Archive-name: Couples/elly3.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Elly - 3





     When I awoke, I lay there for a few minutes trying to sort things

out. The clock said 9:08. After reminding myself that this was a

Saturday and I did not have to go into the place I laughingly refer to

as "work," I began to wonder: Had I dreamed it? No; there was a wet spot

where she'd lain. And I became aware of the aroma of fresh coffee (half-

Sumatra, quarter-pound each of French-roasted Mexican Altura and French-

roasted Colombian, dripped in a Braun Melitta-filter pot) I rolled to my

feet, pulled on my faded blue terrycloth robe, slipped into my slippers

(clever name for them, eh?) and thwap-thwapped into the living room.

     Elly had opened the shutters and glorious sunshine was pouring in

through the fourth-floor windows of my tenement apartment. She was doing

wonderful things for my old, blue Dior robe (the tattered one that came

halfway to my calves). A cup of The Good Stuff was on the battered old

oak table next to the love seat and she'd switched the stereo to play

through the living room speakers, the ones in the books shelves. It was

something called "LITE FM" and I hated it. "LITE" means no calories and

calories are a measure of heat; no-one was ever going to accuse Ann

Murray or Kansas of generating heat with their music.

     On Elly's lap was the three-ring binder in which I keep photocopies

of my published stories.

     She looked up as I entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she'd been

weeping. "Oh, David," she said, "I can't believe you wrote these!"

     "Why not?" I already knew which one had elicited that response.

"Because I like to fuck?"

     Her expression collapsed. "Why do you have to spoil it?"

     "I'm a package deal. With the beautiful story comes the guy who

supported himself for a couple of years by writing brilliant, sensitive

stuff like `Lezzy Bitch' and `Mom, Sis And Every Body'. And if that

disappoints you, think what it does for me, okay?"

     She looked down and pursed her lips. I tried to ignore the Parting

of the Robe. She murmured, "I guess that's fair. I mean, you'll take me

as a package deal, I guess I have to do the same. You don't mind being

with a slutty bimbo who loves being fucked and cumming all the time."

She looked up at me, beautiful blue eyes wide and bright.

     "I don't mind and I don't think you're slutty."

     She closed the binder and set it aside. I was disappointed that She

wasn't compelled to finish what She was reading. She leaned forward and

I got a good view all the way down the front of her robe. She opened

mind and sucked my cock, still coated with our juices from the night

before, completely into her mouth and began using her tongue to wash it.

The inevitable happened quickly.

     She pulled back and released it and looked up at me. "I get off

sucking cock. Drinking semen makes me get over."

     "I know. So does being licked or having a cock inside you -- "

     "That's different. Then I can't stop cumming and I don't want to.

But drinking it, getting off that way -- then it's just once and I'm in

control."

     "And the other way you're being controlled."

     "No -- no, the other way I'm out of control, I can't control

myself. That's why I started studying Yoga when I was fifteen -- to help

me learn to control myself. I controlled my eating and stopped smoking

and never do drugs anymore and hardly ever even drink. And I never, ever

masturbate. That way nothing controls me but me and no one can control

me or hurt me or take advantage of me."

     "That's why you want it to hurt you when you fuck."

     She nodded gravely. "If it doesn't hurt -- well, you saw what

happened." She was blushing. "I just keep getting over..." She dropped

her eyes. "It's not natural to be such a slut. That's why you're the

first man I ever let lick me and that was just because I like you so

much."

     I frowned, pulled my robe closed and sat down in the rocker facing

the couch. "Last night you told me you liked it -- before I licked you."

     "No, I didn't -- "

     "You're not a good liar."

     "But you are the first -- "

     She stopped and tears welled up.

     "How old were you when you let a woman lick you?"

     "A year before I met you, my cousin and I, we -- we --"

     "You liked it."

     "Yes, dammit!" She shouted and then looked away. Softly: "I used to

masturbate and get over every night before I went to sleep. But when

Adele licked me, I went nuts. I licked her, too, and she went nuts, too.

That's when I realized what a slut I am, because she was the biggest

slut you ever saw and I was getting over just like her."

     "How do you know she was a slut?"

     "I'd seen her doing it with guys and men. She'd do it with any guy

she saw, sometimes whole bunches of them. It was like she couldn't get

enough, like she was an addict."

     "Sounds like she was a sex addict, alright. And a slut. But you're

no slut."

