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Author’s Note: Thanks to the editor, shygirlwhore.
Mom caught a late flight out to D.C. that night. She had seen to everything before she left: food, bath, fresh clothes, brushed hair, stretching—all of it. Claire was set, and I had little to do. So, after Mom took off, we watched tv in the den.
Midnight surprised us. Claire asked for her final good pain pill. I gave it to her. After she took it, she asked me if I would give her a back scratch.
She laid on the couch, and I knelt beside her. I started on the outside of her shirt, but she put a stop to that almost immediately.
“Under the shirt, college boy.”
I hiked her shirt up to about breast level, and then I put my hands on her warm skin, scratching lightly in wide circles.
“That feels so nice.”
I dragged my fingernails lightly up, under her shirt and to her neck, and then over her shoulders. I moved down the the crevasse of her spine and slid my fingers just under the waistband of her shorts and scratched back and forth there, just where the rise of her ass started.
Her lips pursed into a little smile. “You can pull them down,” she offered.
I accepted, and I tugged her shorts and panties down and over the bubble of her ass. I leaned down and kissed it. Claire inhaled, and then I resumed, scratching all over her back and ass.
After a few minutes, she said, “Take off your clothes.”
Without hesitation, I stripped naked.
“And mine.” I pulled her bottoms down and off. Helping her up, I slipped her tee shirt over her head and the sleeves over her casts. She rolled over on her back, resting her arms across her stomach.
I softy kneaded her breasts, dragging my thumbs up the underside and then gently pinching the nipples between the tips of my thumbs and the sides of my index fingers.
She looked over at my cock, saw my arousal, and said, “Rub it all over my body. Everywhere. I just want to feel it on every part of me.” Then, she closed her eyes.
I moved down to her feet, grabbed myself, and did as she commanded. I pressed it against the soles of her feet, the insteps, and the balls. I poked at each of her toes and then slid it sideways down the top of her foot to her ankle. I didn’t miss a square inch, and I was almost continually repositioning my body to make it work.
When I reached her upper thighs, I climbed over her, held myself up with one hand, and dragged my cock through the black line where her legs met. At the top, the head of my cock butted into her pussy, and I let it slide through the slit and over her little nub.
Claire said, “Ooh. That’s nice.”
I did it again.
A minute or so later, I was dabbing and nudging her breast and nipples. I used the shaft to lift her tit until it gave way and my cock rolled over the crest and down the slope toward her upper chest. I spent a lot of time letting her rigid nipple tickle the sensitive spot under the tip. I had no idea how good that could feel. This was not a sexual act I had ever envisioned.
I didn’t put myself on her casts, of course, but I put my dick on her fingers. She curled her fingers around the shaft and I rocked gently through them. I didn’t want to stop, but looking at her lips, I wanted to move on.
There were some totally bizarre aspects of this: her knees, her bellybutton, her nose, eyes and ears, for crying out loud. Her hair and forehead, too. Other places were unexpectedly sexy: her neck. Shit, that was soft. Her cheeks and chin.
And then I reached her lips. I placed the tip on them, and I traced around like I was putting lipstick on her. She opened her mouth, and I let the tip in. She closed her soft lips around it, and inside her mouth, Claire’s tongue lapped against it.
I sighed and tipped my head back. “Oh, fuck, Claire.”
She kissed free of it, and then she rolled over on the couch. “Do the back,” she said.
Looking up and down the length of her, I decided to save the middle for last. I started on her heels. Not a word was spoken until I was essentially giving her a back rub with my cock.
“I can’t suck it normally,” she said.
“The bend. It pushes up, but my mouth and throat go down. I can only get a little bit.”
“Oh,” I said, dragging my dick over the muscles on her shoulder blades. “You know, there’s a better way. It’s just that…”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about it. Sixty-nine style is the way. Upside down,” she concluded.
I began to move down to her ass, but she said, “Don’t forget my head and hair.”
When I pushed my dick across her head, her hair felt so silky that I couldn’t resist an idea: I took a wad of it and wrapped it around the shaft, and then I tugged myself a few times.
“Creative,” she mumbled.
I let her hair go, and moved down to her ass. I started on her cheeks, lightly running the shaft over each raised globe. After this, I climbed over her, and as on her front, I slid the tip between her thighs, finding, where everything came together, the bahis firmaları silky softness of her crease. I felt wetness there, and Claire took in a quick breath.
