Lance Peters looked like a normal eighteen year old boy. He had about thirty obvious zits on his face and there were about sixty more pimples ready to break through his pock-marked skin.
His body was in between a lot of ages and years. He had a man's pair of feet in that they weren't going to grow any more – so his feet were now size eleven and they were anxiously awaiting the rest of his body to grow up so they wouldn't feel so awkward when Lance called upon them to do difficult things like walking and running.
Lance had a normal eighteen-year-old's face. He had hair, a nose, and a pair of lips. Other than the thirty obvious pimples and the sixty ready-to-be obvious zits on his face, his facial features were remarkably bland – as if Lance kept them that way intentionally.
Now, for the description that most women are interested in – his cock.
Lance had a prick that was unusually large at the top, or at the bottom, depending on whether his prick was erect or soft. His glans was the size of a baseball when it was erect, naturally, and whenever the glans wasn't in use, it usually shrank down to the size of an under inflated tennis ball.
Right now it was a baseball because Lance had a batter's grip on his prick-shaft – there was more than enough room to put two hands on his cock – and he was ready to choose up sides.
Should he jack off lying on his back or on his belly?
Lance tried to remember which position he had used last.
Then he remembered.
The last time that his glans had been a baseball was not when he was jacking off his prick but when Ramona Rathers had seduced him into coming into her mansion, into her perfume living room, and had eaten his cock like a prick-hungry nymph.
Now, as Lance moved his hands up and down, up and down on his cock, he tried to remember what Ramona's lips looked like when they clung to his baseball-sized cockhead.
Oooooooooh, those lips had driven him wild. Nobody had ever sucked his cock before. Oh, there had been those times when he was much younger and his spine was very limber and he could bend over and suck his own cock.
But nobody else's lips had ever been on his cock. And God, having a woman sucking his cock was so unlike doing his own cocksucking.
For one thing, he didn't get a back ache.
Like he could just spread out all over Mrs. Rathers' luscious circular revolving couch and glance at all the mirrors that surrounded the room and enjoy the sight of Mrs. Rathers going down on his prick. Her mouth slowly nibbling and gobbling all of his cock-flesh.
Like he could just spread out his legs and give her more room for her cocksucking mouth and her fuck-hungry body as she ate his prick and fondled his balls and even rammed one finger into his tight asshole.
Like no one had ever done that to his balls and asshole and cock before.
It had been too good to believe. It had been a miracle.
Stilt, Lance wasn't even the regular newspaper delivery boy. That task had belonged to Harmon Hurlburt, his best friend.
And because he wasn't the regular delivery boy, Lance was unaccustomed to such things as porching the Weedley Weekly World News on people's doorsteps.
And that was how he had first gotten to know Ramona Rathers. Because the newspaper had been thrown errantly and Lance, being a perfectionist like his mother, had gotten off his Schwinn and had hand-delivered the paper to the door.
And just as he was about to drop the newspaper on the doorstep, Ramona had opened the front door.
She had greeted Lance with a smile and a miniskirt. That was all she wore – a smile and a miniskirt.
Mainly because she had persuaded Ricardo Franklin into giving her the role of fondling her titties for all of America, and she had just gotten home and had just opened the front door just when Lance was not only dropping the newspaper on the doorstep but dropping his jaw in awe.
"You're not the regular paper boy, are you?"
Lance stared at those just beautiful titties, thinking to himself about how just beautiful they looked. He had never seen a woman's titties before. After all, he was only eighteen, and he had not learned about the mysteries of what a woman's body was really for. That would come later when he became a typical male chauvinist pig.
"Why are you staring? Haven't you ever seen a woman's tits before?"
Lance swallowed hard, tried to answer but couldn't. The only thing that formed in his mouth was spit and phlegm. His mouth couldn't possibly form words because fear and anxiety and eagerness and desire and stimulation were running up and down his spine, playing havoc with his prick, which in turn played havoc with the crotch of his Levi's.
"Didn't your mommy ever tell you not to stare at a woman's titties?"
Lance couldn't help staring. Couldn't help the havoc that played at his crotch. Couldn't help wanting to play with those sweet fleshy things that he would learn later on in life to call tits and jugs and knockers and bazooms, but which he now called sweet fleshy things.
"Gosh… gee, Mrs. Rathers. You really have sweet fleshy things."
Remarkable. Astounding. Such ego-boosting words.
Ramona was very pleased. After all, the only kind and encouraging words she had heard all day about her tits were, just beautiful.
Now her tits were being called sweet fleshy things!
