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I guess my appreciation of women with lush, full bushes began with sneaking copies of my dad’s porn magazines in the ’70’s when I was young. Photo after photo of strong, attractive women proudly displaying their nether tresses for all the world to see molded my sexual imagination at an early age. Those first impressions taught me that a woman’s bush not only gave her pussy a unique personality, but functioned as a badge of her maturity and power as well.
And then came the dark times. When I was finally old enough to start dating and having sex with women, fashions had changed and shaved slits became all the rage. As excited as I was to finally be having sex and to no longer be merely beating my meat to a centerfold pull-out, the beardless clams I encountered left me utterly dissatisfied.
While the women I dated were all lovely in their own individual ways, their bare beavers all looked the same to me. With their incessant shaving and whatnot, women made what should have been their proudest treasure look as appetizing as the cold, plucked skin of supermarket chicken — complete with the angry raised bumps of denuded follicles. Not only were they visually unappealing by being completely anonymous, the itchy inconvenience presented as the hair grew back made them physically unappealing as well.
So one night in despair I came home from yet another date with yet another woman who was otherwise lovely except for possessing yet another unfortunately shorn sheath, I sat down and wrote a ‘Mission Statement’ much in the style of Jerry Maguire, arguing the merits of naturally hairy pussies. I sent it out to every men’s magazine I could think of, foolishly hoping that if the stroke mags could make big bushes popular again that fashions would change. All I wanted was to fulfill my boyhood dream and to finally, finally dine on an actual hair pie and slide my cock into a proper fully-tressed minge.
I never received a single response to any of my letters, and eventually resolved myself to a lifetime of unsatisfying sex with women devoted to their shorn and prickly cactus pussies.
And then one day a letter arrived at my dorm for a work/study position at the Sturm Center, one of the science buildings on campus. As a liberal arts student, I was mostly unfamiliar with that part of campus, but due to a recent tuition hike an on-campus job had suddenly become a necessity. I knew where the building was, and the next day went to my pre-scheduled appointment with the HR person at the facility, a Mrs. Andrews.
As I walked the welcoming and tastefully decorated halls of what felt not at all like a cold and sterile science building, I checked and re-checked the letter to ensure that I was indeed at the right place. I entered the office indicated in the letter and walked over to the student receptionist sitting at the front desk who was rapidly texting with a bored air about her.
She was a dark-haired beauty, with long flowing locks and deep, liquid eyes. Dressed in conservative attire, she looked me over rather blatantly. Her nametag read, ‘Diana – Level Three.’ I wondered briefly what that meant.
“So you’re him, huh?” She asked in a jaded fashion.
Uncertain how to respond, I held out the letter and said, “I got this in the mail. There’s some sort of job interview for a work/study? It said to come today at this time. I’m to ask for a Mrs. Andrews?”
Diana rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, they’ll put you to work all right. I don’t know how much studying you’ll get done, though. Becky’s office is down the hall and to the left, she’s been making herself ready for you all morning.” Dismissing me, the young woman returned to her cell phone and her texting.
Somewhat concerned as to bahis firmaları what her cryptic statement might mean, I made my way down the hall and knocked on the door with the nameplate “Becky Andrews — Human Resources.” As I entered the room I was welcomed by an exceptionally friendly matron with bobbed brown hair and kind eyes. She was also dressed in typical conservative office garb consisting of a jacket and blouse, and remained seated as I entered, effectively preventing me from seeing the rest of her attire. “Well there hey, come in and sit down,” she insisted as she waved me in from her seat behind her desk. “Boy howdy, we’re all just tickled that you chose to take this here job, we sure are there. It includes a full medical, a dental, and a salary far beyond a typical college posting, you betcha!” Becky looked like a typical soccer mom and sounded like the people in that movie ‘Fargo’ and was instantly likeable.
Literally swept off my feet by her joyful exuberance, I did as I was told as she proceeded to cheerfully describe all of the financial benefits associated with this ‘mystery job’ without going into any specifics of what the job actually was. The more she talked, the more bouncy she became and I slowly became aware of a familiar odor wafting towards me. At first I could not place it, but as my cock distended and scratched against the material of my trousers and my mouth began to water I realized I was inhaling what could only be her vaginal excitement.
