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That summer that I came home from my first year of college, I hadn’t seen a real cunt—just online open-crotch shots. Scores of pretty girls stretching back their labia. Drawing the cowl back from their clit.
So, I was excited, of course, but almost felt sorry for Janey. Did she feel like a freak? Or proud of it?
“It” was a good inch long, shaped like a pink cannoli–a tube slightly fluted at the ends. It swelled, rigid and assertive against the pink folds and creases of her pussy, which was spread about as wide as pussies go. I thought I even saw a pulse beating in her clit like the little heart of sea creature.
Out of one end stuck a soft pink head, slick, with a slit in the top. This girl was displaying all she had.
On her back on the chipped, soiled, but sturdy oak table, Janey was naked, of course. Her ankles, circled twice with rope, were hauled apart and secured. Janey’s cunt was shaved, but she had left a thick triangle of curly, deep auburn hair on her prominent mound. She must have been too busy, lately, to keep manicured. Even where her pussy was shaved, the hair was coming back, with short dark bristles along the edge of her cunt lips and an inch or so up either thigh. She was a hairy girl. Her mom, Mary Ann, was our town’s hairdresser and a nice piece, too.
Several cellphone cameras were flashing, now, and Janey was straining, twisting, moaning, “No, please, no…”
She would say, “Eddie, no…” Or “Jack, no…”
Should I feel sorry—almost sorry—for Jane Morrissey? In our high school, she had been “the Bitch,” a girl with a thunder boobs, broad hips, big ass, nice legs… Pretty face, with an upturned freckled nose, plump lips, and auburn hair cut short and stylishly–by her mom.
Janey played at teasing, seducing, one horny guy after another during senior year–tease them, then slam them for being “fresh.” Always her boobs under a black sweater, cute face, and hips in a stretched tight skirt–the trailer of the movie no one ever saw.
When I had told Barry I asked her to senior prom, he had shaken his head, grinned: “Oh, you’ll have a barrel of fun with Janey.” Was he jealous? Janey was a extra large, but desirable. She consented to be my prom date, people envied me.
And she delivered, in a way: a prom gown so revealing my buddies got in trouble with their dates just for talking with her. But at my big moment, parked in my Dad’s car beside the lake, she was a “untouchable.” She commented on my obvious arousal and added: “Just don’t try anything, that’s all…”
Later, she regaled her friends with stories about my hilarious horny frustration. I admit I was hurt.
Now, Janey’s pale wrists, with freckles, were bound and stretched out, fastened to the table’s legs. Janey’s near-legendary breasts that filled and more than filling her black sweaters were naked. Now, we got a good look. Her chest was stretched and pushed out, the mounds rosy round, as lust-provoking as we dreamed, each with a spreading dark nipple, now stiff, the skin crinkled hard. Janey was truly on display.
God, she had shrieked, pleading: “No, no, no, not that,” when her oversized, well-wired bra had come off. But come off it did. The knockers resting on her chest dragged a little so the side with sheer weight, the brown tits stretched. Of course, her protests at losing her bra were nothing compared with when her thong came off, sliding right over the fat mound with the auburn tuft and down the long, sturdy, wildly kicking legs.
Poor Janey? Well, this is what happened senior year when I and few other guys had a camp-over at her house with her twin brother, Timmy. We all were just 18, eryaman escort still liked that sort of thing. As soon as we got settled around the porch in our camp beds, all in our proper pajamas, Janey sailed into the room in a sheer negligee. “Just came to say goodnight,” she said, breezily. It was a little too dark to get an eyeful.
She wasn’t supposed to be there. So her brother, Timmy, takes one look at her and gives a long, rude, appreciative whistle. What do you expect? Under the gauzy apricot negligee, I saw her shadowy knockers like a shelf.
At first, she seemed not to hear the wolf whistle. Then, she turned and walked over to where her brother was lying. Looking down at him, she snapped at the rest of us: “Come over here.” We did it, of course; this was exciting.
“Get off his pants,” snapped Janey. “Let’s see Timmy’s stuff.”
Timmy panicked, grabbing the bottoms of his pajama pants, and flipping on his side. But he was giggling. I figured this wasn’t the first time Janey had played this game, with him.
Three of us grabbed him, whipped his pants off, and held his skinny legs apart. Poor bastard protested, but he already was excited–embarrassing, of course.