She couldn't believe it. Ramona glanced down at her tits. Yes, the young lad was right. Her tits did look sweet and very fleshy and they were just beautiful tits, they were sweet and fleshy things that a young lad of eighteen wanted to get his hands and lips on because there was drool escaping from his mouth and his hands were nervously tugging at his belt buckle.
Ramona thought about fucking the boy.
But what would society say about her screwing a kid his age?
Shit, what the hell could society say when she and her husband owned three-quarters of the society of Weedley? Hellfire and balls of infernal flame – the Rathers were the society of Weedley!
Thus, after twenty seconds of contemplation, Ramona came to the decision that she had every right to fuck the newspaper boy standing on her front porch with drool clinging to his chin.
"Have you ever fucked a woman – I mean, a real woman like me?"
Lance was shocked. Fucking was something that only the boys in the clubhouse talked about. Ernie McGrew had told him that fucking was lots of fun. When asked what fucking was, Ernie had replied hesitantly: "Well, fucking must be good 'cause it sounds so bad. I figure fucking means something nasty like picking your nose in an elevator full of people."
So Lance, who had been sick the day that his junior high school gym coach had given a ten-minute lecture on sex education, was in the dark when it came to things concerning his erection with the baseball-sized glans and what to do about his hard-on.
But now Lance wasn't in the dark as much as he was in the twilight as the sun was setting behind him and the rays cast a golden glow on Ramona Rathers' tits as she stood framed in the doorway, lifting up her miniskirt with the intention of showing him her panties.
Lance got very excited. He had never seen a pair of panties when they were filled with the delightful goodness of a woman's ass and pooched-out pussy.
And Ramona was getting just as excited. She wanted to show Lance what a good-looking ass and pussy she had hidden beneath her panties.
Lance said: "Hey! Where are your panties? You're not wearing panties! I thought I'd get to see your panties!"
Ramona was as disappointed as Lance. She had forgotten her panties down at the KKKQ studio dressing room. So instead of showing him the outlines of her curvaceous ass and her pooched-out cunt as she stood framed in the doorway, she showed him her curvaceous ass and pooched-out cunt very blatantly.
Lance was shocked. He had never seen a woman's hairy pussy before. Oh, he could remember when Ernie McGrew had drawn him a picture of a woman's cunt in the dirt one day. But a real live pussy didn't look like a gash in the dust.
For one thing, Ramona's pussy had lots of hair. Ernie didn't put any hair on his picture cunt – oh, Ernie had told him that he thought that there might be hair somewhere above the woman's pussy, but he didn't know exactly where.
Now, Lance knew exactly where a woman's pubic hair was. It was at the top of a woman's pussy, and it bearded about halfway down around the sides of the gaping, meaty slit. Gosh, he couldn't wait to tell Ernie.
And, for another thing, Ernie had simply drawn a slit in the sand, and he had pointed with his toe at the cut, telling Lance that that's where all the piss and babies came from.
But Lance knew now that Ernie had drawn a woman's pussy wrong. Maybe he was a bad artist, or a clumsy doodler. Because a pussy had an oval shape, and it wasn't just two lines that bulged outward at the middle and met on the ends. A pussy had flappy, floppy-looking things on each side.
And Lance could see that the floppy, flappy things could be stretched. Because Ramona was stretching them very wide apart, so wide that Lance thought her pussy would either split at the seams or else those flappy, floppy things were made of rubber.
Ramona pooched out her pussy, spread the lips as wide as she could without splitting the seams of her cunt.
"Did you ever see a woman's cunt?"
What could Lance say?
Oh sure, he'd seen one about three months ago. But it was made of coarse grains of sand and loose dirt.
Or he could say, very honestly, no. He had never seen a woman's pussy before. But he wouldn't mind seeing one now. Maybe even touch it if it didn't hurt, or bite, or stick to his hand like Silly Putty.
Lance shook his head. "Well, partly."
"Partly? Whatta you mean, partly? You've only seen half a cunt? A quarter of a pussy? What the hell do you mean partly?"
Lance started to sweat. Why was life so Goddamn complicated when you were eighteen years old and subbing for another newspaper boy and having to come up to a horny lady's doorstep just cause you threw the Goddamn paper into the rose bushes instead of on the porch?
"Well," Lance replied with a sigh of exasperation. "I saw one in the dirt before. But it didn't look anything like your… uh, your pussy."
"Jesus! Kid, you don't make any sense at all," Ramona replied, standing up straight and letting the miniskirt fall back in place. "Come inside and let a real woman show you what a pussy looks like and what it's for."
Lance didn't know what to do. His mother would kill him, just slay him if he got home late. And his dad would have done the same thing too, only he was a wino who had divorced his mother on account of he loved Julio Gallo more than his mother.
