I Let Him into her Quim xxx

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by Lauren McAllister

I don’t really think I’ve ever been into guys. Oh, I dated (in the very un-biblical sense) a few owners of sausagous erecticus in high school but when it came time to spread ‘em or head ‘em, I just couldn’t find the will. And it’s not like I wasn’t interested in sex. I was maniacally wanking myself to the point of carpal tunnel syndrome. And there was never a single self-originated orgasm that I can remember that was brought about by fantasizing about dick in any shape or form. Pussies, tits and a pretty face were the sole ingredients when I was whipping up a batch of cum cookies (well, maybe the odd tight ass hanging out of a miniskirt).
By the time I was a junior, I got into cheerleaders big-time! The straighter they were the better. There was just something about getting my mouth under all those neatly ironed pleats that rocked my fucking world. By the end of high school, I was licking everything I could get my face on.
College was more of the same…until I met Helen. She was as cute as a bag full of buttons and the smallest of her smiles made me as wet as a Seaworld exhibit. Luckily, she was “that way” inclined and we started stepping out together. It was somewhat of a whirlwind romance. I ate her out in the restaurant bathroom on our first date. We asked to have our chocolate mousse desserts packed up, went back to my place and smeared them on each other’s shaved mounds. The sex was transcendent, glorious, mind-blowing and chocolaty, all at the same time. My jaw ached so much the next day that I could hardly talk.
I think we were a relatively normal lesbian couple, at first. She moved in with me after our second date and by the time of our first month anniversary, I practically had to put a cast on my tongue. Things went along blissfully and swimmingly for a full two years. All our friends had been through four or five relationships but I was completely in love and oh-so satisfied when it came to pleasures sur la mattress. Helen was absolutely trib-tastic in bed.
Alas, that all changed one fateful New Year’s Eve. We got invited to some stupid party and had nothing better to do. There was a lot of booze and a lot of men to drink it. Come midnight, I gave my hun a kiss and then this shitfaced lumberjack of a man grabs Helen in his arms, yells, “Happy New Year!” and kisses her full on the mouth. I’m talking a big wet sloppy one. By the reaction on my poor sweetie’s face, I knew that she was dining on some major tongue. It was such a weird feeling. On the one hand, I was completely fucking horrified and wanted to castrate him with my olive fork. Who was this asshole? On the other and, I experienced this weird and wonderful twinge in my twinkle cave.
Anyway, her boorish boozehound attacker stumbled off in search of additional celebratory smooches and hooch and we both pretended to laugh it off. Then, we rushed home, had massive alcohol-fueled Happy-New-Year sex and fell asleep. Well, Helen fell asleep. I lay there and played that kiss over and over again in my head for more than an hour. What was it about that dickhead stealing a lip-lunch that perturbed me so much? Partly, it was witnessing some jackass plant a soggy one on her. But, the more revolted and pissed off I was becoming, the more turned on I became. Eventually, I snuck into the bathroom and had a giant wank, imagining his tongue swirling around in her mouth. God, that orgasm was blistering. It’s a good job I was naked because my pussy would have set my underwear ablaze.
The morning and my temporary sobriety did not bring any hoped-for relief. As I plunged my face deep into my lover’s luscious lap lump, visions of her lips meeting his gamboled gaily through my cerebellum. I licked and sucked upon her like it was the last sex I would ever have on this Earth. There wasn’t a nano-molecule of her delicious snatch that I didn’t bathe in tender loving lingual care. I feasted upon her taste and dined upon her woman wines. I was so lost in my own sordid man-memory, that Helen came four times before I even heard her gasping and screaming. After six thunderous hip-lockers, she tapped me on the head, trying to break the Sapphic spell, before she needed hospitalization.
“Whoa baby, you are a woman possessed!” Helen hoarsely declared as she attempted to catch her breath.
I gazed up from my dewy perch between her legs and beheld her magnificent chest candy. Gosh, I love seeing a nice pair of tits from that angle. They were bright red and swollen from her multiple cum-sessions. Suddenly, I started to imagine that drunken idiot with his hands all over them. Roughly claiming her precious, delicate nipples for his own and crudely mauling the firm but tender breast flesh. It almost made me sick to my stomach and yet…
The next thing I knew, I was halfway up Helen’s vaginal canal with my tongue. A firm hand came down and planted itself on my forehead.
“Let’s give poor Miss Pussy a rest shall we? Not that she doesn’t appreciate your work. You were unbelievable this morning but I need to be able to walk later on today.” Helen pulled me up next to her and gave me a big kiss, smearing both our faces in her scrumptious cunt honey. Then, she spent the next half an hour licking me to glory.
