Gus Stevens - Love Me, Love My Dog

She was laughing again, pausing to allow her pants to drop to her ankles. With an expert kick she lofted them across the room, draping them across a black cat figurine on the TV set. “If you say so,” she said breathlessly. “You're the daddy so you know best.”

“Then come sit in your old daddy's lap, child.”

I sank to the floor, leaning back against the sofa, my hands out to her. She paused, her head alert like a bird's, listening for her worm in the moist ground. Then she came to me, her white thighs working, her pussy a nest of blondeness that invited penetration with its every quiver.

She went to her knees before me so that I had a straight ahead view, loving it, seeing directly into her crotch. My hand came out to caress the hairs, but I took it back. I was the daddy and she was the little girl and this thing had to be done right-with parental restraint.

I wiggled my fingers and she crawled forward, turning herself so that she eased her bottom across my loins and then settled in my lap. Her lovely legs kicked at one side and her head was thrown far back at the other. Directly under my nose were those zestful breasts, that belly that was breathing a bit hard from her exertion, and that Y where I was soon going to place my I.

“Fantastic.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Let's play a little game.”

“Gee, that sounds groovy.”

“Everywhere I touch you, then you touch me in the same place. Ready?”

She was plenty ready, and so was I, my penis temporarily thrust aside by her bottom, but it was throbbing hard and I knew she felt its impatience.

I placed my finger on the tip of her nose and she did the same to me. I touched her lips and she did the same to me. My finger slid inside her lips and she opened her mouth to receive it, sucking on my finger until it was all the way inside. Jesus, I was ready to go off already but, fortunately, her weight was acting as a partial brake on my flow.

Her finger popped into my mouth and I let her count my teeth. They were all there, all right, and I used them to nibble on her finger, while she nibbled on mine. Taking my finger from her mouth, I dried it in her hair, while she went through the same routine.

Then I traced a line down the profile of her face, from forehead to nose, to lips, to chin, to throat-her finger did the same, shoving a little harder when it passed my chin. My hand went into the valley between her breasts and paused, waiting for her to catch up.

Instead she fooled me, rolling from my lap and releasing my dork so that it was pointed skyward, like a Minuteman on ready alert. She smiled at it like a mother looking into a crib before looking me in the eye.

“I'm in charge, remember? The daughter-daddy game is over. Now please lie down on your back, hands at your sides, feet together.”

I couldn't argue with her sincerity. “All right, doctor.”

“That's an idea. Doctor and nurse.” She pushed her hands into my stomach, sinking several inches until I thought she'd go through to the carpet. “Does it hurt there?”

“I'd hurt anywhere you dropped an anvil on me,” I complained. “Come on, captain, take charge. Cut the chatter for a while.”

“Righto,” she agreed, straightening and leaning back on her feet. She knelt before me like that for more than a minute, looking down, studying my body, but not touching. I took the opportunity to gaze on hers as it loomed over me from my vantage point on the carpet. Her thighs were delightfully flattened against her calves, squeezing together so that my view of her vagina was partly cut off. Somehow this excited me even more and my cock was turning from white to red to blue, looking like the Fourth of July just before the Roman candles go off.

Then her hands were on me and there was no place she missed, working from my head to my feet, rolling me over to do my backside and then straightening me around again. Her touch went across my chest, into my loins. She roamed the crack of my buttocks, along the base of my gonads, out on the shaft of my penis, over every dip and bulge of the head itself, even winking into the eye at the tip.

“I'm coming,” I exclaimed.

“You keep threatening,” she chided, “but I don't see any action yet. What's keeping you?”

“Well, it would be nice if you were engaged, so to speak. Come on, child, make contact.”

“Please be still. I'm the boss lady.”

As though she were mounting a horse, she threw one leg over mine, sitting hard on my knees so that I winced as they tried to bend backwards. My cock was about where the horn would be on a Western saddle, but she didn't grip it right away. Perhaps if we broke into a gallop she'd find it necessary to support herself.

She began to inch forward, sort of like a limbo dancer approaching the low bar, working steadily, keeping her balance. But when she reached my bar, she began to lift herself until her bottom was clear of my thighs and she was hovering over my stallion, sighting on it like an aerial gunner.

This kid was full of surprises. She kept on coming toward my head, clearing my begging prick by an inch, letting it brush against her left thigh only once, but it was a fiery trail that remained behind, if I read the look in her eyes correctly. She went clear over my loins and sat down again, this time on my belly, which was a softer place to rest than my knees.

“Very cute,” I complained, “but what's it get you-or me?”

“Be still. The boss is at work.”

She reached behind her bottom and found my penis, gripping it like a bat and pulling the skin along the shaft in dangerous fashion. I told her so, but she only laughed. These kids are loaded with confidence today.

“Which hole do you want?” she asked, like a bartender wanting to know if my old-fashioned was going to have a red cherry or a green one.

“You're the boss,” I reminded her. “I wouldn't want to butt in.”

“Butt in? Is that a play on words, a clue? You prefer the rosebud to dining at the Y, huh?” She giggled for the one thousandth time. “I aim to oblige, Daddy.”

“Come on, make up your mind. Am I the daddy or are you the boss?” I snapped, impatient with her playing around by now. “The old man is tiring of the sport.”

“My, you are an old man to tire of this sport.” She leaned far down to kiss me on the mouth and I bit her lips. She leaped back, running into my penis, rubbing her lips. “All right, hang on, partner. It's roundup time.”

She gave me a good ride, backing up until she was up on her knees again, taking aim and then coming down on my cock. She made the decision for the back door, allowing my head to come up against her tender hole, that rear place where the stuff that came out wasn't nearly as much fun as the things that could be put inside.

She sat firmly and my head wiggled its way inside like a living thing with its own brain and nervous system, finding its own way among her little pink folds until it hit the high road to adventure without any real directions from me. She was making a gurgling sound and we laughed together, old buddies, enjoying the most of one another.

“Mr. C, you're all right for a senior citizen.”

“Thank you, Miss P. For a kid, you know how to handle yourself pretty well.”

She was coming down harder, enclosing my shaft in a moist, dark wall that hugged tightly, as though there were muscles with thousands of tiny hands growing from them, hands that pulled me ever deeper, into her backside, my knob forging ahead through the ripe waste of her pretty body. It was one of the rare times in my life I'd gone the Greek route and I snapped off a mental salute to the men of Athens. No wonder they had once ruled the civilized world.

This was an experience I would never forget and, for the remainder of my life, I would pay special homage to the passing beauty who might possess a superior posterior. As for Trudy herself, no matter how our affair would end, she had already earned my eternal gratitude. True, I had been up the rectum with other young ladies, but none had owned a bottom to top hers. It was more than its firm cheeks, its saucy shape, its snug little rosebud. It was the way in which it was used, as is the case with any sex organ. No instrument is any better than the individual who plays it. Talent is all.