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Singapore Girl #7
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SINGAPORE GIRL
Part 7 of 7.
I heard the shower running and half-awoke, then fell back into
an exhausted sleep. The windows were gray with the first light of
dawn. But then I was again awakened. The windows weren't much
brighter, but what woke me this time was wetness. To be precise,
June had brought a basin of soapy water and was using a washcloth
to clean my cock. (Remember where it had been last.) She was gentle
and attentive with my tender dick and oh, so meticulous. There was
still some soap film on my cock, but she took care of this. She
disappeared for a moment and when she returned, she was carrying a
bottle of white wine. She arranged a towel like a coffer dam around
my dick and abdomen and used the wine to rinse me. As raw as my
cock still was, the sensation stung and then tingled.
And then the tingling got serious -- because June climbed up
on the bed, knelt between my legs and started lightly sucking my
limp schlong. Slowly, gently, she worked my dick in and out of the
plush welcome of her hot, sweet mouth and soft lips. Nothing
happened for a while, but then my prick started swelling in her
mouth.
I managed the strength to reach down and tousle her fine,
short black hair. She looked up at me from between my legs, her
lovely eyes heavy with lust and her lips distended about my
thick cock.
"Come back here and cuddle me," I told her.
She finally interrupted her cocksucking -- but not for long.
"You have given me such pleasure," she whispered, her breathe hot
on my straining prick. "Now you lay back and don't move and let me
give you a special treat."
Special treat? What the hell did she think the madness of the
night before had been?
My cock throbbing redoubled and her cocksucking redoubled.
From time to time she paused to pour more of the wine on my dick
and then resumed her eager sucking.
Then she stopped and sat back on her heels and said, "I
remember you told me how you liked to see a slim girl fuck herself
with a big dildo ... "
SHe shivered, her hard nipples jiggling. Her throat and chest
were turning red. "It makes me itchy to think of what I will do --"
June rammed her cunt back onto the makeshift monster dildo.
She got on all fours, reached down between her legs to heft the big
thing into place against her cunt and then slowly impaled herself
on it. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch inch after inch of
that huge thing get swallowed up in her cunt.
"Oh, darlingggggg...." she said and shook as the pleasure
seized her. When she had reached her limit and what look like two-
thirds of the eighteen-inch prick were encased in her hot cunt, she
rolled her hips around. Her clitoris was immensely swollen and
stuck out at least a half-inch beyond her fine-haired cunt mat.
I couldn't resist. I wriggled slowly around till I was
perpendicular to her on the bed. I had a great view of her profile
-- her firm, taut tits topped by spiked nipples that looked ready
to burst, her slightly rounded little belly heaving with pleasure,
her tightly drawn ass curving down to her thighs -- and the big
homemade dildo reaching out from her cunt like an extra, misplaced
appendage.
She lay her head down sideways on me, pressing my cock between
her cheek and my abdomen. "You see, my darling? I want to be the
best at everything that gives you pleasure."
She reached around with one hand and found the vibrator, then
found a tube of K-Y that hadn't been squeezed flat. She emptied its
contents on the eight-inch vibrator, then took it and reached back to
put the narrow head against the same tight ass I had fucked just
hours before.
"Oh, it is too much!" she gasped as she pressed it slowly,
steadily into her asshole. "I feel so full, so stuffed, so-- so --"
"Fucked."
Her eyes rolled up in their sockets till only whites showed.
Less than an inch of the vibrator protruded from her asshole. She almost
fell forward then, caught up in the sensations again sweeping through her
insatiable young body. She had to relinquish her tenuous grip on the
vibrator to catch herself, using both arms.
Being a considerate fellow, I promptly reached out with my left hand
and got my fingertips on the base of the vibrator. The tight, slick
vise of her ass was slowly expelling it; I pushed it slowly back in
just as she got her mouth full with my cock again and resumed
sucking.
She bobbed her head slowly up and down on my prick. To be honest, I as
surprised I could even feel her lips, let alone her tongue or the insides
of her cheeks -- yes, the insides: she was sucking so hard that the velvety
wet flesh on the inside of her cheeks was rubbing the sides of my cockhead.
All the time, mind you, I was letting the vibrator slip about an inch
or so out of her ass and then slowly pushing the little buzzing bugger back
in -- while she never stop rolling and rocking her hips on the immense
rubber dildo impaling her cunt.
And she was cumming -- of course.
Then, abruptly, she stopped and looked up at me. "I am going
to drink you dry."
"I'm already dry, honey -- "
"I am going to do it."
I shook my head. "It'll take forever after last night -- "
She paused to cum again, then: "Good -- I want it to last forever. I
love sucking my darling's hard cock."
She put her mouth back on my cock and then she did something that few
women seem to know about. I've only known one other, and she was an ex-
hooker, who did it. Believe me, I've thought about it and I think I've
figured it out. It sounds complicated -- hell, maybe it is -- but the
effect is cataclysmic on a man's (at least, on this man's) self-control. It
goes like this this:
June dropped her head back on my cock. This time she got just
the glans and maybe two inches of the shaft into her lips. She
rolled her tongue against my shaft and flattened her tongue,
creating,essentially, an airtight seal around my cock in her mouth.
Then she sucked again, and pulled her tongue away and down -- slowly
and powerfully. The closest analogy I can think of is the way a teething
child will suck his or her thumb, using the tongue to increase the vacuum
(which offers some semblance of relief for the poor strained gum tissues).
