Ned Samuels - Hand maid

"Listen," she imagined telling him, "why don't you just hang loose a little bit and rest up."

He looked a little concerned. "Oh, I don't know…"

"Don't worry, really. My parents are gone. There's no chance of being caught. And anyways, don't you want to prove to me that you can make it a third time around – I know you have it in you."

Veronica took the boy to the side and then wiped him off. She like wiping off his smooth back, moving downward to just above the she on his buns, then drying the crack in his ass before proceeding to the small of his back, around the front, and the best part, his crimson, swollen balls. Vern took the towel and then gently tapped the balls, patting them first very slightly and then more firmly until she could feel their distinct weight right through the material. Vern moved upward in order to get a hold of that stem – no longer erect, but still swollen and impressive in size, fronting his balls, seemingly growing out of his dark curly bush like some great branch with a fantastic budding head. Vern saw the skin begin to crinkle under her touch and enjoyed watching him, much against his will, becoming excited once again from her manipulations. The cock seemed to have a mind of its own, first growing slightly, and then – right in front of her eyes – developing into a powerful shaft once again.

"Now," she said, "I knew you had it in you. Here you are, not even dry from our last little romp, and already for some more hot action."

"Guess you're right, Veronica."

Veronica imagined that she would like to have a chance at this hot guy in bed – conventional, but then again, she hadn't tried this one with this young stud. Leading him to the bedroom, she glanced at the refrigerator. That was it, she thought! She pictured his big, juicy lips, his ravenous expression, and knew that the right touch lie just inside the little ole kitchen. Within minutes, the young nympho had prepared the perfect little sex feast: a bowl of whipped cream, fresh strawberries, a flask of red wine; sliced peaches and a large bowl of yogurt. Returning with assorted goodies on a tray, the boy was at first surprised but he soon caught on, delighting in the prospects.

"Oh, I see it's time to satisfy our hunger," he said innocently.

"You've got the idea already, I see."

Ron couldn't decide what to do first. He looked very tempting on the bed; from his long legs, stretching on the pillow; from his cock and balls which were already swelling, to his smooth midsection, freshly matted with a thin layer of hair.

Vern decided to get right down to business, approaching his minuscule nipples with the whipped cream, then favoring the strawberries. "Your cherries could use a little reddening, I think," she said, then crushed a large berry right on his left nipple, the red juice merging with his own crimson, then the fruit itself entirely covering the bud with its own brand of sensuality. Vern liked that, and encouraged, she so continued, until both his nipples were covered with fruit. Without delay, Vern stuck out her tongue, then moved herself into position until she could poignantly taste the sensation of merging salt, sweat, and that particular unique fragrance of man. "Mmmm," she leaked out, "you taste really good for such a young fellow."

Veronica, snapping back to reality, realized that she wanted to make her entire fantasy more vivid, so she want to her own kitchen and fortunately found some ripe strawberries, which she promptly prepared in a ball, also approximating as closely as possible the remainder of the feast. Now, she thought, I'm really ready to jump in on this fantasy. After all, what good's the thought without the sensation? Who's to stop helping the whole thing along a little bit? It wasn't cheating, nothing of the sort, if for no other reason, that in masturbatory fantasies, the sole practitioner sets the ground rules: another little dividend of the solitaire sport.

Veronica returned to her delightful little party. "Vern," the lad quipped, "are you sure you don't mind messing up your bed like this?"

"My friend," she answered, "that's really what a bed is for, you know; you'll learn that when you get older, you young stud." Vern walked closer to her prey, putting the whipped cream in position in order to facilitate her little plans. Lets see, she thought, perhaps a little of this fluff in the right place, like on his buns, spreading it all around until his ass looks like the top of a cake, or better yet, over his little chest until his nipples are once again covered and his little hair no longer visible, except for a few particularly long strands, breaking through the sea of fluff like a few tall grasses break through the snow in dead winter. No, she thought this has got to be hard core, no two ways about it. She'd go for the guy's fabulous pecker, all shriveled, badly needing some real attention.

Vern applied some of the heavenly stuff on the guy until she could feel his pecker rise once again to its full glory. Little by little, it filled with blood and got harder, growing up on his abdomen, doubling, almost tripling it in total volume, like some gargantuan growth, but a fabulous enticing growth tipped with the most fascinating red cap of sensitive, ex posed skin. Oh, how she wished to devour that little sundae she'd prepared immediately, but she knew that this sort of affair is best held out to maximum duration, like a drinking party fueled by a particularly delicious, but not particularly spiked punch. She covered the shaft (now in its full glorious size) with cream until she could see none of his own skin, but was instead faced with what looked like, for want of better simile, a stucco harpoon. Stucco harpoon? Why not.

Veronica started to eat her little feast, but first decided to top the whole thing with a nice little strawberry; she marveled on how it eroticized his cock, making it look like some artist's representation. Slowly, she sucked on the berry until she squeezed the red juice out of it, then let it drool down the side of her mouth in sensuous abandon. "Baby, I'm going to eat your whole cock!" she said, suddenly starved out of her mind with more than one kind of appetite.

"Do it to me, do it to me," he begged.

"Nothing is gonna stop me little boy," she answered.

She imagined hearing a car, and her heart jumped for one second. Imagine being caught like this: her friend strewn on her parent's bed naked, an orgy of food surrounding the two of them, and worse yet, Veronica ravenously eating cream for the environs of the lad's fat cock.

"Eat me," he groaned.

"Like this?" she asked, taking a big portion of cream in her mouth.

"Yes that's it, eat me naked. Eat all of that cream off me and the make me cream; make me make cream. I want to shoot in your fucking mouth."

She realized the boy was almost mad with desire. After all, she hadn't let the poor boy get any real relief, for as soon as he'd shot his wad, she'd go at him at get him excited before he could bask in the release, before he could get completely limp, she was mercilessly stimulating him, before he could fall off into a sweet slumber; Veronica was making him ache for her body – her cunt, her mouth, her ass, her great tits – with every bit the passion he originally possessed. She had no mercy at all.

"Baby, faster, faster," he moaned, obviously aching from the cock.

Veronica could hardly wait to do her special number on the guy. Without hesitation, without the slightest pause, she took a surprisingly large portion of his pecker into her mouth, covering the sides of the oral orifice with the thick cream, which, mixing with her own saliva, soon lost it viscosity and started to, to put it plainly, dribble. The boy looked at this and was more turned on than ever, because now part of her was mixing with that organic fluff.

"Suck it, suck it good, Vern," he begged.