Dallas Mayo: The fluffy girl

To hell with the wedding, let's have the honeymoon!

I moved my hand, the hand he was still kissing, leading his head downward in a gesture that let him know what my need was. Eyes shining, he gazed up at me in adoration, whispering some compliment about my youth and beauty. I cut it short, my voice thick and throaty and rife with urgency.

"No more talk. Just love me… "

It galvanized him into action. He slumped low and began kissing my legs ardently, not just a pair of tiny pecks this time. I was still partially clothed, still in high heels and nylons. Garter belt. Panties. Bra. But he made no attempt to undress me, nor did I want him to. I was enjoying the sensation of his hot mouth through the fragile fabric of my hosiery.

His kisses glided upward, halting at my knees awhile and then skimming my thighs. A flurry of caresses tickled my skin just above the stocking-tops. At the same moment, quite«dexterously, he reached up and hooked into the waistband of the panties. I leaned back, angling a little and resting on my elbows. That motion was voluntary, but seconds later my hips rose from the sofa with no conscious effort on my part. And then the panties were slipping away and the cool air replacing their warmth, touching me intimately.

I closed my eyes and fell all the way back. The garter straps tightened and tugged at the stockings; it felt constricting but not unpleasantly so. They weren't in the way. Nothing was in the way. Nothing but me! Craving. Demanding. Luxuriating. My body became an object of total sensuality, my flesh quivered and twitched and offered itself to the delight of his lingering caress.

"Dana… darling… darling… "

The words were muffled, scarcely audible, but I could sure feel them. I could feel the hot vibrations in my cunt, the sweet liquid fire communicating itself to the surrounding surfaces. They were the kind of words that required no spoken reply. I was just kissing him back, that was answer enough, kissing his lips with my hairy ones. Although there was just a hint of slightly prickly stubble on his face, too, quite different from my own downy fluff. It felt fine. Scratchy but nice. Tongue too, rough but nice. A thrill I hoped would go on forever. Or for a long time, anyway. Forever was too serious a word to fret about now.

I raised my limbs slowly, careful to avoid dislodging even a whisker of his deeply implanted face. My knees straightened and I opened my eyes to see the elongated projection of my legs encased in the shiny-dull film of nylon. Topped now by upside-down shoes with slim heels pointing toward the ceiling.

They were beautiful, those legs. I only wished dear Jerome could see them from this interesting viewpoint. But he was too busy. And I didn't care to interrupt him, naturally, he seemed more than satisfied to remain right there. Implanted. As if he had found a home that suited him to perfection. Implanted in my cunt. A home he hoped never to leave.

Later, perhaps, I would insist on his leaving it; there were other areas of my body that merited attention, each quite beautiful in its own way. I knew his big rough tongue would go right on lapping even if I turned over and shoved my naked buttocks in his face. My lewdly beautiful ass. It might shock him, perhaps, but that wouldn't matter. I was in control. He would never dream of backing out now. So I could succumb without any petty restrictions to my desire for ever more daringly contrived caresses. I wondered how he would fare with a mouthful of my toes.

Ah yes, soon I would lower my legs and roll this way and that and demand that he follow my twisting and turnings and accept whatever bounty I granted him. And he would do so. I was sure of it. Because it would make me happy, and wasn't that of prime importance to both of us?

Hmm. A novel concept. It was nice to be selfish and still know that it was the right thing to do. Something new in ethics. If I married Jerome our relationship would broaden rather than shrink. I would be his wife and his mistress and his dictator all at the same time, and he would love me all the more for it. I might even become his whore, for old time's sake?, and he would love me all the more for that too, a wealthy young matron recalling her humble origin and subsequent rise from poverty. Not that this young whore was ever impoverished! It. was simply a matter of taking pride in being Mrs. Jerome Ackroyd if that impossibility ever came to pass.

Oh shit, not a chance! Even with this manly muff-diver of mine going at it like a bridegroom down there, I was famished for a taste.of some tawny female flesh. Dying for a whiff of cunty perfume. Would that big beautiful bitch-goddess never let go?

Sprawled lazily on the living room couch, Zoe reeked of perfume and radiated sex, absolutely alluring in her filmy negligee. If only I could have made love to her! If only I hadn't promised to be nice to that other one…

She was already waiting for me in the bedroom, though, middle-aged and fat, a rather pathetic creature. Blanche Fuller. A plump blob of flesh, all smiles and simpers and giggles, an inane parady of girlishness. An oversized kewpie-doll with washed-out blue eyes and a mop of orange-streaked reddish-brown hair, ugh, I felt like a condemned prisoner with no hope of a reprieve.

"Still pouting, hmm? Come on, kid, wipe that look off your face. You couldn't be nice to anybody when you're sulking."

"I, I could be nice to you. Zoe?" Feigning a weak grin, I bent and kissed her bare foot beseechingly, licking the toes with the tip of a worshipful tongue. "Isn't there some way I can get out of this without causing trouble?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You just try and I'll personally guarantee that you'll be in for the hassle of your life. Now leave my feet alone, you're getting yourself all steamed up."

"Steamed up, oh sure. Don't I wish I could."

"Huh? Oh. Come on up here. I guess maybe we ought to do something about that. Put you in a better mood."

I straightened up and stepped toward her beckoning hand, gasping as it shot out and seized my thigh. The clamped palm squeezed and relaxed alternately, stupefying me with an ebb and flow of sensation. I winced and then trembled uncontrollably as the forceful grip inched upward with deliberate but maddening slowness.

"Look at me. This is Zoe telling you what to do. When you go into that bedroom, don't worry, you'll be great. You'll think of me, only me, and that will make it easy to put on an act for her. Remember, you'll be doing it to please me. Just me. And I'm the only one for you, isn't that right?"

"Y-yes. You're the only one."

"Good girl."

My knees were getting limp. Still flexing, her hand had reached my cunt, cupping it from outside but delaying entry as I licked my dry lips and struggled to keep from collapsing. Her face became a weird blur. All but the eyes, the dark slitted eyes that glowed and commanded and imparted their uncompromising message; oh shit, they bored right through me!

"And it'll be a good act, you understand, Dana?"

"Uh-huh… " I didn't, really, at least not clearly, how could I think of one woman and put on an act for another? But this wasn't the time to say so. It might interrupt the movements of those fingers down there, especially that one marvelous finger that had left the others to go foraging around on its own.

"Okay. That's settled." Her hand fell away. "Don't worry, you'll be just, "

"No. Please… "

"Huh?"

"M-more. Do it some more."

"Oh?" The dark eyes glittered. "No, you've had enough, you're in the right mood now. Yeah. You'll do just fine. But you can give me a little kiss if you want to." Then, sharply, "Not like that. You know the kind of kiss that pleases me most. The same kind that pleases you. Uh-huh. That's better."