That day was very unsettling. Every man I met, I’d imagine him kissing my girlfriend or her going down on him in front of me. I got so hot at one point, I had to excuse myself from an important meeting and go and have a good old-fashioned bathroom wank to calm me down. I’d had any number of girls-room-cubical orgasms, but I usually wasn’t the only one in the stall at the time. It has to be said. I was going through some weird mental shit.
That night, I generously poured the wine at dinner and began blabbering about my former love life. One that I’d never had. I waxed on about a couple of boyfriends I’d had and the cars they used to schtup me in.
“Did you have a bunch of guys, before you met me?” I finally got around to asking, oh-so-innocently.
“No, not really,” she shrugged disinterestedly.
Shit! This was going to be way harder than I had hoped…and I didn’t even really know what I was planning.
Luckily, my birthday was coming up. We all know how many girls have been asked to take it up the ass or “fill-in-the-disgusting-blank” for their demented beau’s special birthday gift. Now, Helen was about to be on the receiving end of an unconscionable b-day request.
“You want me to what?!” she readily agreed.
“You know I love you baby.” Boy, did I sound like every guy that was ever born, at that moment. “And don’t worry, I’m going to pick out a good looking guy. And a nice guy too!” I was starting to sweat. If Helen would have asked me to do something like this for her, I would have punched her teeth out. Thank God, she’s so much better a human being than I am.
A week of extra-loving attention later – I ate her out until I thought I was going to have to hire a full-time mandible masseuse – we attended a party that also coincidently included heterosexual men on the guest list. I was nervous to the point of spontaneous urination as we walked into the place. I can only imagine the kind of wobbly mental state that poor Helen was in.
After gulping down a couple of strong ones (my poor girlfriend was quickly several shots ahead of me), I scanned the room for likely man meat. “It should be someone nice looking,” I charitably thought. But if he was too much of a hunk, maybe she’d start preferring the real thing to a vibrating strap-on. So, my job was to find a pretty good looking guy (but with flaws) who was really buff (if only he worked out a little more).
Paul was over in the corner, looking a little lost. I squinted, to try to see if he was sporting a wedding ring (a married guy would be even better).
As men go, Paul was an okay guy, I suppose. As we approached him, I elbowed Helen to get the conversation and the flirting underway. Luckily, if you’re a good-looking piece of skirt dessert, you don’t have to be terribly smooth to pick up a man at a party because she was truly awful at it. Predictably, within ten or fifteen seconds of saying hello, we were the most interesting and charming people he’d ever met in his entire life. My little quim would positively vibrate every time she touched his arm or aimed her breasts at his ocular organs.
“Say, we have to leave soon. I have to be up really early for work,” I sighed pretending to look at my watch.
“You wouldn’t be interested in coming back to our place for a nightcap, would you?” Helen inquired with that panty-melting smile of hers. You could hear the waver in the poor dear’s voice as she popped the question and then she glanced at me as if to say, “Is this really what you want, Birthday Girl?”
“Why, that would be great if you could,” I added (a little wavery myself.). Is this what I wanted?
I had Helen drive back to our house in his car, so he wouldn’t get lost (ha ha). All the way home, my blood was boiling with jealously. I kept imagining her hand resting on his thigh as he drove, perhaps sliding up and brushing against his balls. My own hand would have been brushing against my balls, if I had a pair. My next automobile is going to be an automatic because wanking and driving are almost impossible with a stick-shift.
When they got out of the car, they were giggling like two drunken teenagers. That’s when she tenderly stroked his check and gave him a little playful kiss. It was a fraction of the unwanted New Year’s Eve smooch but it still stung my heart and rocked my solar plexus. The pain and humiliation of watching her play the tart with some shithead guy (and totally ignore me) was excruciating. Helen grabbed his hand and led him into the house. I followed close behind, practically squelching as I walked.
Once inside, I poured out some liberal whiskies and headed off to the bathroom. I so badly wanted to whap my clit senseless as I watched the thin stream of pee pour out of my little love hole but, through some Herculean act of self control, I managed to dry it off and pull my skirt back down.
When I returned from “powdering my nose”, all conversation and laughter in the room had ceased. Had she panicked and sent him home? Already? As I ambled around the corner, I practically spontaneously came. They were going at it like rutting monkeys. Paul’s hands were all over her breasts. My breasts! He was manhandling my girl. I’m surprised I didn’t see Helen’s tongue coming out of his ear; they were so deep into a French kiss.
