in the other room got louder.  "She'll be leaving your Annie alone from now on.  You'd be leaving now."

"Where does she work?  I'd like to speak with her myself."

"You'd be best letting us apply the discipline.  Marti has a temper, for sure.  We'll handle her, Sean and me.  Thanks for letting me know."

I headed out, deflated from the lack of satisfaction.  I wanted the direct confrontation, not delegation to Marti's parents.

"Could you do me a favor?" Mrs. Kelly called from the other room.  "Fetch the mail and put it inside?"

"Sure."  The mailbox was mounted next to the door on the exterior wall, filled with a newspaper and dozens of envelopes.  I flipped through them, looking for a clue.  Among the envelopes, I saw a paycheck-style envelope from the Radmont Hotel, downtown, addressed to Marti Kelly.  Bingo!  Temper, huh?  Perhaps she works the hotel bar a bouncer?

Traffic between the suburbs and downtown was murder, which gave me time to think about what I'd say to Marti.  Every scenario ended with me punching her in the face, so she'd look and feel the way Annie did.  The idea of doling out physically violence seemed acceptable, and I shivered at the concept.  I'm a lover, not a fighter.

I parked in the hotel's lot, expecting that they'd validate, even if I punched out one of their employees.  After all, this was personal.  I strode through the lobby to the bar.  It was full of rowdy drunks singing songs off key, but no redheaded waitresses.   Back in the lobby, I scanned for activity.   Near the staircase to the second floor, a sign directed folks to the Gillpatrick-McGinnis wedding.  Of course!  She's waitressing a wedding party.  Based on the bride and groom's surnames, these folks picked a perfect day, St. Patrick's Day, to get married.

The party must have ended, since the Ballroom was nearly empty.  A few ladies in long dresses stood around a bar in the far corner of the huge room.  A few young men waddled towards a pair of swinging doors, arms filled with soiled tablecloths.  Sounds of kitchen cleanup came from behind those doors as I approached.

Busboys had loosened their ties, unbuttoned their collars, and were heading out the back way.  Large sinks full of dirty plates and cups were evidence of a sumptuous gathering.  My stomach growled at the thought of a nice meal.  Damn Marti, for hurting my daughter and making me hungry.

"You can't be back here."  

I turned around.  A redhead stood defiant, hands on her hips, wearing a molded black plastic top that ended just above her breasts and short white miniskirt.  It was Marti.

"I'm Anna's father.  You know, the one you punched in the face."  I closed the distance between us.  Could I haul off and hit her?

Marti poked at the button on my jacket.  "You shouldn't make fun."  She hiked the sagging black molded bustier higher, but it fell back to its original position, leaving her cleavage exposed.

I glanced down at the object of her scorn.  Damn, I hadn't removed the "Kiss Me, I'm Jewish" button.  Take the offensive.  "And you shouldn't be giving other girls black eyes."

"She deserved it, the little tramp.  It wasn't me, stepping in to steal her boyfriend, now, was it?"

"Annie wouldn't do that."  Would she?  I knew Annie was experimenting sexually.  Hell, she and I had our share of mutual adventures.  Maybe there was more to the story.  "What did she do?"

"Nothing, 'cause I stopped her.  Her and those slut friends of hers."

I knew those girls.  Biblically.  "So she didn't actually steal your boyfriend?  And you hit her anyway?"

"She was planning on it, that's for sure.  Stopping in the halls, rubbing his shoulder.  Any minute, she'd have drug him away and had her way with him.  So I told her hands off."

"And she said?"

"That he wasn't my property, and she could talk to anyone, and not to get my panties in a knot.  Great father you are, raising a daughter that way, with no discipline."

"You should talk!"  I was getting no respect, which pissed me off even worse.

"Now I know where she gets her attitude.  Who are you to me, anyway?"  Marti's hand came up to slap me.  I grabbed her wrist.  She swung her other hand.  Ambidextrous?  I grabbed that one as well.  I was close enough to see a gold "Kiss Me I'm Irish" ornament hanging around her neck, just above the valley between her tits, tucked behind the stiff plastic top.

