Young Cock Rocks
Or
Well Hung and Young
To tell you the
truth, I was boiling mad at my husband. It was pretty shitty having to turn 36
in the first place, but having to do it on my own because Mr. Dickwad felt it was
more important to sit in a cold tiny room and blow the heads off some
ducks…well, let’s just say that Jimmy did not get a “have-a-great-trip hump.” And…I
splurted a whole dispenser of mustard into his waders. And I undercooked his
eggs that morning so he’d feel nauseous on the long car ride. I also hid a card
among his luggage saying, “I hope a duck flies up your ass and the assholes
you’re with shoot it.” Yep, I was pretty
steamed at the little shit.
My friend Amy
decided to throw me a party to pick up my spirits. It worked. The second I got
there, I was picking up spirits right and left and swallowing them at a rate
that would have had Lindsay Lohan counseling moderation. The get-together was
okay, I guess. I managed to successfully drown my sorrows and several of my
vital organs. There were quite a few people I didn’t know milling about but I
was so slobbering drunk by then end of the first hour that getting to acquainted
any of them was beyond impossible. Although, there was apparently one exception.
The next morning,
predictably, was epically hellacious. I was somewhat philosophical about my
dire (about to turn diarrhea) situation, as I lay and moaned like a cow stuck
in a mudpit. Hey, let’s face it; I had earned every micron of digestive misery and
every diamond-tipped chisel-blow of excruciating agony to my temples. I was now
officially 36 but I felt older than David Bowie when Catherine Deneuve nailed him
into that coffin in “The Hunger” (I’ve got a thing for Lesbian-themed movies
and I really, really want to fuck Susan Sarandon before I die.). The whole room
was spinning. I felt like I was going to see Margaret Hamilton riding by on a
bicycle at any second. That’s when Jimmy put his hand on my ass and started to
rub it gently. What a world-class fucking jerk! Didn’t he realize what kind of catastrophic,
self-inflicted distress I was in? At that pivotal moment, he had a way better
chance of getting thrown up on than getting laid. In fact, I could feel my
first big heave session coming on. Why not, I thought (as much as I was capable
of thought). This will teach the fucker a lesson, leaving me alone on my
birthday.
I had already
turned before I put two and two together and realized that there was no way
that Mr. Inconsiderate Ass-Feeler could have been Jimmy.
“BLECHHHHHHHH!” I
suggested. Massive swells of salty party food and cheap wine erupted out of me
and onto some poor naked guy lying next to me. I was horrified beyond belief
but I just couldn’t stop throwing up on him.
“I wam so sowwy.”
I tried to talk but it felt like Satan had taken a gigantic hell-shit in my mouth.
Focusing was difficult as my eyes were pissing all over my cheeks but it sure
looked like I was sharing my bed with a vomit-covered twelve year old. Oh my
God, I’m a baby raper!!!!
“How old are you?”
I half-blubbered, dreading the answer and reaching down to see if I had pissed
the bed.
“I told you last
night, Steph, don’t you remember. I’m 17.”
Fuck! Well, at
least he was legal. Not that whatever I’d gotten up to the night before was in
any way excusable. What had we gotten up to the night before? Before I could
formally posit that question, I upchucked up again.
“Did we have sex?”
I forced myself to ask between violent retchings. Sam was so sweet. He cleaned
my face with a wet towel that he’d fetched from the bathroom.
“You were
amazing,” he kindly lied, wiping a particularly nasty chunk of something off my
tits.
“I fear I may have
had a little too much to drink last night,” I unnecessarily informed him.
“I got up about an
hour ago and started the coffee machine. Would you like some?”
“Don’t get the
wrong idea about me, but I would blow you for a cup of coffee right now. No!
That’s a joke, I mean, I probably have blown you….Oh God, this is the worst
birthday of my life.”
While I selfishly
wallowed in a big icky pool of self-pity and recycled foodstuffs, Sammy gallantly
scurried off and fetched the carafe and a couple of mugs from downstairs. I
spent the next hour curled up in fetal position, warming my dyspeptic cheek
with the rich dark liquid I was still to sick to taste. Sam removed all the Technicolor
sheets off the mattress and put new bedding down while I lay there groaned like
I’d been impaled on a garden gnome. Of the two of us, he had the better job.