Moving higher over her, I pushed myself down into the top of the crevasse between her two beautiful ass cheeks. I slid down, slowly, crossing over the rough wrinkles of her little hole. Finally, I held the tip against her, nestled between the soft, warm lips of her pussy. She pushed ever so slightly back, and the tip began disappearing inside her.
But, she stopped.
I started again between her thighs and worked my way back up to her wetness, and I held it there, offering it to her. She dipped me inside again, gasped, and let me continue up. When I passed over her asshole, I held it there, and I rubbed circles around it with the fat mushroom of the tip, spreading the wetness it had accumulated below.
“That is so naughty, college boy,” she whispered.
I let my cock flip up and out. Then, I lowered my body just slightly onto her thighs. I pushed my length between her cheeks, and I gently rode, back and forth, between them.
After a half minute, I swung off her and knelt beside the couch. “You have the sexiest body I have ever seen, Claire.”
“No guy—no guy I’ve ever known—would have resisted pushing in.”
“I wanted to.”
“But, you didn’t. That’s my point.”
“Did you want me to?”
“No…and yes,” she said, and then she smiled and spoke more firmly, “No.”
“Okay. Good, I guess.”
“It is good. I need to show my appreciation.”
“Claire, you don’t…”
“Shut up,” she ordered. Then, she flipped over on her back. “Put me on the floor.”
I carried her and laid her down on the yoga mat.
“I can’t be on top. Let’s do this on our sides,” she said, rolling on her right side. “Give me that jaycock.”
I laid on my right side across from her, my cock at the level of her face. I scooted my body forward, and Claire raised one of her legs. Looking at her pussy, a hunger boiled up inside me. I wanted it. I craved it—the smell, the taste, the feel. I’d always thought “eating pussy” was a bit of a strange phrase. Not now.
“Closer,” Claire said, “and lower.”
I made the proper adjustments.
“Hold it for me.”
I grabbed myself with my arm on the floor, and I held my cock.
She looked down at me. “Watch me, and when you’re ready, you can do me if you want, but you don’t have to.”
Fuck that. I was going to devour that pussy, but I nodded and watched.
She leaned forward and, eyes closed, kissed my cock. Then, she rubbed her cheek on it and drew her lips over the tip. She kissed the tip, and then kissed and sucked down the side. She licked underneath.
Everything about her blowjob was infused with slow passion. If my head had been down where my cock was, we’d have been making out. And that was just it: she was making out with my dick.
I couldn’t stop watching. There was a pussy a few inches from my face, and I didn’t even know or care anymore.
My previous girlfriends had sucked me and, while certainly some of them had technique, few had attitude. Claire had attitude, and that, it seemed to me then, trumps technique.
She did it like she wanted to. She did it like she cared. She did it like I was doing her the favor. And, she wasn’t like some porn star or hooker—it wasn’t an act or a show. No. My cock was her lover.
When her lips encased the head, I felt her tongue swirl circles around it in one direction, and then stop and reverse.
I let go of my cock. Claire opened wide and craned her neck forward. I watched my dick disappear inside of her. My view was under her gaping jaw. Normally, the bend would almost immediately push up against the roof of the mouth, and a girl could take three, maybe four inches before both of us felt discomfort.
In the reverse position, though, the head of my cock pressed down on the tongue as it inched further into the mouth, and then it curved almost perfectly down into the throat—assuming the girls’s gag reflect could be overcome.
Claire didn’t have that problem, and her lips came together around my shaft at a depth where, frankly, no one had ever been. When I felt it, and I saw how much of it she had, I grunted, “Fuck me.”
The sensation of having so much of me taken inside her mouth and down her throat—it filled me with power, a kind of energy surge. I felt strong. I felt like a fucking warrior prince.
Right. I know. Sounds stupid, but those who’ve been there—they know the feeling.
And it was then that I remembered: there’s a pussy, right there. I wanted it. I reached out and took her ass in my hand. I brought my face between her legs and felt the heat, as if her pussy were an idling engine. I put my nose right up against it and inhaled. I savored the aroma.
Then, I let my tongue explore it—every tuck and fold of it. I sucked her clit into my mouth and flicked my tongue over it. Whatever she tasted like, I wanted more. Whatever kaçak iddaa she smelled like—and my nose hovered over the most intimate parts of her, the essence of her body—electrified me.