She must have noticed my stare.  "So you want a peek and a kiss, huh?"  She leaned forward and planted one on me.  Bumping of lips without feeling.  Not particularly gratifying.  That was the last thing I remembered before her knee slammed into my groin.

---

The florescent lights were sharp, making everything look fuzzy.  Straddling my legs, red-haired Marti.  Sitting on a stool behind her, a long-dressed young woman, one of the bridal party most likely.

It must have been a dream.  First, because the woman on the stool looked like a mermaid, with a tail in place of legs.  Second, because my pants were unzipped and my penis was waving around at half stiff.  Marti's hands tapped the organ back and forth.  Quickly, it was gaining length and girth.  I propped myself up on my elbows.

"See, he's not dead," said Long Dress.  "Hey, Big Guy!" Her slurred speech indicated intoxication.

"The name is Marcus."

"Oh no, you're Big Guy.  On campus, off campus, anywhere you point that thing.  Big Guy."  She hoisted a bottle of what looked like champagne and took a swig.  "It's even bigger than Sean's!"

I had no idea who Sean was, and why our comparative sizes were relevant.

"I'm so sorry," Marti said.  "It was instinct, you see.  I didn't mean you any harm."  Leaning over like she was, the formed plastic top drooped away from Marti's body, exposing her breasts, hanging like juicy cones with large red nipples.  Her white pleated shirt rode high on her thighs, exposing green panties.  

The sight of her, bare on top and vulnerable below, was enough for me to forgive.  After all, my dick was still functional, and seemingly her new toy.

"You were out cold," said Long Dress.  "Missy here told me what she did.  I suggested check for damage.  Looks like you're fully functional."  She stood but her ankles wobbled.  "So, Missy, you want to get up and let me test Big Guy's equipment?"

"I won't!"  Marti's hand grasped my erection, hanging on for dear life.  "I'm not finished with it," Marti said to her female companion.

Light shining through glass crystals on a wall ornament cast a multicolored spectrum on my crotch.

"You think you've found the treasure at the end of the rainbow?  Come on, get up and let a real woman at him.  You haven't the faintest what to do with a prize like that." Long Dress struggled to stay upright.  Because the gown was extremely tapered at the ankles, she was forced to shuffle.  With one step, she collapsed to the floor like an air mattress with a rip in the side.  "Damn this dress anyhow!"  With one tug, she split open one side of the dress, then the other.  "Much better."  Now her gown was one large apron, a halter-top holding it around her neck, hips, thighs and legs flashing on both sides.  She wore stockings with a garter belt in place of panty hose.  It was one big game of Peek-A-Boo, and I was glad to be a participant.

Long Dress crawled over, body parts exposed with the sway of the hanging cloth.  "Wooah, Nelly!  Look at that stick!"

Marti tried to cover my erection with both hands.  Too little too late, but feeling awfully good.  

"Don't let me stop you.  If I had my hands around a cock like that, I wouldn't let go," she continued.

Marti looked down at my throbbing prick.  Both of her hands caressed the length.  She sat silent.

Long Dress tried to kneel down but practically fell instead.  "So, possession is ninety tenths of the law.  Whatcha gonna do with it?"

Marti looked at me, then back at Long Dress.  "I don't know."

"It must be hot.  Why don't ya' give it a little kiss?"

"I sure won't be doing that."  Despite her denial, Marti was still hanging on, groping the length.

"Then let me.  For lubrication."  She moved her head closer, tongue stretched out.  I raised my hips to assist.

"No you don't.  This is mine."  Marti hesitated, but then wrapped her lips around the tip of my penis and gave a loud smack.  What a feeling!

"See, it's easier when he's moist.  Damn, I'm wetting myself.  So, finish him off, or do you want me to do it?"