Wow. His dick was so stiff that his foreskin was pulled way back and his dark red berry was glistening. It seemed as though he was having a good time.
Janey ordered: “Hold him open,” and disappeared from the room. More excitement coming, I figured. When she reappeared, she walked straight over and stood staring down at her brother’s impressive cock and balls. There was a huge blue elastic band in her hand. I figured she would fasten it around his package, making it swell up even more. I had done that to myself.
But she bent over, placed one end of the elastic against Timmy’s balls, and drew the elastic band back to its full length. She never took her eyes off the target; her lips were parted in a grin of intense excitement. Timmy cried out, trying to jerk his hips away, in terror, yelling, “No, Sis, no.” It definitely seemed that this brother-sister game had happened before.
I yelled, “Wait,” but none of us was fast enough. The giant elastic band was back 18 inches and Janey, looking right into her brother’s eyes, let go…
I’m not going to tell you in detail about this. I mean, it’s private how a guy takes that sort of thing. But I have never forgotten how, for hours, as we lay in our beds in the dark, we heard Timmy moaning and weeping, groaning again and again, “Oh, my nuts, my nuts, my nuts…” What could anyone do for him? It kept me awake, I think, for three hours.
Janey watched for a few seconds after she zapped him, while Timmy was going berserk, his face crimson, hands thrust down between his legs to nurse himself. A man will do anything when it first happens; he doesn’t care who is watching. He was screaming in a high pitched voice. I know he felt he just couldn’t stand the pain—but what could he do?
Janey flounced from of the room. In the morning, Timmy got out of bed and limped from the room, not looking at us or saying a word. It took months before he even spoke to any of us, again.
Timmy was with us today, beside me, taking in the view of his sister. He had no expression on his face as she thrashed in her bonds, heaving her hips, desperately trying to bring together her legs. He was staring at that most tender part of her anatomy–the sweet, slick, light-pink head that poked assertively from the swollen tube of her clit. I had no clue what he is thinking.
Right now, you are thinking: These guys are headed for jail for kidnap–at the very least. Nah, escort eryaman no way. Janey had come home from Vasser with a taste for cocaine. One of our buddies from high school is a local cop. What he told her, when he caught her with maybe six-hundred bucks worth of coke, was that she should come here, today, to meet with someone who would “fix” her problem. She came.
It’s down by the river, a shack that is the home of “Miss Debra,” a black lady who keeps the men of our town faithful. Because the occasional trip down along the muddy path through the high reeds to “Miss Debra’s” is not viewed as cheating, in our town. Deb guards the virtue of our men.
Janey arrived, striding angrily along the muddy path, through the stinky puddles and high reeds, the stinking shells, and banged on Deb’s door. Pretty gutsy of Jane–not that she had a choice. How many years in the federal penitentiary on a drug conviction?
Debbie opened the door, held out her hand to Janey, with a big smile, and said, “Hi, honey.”
“What’s this about?” Janey demanded.
“Before you come in, you take off all your clothes, sweetheart.”
“Fuck sweetheart, fuck that!”
“Or I take them off, for you, honey,” said Deb.
And then, the fight began. What we call a “catfight” once. Or a “sweater fight.” Janey went at it furiously, Deb went at it just as she had many times, in and out of prison. Somehow, in a minute or two, Janey had lost her sweater and skirt and her bra and was pleading with Deb. Deb let her up, but Janey wouldn’t strip off her thong.
So they went back to fighting, but this time Janey’s big breasts were bouncing and banging together, even as she sought to support them with her arm. But you can’t fight that way.
Then, Deb had her down in the dirt, holding her, and ripped off the red thong. Janey rolled and tossed in the dirt and the rough, dry grass, and howled. Her breasts were smeared with dirt, now, and her belly, the dust lightening her pussy hair. Deb reached down and dragged her up, shoved her right at the door of the shack. We were inside, watching through the window. We yanked open the door, so Janey stumbled in.
Give Janey credit. She stumbled in, naked, coated in dirt, and saw her old prom date—me—and her brother—and three other guys from our high school class. For just a moment or two, there was pure horror in her expression. But in incredibly short order, she straightened her shoulders, gave her dark auburn curls a shake, and her pretty, determined face looked straight at us. It was as though she was ready for all this.
She did snap, “What’s going on?” and “What are you all doing, here?” Interesting, though, she didn’t yell: “You’re going to jail for this!” Nothing like that. She knew, now, exactly why the cop told her to be here. Because he was standing with us, grinning at her. She knew how her “problem” with the law was going to be fixed. She knew what it would cost her. That was Janey. It made me hot.