     "How can you say that? Only a slut would get over the way I do -- "

     "You're saying that every woman I ever cared about is a slut?" I

growled, as menacingly as I could. It must have been pretty effective

because her eyes widened, she jerked back on the couch and cringed,

holding the robe closed. I'm terrific at terrifying insecure women under

five feet tall.

     "No! I just meant -- "

     "The hell! You said a multiorgasmic woman is a slut and every woman

I've ever cared about has been multiorgasmic."

     "But -- "

     I pointed at the frame photo of a nude torso on the wall. "You've

met her. Is she a slut?"

     "Her?" Disbelief.

     "What about Livinia?"

     "Who?"

     "The Filipino woman who used to work in the laundromat. Is she a

slut?"

     "But she was always nice and pleasant and polite and never -- "

     "That's two. You've met both of them, talked with them. By your

definition, they're sluts -- because they're multiorgasmic."

     "I don't understand," she whispered.

     "You read a lot, Elly. There've been hundreds of articles in

women's magazines about women being naturally multiorgasmic."

     "I don't read those articles. They start me thinking and then I

want to get over too much." She blushed. "Even just talking about it,

now, makes me -- you know."

     "Horny."

     "I can probably get over just by thinking about it and imagining

it, I think."

     I stared at her for a long time. "Elly, I know women who'd kill to

be able to do that."

     "Really? Are they slutty?"

     "Nope. Elly, what do you do when your sweetheart wants you? Make

him hurt you?"

     "He can't help it. He's so, you know, big that it always hurts to

have him inside. We hardly ever do that, because he likes to have me

suck him off. I like that."

     "I know."

     Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing me at the moment.

Pornographic images were in her field of vision. Her nipples were

swollen points jabbing the front of the tautly held robe. Considering

that the robe is terrycloth, that's pretty impressive.

     "And I like you," she said suddenly. "You listen to me and talk to

me. But you're telling me to take a chance and give in to being a slut."

     "When you wanted to lose weight, you didn't stop eating completely,

did you?"

     She shook her head. "I just learned to eat regular meals and eat

the right stuff."

     "Same thing. Get crazy only when it's right for you and do what

feels good with the right people. Use your head the way you did when you

were dieting. You're acting like an anorexic -- someone who's compulsive

about not eating so he can avoid being fat."

     "So you're telling me that you don't think I'm a slut, that it's

natural for a woman to get over so much and that the way I'm doing it

isn't really healthy for me."

     "In my humble opinion."

     She looked up at the Library Wall. I watched the robe, to see if

the nipples were going poke holes in it. I didn't think so, but I wasn't

willing to put money on it.

     "I don't know," she mumbled.

     "Think about that while I get some coffee."

     "Mm-hm."

     I stood and went over to stand before her. She refocused her eyes

on me. She was slightly flushed and her breathing was shallow. "And one

other thing," I said.

     "What?"

     "While I'm drinking my coffee in the dining room..." I took her

hand put it over her cunt and squeezed. She gasped -- but didn't try to

stop. "I want you to touch yourself."

     "I don't know -- "

     "Please, as a favor."

     I didn't have to wait for a reply, because her fingers were already

moving of their own accord. I would have preferred to stay and watch,

but I wanted my coffee -- and to keep the conditions I'd set.

     I fed to so-called cat and sat down to drink my coffee. I did not

look at the clock and tried not to scald myself with haste. I also tried

not to visualize what was going on in the living room.

     I remembered Elly as I'd met her. She was mentally rather mature

for her age -- 16 -- and sold donuts at a local store, over near the

subway. Her poise and perception and literacy had impressed me. Becoming

acquaintances and even friends was odd.

     Odd because I am truly repulsed, physically, by overweight females.

(Don't take this as sexist, please; I suppose that the vast majority of

women are repulsed by overweight males, too.) That made it easy to be a

friend to her, to be a confident and, occasionally, á3j§Ã ê±or --

because I knew I'd never be tempted to hit on her and she could sense

that I was safe.

     As time passed, she would sometimes call me late at night, after

her strict (Old Country Polish) mother had already turned in. She knew

that I stayed up late and l encouraged her to call. There was something

fragile about her. She needed a friend, a man whose interests weren't

confined to fucking her, or who -- like me -- wasn't at all interested

in fucking her. Considering her weight, that was no problem for me.