"Beg off."  Marti increased her tempo, occasionally mouthing the head of my dick like a casual suck of a Tootsie Roll Pop.

With minimal saliva and precum as lubrication, Marti's strokes were taking their toll.  My hips bounced.  The hungry look of the stranger, plus looking down Marti's top at her rose-tipped breasts was more than enough stimulation.  On Marti's next stroke down, a spurtlet of cum erupted, smack on the front of Marti's bodice.  She startled, and with a firm pump the next blob hit Long Dress just above the stomach.  A few more strokes and Long Dress was splattered with dripping streaks of my juices.  Marti laughed as she shot my stuff all over the visitor.

"Well played!" Long Dress laughed, but then her mouth drooped.  "Oh oh.  I think I drank too much.  Where's the Little Girl's Room?" Long Dress was much too tall to be called little.  She tried to stand but fell over.  Marti helped her to her feet as if she weighted nothing.  Long Dress sidestepped into a cabinet.  China clinked with the impact.

Marti brushed herself off, but couldn't wipe off the red from her face.  She'd been caught fondling a man's penis, and had been provoked to beat him off.  "I'd best be getting home now.  Mama expected me hours ago."

"I met your mother," I said.  "I stopped at your house before I came here."  And before I came here.  "I told her what you did to Annie.  She'll want to have words with you."

Marti's face remained red.  "That's okay.  We're even.  Annie played with my guy, and I played with hers."

Annie had merely talked to Marti's male friend, not exactly what I'd call playing.  "As long as you won't beat her up again."

"Heavens no!  Not that I might not want another chance at this."  She tugged my penis hard, as if to remove it from my groin.  I wanted to just tuck my dick away, to heal from the irritation of a virtually dry hand job.  Marti turned and flounced away down a dimly lit staircase.

Long Dress was still wobbling, clinging to the china cabinet. 

"I have to hit the head myself," I said.  "Let's find it together."  I was glad Marti had left, for many reasons.  She had been too interested in my cock for her own good, or mine.  Who knows, she might want the second round to be a fuck, her strong Irish thighs rapped around my - Shit!  Time to clean up.

"I can do it myself." Long Dress took a step away from the cabinet and stumbled into my arms.

"Let me help."  I held Long Dress's waist as we limped towards the bathrooms.  Her skin was soft and warm.  I considered letting my hand slide up and cop a feel of her breast.  Nah, a cheap move.  Low class.  "I'm Harvey, by the way."

"Aggie, sister of the bride.  Sister?  Bah!"

"So why are you still here?  Where's the rest of your family?"

"The party's over."  She began to sing.  "It's time to call it a day."

Her voice was nothing to tape record for posterity.  We reached the bathrooms.  I pulled my hand from her waist, and she didn't fall over.  Then again, she was holding the wall.

"Nice to meat you."  I headed for the Men's john.

"Woah, Nellie.  I need some assistance here, Big Guy."

Reluctantly, I guided her into the vacant woman's bathroom and chose a stall.  She lifted up the rear flap and plopped down on the toilet seat.  No panties?  "Wait for me."

The sound of her urine stream went on for minutes.  Her bladder must have been over-extended.  She pulled a handful of paper from the handy roll, lifted the front flap of her torn dress and spread her legs.  God, what legs!  And what a pussy!  Too bad she didn't need help wiping herself.  She leaned on the toilet paper holder to stand up.  I guided her to the stall wall, where she could get a grip.  

"My turn."  I unzipped and aimed for the same toilet.  

Aggie peeked around the corner.  "You've got a nice chunk of meat there, Big Guy."

"Thanks."  I shook the last drops, tucked in and zipped up.  "How are you going to get home?" I asked.

"My cars in the lot.  If I can find my purse."

I couldn't let someone in her condition out on the road.  "You're not driving anywhere.  I'll take you home."

Aggie leaned heavily on my shoulder.  "You're a good guy, Big Guy.  Not like that bastard Sean."

We made our way to the exit, back through the kitchen area.  "Who's Sean anyway?"

