Stu Boy - She Needs Some Pleasin

He was in a half daze. And as his mind cleared, reality came to him, bit by bit. Four walls, one window. And it was autumn, he knew that.

Connecticut, yes, he knew that much.

The door squeaked. Someone opening it. A woman… or a girl, who the hell knew which… and she said, "Hi, Mr. Jones." A white-white smile, and a pretty face, really. "How do I introduce myself? Well… let's just say I'm your… err… partner… " Her nostrils seemed to flare a bit, an exciting sight, even in his state.

She shut the door behind her, and in the same motion wet her lips, a naughty little tongue doing the job nicely.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Terri," and it was after she aid this that he noticed the long red-silk kimono that she wore. His penis came to life, for no good reason other than that. She put out her hand, and, not knowing what else to do, Bud Jones took it, folded his fingers around hers.

The silk material of her robe was held closed only by the weakness of a slim and white hand, revealing the milkiest, softest breasts he had ever imagined. His erection grew to a painful throb. He made his way to the couch, considering it a long distance from the bed, for those were the only two pieces of furniture in the therapy room.

She did not move, nor did she speak, for the moment that followed. "Terri?" he asked nervously.

"Oh, yes. We're not allowed to use our last names during sexual treatments." She moved her right foot forward, and Jones saw a lean and naked foot tentatively encased in a bedroom slipper.

"Are we…? I mean, are you… going to be the one… all the time?"

Her easy smile did not even hint laughter at his predicament. "If you wish." Her voice was soft. How different this room was from home. Here complete silence separated him by light-years from the world outside. At home, street noise or Bud Jr.'s squawl in the nursery might interrupt the most delicate maneuver when he made love to Judy. "But," the young blonde was continuing, "you don't have to decide that until later."

Her hand opened about the strip of matching fabric that served as the robe's belt. Underneath she wore only a shortie nightgown, so thin that its pale blue gauze was only a filter for the shape of her body. Her breasts were round and full, though not especially large. Chocolate areolas, the size of quarters, clung to the sheer material. Below, just above the gown's frilly hem, a triangle of thick hair covered the intersection of her legs. She turned around gracefully, offering her back to him. His hands trembled, but he carefully helped her off with the robe. When she turned to face him her smile was vibrant. She was less than a foot away. The soft mountains of her breasts rustled against his chest.

"Would you like me to undress you, Bud?"

She loosened his tie and wrenched the bottom of his shirt from the pants. He moved back and slipped out of the jacket and the shirt, then drew the undershirt over his head. When the flash of white cotton passed before his eyes, she was no longer facing him. But he felt her hands at his waist, loosening the belt.

She was on her knees. Her breasts heaved as she untied his shoelaces. She pulled off one heavy brogue and then the other, putting them aside on the plush shag rug. She peeled the socks past his heels. The stretch fabric contracted as it curled on the floor. She brought the loose slacks easily down his bony legs. He blushed with embarrassment when he looked down to see that his cock had already sprung from between the flaps of the Jockey shorts. But she caught the shy glance and soothed him with a pleased upward turn of her lips.

He stepped out of the pants. Her hands moved to his waist. She pulled on the elastic band of his shorts. Her fingers reached behind to the rims of his buttocks as she brought them down. His phallus vibrated, disappeared, and then popped out again as the underwear slid down his thighs. Her right hand moved down the outside of his left leg until the small palm cupped the patella. She pushed the flat of the thumb into the knee in signal that he should raise his leg. Standing in the same spot, the shorts crumpled between his parted legs, Bud Jones was naked.

"It's very nice, you know." He braced himself for the shock of her touch. His eyelids shut tightly. Her four long fingers on the side of the plank contained the electricity of as many exposed wires. He could feel the pulse of the blood as it moved up the organ's length to the vermilion tip. "The size, for instance, is perfect." Her forefinger tugged gently at the circumcised foreskin. The perfectly manicured nail drew the flesh away from raw glans. She seemed to be staring intently at the weapon, and he could feel warm breath upon the tiny slit. He knew he was already leaking dog-water; her breath made it feel icy on the head.

She rose up, and again the breasts bounced beneath the nightgown. "They said you preferred light."

"Yes," he began, interrupting himself with a nervous cough. "But we don't really need that." His chin moved back, and he aimed his forefinger at the light fixture. He could not hold back the humor he sensed in the situation, and he chuckled, "It's only nine-thirty in the morning."

"Yes," she said, and he could not decipher her mood. She turned. Her hind-cheeks seemed to flow Jazzily as she walked to the door. She pressed the light switch, and the room seemed immediately less harsh.

She stood by the bed. "Help me now." He marched toward her as though powered by a motor in the pit of his stomach. His hands closed on her hips, and he rubbed the gauze against her skin as he brought it up and over her body. She let the gown fall silently to the floor beside the bed. She had already stepped from the slippers. She closed her eyes, and the edge of her tongue made itself known between the folds of her soft lips. "Hold me, hold me tight." Her own arms pressed in to the sides of her body.

He brought his mouth against Terri's as he pushed his fingertips to the bone work of her back. She parted his lips with her tongue. The wet flank coated the thick furrows with spittle before she pushed between his teeth. The twin snakes twined as textures collided. Her tongue probed violently, wonderingly inside his mouth. The insides of his cheeks were brushed with the tip.

She bit gingerly at his lower lip with her teeth, then drew back and twisted her mouth over his. He was sore from the pressure of her teeth as she kissed him, but he let her lead. Her index finger stroked his left earlobe before it moved to trace the spiral of the outer ear. Her third finger scratched its nail against the sharp occipital bone at the skull's base, and he arched his spine in pleasure. The fatigue in the small of his back exploded and vanished.

Jones felt her go limp in his arms. She was easing down to the bed. He followed her, not letting go. Her buttocks touched the mattress, and she gripped his forearms. He was eased down in the hint of a grip, and his chest brushed over the sighing mountains of pale breasts. The sharp stones moved against the thin chest hairs. She bent her legs and rested her ankles on his heels. Bud's prick struck the labia, and underneath him Terri wriggled in satisfaction.

He grabbed the muscle at its root and jammed the head against the softness of the hole. Her thighs tightened around his legs. "Not yet, not yet, baby," she whispered, kissing him on his smooth-shaven cheek. She looked into his eyes; their noses almost touched.

"Like this… " she began, and, pressing her ass into the bed, she moved from under him. She rearranged her body so that she stretched out on the bed's length. She cupped her breasts in her hands. Her thumbs twisted over the red crowns of the nipples. Her legs eased apart, and her wrists pushed in to the sides of her chest. The fingers moved gracefully down to the middle of the cream-white stomach. As if afraid of her own heat, she approached the cunt-lips delicately. Her nails creased the skin just before they were lost inside the net of pubic hair. The sides of her forefingers reappeared through the weave as they pulled apart the outer folds of the hole. Now the insides of the fingers rubbed the strands of pink meat. Her round thumb rolled over the eruption of the clitoris, then brushed aside. "Right… there… " she sighed, and relaxed, rustling her shoulders against the clean white sheets.