Although not typically aroused by older women, the bizarre nature of the entire situation had affected me. Pre-cum oozed from the tip of my shaft and I abruptly stood to break away from the spell cast by her pussy’s perfume. “I’m sorry, but I’m totally confused. I don’t even know what the job is and you’ve already hired me?”
Becky’s eyes dropped down to the bulge my erection was tenting in my pants and she smiled widely. “Good gosh there, it looks to me like you went and got yourself a boner!” She pushed her chair out from behind her desk and beckoned me to her side as her hands raised to pinch her own nipples and elongate them through her top. “Why don’t you walk over here now and see if this gives you a better idea, golly how!”
I walked around her desk and witnessed a most unexpected sight. While her blouse and suit jacket were made of typical design, her skirt was split open down the front and flared out to reveal her bare legs. The odd construction effectively made her nude from the waist down as she was sans panties. There, at the juncture of her smooth, pale thighs, sprouted the most magnificent bush of chestnut curls I had ever seen.
My heart felt like it was in my throat as I stood in awe of the rich bounty before me. She languidly combed her fingers through her pussy patch, curling a particularly long strand around her index finger as she lazily thrummed her engorged clitoris with a well-manicured thumb.
“I was just wondering if you might want to have a go with this here hairy beaver of mine.” As she spoke she scooped a finger full of her heavy juices and rubbed them lightly around the rim of her gash. “Do you have it in you there to tame this twat, hey golly?”
As my cock throbbed my response to her question, she deftly curled her legs around the arms of her chair with the ease of a gymnast. The move pushed her vulva forward and up, spreading her twat wattles wide open above the puckered ring of her lower hole, instantly revealing all of herself to my gaze.
The move also magnified her abundant growth of sassy cunt hair as it stretched in kind to accommodate her exposure. That moment was everything I had ever dreamed of. Instead of an anonymous, generic puss indistinguishable from any other, her kaçak iddaa pudenda drew my attention and demanded respect to be paid. My mouth suddenly dry, I fell to my knees as if in prayer and managed to ask, “Is this part of the interview?”
Her response was to grab me by the back of the head and rake my mouth across her gash. Her copious fluids christened my face and dripped off of my chin. The flavors, the scents, the texture of her soft curls against my cheeks and tongue were beyond description. For the very first time in my life eating pussy was like resting against a cushiony pillow that tickled my nose as it tantalized my senses. The bridge of my nose squashed against her clit and my nostrils flared like a stallion’s as I grabbed the sturdy hams of her ample ass and tried to burrow even deeper into her velt of velvet.
A knock on the door rudely drew me away from my reverie, and I was about to pull away when Becky’s legs slammed vice-like around my neck and her knees locked together past my shoulders. “Mrs. Andrews?” a young voice with a British accent asked before the sound of the door opening indicated the entrance of another woman.
“Yes Sandra dear?” Becky asked, her voice pitched significantly huskier than when she had been telling me about stock options and 401k advantages. At first I was mortified at being caught licking the aged, married slit of my interviewer, but since her muscular thighs trapped me in place and her dense thicket shielded my identity, I decided to relax and re-double my efforts at getting her conservative cunt to go off.
“Here’s the file you requested. Should I just put it on the desk here?”
“Gosh, sure Sandra. That’ll be, you know, fine dear.” Becky grunted as I gently nibbled her clit and sucked it into my mouth. As Becky’s knees relaxed, I moved my hands to peel her outer labia open with my thumbs. I then inserted three fingers into her slit and started stroking in order to finger her while I ate, searching out her forward interior ridges and her G-spot.
“Oh my gosh! That’s a new one!” Becky exclaimed. Her thighs began to shake as she amended, “Actually dear, could you hand me the file? I’m a bit tangled up over here and I’d like to, you know, read the letter right away.”
Through the corner of my eyes I was able to briefly see the form of young Sandra, a tall woman with straight blonde hair through the tangles of Becky’s dense pubic thicket. her nametag read ‘Sandra – Level Two.’ What was all this business with levels?
Sandra’s eyes locked on mine with what might have been longing, but I couldn’t be sure. Feeling roguish, and what the hell my anonymity was protected by a mouthful of muff, I unzipped my fly and freed my cock. I mischievously waggled both my eyebrows and my erection at her as I let my tongue comb over the top of Becky’s mound, letting her know my cock was on offer.