I was literally
helpless. If I stood up, I became demonically dizzy. Sam had to carry me into
the bathroom and I (GASP!) had to do No. 2 in front of him (though it sure felt
like there was a lot of No. 1 in there as it blasted out of me at seemingly
fire-hose velocity). I couldn’t even wipe my own ass! Damned alcohol had turned
me into a plague victim. Several times, I begged this stranger-turned-nursemaid
to leave me to my limitless suffering and imminent death (there are certain
things that a girl never wants a man to see her do – and I was doing just about
all of them) but I really wanted him to stay.
Plus, I had three
more scorching trips to “the bowl” in rapid succession, and someone had to clean up my messy patoot.
He even let me curl up next to him on the bed, knowing that there was every
possibility that I would once again turn Vesuvian with nary a second’s notice.
“I swear I will make this up to you,” I gurgled at about 2:30 in the afternoon,
giving his almost bald nutsack (from youth, not shaving) a gentle squeeze.
The very next
moment it was about 7 o’clock at night. I opened my bleary eyes to plain toast
and a new pot of coffee on a tray.
“Are you an angel
sent from heaven?” I only half-jokingly queried.
“You should try
and eat something,” he kindly smiled.
“I’m so sorry I
made you watch me poop,” I moaned, “I’m not usually like this with strangers.”
He took off his
pants and crawled into bed next to me. Now that I could see more clearly, he
looked even younger than I’d originally thought. On the upside, this was the
first time I was well enough to register the size of his cock. The boy was
packin’!
I felt like a
complete perv, snuggling up to this teenager (I had bras older than this kid),
but it was just so comforting to have him there. About 8, we watched a movie he
had on his I-pad. It had this guy in it who could open jars of peanut butter
with his mind and he got onto a rocket ship and I’m not really sure what
happened after that because I fell asleep again.
When I woke in the
morning, he was still snoozing. God, I felt better. Life in all it’s multifaceted
glory had returned to my formerly disease-infested puking flesh-lump. My head
still hurt a little, but all things considered, I was back to my old self. Sammy
looked so cute lying there. All that young, perfect skin. I pulled back the
covers very carefully so I could have another look at that dick of his. Yum. It
was definitely very munchable.
Of course, there
are those nagging little thoughts that go through your head as your about to
despoil the young. He was a mere child and I was a married woman of three dozen
years with sagging 36 year-old boobs, for Christsakes. What would I think if I
was his mother and some other wicked vixen was about to sully him? I put his
cock in my mouth and tried not to think about it. Yikes he was 17; it shot up
like the knife out of a switchblade. What do you know, I liked sucking young
cock! It was hard and smooth and “squirt”. A huge helping of teenage-boy semen
coated my uvula before I’d even gotten started. Ah yes, I remembered this part
now. I was getting high school-prom flashbacks.
“Wow, that was
even better than in your friend’s closet,” he thanked me.
Oh my God! I blew
this virtual fetus in Katie’s closet? I had some serious apologizing to do on
Monday morning.
I patted his nuts
and made a big show of swallowing his offering. “I’m going to make you some
breakfast, young man. You just lay her and refill this thing and I’ll be right
back for another helping.”
I don’t know what
got over me. I was practically dripping as I whipped up some eggs and whatever
else I could find in my depleted cupboards. Having this cherubic coital
neophyte in my bed had turned me into a sex-crazed loony cock-whore. I took a
few minutes to shave anything that was beginning to darken on my body and then
I trotted back up stair with the grub.
“Don’t worry mom,
I’m just staying over at a friend’s house. I’ll be home for dinner.”
Shit, my little
boy was talking to his mother on the phone! I couldn’t help it; I had to
instantly give him head. It was so totally wrong of me; I practically had an
orgasm as the purple knobby bit of his goo cannon hit the back of my throat. “Just
keep saying the word ‘mom,’” I prayed. Slurp. Slurp. Each time he did, little
pre-cum spasms would shoot up into my wicked womb. I signaled for him to keep
talking to her as I straddled his thighs.