She moaned right into my cock, and I felt it in my balls and in my tummy, the vibrations of it. Claire was holding deep for a good ten seconds, and then twisting her head as she rose up, taking a quick breath, and then descending and holding. When she would hit her depth, her lips flexed and relaxed on the shaft, gathering and releasing, and her tongue pushed and slid, side to side.
I grunted into her pussy, she moaned into my dick. We had hit a place where, in a sixty-nine, both of us were feeling so good that neither of us could do our fucking job all that well anymore. So, she just took about half of me down and held there, breathing, moaning, and swallowing. I just pinched her clit between my lips and tongue, and I grunted into it.
Whatever the fuck we were doing, it worked. I came and she came. Her legs trembled and clenched my face into her. Her moans into my cock shot up an octave. My grunts into her clit turned into a guttural roar. I felt her draw up and swallow my semen as it flowed out. I gripped tight on her ass as she arched and twisted.
Then we relented and relaxed. We rolled onto our backs, and she began to laugh. I did, too.
“Amazing,” she huffed.
“Unreal,” I added, gasping and chuckling.
When we caught our breaths, she said, “Promise me, college boy, that we will do that again.”
It got bad for Claire by mid-morning the next day. Completely out of the powerful pain killers and with no hope of renewing the prescription, I gave her Advil with breakfast and she was pale and strangely quiet. She didn’t eat very well.
I helped her out of her back brace for the last time. She didn’t seem to care. We hung out in the den, but she didn’t want to do any stretches. She just wanted to lay on the couch and watch television.
First, she got cold. I covered her in a blanket. Not long after, she wanted two blankets. Later, I set up an electric heating pat and slid it underneath her. She began to perspire.
I brought her water and arranged it so that she could lean toward the coffee table and sip it from a straw. She took a few drinks, and then just laid back and began whispering, “Fuck this.”
And she got louder.
I suggested she take a long, hot bath. She didn’t respond, but got up and walked toward the bathroom. I followed her, but she turned around and said, “Leave me alone, Jimmy.”
“Claire, your casts. I can help…”
“Fuck off, Jimmy! I can do it myself.”
So, this is what breaking an addiction is like, I guess. I shrugged and left.
Claire couldn’t rest and sleep. She either had the chills or was overheating. She wouldn’t eat. She hated my fucking guts.
“I’m going to tell Beth. I’m going to tell your fucking Mom.”
“Tell her what?”
“Tell her what you’ve been doing to me.”
I stared at her.
“Taking advantage of me, stupid shit.”
Her voice rose. “Your own Aunt? I’m laying here injured and you’re practically raping me. It’s sexual assault, at least, what you’ve done.”
Silence, I found, worked better than arguing with her in this state.
“Jerking off on me when I can’t even use my arms to protect myself. Making me suck your cock! How sick are you! It’s fucking disgusting! Your Mom is my fucking sister! Get the fuck away from me, rapist bastard!”
I left the room, but she kept howling, said she was going to call the cops. She screamed that I tried to rape her ass, called me a pervert. The last things I heard—before I pulled the landline phone of the hook—was that I was going to spend the rest of my life in jail getting ass raped.
The bargaining began that first night, and it lasted some time. She wanted alcohol.
She was back in bed. “Just one drink, Jimmy. Go look in Beth’s liquor cabinet.”
“I’ll bring you some fresh water, Claire.”
“No! I don’t want water; it’s not going to help me. I need something stronger, Jimmy. Please.”
“We can’t trade one addiction for another.”
“Bring me a fucking drink!” she roared.
She shifted tone and tactics. “We’ll both have one, Jimmy, and then we can fuck.”
I stared at her.
She continued, “Don’t you want to fuck, Jimmy? Come on, let’s do it.” She spread her legs gyrated her hips. “Let’s get drunk and screw,” she offered, smiling deviously.
I was tempted. Fucking the shit out of her just might make up for how bitchy she’d been all day, but I mastered myself. “No.”
She flipped, called me every name in the book, called me a “fucking queer faggot.” I went to the den until she shut up.
Then, I started hearing crashes. Did she fall? I ran over, and Claire was tearing apart her room. Anything she could kick or reach with her casts, she knocked on the floor. When she saw me, she shrieked away, trashing the place. After, when she’d spent her energy, she sank kaçak bahis to the floor in a heap and bawled.
“It’s too hard. I can’t do it, Jimmy. I can’t.”
I lifted her into bed, and then, miraculously, she fell asleep.