But -- while June was doing that, she was also pulling her head back
and inch or so at the same time. Suck, pull, return -- suck, pull,
return...
After about sixty seconds of that, my balls didn't care how much
overtime they'd but in the night before; they were ready to bogie.
I started arching up at her even as she was arching up and back to
try to drive the dildo deeper into her cunt and the vibrator deeper
into her little ass. My arching up was fine -- but when I started
to pull back, she delivered the final move. She grabbed my hips in
both of her little hands and tried to hold my movements within that
two-inch range she'd established and she began moaning.
It felt like I was cumming forever. The jism seemed to float --
not flow; float -- out of me in endless ribbons of pleasure. My
balls were drawn up so tight that they seemed to be trying to
burrow back inside my abdomen. It seemed to last for hours, this
exquisite, almost painful pleasure, but that's only because it was
so intense that the orgasm literally left me drained and
unconscious.
When I recovered, it was to the smell of fresh coffee and the sight --
and what a sight! -- of a freshly scrubbed, perky June carrying a tray
with fresh java and a pair of cups. June was wearing a green silk kimono.
(Yes, she was from Singapore, a place not known for a love of the Land of
the Rising Yen, but June wasn't dim; she knew the kimono is the most
comfortable garment devised by the hand of Man for just lounging ... and
looking sexy in the process.)
She saw me watching her from atop the thoroughly devastated
bedcovers and put down the tray. Her lips were puffy and her eyes
were shadowed and bloodshot.
She sat beside me.
"Oh, my mouth is sore and my back hurts and I ache down there and in
back -- "
"From doing nice stuff."
Her nipples were already hardening as she rested her hand lightly on
my limp, sore dick.
"And you are all tired out and reddened from fucking this nice tight
Chinese girl. But -- "
She pressed herself upon me. "It was wonderful, my darling!"
I tried to reply in kind, but then those wonderful lips were
smothering mine.
Her birthday came three days later and that was the day I was going to
give her the ring -- or offer, at least. It might seem as if after the
night of debauchery, anything else would be a letdown, but it
wasn't. If anything, it was even better. There were no walls, now,
no barriers or secrets. Either could tell the other any desire that
would shock or revolt. The wish might not be shared, might not be
acted upon, but there was so much else that was good --
And there was something not so good. Her birthday was the beginning of
the end.
After dinner at I. Angelina's, a terrific Italian place nearby (where
the regulars were so delighted to see a hetero couple that they kept
sending over drinks), we returned to June's lovely apartment. I gave her a
birthday gift -- a very sexy nighty she'd been admiring in Mistress
Mine -- and ws saving the Ring for later.
She'd gotten a lot of cards for her birthday. They were on display all
over the office area and in the living room upstairs. She had surrounded
herself with them, as if to keep her warm despite the distance between
herself and her loving family.
The cards in the office were from business acquaintances and
Jaycee colleagues. Those in the living room and dining room were
from friends and neighbors. Those on the mantle in the bedroom were
the special ones, she explained, and placed mine on in its place.
"Do you mind if I look at these others?"
"Go ahead," she called back as she started the water running in the
shower. I knew she'd gotten cards from sisters and brothers and from a
cousin, and I was expecting to find one from her boyfriend-boss.
What I wasn't expecting was that it would be addressed to "My darling
wife" and signed, "Your loving husband."
She tried to tell me it was just his manner of speech -- but when I
demanded to see her working papers and visa, she began to weep. By the time
she handed them over, she was telling me it didn't matter.
It mattered to me. Her official records didn't show her last name as
the vowel-less, Singaporean name by which I knew her. They showed her last
name as the same as that of the company's owner, and believe me, it was as
Scandahoovian as they get. It listed her marital status as M and he
was listed as her spouse.
There aren't many things in this world that are sacred to me. A free
mind. The word, "Love." Children. The Bill of Rights. Marriage.
Yeah -- marriage. Two people standing up before the world and saying,
"Listen up! For the rest of the only life I'm sure I have ... THIS IS THE
ONE. No matter what." Unless the husband is in the room -- hell, in
the bed -- saying, "Go ahead and make my sweet-heart feel GOOD!" I
won't mess with a married or betrothed woman.
No matter how much I care or how innocent I was in trusting her. No
matter how fucked up their marriage or relationship may be or how
strong it is -- I won't do it, not knowingly.
I had to stand by my principle. I had to leave. And my principles said
I couldn't even tell her to get in touch if and when she got divorced;
that -- given what we had -- would have been a terrible assault on
her marriage.
So I walked out on the weeping, crying woman who had come to mean
everything to me, the woman who seemed capable of repairing all the
wounds, of healing all the scars, of making right everything that
had gone wrong. I left the ring there, on the mantle. I hurt for a
long time. If time heels all wounds in the way it is supposed to
wound all heels, then I hope she got over me, as well -- only
sooner. She deserved better than a stiff-necked throwback like me.
In a sense, I feel good for having had the strength to do the right
thing, because if we don't do the right thing, then the wrong thing wins
and we all lose -- big -- in the end. I feel good, because I can look my
own reflection in the eye and know that when it came right down to it, I
had what it takes.
But when I look in the mirror, I don't see her beside me, with her
impish grin and pug nose and playful mischief. When I look in the mirror,
all I see is me.
[end]
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