     After she left the donut store, sometimes we'd bump into each

other. More often than not, it was at the local video store. We'd chat a

bit while we walked as far as my corner (she lived much farther east, in

the old end of the neighborhood) and one night we stood and talked for

almost an hour. Neither of us wanted to stop sharing of ourselves.

     She'd ask about my girlfriend -- though "main squeeze" was more

like it, since my girl and I had sort of an open relationship -- and I'd

ask what new love was in her life. She was a hopeless romantic, falling

in and out of love weekly, but usually had to worship from afar.

Eventually, we simply lost touch with each other.

     Her footsteps in the hallway snapped me back to the moment. I

finished my coffee and looked up, expecting to see her come into the

dining room. Instead, the steps changed direction and then I heard her

bump into the door jamb -- she is Polish, after all -- and then heard

her hit the bed. I heard sheets rustle.

     Then: "David, please come here." Her voice had a quaver in it.

Being not nearly as dumb a I look, I immediately went to her. When I got

there, she had the covers pulled up to her neck. Only her flushed face,

framed by disheveled hair, was visible. Her hands wee moving beneath the

covers, though, clearly cupping and gliding over her breasts, then

sliding down her torso to move at the juncture of her thighs.

     I closed the door and looked down at her from the foot of the bed.

My cock was already throbbing hard beneath my robe.

     "I just kept getting over until I had to have you. Oooo... What

would make you hot?" she breathed. Her eyes were half-closed. The

heaving of her breasts beneath the light blanket increased. "C'mon --

tell me."

     I walked around to stand beside the bed next to her head. She

started to reach for me.

     "No -- keep touching yourself."

     "Does that turn you on?"

     I opened my robe. "What do you think?"

     She licked her lips. "Whatever you like ..."

     "I want you to -- " I stopped, watching her reach between her legs

under the covers. Her legs parted wider and she hunched her shoulders.

Her breathing deepened.

     "You want me to what?"

     "It turns you on having me watch you, doesn't it?"

     "Yeah!"

     "I want you to cum for me while I watch you."

     "I can't -- "

     "Yes, you can."

     "But I want you inside me, where it aches -- " She kneaded her cunt

frantically. "I need it so baaaaad inside me..."

     I reached behind me and into the top drawer of the dresser. When

she opened her eyes, they widened. "I want to watch you using this."

     "I couldn't -- "

     "That's what would get me really turned on."

     "I can't -- " But even as she objected, her eyes were locked on the

very realistic eight-inch dildo. I pulled back the bedcovers, exposing

that magnificent young body. She started to remove her hand from her

soaked pussy, but I covered her hand with mine and then kissed her

slippery fingers. She barely hesitated in her furious masturbation. She

was holding her labia apart with the fingers of one hand and furiously

rubbing her clit with the other thumb while trying to force two fingers

deeper into that sweet, syrupy little slit.

     I stood and took the K-Y from the same drawer and smeared a liberal

dose on the dildo. She focused on it like a bird watching a cobra as I

brought it slowly down between her thighs. When I put the tip against

her exposed cunt, she jerked. "Cold," she said.

     "It'll get warm fast."

     She rolled her hips and pressed her pelvis down and toward the

dildo. I pushed it a little and she gasped as it began to slide in. Her

fingering of her clit speeded up. I worked the latex head back and forth

a few times, watching her rhythm alter. When her cunt was reaching for

it all the time, I pushed the head all the way in. She gasped and then

groaned and began revolving her hips around it. She took the labia

parting hand away and began caressing her breasts. I was jealous.

     "It feels so big in there, so good and big and stretching me so

muuuuu..."

     I led the tit-fondling hand down and placed it on the shaft, then

took my fingers away. She worked it back and forth experimentally a few

times, then began slowly pumping herself with it, taking the inch-and-a-

half thick dildo deeper each time.

     "Oh, yeah, this feels so good, feels so good, feels so good," she

breathed, chanting in time to her thrusts. Her hips were taut, now, and

she was starting to arch her ass from the bed. Suddenly, she arched

higher and rolled slowly over onto her belly. She pulled her knees up,

leaving her shoulders and face flat on the bed, and began pushing that

latex prick deeper. Whatever she was muttering was lost in the pillow.

     I looked at her in profile. Her face was turned toward me and was

totally slack with pleasure. Her hair was a singular, disheveled mess.