"Well, I don't know. I think…"
"I think you better get your fucking little ass in here and let me show you my pussy!"
Lance was taken aback. Only his mother had ever used that tone of voice with him. And he knew that Ramona wasn't his mom because his mom never went around pulling her flappy, floppy things wide open.
He reluctantly obeyed. Walked into the mansion with feet that felt like cement. With a cock that felt the same way, too, but he didn't know why. Probably had to do with seeing a pair of sweet, fleshy things and flappy, floppy other things for the first time in his life.
Ramona led him to the circular couch. The one that her husband had given to her on her fortieth birthday. A very special couch that had little mirrors that popped out of the armrests and two dildos that could spring out of the cushions when she pushed the right buttons.
Ramona made him sit down on the couch.
Lance sat down on the couch. His eyes were filled with luscious sweet things because they were only inches from his batting eyelashes.
Ramona couldn't believe it. What the fuck was wrong with kids these days?
No wonder there was a generation gap; kids couldn't express themselves well enough to communicate whether they wanted to see her pussy or her tits.
Shit, no inquisitiveness, not enough gung-ho curiosity.
"Now, I'm going to show you all of my pussy. Would you like that?"
Lance was very surprised by her lone of voice. So much like his mother's when she asked if he wanted some more peas, or if he had to go wee now, or did he wash his pee-pee real good.
He felt like answering Ramona as if she were his mother. But his mother never wore miniskirts that fit more like a band-aid around her hips. And his mother would never dare bend over and strip off the miniskirt so that she was standing hands on hips with her sweet fleshy things inches from his eyes and her flappy, floppy pussy-lips within arm's reach.
"But you're not my mother!"
"What?"
Jesus Christ! What the fuck was wrong with these kids? Shit, didn't they know whit they wanted out of life? Didn't they know how to answer an adult?
"Look, kid. I asked if you wanted to see my pussy. No, not just the hairs around my pussy – I meant really deep inside. You never know, you might like what you see."
But how was Lance to know if he liked what he saw? He had never seen a pussy before. Never seen tits like that before. Shit, it was only last year that the first hair had appeared on his balls, and it was only two years ago since his testicles had descended and he could call them balls because they hung in a loose sac.
Lance played it safe. He nodded his head. Maybe if he hurried and she hurried and showed him her pussy, then his mother wouldn't ask where he had been, or wonder if he was drawing dirty pictures in the sand with that nasty kid Ernie McGrew.
"Jesus!" Ramona exclaimed. "It's about time you showed me you have some balls! Christ!"
Ramona sat on the couch, leaned back against the armrest, threw one svelte leg over the back of the velvety couch.
Her finger directed his gaze to the hairs at the top of her pussy. The ones that Ernie had guessed were at the top of a woman's pussy.
"We'll start at the top," Ramona said. "See all this hair?"
Lance saw all that hair. There was lots of hair. Very curly hair that looked very bouncy as her fingers twiddled several of the curlier strands.
"This is my pubic hair. And here… uuummmmmm, is the hole where lots of goooood things go… and… uuuuminmmmmm, lots of gooooood things come out."
Lance nodded eagerly. "Ernie says that's where the pee-pee comes out."
Ramona was very surprised that the kid knew something about pussies. She continued, two hands now directing his gaze.
"And when I spread my pussy wide open… like this…Oh God! Jesus! Uuuuummmmmmmm!"
Lance nodded eagerly again. Gosh, pussies looked so red and… and meaty. And there was definitely a hole there, but he couldn't see the end of it.
The hole got bigger.
And bigger.
Big enough for a baseball as Ramona pulled her floppy cunt-lips aside and pointed at the center of all that juicy darkness.
"Here… here, is where the action's at, kid. Whatta you think so far?"
"Pussies look… uh, dark. Does it hurt when you open up your pussy like that?"
Ramona shook her head. "Uuuummmmmm, no. No, not at all. See how my hands go up and down. And my thumbs just rub and rub all over my cunt?"
"Is a cunt the same thing as a pussy?"
"Oh fuck!"
Lance knew he had said something wrong. Because Ramona's voice had sounded just like his mother's. Just like Mom when she had looked at the center of his sheets one day and had exclaimed: "Did you pee-pee in your bed last night?"
No, Lance had not pee-pee'd in his bed that night. He had awakened from a dream about pussies drawn in the sand, and suddenly it felt as if he were lying in mud. And when he woke up and looked down at the wetness at his loins, he knew that it wasn't mud because the mess his first ejaculation had created wasn't brownish but white.