Now, Deb was grinning, looking down at the table, at Janey’s pussy show, and saying, “Just look at that clit, guys…”
“No…please…” whined Janey. I think she knew what Deb meant. Hers was am amazing stamen. But when had five guys ands black prostitute gathered to examine it?
Deb had beautiful long fingers, with remarkable nails painted red. She reached out and began twiddling Janey’s pussy. “No, God, no,” moaned Janey, but Deb’s finger went right to the swollen clit and began to tickle it, rub it, run its skin up and down, jerk back the cover from the sensitive, protuberant pink head.
Framed between Janey’s wrenched open pussy lips, eryaman escort bayan the swollen little cannoli, with the slick pink head protruding, looked unbearable sensitive. I guess that it was. Deb’s finger circled it, wet it, massaged it, rubbed its whole length, snapped it, tugged it, rolled the skin away from the pink nubbin…
Janey’s moans became animalistic. I jumped at her first cry. Her big hips heaved up her dark curly auburn bush, straining violently, her hips twisting, her belly rolling around, frantic to escape the teasing fingers. With a slight smile on her lips, as though all this were old hat, Deb stimulating the clit.
Then, she abruptly stopped, took her fingers away. She gazed down at Janey, grinning. Of course, Janey shrieked, “Noo-oooo, please do it…finish me… don’t stop. Do me, do me…Do me…”
I marveled at the way Janey’s big body, tightly tied, could thrash.
Deb was nude herself—as most always when guys were around. Her ebony breasts jutted out, ending in black nipples above a long, sleek belly that was half-covered with wiry pussy hair. She turned to us, with a casual smile, and asked: “Any of your studs want to do her? She’s open for business…”
So it seemed. From Janey’s pussy a slick olive oil ran freely, glistening on the swollen pink flesh. What had read? Janey was creaming herself…
I had wanted her so long. But Janey was blackmailed, bound, helpless. Was this merely “even-Steven” for being a flirt in high school who didn’t give up her virginity?
For the first time, I forced myself to look into Janey’s face. Finally, fleetingly. Instantly, Janey’s eyes locked on mine. Rage? Pleading? Revulsion at my standing in line to take advantage of her predicament?
Janey smiled. Briefly, with her lovely green eyes, puckering of her lips. On her dirt-smeared face, I saw playful Janey’s grin.
I moved liked a zombie, at first. I bent over, kissed her. My lips cut off off her cries and pleas. What was going on, here?
My lust took over completely. My tongue thrust, a long, frantic, rude violation of Janey’s lips, her tongue, with my tongue. And one hand, as I had dreamed, crushed her flesh, rolled it around her chest, tore at her nipples—playing madly with Janey Morrissey’s boobs, all mine. It was the pliant reality of her body; to touch it was to touch Janey.
When I paused, she gasped in a panic, her chest heaving, and I realized my kiss had almost suffocated her.
My lips immediately flew to her fat nipples, a dream of a thousand summer nights lying naked on my bed… I sucked, drawing them into my mouth, consuming her. One tit, the other. I bit the nipples cruelly, stretched them far out, and flicked them with my tongue… Janey was moaning, “Noooowww…” but she was flipping up her big wet tits to meet my lips.
I heard Deb say, calmly, “What about you, Timmy? I’ve heard about you and your Sis. What do you want to do to her?”
I straightened up. I was crazed with desire. I felt hands at my waist, skillfully unbuckling my belt, My hands flew there is shock. It was Deb. She caught my eyes, smiled, shrugged. By then, my dick, freed of my pants, snapped back against my belly. Red, fattened, and rigid, it yearned toward my belly button.
The fingers were on it, the slender, sly, knowing fingers that caressed, flicked under the swollen head… Mad shivers of delight electrified my dick, my balls, my belly, right back to my asshole.
I felt fingers take my hand, steer it. I looked down as Deb guided my fingers to her crisply hair, dark, glistening pussy, pushed them in so I felt the velvet, warm, slick womanness. I moved my fingers up and down the silky slit. Deb closed her eyes for a moment, her sensuous lips parted…
I heard: “Go ahead, Timmy. I know what I did to you. But remember what you did to me. Do you? Before I even had a bra?”
It was Janey’s voice, quavering, but strong…
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