John Peter - Teenage wives

"Oh, oh, oh," moaned the little boy again. "Oh, God… I… ah… it's fucking! It's not kissing! It's fucking!" He finished shooting his wad and enjoyed thoroughly the pressing cylinder of flesh which he called Janet's cunt. It squeezed out every last drop of whatever it was that was coming out of his joint. He liked that, and he liked the thing called fucking, and he knew that even before he climbed down off of Janet Tibbleton's luscious teenage bod. "Wow, Janet," he said, "you sure are nice to be having me do this kissing and stuff with you."

Janet took a deep breath and gasped one more time before she said: "Stan, it was my pleasure, little boy. Completely my pleasure." She thought about that for a minute and then she said: "I guess it was pretty nice for you, too, hey little man?" The boy smiled and clumsily started dressing in his uniform.

Five minutes later he was with the rest of his troop going up the block, door-to-door, selling chocolate for charity.

It didn't take long for Janet Tibbleton to acquire a rather lengthy list of lovers, men and woman of all vocations and walks of life, who were quite willing, even on such short notice as a telephone call, to come running to her bedside in order to make the really futile effort to satisfy her truly insatiable carnal appetite. As a matter of fact, by the time she'd been a teenage bride for no less that the term of a pregnancy- and it must be remembered that when she began her marriage she was virgin and pure as the driven snow-she'd developed the stamina of a bull. This or that man, cordially invited to the house in the absence of Tom Tibbleton, found his departure courteously (and sometimes rudely) requested when screwed weak and dry after a remarkably short period of time.

Naturally, Janet had her favorites, her special men and lovers who made sex for her pure joy. Suck was the case with the lad Stan, and on occasion, with the grocery clerk, Jack. But when she analysed the facts of the matter Janet discovered that her real love, and thus what satisfied her about these partucular men, was not their fortitude but their youth. It was, as they say, a purely emotional issue. Though she herself was a "child bride," married at seventeen, her real love was not for men in general, she was discovering, but for men in puberty. As with every generalization, there was one exception: Tom Tibbleton. There was no avoiding it. She couldn't understand why, but no matter who else she fucked, no matter what male, what female, what masturbatory tool she might have used, nothing satisfied her quite so much as her very own husband. Call it romance, call it Tom's dumb luck, call it nonsense-whatever it was, Janet Tibbleton felt like hell if she didn't get her daily dose of Tom's thick meat. This is not to say that Tom alone could have quenched his teenage wife's incredible sexual cravings. Not by a long shot. I?ut the combination of any two men which did not include as one of the choices her husband, resulted in frustration. And so it was that she patterned her love life in accord with this mystical formula. She would fuck a boy in the afternoon, and Tom in the evening. Or, vice versa: she would fuck Mr. Tibbleton in the early a.m., before he went on his way to the studio, and later that day she would finish off the inevitable vaginal crave with a quickie from some pubescent boy in the neighborhood. Often times she would have the two affairs lined up like bowling pins. She'd time the event of her sexual intercourse in such a manner that as her husband left via one door, a twelve-year-old little girl came in the back door (for the obvious purpose). The proximity of the two fucks aided in her sexual excitement in two ways. One, she was still hot from the previous fucking, and, two, there was a certain sense of danger involved. Or, so she believed until one very, very strange day, a day, which made all the difference in her future love life…

It happened that Tom had missed a night. He'd not been in the mood for fondling his pretty wife's teenage titties, and he'd gone soundly to sleep without so much as a kiss to her clit. Though it had long been his habit to at least provide her a quick "go" in the late evening, on this particular evening, dead tired from his work, he no sooner hit the sheets when he was fast asleep. And every effort to wake him for even a token effort toward sex failed miserably.

The next morning, when Janet finally woke-she'd slept late because without her sex she'd tossed and turned until the wee hours-Tom had already left for work. She paced the room dialing one number after another to seek a quick little climax. Somehow, it was just one of those days, and she was unable to track down batteries, even, for her dildo. She ended that tool by tossing it in abject frustration against the back wall of the bedroom where it shattered a mirror to a thousand pieces.

Nude, angered, no longer able to enjoy exotic combinations with vegetables and pencils, disinterested in even a steaming enema, unmoved by the notion of rubbing her pussy on a door handle, exhausted by her own pacing, she lay down on her bed and wept until her eyes hurt. "Oh, God," she cried, "what's a teenage bride to do?" Her cute little ass even looked red with-frustration instead of its normal creamy white, as if her rectum had been crying. She pounded her pillow until her fists grew tired, and then she rolled onto her back, big pendular titties following her over, and tried one last time to prestidigitate her cunt-prick to life. She rubbed her finger across the unusually cool button, and discovering it dry, applied a bit of spittle to her fingers and repeated the effort. But it was, as she suspected, no go.

Drained of all emotion, she calculated logically that she could run down her list of lovers one more time, call them all again, and see if just one of them might be available. She nearly didn't call young Stan, her twelve year old lover, but at the last minute, despite the risk involved, dialed the child's home number. To her surprise and delight, the boy himself answered. "Listen, Stan," she said softly, trying to hide her sense of panic, "how would you like to come over and kiss a little with me. Just for a little while. Would you like that?" There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and then she heard Stan whisper:

"I'll sneak out in about a half-hour." Janet started to say, "I can't wait a half-" But the line went dead. She hung up and did things to keep herself busy.

She took a quick shower, arranged the bedroom sheets so that they were neat and clean and crisp, powdered and perfumed her supple flesh, and spread herself out on the bed. The child, through previous such encounters, knew how to let himself into the house through the backyard, and Janet was betting that he would follow this procedure on this occasion, too. Sure enough, no sooner had she stretched her twat lips open with two fingers, when she heard the steady roll of the boy's feet coming down the hallway. "Oh, God, at last," she moaned. The boy entered smiling and happy to see his naked teenage lover. "Hi, Janet," he said, stripping quickly. "You horny?"

"Oh, yes, Stan," she said. "I need you a lot to kiss me today." She eyed the child's member. Even since she'd met him a couple of months before, his gentials had grown larger, his pubic forest more dense. "You're getting to be quite a young man now," she told him. She anticipated that the youth would fuck her quickly, would hold her over until Tom arrived home, and that would take care of the day. She began to breathe easy as the child climbed up onto her body.

"Where should we start?" she asked. "Do you want a liitle kiss on your penis?"

"You mean a blow job?" said the boy in imitation of what he thought a man should say.

"Now, now," said Janet, "don't be nasty. A kiss on your penis is what I meant." She rolled over and pressed her lips to the youth's hot muscle. It was nearly erect by the time he got up onto the bed, and now, with a few licks, the entire mushroom head was twitching spasmodically at full strength. Not wanting to waste the child-man's enthusiasm and jism, she released his prick from her face and asked him to eat her for a bit. He smiled and cordially went about the task she'd so painstakingly taught him to do. He licked her clit up and down, rubbed it with his tongue, ate out the center of her hole with eager fever. He rubbed his nose, even, in the clit juice pie. He sucked up the clit meat and the environs and she began to bounce with glee. "That's it, darling," she moaned. "That's just perfect. You're my favorite lover of all time. You do that so well, it's the best ever."