Her cheeks pinkened as she bit her lower lip. She held my gaze for a moment, and then looked down and away. Then it struck me. I had seen her before outside the freshman dorms at the beginning of the semester. “Run along there, Sandra now. I’m’a sure Belinda the Black has more work for you in the Records Department now, hey.”
Sandra turned and walked out of my view and I vaguely heard shuffling sounds and then the closing of the door. As I continued to suck and slurp Becky’s bearded clam like a starving man, she read aloud from the file. “When we read your, you know, ‘Hairy Pussy Manifesto’, we knew you were the man for the job, boy howdy.” She then proceeded to quote from the letter I had written to my pornographers so long ago. “A hairy pussy is a pussy alive with the natural flavor designed to drive men wild with desire. Images of shaved slits are kaçak bahis boring and should be abolished in all forms so that only bushy, beautifully hairy cunts fully festooned with…, with…,”
There is nothing quite like hearing a lusty woman read your words aloud while you’re dining on her quivering quim. I couldn’t take the arousal anymore and proceeded to stroke myself as I devoured Becky’s crease with ever increasing gusto.
Apparently Becky had noticed this and had hit a buzzer on her desk, because the door to her office opened yet again. This time it was Diana from the front desk who entered the room, and upon seeing our tableaux knelt so that she could quickly access my package and plunge my cock down her throat.
“That’s it, Diana,” Becky cooed. “Be a dear and suck on his hard cock there, the poor boy deserves the treat of your…, your…,” Becky quivered again, this time with her entire body as she shook with the power of her orgasm. Not needing instruction, Diana slurped my engorged helmet into her mouth and rhythmically milked my shaft with her throat muscles as her tongue darted in and out of my piss slit.
“Enough!” Becky roared as she gently pushed me away from her cunt. “You sure are a good snatch-slurper there, but I can only take so much rugmunchin’ at a time, by golly!”
I slumped against her legs, gasping as Diana’s ministrations led me to my own impending climax. Without any encouragement from myself she started to face-fuck my dick with a detached air. It was as if she were merely doing a job of work devoid of any excitement or joy. While I enjoyed the benefit of her practiced skill, her lack of sexual enthusiasm stood in stark contrast to Becky’s buoyant high spirits. At the moment, however, I focused on enjoying her efforts. Just as I was about to unleash my grateful load into her greedy gullet, her nose crinkled and she spat out my saliva-coated cock.
Extremely disappointed, I looked down in frustration as my prick trembled before Diana’s face, quivering on the very cusp of release. “I didn’t notice it at first,” the secretary said critically as she wiped her moth with her sleeve, “but there’s something off about the taste of his pre-cum.”
“What is it there hey, Diana?” Becky asked with sudden concern. “We can’t have our golden boy here feeling unwell.”
“I’m not sure,” she answered as she ran her tongue around her gums, absently searching for remnants of my seed. “His mix is just off somehow. I think we need to bring him to Gladys The Grey for a check-up.”
“Well there, hey.” Becky said as she rose from her chair and then squatted over me. “Oh, dear! Oh, my! Let me have a taste myself of that there dick, you guys.” My face was nearly engulfed by Becky’s ass as she grasped my pole in her two tiny hands and inhaled my root in a single gulp. I was once again brought to the verge of climax and then unceremoniously released.
“Good golly there, that is some peculiar tasting jizz you have there, little mister.” Becky turned her head to speak conspiratorially with Diana, “Gladys The Grey will want to do a full check-up on him, no doubt about it there, hey.”
Talk of my ‘funny tasting’ sperm caused my dick to deflate. Embarassed, I tucked my shrunken member back into my pants and zipped myself up. “Gladys The Grey? Belinda the Black?” I sighed, once again finding myself utterly confused by the situation I found myself in.
“Why, yes dear.” Becky answered as she rose to stand towering above me. A sunbeam through the blinds of her window struck her right in the bush, and from my vantage from the floor I was once again enthralled by the majesty of her minge as her pussy hairs seemed to glow. “Gladys the grey is our chief physician and researcher there.” Her fingers once again combed through her brunette-colored pubic hair, now matted with a mixture of my saliva and her own spendings. “As I myself am known in these ivy-covered halls as Becky. Becky The Brown.”
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