Her expression turned from gentle to vicious.  "My boyfriend, and my sister's husband."

I've been in some funky situations, but this one was wilder.  Aggie's boyfriend married her sister.  "She stole him?"

"She stole him, he stole her.  What's the difference?  They're at some hotel, fucking their brains out.  Shit!  Why can't I pick the good ones?

We'd made it back to the scene of my recent hand job.  

"Wait a sec."  Aggie opened the massive door of the industrial fridge.  Sure enough, bottles of champagne, unopened.  She took one in each hand.  "Okay, one for you and one for me."

"I'm your designated driver, remember?"

"Okay, one for me and another one for me."  Aggie pointed to a row of coat hooks.  "That's mine."

With one arm around her waist and a trench coat over her shoulders, I guided Aggie out the rear entrance to the parking lot.  There sat my new charcoal-colored coupe, two weeks old.

Aggie held out one of the bottles.  "Hold this," she said.  Then she put the other bottle between her thighs.  It looked like she was wrestling a large glass penis.

"You really don't need any more -"

The cork popped and flew directly into the door of my new couple.  The impact was a hollow thud.  Shit, the first ding!

Bubbly fizzed out, all over her hand.  She sucked her fingers clean if not dry.  "Mmmm, yummy.  Sure you don't want some?"

"No thanks.  And try not to spill.  The car is new."  And mostly pristine, except for the ding in the door.

I helped her in.  The front flap slid, exposing those beautiful long legs, thighs and hips.  My erection had subsided, but watching the torn dress expose large sections of Aggie's torso was highly erotic.  I'd drop her off, make sure she was okay, and then split.  Harriett was due in, and I wanted to be home before she arrived. 

As I drove, Aggie rambled on, telling the sad story of how her sister used the family's first meeting with Sean to begin the process of theft.  Between chugs from the champagne bottle, of course.  And Aggie's folks were fine with Sean marrying either of their daughters.  It didn't matter which one.

"Haven't you had enough?" I asked.

"Don't be my father.  Puhleeze!"

It was clear Aggie's sister had hurt her deeply.  And then, to make Aggie the bride's maid?  Cruel and unusual punishment, to my way of thinking.

Aggie burped.  "I don't feel so good."

The odor of her breath was vile.  Even in the intermittent amber street lighting, Aggie's face had lost all of its color.  

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Not in the car!"  I swerved to the curb and slammed the breaks.  Aggie lifted the handle and leaned out.  The entire left side of her body was exposed, ankle, calf, thigh, hip, torso, and the profile of a breast.  The retching sound grabbed my attention.  I snagged a handful of tissues from the box behind the passenger seat.  "Here."  I placed them in her left hand.

The puking noises stopped.  "I can't get up."

I grabbed Aggie's elbow and pulled her upright.  My hand ended up lodged between her upper arm and the side of her chest.  My fingertips wiggled against her breast.

"Copping a feel?" she asked.

I pulled my hand back, embarrassed.  "It was an accident."

"Yeah?  Well, make sure it happens again."  Her smile was inviting but her breath reeked.

Aggie pointed out the building, a two-flat in a remote part of the city.  I came around to her side, and assisted her with her exit.  The fact that she continued to clutch the two bottles of champagne didn't help.  I fished her keys from her trench coat pocket.  My hand rubbed her thigh and groin as I struggled to grab her keys.

Aggie giggled.  "Ooh, you're so touchy feely."

I unlocked the door and led her in.  To get her weight off my shoulder, I let her drop onto her leather sofa.  The apartment, or was it a condo, was nicely appointed.  Whatever Aggie did for a living paid well.  Very well.  No table lamps, the room had track lighting in strategic places.  Illuminated by a single spotlight, a bigger than life-size picture of a pair of legs adorned a wall.  Aggie's legs.  While Aggie thrashed on the sofa to remove her trench coat, like a beached whale, I wandered into the dining area.  Her mahogany table was littered with documents that looked like contracts, and numerous photos of her long, shapely legs.