When Paul noticed me, he immediately discontinued his disgusting lascivious roughhousing of her hooters and apologized. God was his face red. I assured him that there was no need to dampen their ardor on my account, as long as neither of them minded me watching. Before our guest could even turn to poll his smooch buddy’s opinion on the matter, Helen pulled her top off. I think she was trying to punish me. There was a quick, snarky girl-to-girl glance, right before they redoubled their tonsil-tasting.
Needless to say, he was all over those naked tits like ants on a donut. Meanwhile, my pussy was beginning to leak like a Walmart coffee cup. I just couldn’t take my eyes of the unholy ritual playing out before me. Pretty soon, Paul’s shirt and her skirt were rumpled piles of cotton on the carpet. Helen grabbed his hand and stuffed it in between her incomparable but shamelessly-parted legs. Mine almost buckled. Watching him jabbing his fingers into her honey pot was an unbearably sweet agony. It should have been me in there! What the fuck was going through my warped and whacky brain? By now, my soupy-rich box-broth had drizzled down my inner thighs, almost to my knees.
“Stand up,” Helen commanded. And that’s when my girlfriend, the love of my life, unzipped a man’s pants in front of me and took the head of his cock hungrily into her mouth. I felt a mini-cum rush up from my love nub and into my abdomen as she sucked on his joint like a horny straight woman. Bi-Girl was making these obscene dick-slurping noises and fondling his gonads like she was making chiu-chao dim sum. It was so upsetting, I wanted to vomit but I lifted up my dress and started playing with my swollen labia instead. Jesus, I’d never been so wet. My inner lips were the size of sun visors. I was just completely stunned at the way she expertly polished his knob and tongue-tickled his balls. When did she learn to blow a guy like that?!
Paul was transfixed. Loverboy’s head was leaning back like a broken Pez Dispenser and he was moaning like a hungover donkey. Talk about unbearable. I slipped the tip of my finger into my snatch hole and traced it around the circumference.
She didn’t even seem to know that I was in the room, at that moment. Helen dropped onto her back and spread her legs welcomingly. “Take off those hideous socks and fuck me,” she demanded, as the living room light made her pussy sparkle like rose-petals after a light spring rain.
I did noticed the slightest venomous eye glance from my beloved, as he positioned himself between her thighs and began to rub the head of his penis up and down her slippery slit. While Paul was wetting his wiener, Helen placed her hand behind his neck and pulled herself up to meet his face. She then swallowed his mouth whole in a gigantic soul-kiss just as the tip of his wad disappeared inside her. The little I’ve-just-been-penetrated sigh she let out almost made me cry. Within seconds, her hips began to rise up to meet his punishing pecker thrusts. The bitch was totally into it. I stood there like a pathetic cuckold watching her lovely tits jiggle every time the hilt of his fuck-stick slammed into her pubic bone. Helen’s hands played with his hair and touched the small of his heaving back gently as they fucked like Baptists at a Christian abstinence retreat.
“Is he fucking you right, baby?” I heard myself weakly babble. “Is he fucking you hard?”
“Oh my God, yes!” she bellowed, digging her ankles into the back of his hamstrings.
Things were really heating up now. They were sweating and squelching and quickly approaching liftoff.
I reached down between his legs so I could feel his nutsack slapping against my sweet lovely girl’s puffed-up pudenda. Here sweet slit-syrup seeping out of her pussy and soaking his shaft and balls (and my fingers). Paul continued to ram away, violating the very heart of her womanhood with his sick cock.
The pain and humiliation and jealousy were intoxicating. I started urging them on and messaging his scrotum and probing his hairy sphincter with my ring-finger.
“FUUUUCK!” Helen screamed and came bigger than anything she’d ever done with me. She was bucking and yelling like her cunt was on fire. I now plunged my finger all the way up Paul’s ass to the knuckle, while simultaneously kneading his nards. That did the trick. I could feel his asshole tighten around me as he fired round after round of creamy, gooey spunk deep into the far reaches of her uterus. My dear, sweet baby’s pink parts were being soiled and sullied by great big gobs of his icky semen. I came like Donald Trump fucking an ATM. My legs buckled and I spent the next minute or so writhing around of the floor, holding my throbbing pudding cup and moaning.
When I’d finished my shameless performance, I found out that my sexual suffering was far from concluded. Paul had rolled off my better-half by now and they were sitting side by side on the couch. Helen spread he legs and called to me. “You want to be a proper cuckold? Then, come on over here and eat it, bitch!”