Her position was crushing her over-sized tits so they bulged out to

either side of her. She had her knees pulled up so far that her kneecaps

were pushing against her breasts. Her sleek little ass was outthrust

beautifully. And her hand, still gripping the base of the dildo,

occasionally appeared briefly between her taut thighs before

disappearing back between.

     I reached out and began lightly caressing her back. After about

twenty seconds, she was cumming -- hard. She kept pumping her pussy with

the indefatigable dildo and her pussy kept pumping right back: She kept

cumming. I took my fingers from her back and she moaned, "Touch me!

Please!" She was cumming faster now and I didn't want to spoil the mood

or anything, so I accommodated her. It was a great sacrifice.

     I traced my fingertips on the overflow swell of her left breast and

she continued pumping, now with less regularity. She was starting to

lose her coordination and all self-control. I leaned forward and kissed

her hot cheek gently and whispered, "You are so beautiful and wonderful.

You're turning me on beyond belief!"

     She just moaned and continued getting off on what she was doing.

     I went to the foot of the bed and bent and began kissing and

licking the small of her back. Inches beneath my chin, she was thrusting

the dildo harder and harder into herself. I grabbed her buttocks and

gave them a squeeze, then spent so time nibbling lightly on them, then

kissed and licked them. My hands stayed busy on her hips and thighs,

caressing. She was moaning softly and continuously now and her whole

body was shaking.

     I licked down the sweet, narrow furrow of her tiny, taut ass and

when I got to the opening, kept right on licking. She was quivering all

over, cumming without pause, now, and with growing intensity. I located

the K-Y, and lubed up a finger while rimming her teeny little asshole. I

thrust my tongue against pinpoint opening, then licked up and down and

kissed the inner swells of her cheeks again. Then I put my slippery

fingertip against her anus and slowly massaged the K-Y into it.

     "Yessssss...." she hissed loudly. I pressed the fingertip in to the

first knuckle. I could feel the dildo pumping through that thin membrane

separating the channels. Her ass clamped down on my finger and spasmed

powerfully as she continued cumming. I worked it in farther and then

carefully moved it in and out. I thought of how it would feel to have my

prick in there and regretted that she was so tiny that my dick would

hurt her too much. Doubly regretted it, because she was obviously

enjoying what I was doing back there and she moaned when I removed the

finger.

     I went back to the side of the bed and rolled her onto her side.

She slowed her pumping and looked up at me. Her eyes focused for a

moment and she said in a distant, amazed voice: "I just can't stop

getting over, David! I just keep cumming!"

     "It's so wonderful," I answered. I rolled her over the rest of the

way. She reached up with one shaking, juice-soaked hand and grabbed my

stiff prick.

     "Please?" she said, pulled me toward her face. "Please?"

     I straddled her and felt the her huge breasts brushed the backs of

my thighs. Her nipples were stiff as spikes. I lowered my cock to her

eager mouth and that long, limber tongue flickered out to guide it the

rest of the way to her welcoming lips. She locked on to my dick about

halfway down. I leaned forward, onto my outstretched arms, and looked

down to watch as I slowly, carefully, pump my dick in and out of her

mouth. Beyond that, her wondrous tits thrust upward, capped by

outrageously swollen nipples. And beyond those, I could see her hips

canted up, her knees wide and feet flat on the bed. She was holding the

dildo almost motionless and fucking it with urgent thrusts. Every half-

minute or so, she would hold herself still and catgut taut and cum in

shuddering waves. The room was ripe with the smell of hot pussy.

     It was too much for me and very quickly I was pulsing in her mouth.

I didn't have to tell her I was cumming; she knew it was imminent. She

sucked maniacally, cumming constantly as she did.

     When I finally began spurting in her mouth, she gobbled my cock to

the back of her throat and gulped me right down and in. I felt like all

my semen was exploding out of me in one long, uninterrupted stream --

and she was drinking it all and cumming so hard that she was arching on

the bed beneath me.

     She drained me dry and kept sucking. I pulled my spent dick from

her lips and rolled to one side. She continued cumming, her hand a blur

as she rubbed her clitoris, her hips chattering up at the dildo held in

fast by the other hand.

     She was gasping a word. I put my ear close and finally made it out:

"More...more...more..." Each time it was a little explosion of barely

modulated breath. I leaned down on the bed and began licking her breasts

and then suckled her. I ran my hands lightly all over her. She was

cumming constantly now, without interruption. I licked lower, over her

abdomen and then around her mons. I caressed her thighs and reached

beneath the lightly cup and squeeze her ass. Her buttocks wee in

constant spasm as she came.