"What are all these?" I asked.

The response came from the couch.  "I'm a leg model.  Best gams this side of the Mississippi, and that includes New Pork City.  Got another shoot tomorrow.  I'd better get some sleep."  She nuzzled a faux or fur real animal skin throw.  "What do you do?"

"Technical stuff.  Nothing creative.  Not like modeling.  I write a little."

"Oh really?  Like what?"  Aggie was up, moving my way, holding the fur.

"Whodunits."  I wasn't going to tell her erotica.  In most of my stories, the reader learns whodunit - with whom, and in what position.

"Who whatsis?"

"Detective stories."

"Oh, dick stories."  She giggled.

I'd never heard them called that, but mine bounced in my slacks at the phrase.  Maybe I was also writing dick stories and didn't realize it.

My dad used to read coverless paperbacks.  When I asked, he said they were dick stories - mysteries.  One night, when my folks were out, I crawled into his closet and found the box with his books.  Whoa, they were dick stories all right.  Horny porn novels.  There was dick and pussy and tits -

She fell towards the table.  "Why is the floor moving?"

"You need to sleep it off, and I need to go."  Before I do something I regret.

"No.  Stay with me.  Please.  I like your company."

Who wouldn't want to hang out with a model?  "All right.  Just for a few minutes."

"Goody!"  Aggie jogged a jagged path into the kitchen.  "Here."  She held out a glass.

"I really shouldn't.  I have a long drive home."

"Just one.  To celebrate.  Freedom."

She used the same between the thighs technique on the second bottle.  The cork flew and I ducked.  It hit a picture frame on the mantle above the gas-burning fireplace.  The glass cracked and the picture fell over.  She stumbled towards the damage and lifted the frame.  Behind the shattered glass was a photo of her and a guy.  Sean?  

Yes, because she was sobbing.  "I hate him!  I hate him!  Oh God, how I loved him."

She dropped the bottle.  It spilled several glasses worth before I could grab it.  She was collapsing, so I grabbed her in my arms, still clinging onto the bottle.  I really had my hands full, holding her bare skin.

"I loved him so much, but he couldn't stand it."

What did that mean?  Can anyone get too much love?

"He kept complaining.  But I couldn't help it!"  Her hand gravitated to my ass.  My erection pressed into her belly.  "You've been so nice.  Can I ask you one more favor?"

"Okay."  What could she ask?  For me to tuck her in?  After all, she had a photo shoot tomorrow.  Unless she meant guns?

"Show me I'm attractive."

I'd heard that models are the neediest women, always unsure of themselves.  At least, that's what the copy of People magazine claimed in the dentist's office.

"Drop trou, Big Guy. She bobbed her body up and down.  "You want to, don't you?  You want to make love to me, right?  Shit, you got it up for that red-haired waitress.  Why not me?"  Her hand ran the contour of my prick beneath my pants.  "Take 'em off."

This was not a good idea, fucking a drunken woman, even if she was a model.  "Maybe when you're thinking clearly, we can -"

Her hands ran the full length of what was now an erection.  "Wow!  Was it that big at the hotel?"

"I guess."  Like always.  When an attractive woman touches it.  Any woman, actually.

"I'll go first, then you.  Okay?"  She stepped back and unclasped the halter-top.  The independent flaps of material fell to her feet.  There she stood, in a wisp of bra, under wire, perfect for her mild breasts, lifting her nipples, begging for sucking, the thread of a cockeyed garter belt, run stockings on long, perfectly sculpted legs.  It was clear to see why Aggie was successful.  Her legs were a work of art, in any circumstances.  I could almost feel the heat radiating from her pussy. 

"See, I skipped panties, hoping for a quickie in the coat room.  Sean or the best man, it didn't matter.  And they would have, too, if I'd only been able to pull that damn dress over my hips.  Now drop your pants and get over here.  Little Missy didn't know what a treasure she had, but I do.  And you're going to do me until I'm done."