Day two wasn’t worse for me, but it was definitely worse for her. She looked like she was going to die—pale, sweat pouring off her, shivering. Nothing I did for her brought her any comfort.
When it was time for her Advil, she insisted on more. I wouldn’t give her more than four at a time, and she freaked on me again. The swear words she could unload! The names she conjured up for me! Some of my favorites: I was a “runny little cunt,” a “shit sucking bastard,” and a “fucking puke-dick faggot.”
The bargaining for alcohol stepped up a level. Claire told me that if I got her a drink, she would suck my cock. When I refused, she offered her mouth to me anytime I wanted it. I asked, “Even after you get out of your casts?”
She said, “For the rest of your life, I’ll suck your dick.”
I smiled at the idea, and she misinterpreted. She thought I was really considering it.
She cooed, “Take it out.” She licked her lips. “Climb on this bed and you can just fuck my face.”
“No, Claire. No alcohol.”
“Think of it, Jimmy: your Mom’s sister will be your cum slave. You get an urge, you come to me, and I suck that hot sticky cum right out of you.”
Her voice in that moment—so sexy.
She continued, “Right now, we can start. Don’t you feel it, Jimmy? Down there? All that boy cum, how heavy your balls are with it, and you need someplace to put it.” She licked her lips and moaned.
When a part of my mind suggested I—just once—take her up on the offer, I walked out of the room. Her curses followed me.
Returning an hour or so later, the whole room reeked. She had pissed herself. I didn’t know if it was out of revenge or out of her unimaginable struggle to beat the addiction. She was almost comatose.
I spent the next hour cleaning up her and the mess; she didn’t utter a noise. She was a rag doll.
On Wednesday, she was done cursing at me, but she did make one final bid for alcohol.
It was the early afternoon. I had just finished helping her dress after a long, hot shower. She hadn’t said much of anything all morning. I put her in bed and she asked me for a fresh cup of ice water. She was polite and almost content, it seemed. “Come back in about five minutes,” she added. “I need some time to be alone.”
I left. While I was filling the cup, I heard something downstairs. She was moving around. I shut off the water and listened. Nothing sounded alarming.
I waited a few more minutes, and then I took the cup down to her. I walked into her bedroom and stopped, stunned.
Claire was completely naked. She was bent over the bed, her casts sprawled to the sides. Her legs were spread and her ass—that athletic, beautiful ass—was hanging over the edge.
There was an opened little jar of vaseline on her nightstand, and as I slowly entered the room, I saw what she had done, and I wondered how in the hell she had done it with two casts on.
She had, somehow, lubricated herself—her ass—with the vaseline, and laid there on the edge of the bed, waiting for me.
So this, I thought, was her ultimate bargaining chip. Having a few social drinks and fucking hadn’t worked. Getting her one drink and being my official cocksucker for life didn’t work.
“Claire,” I said, and it was almost a whisper.
She didn’t say anything; she slowly gyrated her hips and began to moan.
It was just so fucking sad to me, but my cock was halfway to hard, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her body.
“Oh, fuck, that cock feels so good in my ass,” she whispered. Her ass moved in little circles.
In seconds, my dick was a lead pipe. It felt abnormally heavy, and it needed to get stuck somewhere.
“Jimmy, please cum in my little asshole.” Then she started groaning and yelling in mock pleasure.
She stopped and turned to me. “When you’re done, I want you to go to the store and pick me up some cigarettes, that’s all. Menthols.” She tilted her head just a little, smiling and shaking her head. “I smoke sometimes, Jimmy. It’s not like you’d be getting me addicted to something new.”
I couldn’t move. She looked down and saw my hardness. “What are you waiting for, Jimmy? The vaseline is on the table. Just put a little bit on it and come fuck this ass.”
She turned back and restarted her little sex show. I watched, thinking hard.
Cigarettes was all she wanted? Wouldn’t be so bad, some smokes. Might take the edge off her and give me some peace. I could pick those up in five minutes. I walked closer to her, right behind her, and I grabbed her ass.
I spread her cheeks and saw the glistening coat of lubricant there. Again, I wondered how the fuck she did that. It was a feat.
Then, I knew.
If she can strip naked, get the vaseline, and put it on herself—if she’s got the will to do that—then she can do just about anything. I leave for five minutes; she raids the liquor cabinet.
I backed away.
“Jimmy? I’m waiting.”
She turned to me, and I shook my head.
“Jimmy, please fuck my ass.”
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