Ron Taylor: Do me, Daddy!

Easy enough to remedy that. I took my last puff on the cigarette, crushed it out, and dived into my snatch with both hands. One set of fingers spread the pink pussy-flaps wide, baring the red mouth of my cunt, while the rest of my fingers began to strum and tickle.

I could feel my nails scratching the flesh of my inner labes, but it didn't hurt. On the other hand entirely, it made me smile for the first time this evening. I scratched a little harder, this time taking care to plant a few scrapes on the steadily rising bud of my clit. Prodded so, it erected all the faster, puffing into my fingers like a sprouting bean, and I tweaked it hello.

The heel of my palm rested on the mouth of my pussy and I could hear the squishing sounds its pressure made as my wetness increased. There was a nice smell, too, wafting out of my moistening hole, and I sniffed in appreciation.

By now my cunt was wet and juicy, ready for play. So I made three fingers into a tight-clenched bunching prong and stuck them up my cunt, twisting from side to side as I worked them farther up my hole. That was really nice! The lips of my cunt spread graciously, and though the clumped fingers didn't quite have the bulk of Uncle Roy's dick, they beat hell out of having an empty pussy, tonight of all times. I pushed till the fingers were buried in my hole and the elastic lips of my box snuggled in close around them, and I tried to use the tips to tickle the end of my cunt, the way Uncle Roy's cock had done during our one and only fuck-session.

It wouldn't work. They weren't long enough. Scratch that nifty idea. I let them slide back down my snatch, the tips resting just inside the pussy-flaps. What a fucking bummer, anyway! I'd been fucked to a faretheewell today and I was damned sure that my fingers just couldn't compete while the memory was still so strong inside me.

While thinking it over, I removed the hand that had been splitting my gash for easy finger entrance. It wasn't needed now that my cunt-hole was pleasantly plugged. I brought it up to my chest and began to fondle both my tits, working back and forth. First the left nipple, teasing and pinching, then the right nipple, and it got the same treatment. I don't play favorites.

The trouble was, when I started thinking consciously, I found myself wondering what Mom and Uncle Roy were doing. What were they up to?

"Oh, fuck it!" I said out loud, sitting up. I didn't want to think about them any more. Quickly I began to diddle my box, fingers stabbing through my gash, into the boiling mouth of my pussy. I dug deeply, crooking my finger when it was buried, and my tits rose and fell faster with the tempo of my breathing, but I could feel the good mood starting to pass from me.

With a sigh, I pulled my fingers out of my twat and got up to get another cigarette, and – my fucking luck – found I was out. Then I remembered that I had bought an extra pack and left them in my coat. I bounced to the wardrobe and began to shuffle through the hanging clothes.

In the process one of my feet slid on a throw rug and I stumbled forward, almost bashing my skull on the inner wall of the wardrobe. I cursed in anger as I regained my balance, and it was just then that my hand lit upon something in the dark recesses of the closet.

I pulled it out, shaking my head in surprise. Good Lord! When I was nine or ten, I'd gone through a spell of fascination with being a majorette. I used to practice twirling with my own junior-size baton, and I really hated the girls who got chosen over me as majorettes for the local junior-league football team. How long had the Goddamned thing been gathering dust in the back of the wardrobe? Three or four years at least. I'd forgotten about having it.

The memories sparked inside me and, half-drunk, I began to prance around the room naked, clumsily twirling, my lips tra-la-laing "The Stars and Stripes Forever". Even when I was interested, I couldn't majorette for shit, and I wasn't doing that well now. In the end I fell onto my bed, laughing, still holding the baton, my fist wrapped tightly around its bigger end knob.

Cold it was, but as my hand warmed it, the baton head began to feel exactly like a throbbing cock. That was a giggle. I brought it to my mouth and kissed it lovingly, but there was no response from the baton.

"Well, fuck you," I told it, letting it fall by my side. I picked it up again almost as soon as I'd dropped it. Hmmmm. No, the larger knob wouldn't fit into my mouth. It was far too big. How about my snatch? How would it feel to have something like this jammed into my cunt? I spread my twat-lips to their widest, and I bathed the rubbery knob in my cunt-juice, but it was no go.

"Shit." Wait! Only one end of the baton had an enormous rubber head adornment. The other tip had only a little rubber cap. I reversed the baton in my hands and began to tease my cunt with the end.

MMMM!! That felt goooadddd! My snatch was greasy already and the rubber knob slid past the labes and right inside my hole. I shoved it, raising my ass from the bed as I took it all the way, and I couldn't repress a shriek when I felt it graze the end of my cunt. Something seemed to throb inside me, all the way from crown to toes, and it didn't stop throbbing when I pulled the baton back for a breather.

Roy had a thicker shaft, and hotter, too, but that baton was doing okay, let me tell you! I grabbed it with both hands, stuffed it as far up my cunt as it would go, then began to revolve it just like a farm girl chums butter. It did the trick in my churn, though it produced cream in me, cream that dripped and oozed from my little pink twat-lips and bubbled in my muff.

I could close my eyes then, and imagine that it was Roy fucking me again. "Yes," I panted, "give it to me hard! Oh, you son of a bitch! Fuck harder!"

And I was getting it harder. The baton swished in and out of my hole, prodding my cunt as deeply as any girl could ever be prodded, and my ass kept bouncing off the bed to meet the swift in-strokes. I didn't have to use my hands. The muscles of my cunt were clenching and unclenching by themselves, sucking the baton in, spitting it out. And the big knob jutted up into the air from between my lifted knees, and it wobbled, too, like the cock of an anxious lover on his way to your bed. I took my hands away and let my pussy control the action, grabbing double fistfuls of my tits.

I squeezed and dug into the firm little mounds, my fingers catching nipples between knuckles and grinding together to make me squeal in delight. I'd have scars and scratches in the morning, but it wasn't morning yet.

My ass lunged and bucked and rocked on the bed. The baton slid up my twat, retreated, then lurched home once more. It was an incredible feeling, to know that the muscles of my snatch were strong enough to dildo me so beautifully. I could have experimented with them, sure, but I wasn't in the mood to experiment. I just wanted it now, hard and fast.

In another moment my cunt muscles weren't giving it to me hard enough or fast enough. I let go of one tit, still grabbing at the other with all my might, and I seized the baton handle, shoving it so far into my cunt the tip should have been stuck inside my throat. I let out a scream that could have been heard in Toledo, and then I lay shivering on the bed, unable to move freely. The shock waves of a massive come rippled through me, over me, around me, battering my body with its force and flogging me brutally with spasms of ecstasy.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't see. With the last remnant of energy in me I jerked the baton out of my cunt – the way I was twitching I could easily rupture myself with the fucking thing. It slid from my spanning hole with a squishy pop, rasping the raw lips of my slice, and I seemed to enter a whole new world of coming when the sensation transmitted through my body. I twisted and turned on the bed, pulling my legs up, hugging them against me, and all I could do was sob and purr through my tears.