     I leaned farther and she grabbed my hair and forced my mouth down

to her clitoris. As she kept grinding her cunt on the dildo, I sucked

her clit carefully into my lips and began lightly running my tongue

around -- but as fast as I could: swirling. I wrapped my arms around her

slim hips and grabbed her ass and bore her back down to the bed.

     "YES!" she screamed suddenly, loud enough to scare the neighbors

dog into barking. Her body began writhing, serpentine, beneath me. She

wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled herself to me so tightly, I

thought one of us was going to break. Her mouth was against my abdomen

and I felt her screaming nonstop against me as she came.

     She came harder and harder and then, abruptly, went silent. Her

hips hunched and then relaxed and she fell shiveringly limp. The dildo

was pushed ever so slowly out of her cunt, followed by an enormous

accumulation of Elly juices that seemed to pour out of her. Even as I

rolled away, hearing her panting slow, she shuddered and came again.

     I sat up with my back to the wall and looked at her. Elly's body

continued, slowly, to shake with pleasure, as if echoes of the orgasms

were still bouncing around in there. The flush was just beginning to

fade from her chest.

     I stretched out beside her and took her into my arms. The bedside

clock said noon. I nestled her, spoon-fashion, against me and kiss the

side of her neck. She smiled in her sleep. I smiled back, anyhow. When

she woke I would tell her that she had helped me realize a fantasy I've

had since I was eighteen: To be with a woman and help her cum so hard

and so much that she passes out from the sheer pleasure of it.

     Forty-five minutes later, I was awakened by the sound of the shower

running. I donned the ratty old robe, creaked out of the bedroom and

knocked.

     "Come on in!" I heard her drawing the curtain.

     She had drawn it open. Elly stood there with her hair in the

incredibly stupid pink showercap I keep for guests, with water sluicing

off her incredible little body. I had great fun watching her use the

Ivory Soap on the astonishing curves, and my cock had even more fun in

mind. She spotted the growth and her eyes half-closed and her nipples

began to swell. Her hands dipped between her legs and started moving,

then withdrew. I started to pull off the robe.

     "Don't," she said softly. "I have to get going."

     "Don't you want me anymore?"

     She grabbed my hand and put it between her legs. I slid a finger

deep inside her. The hot moisture in there wasn't from any shower.

"Desperately," she said softly, putting a kiss on beard and pushing my

hand away from her cunt. "But I have to run some errands and do some

housekeeping."

     "Still think of yourself as a slut?" I whispered.

     She laughed and straightened, completing her rinsing. As I watched

her towel herself dry, she said, "Right now? No. But when I want to,

I'll be a slut, alright. Like before." She shook her head in amazement

and wrapped the towel around herself. "I never would have imagined I

could ever cum so much! I actually passed out from it!"

     I walked her to the bedroom and watched her dress while I told her

about the fantasy.

     "That's the kind of fantasy I would've thought you had, David." She

was wearing her jeans and had her bra on, but not clasped. She leaned up

to kiss my chin. "It's too bad that once you do something, it can't be a

fantasy anymore."

     "Naaaah. I'd like to do it again -- lots."

     "Really?"

     "You betcha."

     "Me, too. The same goes for my fantasy."

     I frowned as she hooked the bra and reached for her plum-colored

blouse. "What's that?"

     "The one I've had since I was sixteen -- about you."

     "I'm ready."

     She gave my stiff dick a squeeze. "So I noticed." She button her

blouse, saying, "And I've had other fantasies, but I've always

suppressed them."

     "I'd love to hear them."

     "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours -- that is, if you've

got any left."

     "Don't worry. I've one or two left, maybe even three."

     She cocked an eyebrow at me. "`Lezzy Bitch' was it? How many of

those books did you write?"

     I made a face. She laughed as she bent limberly and straight-legged

-- as if to taunt me with her body -- to pull on her sandals. She

straightened and said, "You know, I really would like to see that book."

     "`Lezzy Bitch'?"

     "No, the one on the shelf -- `Fear of Flying'."

     We went into the living room. She retrieved her handbag (which is

what they call a canvas steamer trunk with a strap on it) and I gave her

the book.

     At the door, I asked, "Can I count on getting this book back?"

     "Hand-delivered," she said and started down the stairs. She waved

from the third-floor landing.



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