Lance had been very scared that night. In fact, he had cried. For fear that he had broken something inside of him and all that pus was coming out of his pee-pee.
Then those huge tits were in his vision again instead of the thoughts about white mud and sandy pussies. And Ramona was wagging a finger at him.
"Hey! Jesus! You really don't know the first thing about fucking or sucking, do you?"
Lance wanted to cry. Was it so bad that he didn't know about fucking and sucking?
Gosh, her wagging finger made him feel like he hadn't done his homework, or that he had absentmindedly used the last of the toilet paper and his mom was sitting on the crapper, screaming: "God damn it, Lance, how many times do I have to tell you to tell me when you've used the last of the toilet papa?!"
"Hey," Ramona said. "Don't cry, kid. I mean, it's not your fault. I just wanted to show you my pussy 'cause I thought you were interested in pussies and tits."
Then perfume surrounded Lance, and Ramona's lips were all over his forehead and cheeks and eyes and mouth, kissing him just like his Aunt Mabel had done when his pet skunk had died and she was just as glad to have run over the fucking pest as he was sad that she had flattened out his skunk to something as thick as plywood.
"Uuuummnimm, I'm so sorry." Ramona gushed. "Here, let me see your hand."
Lance lifted his hand timidly.
Ramona grabbed his wrist, placed the palm of his hand on her right tittie, held it there to make sure that he could feel every mole, every hair, every heartbeat that was on and in her heaving tits.
Lance felt as if his hand were on top of a warm TV dinner that hadn't been unwrapped yet. It was a good feeling. Not hot to the touch, but certainly not cold.
In fact, her tits felt very good. Gosh, they were meaty and they would give whenever he sank his fingers into her tits. And those bumpy things on the ends – Jesus, some parts of a woman's tittie were very soft and some parts were very hard.
Not like his cock. His cock could only be hard some of the time and soft some of the time. But it certainly didn't have a hard spot and a soft spot. It was either all hard sometimes or all soft sometimes.
This was a sometime when his prick was all hard. Gosh, it just had to do with feeling the hard and soft spots of her tits.
"Uuuuummmmm! Feel all of my titties! Uuuuuu, that's so goooooood!"
Lance smiled, really started to dig touching a woman's titties. Oh yeah, he knew what titties were for. Ernie had told him many times that titties were for sucking. Because Ernie spied on one of his neighbor's who had given birth to twins and he always peeked at her through the kitchen window to watch her babies sucking on her saggy tits.
Nah, old Lance, or rather young Lance, wasn't a complete dummy when it came to knowing what to do with a pair of hefty tits.
He took Ramona by surprise.
Her tits, too.
His mouth sucked hard on Ramona's right nipple as he moved his hand to her left breast so that he could find out what a tit felt like in his mouth while his hand made sure that certain parts of Ramona's left tit remained hard while other parts remained soft.
"Ummmmmm! God! Youlititle fucker! So you been… ogoogh! You've been pulling my leg all this time!"
Ramona hugged him with all her might. And since she outweighed him by twenty pounds, and because she had big tits that could strangle a man when he sucked them, she nearly choked him to death on her erecting nipple.
Lance squirmed, his face becoming British red. Gosh, what could he do? Her nipple was getting so big in his mouth. And he only wanted to suck her tits to see if any milk would come out so that he could see if it was like that powdered shit his mom always mixed with his milk.
But now Ramona had a tenacious grip on the back of his head. And she made sure that his lips were glued tight to her tits. Then she leaned back, and Lance flopped all over her warm, writhing body.
And Ramona was rubbing her thighs and hips and pubic hair and floppy, flappy cunt-lips all around that bulge at the crotch of his Levi's.
And Lance's cock was being bent double because it was in that sometimes state of being hard and erecting in the wrong direction – down his pant leg instead of out his fly.
He groaned and squirmed, and tried to get his cock into a comfortable position by rubbing his prick against Ramona's writhing body.
Then his prick wasn't uncomfortable any more. His prick felt as if it were out in the open, out in the cool air where it could have room for the glans to grow as big as a baseball.
Then he realized what Ramona had done to his prick.
She had unzipped his pants and had relieved his prick of all that discomfort.
He tried to look down, or around, or through her tits, but her grip was too strong and his face remained plastered to her bosom. Sweat was running off his upper lip to join the drool that was coming from his mouth and cascading off that huge tit that was pillowing him to death.
Then there wasn't any more pressure on the back of his head.
"Oh Gosh! Oh Gosh! Oooooohhhhhh!"
Lance had said "Oh gosh" because Ramona had moved into another position while his body had frozen in fear above hers.
