Holly Hope - Slut girl

When we'd first started living together, he had told me how having four kids in three years had wrecked his first marriage – he just didn't like kids – and his last wife had had four abortions – actually three, and one miscarriage – and had been un-fuckable, as he phrased it, half the time, and had kept him broke with doctor bills the other half, and he blamed it all on pregnancies. So we'd gotten on the pill right away, but the side effects bothered me a lot. I knew he didn't want to hear me griping and complaining all the time, so he of course didn't realize how I felt. But I had thought that by now he'd really like to have a small family, so I'd been proud of the fact that I was going to make a father of him. The subject of kids hadn't been discussed since that very first time when we first got together. Ah, shit! I thought as I sat morosely at the kitchen table.

I sat and waited, sat and waited, even cried a little a couple of times. Everything was going so damn well, and now this. Oh, hell. Then about noon Jack Larson, a salesman buddy of George's knocked. When I let him in, telling him that George wasn't here, he told me.

"Yeah, I know. He looked me up, gave me this note, and sent me over for his stuff. I'll pack it. He told me what to bring." He headed for the bedroom as I opened the note and read it.

"Sheri," it said. "I told you there was only one no-no in our relationship: kids. O.K., you thought you'd trap me with a brat, but you guessed wrong, baby. You are the most perfect sex partner I've ever known or ever will find, probably, but you still got a lot to learn about men. Good luck wherever you go. Here's a hundred bucks to get started on. That's it, baby. I refuse to be a pigeon for any broad." As I finished rereading it and it penetrated to my numbed mind, Jack left the house with two suitcases and I just sat there sobbing. My perfect day had turned to a mountain of shit. Happy birthday, Loser!

I won't bore you with the mess that the next six months turned into. I had never worked, knew no trade, couldn't type or file, so I ended up slinging hash in a crummy dump on McDowell St. My "husband" was in the Army, I told everyone, and even though I pinched pennies and cut corners, I could see that my baby'd be born in County General. Then Gladys, an older, sorta hard cookie that worked with me told me, because I'd confided to her that I didn't want the baby, and that my "husband" had written from overseas that he was not coming back to me, well, she told me about this adoption thing. If they accepted you, they'd pay your living expenses the last couple of months, cover your doctor and hospital bills, and take care of you for a couple months after the baby was born, to let you get on your feet.

Gladys knew of a friend of a friend who'd gone that route, and came out of it pretty well, signing over the baby to a nice responsible couple. She put me in touch with a lawyer on North Central who handled it, and when I went to see him, he accepted me. He referred me to a doctor who examined me, and then scheduled me for what he said was a detailed diagnosis. When I showed up for that, his nurse put me under sodium pentothal, he examined me, and a week later the attorney wrote me and asked me to come to his office for some final details.

When. I entered his office, he met me at the door and as I walked in, he shut and locked the door. He motioned me to a chair in front of his desk and came and stood in front of me, lounged back against his desk, and unzipped his trousers and tugged out his cock.

"Suck it!" he commanded sharply, and I guess I just sat there with my mouth open. "C'mon, Sheri, I want a blow job! NOW!" He leaned forward toward my face, which was just at his crotch level, and put his long, limp cock in my hands while I tried to think what to do. What the hell was going on here? What did he think I was? He answered that.

"C'mon, c'mon," he urged. "You aren't Mrs. Collins, or even close to it – you're Sheri Jackson and you're a runaway from probation. Now you can either cooperate or by God you get sent back. And you'll go to reform school for three or four years if you go back to Iowa. So quit stallin', baby. You're no Goddam cherry, so quit playin' hard to get." His smooth attorney's veneer was gone, and he was just another dirty old man.

"I… how did… you find out?" I stammered.

"Shit! Simple. Like you, dummy. That sodium pentothal examination is a deal I have with the doc. He probes with truth serum, and passes on the goodies, all the information, to me. We work together. C'mon now, get with it – you ain't losin' a damn thing but a few minutes' time, hon."

I didn't like the circumstances at all, but as I had sat there talking and holding his cock, my warm hands had apparently communicated my feminine touch to him, and his meat had hardened perceptibly. I had been without any sex for a couple of months, and nature took over. My brain began to pound and my gut ached as I fondled his long slim cock tenderly. It was a funny-looking pecker, different from any that I'd experienced. It was about eight inches long – limp – and no bigger around than my thumb, and he wasn't circumcised. As I petted it and got ready to kiss it and suck it, I could feel the blood rushing through and into it, and it stiffened up rapidly. But it didn't get any bigger! It was still an eight-inch skinny cock! It ended up looking like a big expensive cigar – long and maybe only an inch in diameter, with this fold of skin over the tip.

I smiled up at him – to be frank, I damn near laughed at the sight of his cock – and he took that for encouragement. Well, hell yes, I was going to blow him. I was blackmailed into not being able to say no, plus the simple fact that I did want some sex. Christ, pregnant or not, I just couldn't go too long without it.

As I bent my head to get at his tool, he settled his hips against the desk firmly, and my little hands grasped his weapon like a kind of skinny ball bat. I let my hands slide backwards along his shaft, and the skin was rolled back to display a shiny pointed glans that glistened before my face. I had always seen brownish-purple heads on pricks, and this new shiny pink one intrigued me, and I wondered if it'd taste different. I'd soon find out.

The instant I touched the head with my hot wet tongue, he tensed, and I pulled back, licked my lips liberally, and encircled the pink head with my lips. I suctioned on the thin, hard lollipop, bobbing my head very briefly to let it enter my mouth, and then my tongue took over, and I flashed and fucked it hotly back and forth along the underside of his glans. Then, as I let go with my hands to get a better grip, I felt the roll of skin that I had peeled back earlier come sliding forward. My tongue was trapped and surrounded by the warm silken fold of cock skin as his tool returned to its enveloped style. I liked the sensation, and let his cock alone with my hands so that I could delve farther back and cuddle his balls. His bag hung down six inches or more, and his nuts were simply enormous – they felt like tennis balls, only a lot heavier.

By now I was getting hotter and hotter, and I wanted as much of his pencil-slim rod in me as I could get, although it was pretty damned long. I quit jouncing his balls and grabbed the base of his cock again and yawned widely and leaned forward. As more and more of his tool slipped into my hungry mouth, I kept bathing the rigid length of it with a rapidly swishing tongue, bobbing my head fiercely as I withdrew, then took more than the last stroke, withdrew, inhaled farther yet, and thus kept absorbing more and more of its length until I felt his bristly hairs hitting my forehead and eyes. By now his long rod was bending at the head when it hit the back of my throat and the roof of my mouth, and just as I'd start to feel a gagging sensation I'd raise my head, catch my breath, and then as I got the rhythm that any good cocksucker eventually develops, I would breathe in through my mouth as I withdrew, and exhale through my nose as I gulped his stiff meat into my cheeks and mouth.