It sounded more like a threat than an invitation.  What the hell?  I stepped out of my pants and jockey shorts.  My erection stuck out in her direction.  So, this was a revenge fuck.  Her ex-boyfriend had married her sister, and fucking me would make everything better.  Right!

"Oh yes!  Colleen has Sean, but I have you!"  She grazed one finger up the length of my prick.  "You're not thinking about that red-haired hussy, are you?"

I shook my head.  My prick swayed from side to side.

"Let me change."  Aggie jogged off to what I presumed was her bedroom and shut the door.

Into what?  She was already essentially nude.  Why did she need to put anything on for sex?  Maybe a diaphragm?

She returned from her bedroom in crotchless flesh-colored leggings and knee guards.  Were we going to play nude hockey?

"I have a shoot tomorrow," she said.  "I can't have any bruises."

She has a shoot and I'm going to score!   Almost laughed out loud, except I was sure it would spoil the mood, and I'd already decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck a model, legs or not.

She cuddled up along side and blew in my ear.  "Come with me."

I certainly hoped I would, after sufficient in and out sausage action.

She climbed up on the bed and knelt down on all fours, legs together.  "Make love to me."

"Okay.  Spread your legs a little so I can -"

"Straddle me.  Otherwise, I'll be bowlegged tomorrow.  It's none of anyone's business that I made love tonight."

I climbed up got behind her, my legs apart.  I rubbed my erection up and down her pussy lips.  Moist.  I jabbed at her opening, which was pressed tight by her thighs.

She craned her neck to look at me.  "Watch it!  Haven't you ever made love before?"

Nice, getting insulted during what was supposed to be intimate and caring.  I prodded her cunt lips apart with my fingertips, holding them while I slid closer. With a slight lean, the head was nestled inside, but just barely.  I shuffled closer.

"Easy."  It was a command more than a request.

Given my size, it was reasonable.  I penetrated in slow motion.  Her natural lubrication further in was significantly less.  Her cunt walls grated against my erection.  After what seemed like hours, I was buried.  The pressure was marvelous, given her closed stance.  Now it was time for fucking, an active verb if I ever knew one.  I pulled back and slid forward.

"I said, take it easy.  Gentle."

Perhaps Aggie's micromanagement was objectionable to Sean.  Maybe Colleen threw herself on the bed, opened her legs and hollered, "Climb on!"

I executed a series of gradual withdrawals and reentries.  My dick was aching from friction, perhaps from a combination of Aggie's tight cunt and Marti's hand job.

"Colleen doesn't know what she's missing."

Perhaps, but I knew what I was missing.  Active participation on Aggie's part.  Sheesh, she just knelt there, making the whole thing a job.  Oh yes, and chatting.

"You know, my aunt Julie told me a story, last time we went out for drinks and dinner.   Just after Sean told me we were quits, and he was taking up with Colleen.  Bastard!  Watch it, not so fast.  Anyway, she told me about a stud living next door that completely reamed her out.  Better than anything she ever got from the scumbag husband of hers, may he rot in hell."

"That's nice."

"She told me was trying to figure out a way to roll in the sack with him again, without being obvious.  After all, they're neighbors.  So, you have competition out there, Big Guy."

Wait a second.  Julie?  "Juliet?"

"Uh huh.  Juliet McCarthy.  Why, do you know her?" 

Damn!  Juliet is Aggie's aunt, Breann's mother and my next-door neighbor.  [See Valentine Birthday and Spring Trash Pick-Up Birthday]  And Julie isn't keeping her mouth shut.  The song "It's a Small World" began to play in my head, and you know how hard it is to evict that kind of song.  "Nope.  Just thinking about Romeo and Juliet, that's all."

Her grip tightened.  Was she enjoying this, finally?  "You do!  Oh my God!  You're the stud muffin who reamed her out!"  For the first time, Aggie moved.  Not much, just a little.  "You can go a little faster now."

