Otto Gerbert - Oral Zone

I dropped my face onto his tool and let his hot meat slide into my mouth. The big head of it almost choked me but it felt soo good I didn't give a damn. I felt the heat of my cunt juices pouring out of my swollen slit and down my legs as I began to rock backward and forward. Both my hands were on the base of his cock and my tongue was busy sucking the love juice left from our previous fuck.

Then I felt my orgasm start to fill my crotch like a giant swelling. As Larry looked on in amazement I jerked my ass and sweat broke out on my brow as I got my rocks and yelled out.loud in sheer excitement.

I hadn't bothered to wait until Larry shot off. I guess that kind of peeved him. As I lay on my back recuperating from my orgasm it was my turn to ask the questions.

"What's the matter? Didn't you come?" I asked.

Larry knew very well he had just asked me the same question not long before. He knew I had used his big cock to get what I wanted, and he seemed to resent it. He started arguing. I reminded him that he had used my pussy to come into without waiting for me to come too. Then he started yelling that I was a pervert.

"You little bitch, you aren't natural," he screamed. "You came just from sucking my cock. I wasn't even touching your twat. What kind of an oddball are you, anyway?"

"You mean you didn't like what I did to you?" I questioned.

I had him there, and he knew it. He was well aware of the fact.that it felt great to have my mouth on his peter even if I didn't do it as long as he wanted me to. I guess he must have thought then about he would like to have more of the same kind of loving in the future, because he started being nicer to me. He tried a new tack. I didn't care, though. I'd just got what I wanted from him, so I decided I'd just let him squirm.

In a softer voice, he asked me, "Listen, Gwenn, you still want those pictures. I wasn't kidding about them. I'll still take some shots of you. "

But that was the last thing I wanted to do. I said. "No, Larry. Just take me home." "Take you home, huh? Okay, I'll take you home. Okay."

It was obvious that he was mad at me for being what he considered to be a kook.

In the car he didn't say a word until got to my apartment. Then he said, "Listen, honey, you may have long legs and big" tits, but you got something wrong with you. You ought to go see a shrink you know it?"

Then he drove away.

It must have been three o'clock or so before I went to sleep.

I kept thinking about going down on guys. One day I'm going to meet a special guy, or else have a special thing happen to me. Then I'll discover what it is to have an even bigger thrill than I've ever had. I don't when, but it's got to happen.

One may conjecture that if Gwenn had never participated in the initial with her uncle she would not have developed her mentally unhealthy attitude toward fellatio. It was Gwenn's uncle who taught her the art of oral love. It is equally-true, however, that she would have been less disposed to develop the unhealthy attitude if her mother had not been so violently opposed to the act of fellatio. It was this facet of the case which resulted in the approach-avoidance reaction which was to characterize her subsequent feelings about the act.

In the one sense, Gwenn was "imprinted" with an unusually high desire for fellatio as the result of being presented with the impetus for the act by her uncle without being able to carry out that impetus to a satisfying conclusion. In another sense, she was unfortunately browbeaten into regarding the act as spectacularly degrading by an overly prudish mother. It is difficult, if not impossible, to separate these two elements of her early environment in terms of the effect that later ensued from them.

Today, although Gwenn still requires fellatio in order to reach climax, we may rest assured that she is able to live a relatively happy life.

Thinking back, my mother was lovely, my father was a fuckin' drunken bum, in spite of this love was blind and mother adored him.

"I grew up in a neighborhood where you had to take a rock with you to throw at the rats when you went to take out the garbage. Before I was six years old I had decided that, whatever it took, I wasn't going to stay in that filthy dump any longer than I absolutely had to. My mother was a lovely woman who, through a series of sick choices, had first married, then had four children by a charming lazy bones a man-my father, the great love of her life. He was always full of plans and dreams about how he was going to make a million dollars and get us out of there. Then when the dreams didn't materialize and the plans fell through, he would go on a week-long drunk that would eat up whatever money my mother had scrounged from her household allowance, my father's last paycheck (he was always getting fired) and the contents of my piggybank, which I learned to hide away from all of them before too many years had passed.

"After my father had sobered up and went through another week of being hung over, swearing 'Never again!' and cursing his rotten luck, he would go back out into the world and get another job, no better than the last one, and begin dreaming his dreams all over again. My mother would wipe the tears from her face, heave a sigh, and go back to saving a few pennies here and there, hoping she'd be saving a few pennies she'd be strong enough to keep them away from her charming, no-good husband when he was ready for his next drunk. And I would go back to feeding that piggybank for all I was worth running errands, babysitting as soon as I was old enough, doing extra chores for the women who lived around us, making yarn dolls and doilies and placemats and whatever else I could create for nothing and sell at a profit of five, maybe even twenty-five cents.

"When I was twelve, I had my first menstrual period and decided that I was now a woman, and, as such, was ready to split that lousy slum we'd lived in for as long as I could remember. I broke my piggybank-by now I'd changed nickels and quarters into dollar bills before putting them in there-and discovered I had enough to pay for a one-way ticket to my maternal grandmother's home in!.DB Angeles.

"My mother cried and asked what she'd ever do without me, because I was the oldest kid and I helped her a lot. My father went out and got drunk because he knew I didn't want to live with them anymore, which made him realize all over' again what a failure.he was. My brothers and sister looked on with envy and longing in their eyes-they'd known what I was planning for two years, and they wanted out, too, even though they all loved my mother and dad.

"I bad a few moments of thinking that maybe I ought to stay a little longer and help them struggle along for a few more years, but then the old man came home falling-

down drunk and threw up all over the threadbare living room rug that was my mother's pride and joy. When I saw the poor woman down on her knees, trying to clean up the mess and crying because she didn't have the guts to leave the man she loved. I knew it really was time for me to go-so I kissed everyone, goodbye-and my dad, too-and left.

"The trip west was exciting to me, even though I was seeing the country through the window of a Greyhound bus and living on peanut butter sandwiches half-way across the United States. I could hardly wait to get to glamorous Hollywood and make my fortune as a movie star. Grandma knew I was coming, and she met me at the bus stop with open arms.

"I didn't tell grandma about the nice man who'd been sitting next to me for the last foul' hundred miles and buying my food. He'd been buying my food because I didn't report him to the bus driver for putting his hand up my skirt and trying to feel my twelve-year-old pussy. When he first did it, I jumped-I hadn't any experience that way, as yet-but I knew instinctively that if I kept quiet and let him feel around a little before I moved away, he'd be willing to buy me something-maybe even give me some money for my new piggybank that was waiting at Grandma's house.