And with all the sweat and drool and juice that poured from his cock and the juice that poured from her cunt, the couch was like a bed of butter that Ramona could easily slide around on.
Her body had shifted around so that her feet and cunt were pointing toward the north end of his body, and her head was at the southern, and her hands were taking a batter's grip on his cock.
"Ooooohhhh! Please! What are you doing?"
"Mmmgggfffhhh! Mmmggghhhfff! Mmmmgggghhhhffff!"
Lance couldn't understand her.
Why did she talk so funny?
And why was there a buzzing feeling all around his cock?
He looked south.
No! What was she doing!
She was eating his prick!
Oh, Mother would just slay him!
He quickly looked north, didn't want to see the sight of his prick being chewed off his body so that all he was left with was a bloody stump that all the boys in gym would laugh at.
He closed his eyes. He had never been so scared in his life. He braced for the pain that would come shooting up from his cock when it was amputated from his body by a woman surgeon who used her mouth for a scalpel.
He waited.
Waited for the blood-bursting agony.
But all he felt was a buzzzzzz on his prick.
And all he heard were the sounds of sucking. The same sounds Ernie had made with his mouth when he imitated his neighbor's twin babies sucking at their mama's saggy tits.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
Then the buzz turned into a different feeling. The kind of feeling he had when he dreamed about cunts being drawn in the sand by Ernie's big toe. The kind of feeling he got when he would play with his prick, give it a twirl and watch it grow big, then give it a whack and watch it grow soft.
But this feeling was more powerful. His balls felt tremendously explosive. And his prick felt very bloated, and he wanted to give it a whack to make it go down so that he wouldn't choke Mrs. Rathers on his embarrassing cock.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Aaaaahhhhh! Ohplease!Something's going to happen! Oh Gosh! Please let my pee-pee go! I promise that I'll never come over again! Aaaaaiiiieeeee!"
Ramona's lips smacked deliciously as she took a slight cocksucking breather to see what kind of erection she had given the kid's prick.
"Wow! You're gonna be hung someday, kid!"
Hung?
They wouldn't hang him for putting his wee-wee into Mrs. Rathers' mouth, would they?
Oh gosh! Oh Mother!
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Oh please! I don't wanna hang! Please stop it! I-oh gosh, something's happening! I gopita go pee-pee! Please don't do that with your mouth!"
But Ramona kept doing that with her mouth, kept moving her cocksucking lips up and down Lance's prick-shaft. And her hands were joining the fun of keep-doing-that. Her hands were filled with his fine-haired balls, and she was jostling them around while his prick kept jostling around in her mouth as she kept doing that.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!
Lance was going crazy! He looked south again.
Oh gosh! Look how big his pee-pee had gotten! Oh Mother!
Then he looked north again, didn't want to see the sight of Ramona's cock-hungry mouth moving up and down on his cock-shaft.
Gosh, he didn't want to hang!
And he didn't want to pee in her mouth!
But he had to. Had to get rid of something that was threatening to blow his balls apart while thy were being jostled in her hands.
Then something came out of his prick.
And Lance made a nasty face – like the lime in kindergarten when he had tried to hold back the shit that threatened to make a mess out of his Cowboy Bob jeans.
Now he made a mess out of Ramona's mouth.
But it felt better than taking a shit. It felt tremendously exciting! So exciting as all that sweet goodness came out of his pee-pee and poured into Ramona's slurp-slurp-slurping mouth.
"aaaaiiiieeee! Oh Gosh! Aaaiiieee!"
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
"Mmmmmgggggfppffhhhhh! Mgggmmmmfffgggghhhhhhhhh!"
Lance wanted to die a thousand deaths, but none of them by hanging. He wanted to die because the pleasure felt so good. His prick, felt soooooooo amazingly great, like nothing he had ever felt before.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!
Then it didn't feel good.
It felt very slimy and greasy.
It felt like his prick was now in the state of sometimes soft.
It felt like that time he had been awakened by the white mud that his loins had lain in after he had dreamed of a toe-etching done in the sand by Ernie McGrew.
And it felt very funny to have his prick being cleansed by something that felt much smoother than Kleenex.
He looked south.
Ramona was wiping away all the clingy, white, mud-like balls that clung to his sometimes soft cock.
Lance closed his eyes. Thought about hanging from an old oak tree with his mother standing in front of his swaying feet, saying: "Oh, why couldn't you have come home earlier!"
He looked south again. Ramona was still wiping away the jizz with her tongue – only now she was licking his balls clean as a whistle.
Lance looked north.
Then he looked sick. Like the time he saw his skunk being rolled into an animal cracker by his Aunt Mabel's Corvette Sting Ray.