Oh my God! I almost fainted. I timidly moved towards her until a hand pulled me mouth-first into her sopping, just fucked, pussy. She started to contract internally, squeezing his cum out of her quim towards my face. I had never tasted a man’s “emission” before and the feel of that salty, sticky ooze on my tongue nearly made me throw up. Luckily, for our relationship, I didn’t. She rubbed my cheek and nose up and down her spunk-soaked crevice to make sure that I consumed every last disgusting morsel of his mung. I wallowed in the vile, degrading viscid cocktail of their genital fluids. I began to lick and slurp at her sperm coated lips and clit with psychotic abandon. She gripped my hair even harder as I tongue-fucked her already battered and swollen vaginal opening. Soon, Helen was lifting her pelvis and grinding her vag into my mouth and gums. I could feel her girlie-aperture clamp down hard around my lingua.
“I cumming you cunt-slut!” she gasped. “Grab my tits, Paul!”
That son of a bitch helped himself to her beautiful funbags as she writhed around on my chin. Her stomach muscles began to spasm violently as the orgasmic waves turned her into a screaming, twitching fuck-beast. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and I thought her thigh muscles were going to break my jaw. She began to squirt and gush everywhere (a rare occurrence) drenching me in spurt after spurt of her warm, sticky bunny juice. By the time she’d finished riding out her climax on my head; her lady-liquids were literally dripping off me.
Then, my gal made me go sit in a chair across the room while she heartlessly fucked Paul again. This time, she didn’t even look at me once. After they’d “finished”, she stayed naked and all lovey dovey with him for another hour until she finally soul-kissed him goodbye and closed the front door.
And then she turned to me like a severely pissed off wolverine.
“Is that what you wanted? Huh, Lesbo Girl? I’m going to be dribbling that guy’s nut butter out of my growler all night. Well, happy fucking birthday, shithead!” The bedroom door slammed and she was gone.
To make things absolutely perfect, Helen made me sleep on the couch that night, on top of their hump sweat.
I had four more amazing wanks before I finally fell asleep…all alone…on my girlfriend’s wet-spot.
Helen shook me awake the next morning and handed me a big mug of coffee. She didn’t look totally furious so I dared to speak.
“Hey thanks,” I smiled weakly. “For this and last night. I hope it wasn’t too horrible for you.”
“Well, it was certainly different,” she offered. “I guess if I had to get boned by a guy, that was probably the best way to do it.”
“You think so?” I brightened.
“Hey, you’re not turning my cunt into Grand Central Station, if that’s what you’re planning.”
“Oh shit baby, I wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know. It’s just; I’ve never seen you so turned on. It got me pretty damn fucking hot, too.”
“It did?”
“When you licked his spunk out of my munch hole…I came so hard, I thought my teeth were going to explode.”
This was sounding better and better. “So,” I ventured, “how was sex with Paul?”
“Well, he gave me a good knobbing and he seemed like a sweet guy. You’re lucky I like girls.” She gave me a light smack on the side of the head.
“I absolutely am, sweetie.”
From that day on, once a week or so, we’d find some unsuspecting penis owner and let him have at her. There’s a particularly painful moment when she looks up, deep into his eyes, as he’s slamming his schlong into her cervix and nothing else exists in the world but the man on top of her and the orgasm that’s forming like an Atlantic hurricane between her legs. At that instant, I become nothing more than a voyeuristic masturbating shadow. And right after she’s had her first “big one”, the abuse starts. God, Helen was so good at being cruel to me. One time, she had this real jerk fuck me up the ass (and it wasn’t even his birthday!) while I ate her out. I couldn’t have felt more degraded if he’d shit in my mouth.
On the upside, going to sleep at night, curled up beside my honey and knowing that there’s a big load of some unworthy man’s gunk inside her gives me the twat tingles.
The other great news is that we’re expecting our first baby! We’ve narrowed the father down to one of four guys but as far as we’re concerned, it’s Paul.
Yes, that Paul…her/our first. He turned out to be a really wonderful and caring person – you know, for a guy. He’s pretty well our only repeat customer. Sometimes, I even let him stay over and sleep in our bed. I’m that much of a fucking loser/masochist. She made me give him head the other day, in our car, while she was in a store looking at baby clothes. I wasn’t allowed to come in and help her pick stuff out until I could show her a pool of his jizz on my tongue. Christ, I’ve never been happier to swallow something that disgusting in my entire life.
Helen also says that, after she gives birth, I have to fuck Paul until her cunt heals up. How long does that take anyway, cause I’m really not looking forward to it.

The End

Copyright 2015 Lauren McAllister

 

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