“Yeah, I’ll cut
the lawn tomorrow…”
I grabbed his
shaft in my fist and rubbed the end of his cock up and down and across my pussy
lips. The conversation with his dear mother got a little stilted after that. I
put a small piece of toast into his mouth as I allowed inch after inch of that magnificent
phallic edifice to slowly penetrate my inner sanctum. His face went the color
of an old Columbia Records label as I ground my twat against the hilt of his
wanger. So, I was fucking him, feeding him and listening to him talk to his
mother. What an unholy combo! It made me so wet; I was practically a human
canteen. The first moan seeped out of me.
“That? That’s just
Gordie playing with his dog.”
He was an
amazingly good liar, considering how hard it must have been for him to think at
that moment (men just seem to be born with that ability, don’t they?). I was also beginning to lose a major portion
of my cognitive function as I cranked up the speed and intensity of my pelvic
thrusts. His complimentary helpings of hot-buttered toast had also abated somewhat.
Sammy was so much
bigger than my husband (and so much younger) that I was in complete copulatory
heaven. I could feel his thighs tightening between my legs but that was okay
because mine were right there with him. My twat grotto began to squeeze tightly
around the stem of his Johnson and I was starting to make noises like an idling
1987 Ford Torino.
“Listen, I got to
go. Love you,” Sammy choked out.
He’d barely turned
off his cell when we both started to cum like psychotic zoo monkeys. Screeches
and moans filled the room as massive orgasmic explosions shot up my convulsing
torso along with about a gallon of his baby jam. He grabbed hold of my tits and
nearly ripped them off – but I kind of liked it at that moment. My clit was
throbbing like a be-hammered cartoon thumb. Sammy was smashing his cock inside
me like he was trying to kill a cunt troll (in reality, only very old Romanian
women have those). Finally, I fell forward and shoved my tongue in his mouth as
I drifted into my post-climactic glow. This was our first soul kiss – well the
first I remember. His lips were so soft – almost like a girl’s (but there was
nothing else girly about him…well, except for that tight little pink ass of
his. It was so cute; I almost wished I had a big dong so I could sodomize it!)
We spent the next
hour or so smooching and groping and then he fucked me two more times. God bless
them younguns! I let him slide on top of me for the last one. I figured by the
third ride, his trigger would have less of a hair to it and it was safe to let
him hump away at his own pace. He didn’t disappoint. I came like a pirate
cannon going off. I soaked the bed with a majestic spray of lap liquids as wave
after wave of teeth-shattering sensual-seizures tore through my abdomen. At one
point, I caught myself reaching down and trying to pull his big floppity nuts up
into my uterus. What a trollop! If my legs were any wider apart, I would have
had to open the windows.
After you’ve had a
40 year old guy banging away inside you for an extended period of time, a 17 year
old is a revelation! The fact that Sammy remained really geeky and polite as he
poured his sour cream into my baked potato was so hot it just set my hair on
fire. And at that tender age, dicks are quickly rechargeable!
After I became too
sore to pee, he was finally allowed to go home to mommy and that lawn he needed
to cut. I spend the rest of the day gently dabbing ointments on my vulva and
hoping to heal before Elmer Fudd came home expecting a fuck for some ducks (and
I’m the one who had to cook the little grease-turds, yuck).
I have hired dear,
sweet, well-hung Sam to mow my lawn on Saturday and Sunday and I have
absolutely no complaints about his work around my garden. Next weekend he’s
going to bring his even taller friend over so they can work at different ends
of my property at the same time. Yummy!
As for Jimmy, I
bought him a new set of hunting fatigues plus fishing equipment, a new set of
golf clubs, hiking boots and mountain climbing lessons. After-all, it’s
important for a man his age to stay active…ain’t it?
If you like the writing, please check out more of my work at the
site below.
No comments:
Post a Comment