I leaned over and put my hands on the front of her thighs, for leverage.

"No, no hands there.  I bruise easily."

I reached forward and took her breasts in my hands.  Perhaps some nipple action would animate her.

"For cripes sake, keep your hands off my tits.  The last thing I need to be reminded is how small my chest is!"

I'd run out of things to grab, and then I saw it - her hair, cascading down her neck.  I took her mane in hand, like reins on a horse.

"What are you doing?  Don't pull my hair!  You'll give me whiplash!"

"Shut up!"  I didn't know my frustration was so high until I hollered.  Here I was, trying to give her a good time, and all I got were complaints and restrictions.  It was time to deliver the revenge fuck she'd asked for.

I started thrusting, holding onto her hair.  My dick was throbbing, begging for release.

"Wait!  Wait!  You're going too fast."

"Too late.  I'm ready now," I said.  "Maybe you need to be ridden, so you can feel something.  Feel this?"  I pulled back and slammed my dick all the way into her cunt.

"Oh God!  What are you doing?"

"How about this?"  I pistoned in and out a half dozen times.  "Can you feel that?"

"You're fucking me!" she shouted.

No duh!  Isn't that what she asked for?  Sean got Colleen and she got me?  All eight inches of me?

"Finally!  Don't stop now!  Fuck me good and hard!"

I lunged and retreated, pushing every inch into her cunt.  With every penetration, she cried out, gasping for breath, pressing back to slam her butt into my crotch.  There were other positions that would have afforded better groin grinding, but no, she couldn't be bruised for a photo shoot.

My prick was raw and my knees hurt.  Maybe she didn't need to walk tomorrow, but I did.  And my dick felt like it had been scrubbed with steel wool.  In a quick motion, I grabbed her wrists and dragged them forward.  Aggie was face down on the bed.  And I fell on top, still inside her.

"What are you doing?"

"Fucking you."  Prone, her legs were slightly separate, but not enough to make her bowlegged in the morning.  Still astride her, I continued humping.   Good thing she wasn't a butt model, because I expected her backside was already black and blue.  I imagined my bloody prick.  My balls were churning, and Aggie was about to get a load, ready or not.

"Are you on the pill?" I asked.

She turned her head.  "Morning after."

Those weren't legal yet in the US.  But, as an international leg model, Aggie traveled the world.  Wouldn't be hard to get some.  Speaking of hard, if I didn't erupt soon, I never would, and all of this would have been for nothing.  I slowed to a crawl, not because she'd asked, but from the pain.  I could feel every square inch inside her pussy.  She was still quite tight, despite my interior assault.  I groaned as sperm flowed from my dick.  At that moment, I had no idea whether Aggie had achieved an orgasm or not.  And, to be honest, I didn't care.  I was done, and done in.

I crawled off the bed and cleaned up in the bathroom.  The image of my dick in her mirror showed terrorized flesh, raw and sore.  Aggie parked herself in the doorway.  "You're the stud that did Aunt Julie, aren't you?"

"Lots of guys have big dicks."  I dabbed at mine with tissues soaked in cold water.

"Yes, but you knew her real name was Juliet.  Boy, she wasn't exaggerating!"

She closed the distance between us and moved her mouth to mine.  A kiss, after all this?  I closed my eyes.  Her tongue slid into my mouth, almost choking me, as her hand found my wilting penis.  I pulled back.

"What's the matter?  Don't you french?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I like breathing better.  And be careful with that."

Aggie laughed.  "You're a trip, you know that?"  She tugged my prick.  I winced.  "So, you going to call me or what?"

I looked down at her bloodied hand on my dick.

"You're married.  I know," she said.  "But I don't know if I can get along without this."

I lifted her hand from my penis.  "We'll see.  Give me your number."

I tucked her in to bed, got dressed, and drove home.  The exterior lights were on, so Harriett had gotten home safely.  I prepared myself for the second beating of the evening.

(To be continued)

###

An Original H M Tale 

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