Elly - 3

     When I awoke, I lay there for a few minutes trying to sort things
out. The clock said 9:08. After reminding myself that this was a
Saturday and I did not have to go into the place I laughingly refer to
as "work," I began to wonder: Had I dreamed it? No; there was a wet spot
where she'd lain. And I became aware of the aroma of fresh coffee (half-
Sumatra, quarter-pound each of French-roasted Mexican Altura and French-
roasted Colombian, dripped in a Braun Melitta-filter pot) I rolled to my
feet, pulled on my faded blue terrycloth robe, slipped into my slippers
(clever name for them, eh?) and thwap-thwapped into the living room.
     Elly had opened the shutters and glorious sunshine was pouring in
through the fourth-floor windows of my tenement apartment. She was doing
wonderful things for my old, blue Dior robe (the tattered one that came
halfway to my calves). A cup of The Good Stuff was on the battered old
oak table next to the love seat and she'd switched the stereo to play
through the living room speakers, the ones in the books shelves. It was
something called "LITE FM" and I hated it. "LITE" means no calories and
calories are a measure of heat; no-one was ever going to accuse Ann
Murray or Kansas of generating heat with their music.
     On Elly's lap was the three-ring binder in which I keep photocopies
of my published stories.
     She looked up as I entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she'd been
weeping. "Oh, David," she said, "I can't believe you wrote these!"
     "Why not?" I already knew which one had elicited that response.
"Because I like to fuck?"
     Her expression collapsed. "Why do you have to spoil it?"
     "I'm a package deal. With the beautiful story comes the guy who
supported himself for a couple of years by writing brilliant, sensitive
stuff like `Lezzy Bitch' and `Mom, Sis And Every Body'. And if that
disappoints you, think what it does for me, okay?"
     She looked down and pursed her lips. I tried to ignore the Parting
of the Robe. She murmured, "I guess that's fair. I mean, you'll take me
as a package deal, I guess I have to do the same. You don't mind being
with a slutty bimbo who loves being fucked and cumming all the time."
She looked up at me, beautiful blue eyes wide and bright.
     "I don't mind and I don't think you're slutty."
     She closed the binder and set it aside. I was disappointed that She
wasn't compelled to finish what She was reading. She leaned forward and
I got a good view all the way down the front of her robe. She opened
mind and sucked my cock, still coated with our juices from the night
before, completely into her mouth and began using her tongue to wash it.
The inevitable happened quickly.
     She pulled back and released it and looked up at me. "I get off
sucking cock. Drinking semen makes me get over."
     "I know. So does being licked or having a cock inside you -- "
     "That's different. Then I can't stop cumming and I don't want to.
But drinking it, getting off that way -- then it's just once and I'm in
control."
     "And the other way you're being controlled."
     "No -- no, the other way I'm out of control, I can't control
myself. That's why I started studying Yoga when I was fifteen -- to help
me learn to control myself. I controlled my eating and stopped smoking
and never do drugs anymore and hardly ever even drink. And I never, ever
masturbate. That way nothing controls me but me and no one can control
me or hurt me or take advantage of me."
     "That's why you want it to hurt you when you fuck."
     She nodded gravely. "If it doesn't hurt -- well, you saw what
happened." She was blushing. "I just keep getting over..." She dropped
her eyes. "It's not natural to be such a slut. That's why you're the
first man I ever let lick me and that was just because I like you so
much."
     I frowned, pulled my robe closed and sat down in the rocker facing
the couch. "Last night you told me you liked it -- before I licked you."
     "No, I didn't -- "
     "You're not a good liar."
     "But you are the first -- "
     She stopped and tears welled up.
     "How old were you when you let a woman lick you?"
     "A year before I met you, my cousin and I, we -- we --"
     "You liked it."
     "Yes, dammit!" She shouted and then looked away. Softly: "I used to
masturbate and get over every night before I went to sleep. But when
Adele licked me, I went nuts. I licked her, too, and she went nuts, too.
That's when I realized what a slut I am, because she was the biggest
slut you ever saw and I was getting over just like her."
     "How do you know she was a slut?"
     "I'd seen her doing it with guys and men. She'd do it with any guy
she saw, sometimes whole bunches of them. It was like she couldn't get
enough, like she was an addict."
     "Sounds like she was a sex addict, alright. And a slut. But you're
no slut."
     "How can you say that? Only a slut would get over the way I do -- "
     "You're saying that every woman I ever cared about is a slut?" I
growled, as menacingly as I could. It must have been pretty effective
because her eyes widened, she jerked back on the couch and cringed,
holding the robe closed. I'm terrific at terrifying insecure women under
five feet tall.
     "No! I just meant -- "
     "The hell! You said a multiorgasmic woman is a slut and every woman
I've ever cared about has been multiorgasmic."
     "But -- "
     I pointed at the frame photo of a nude torso on the wall. "You've
met her. Is she a slut?"
     "Her?" Disbelief.
     "What about Livinia?"
     "Who?"
     "The Filipino woman who used to work in the laundromat. Is she a
slut?"
     "But she was always nice and pleasant and polite and never -- "
     "That's two. You've met both of them, talked with them. By your
definition, they're sluts -- because they're multiorgasmic."
     "I don't understand," she whispered.
     "You read a lot, Elly. There've been hundreds of articles in
women's magazines about women being naturally multiorgasmic."
     "I don't read those articles. They start me thinking and then I
want to get over too much." She blushed. "Even just talking about it,
now, makes me -- you know."
     "Horny."
     "I can probably get over just by thinking about it and imagining
it, I think."
     I stared at her for a long time. "Elly, I know women who'd kill to
be able to do that."
     "Really? Are they slutty?"
     "Nope. Elly, what do you do when your sweetheart wants you? Make
him hurt you?"
     "He can't help it. He's so, you know, big that it always hurts to
have him inside. We hardly ever do that, because he likes to have me
suck him off. I like that."
     "I know."
     Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing me at the moment.
Pornographic images were in her field of vision. Her nipples were
swollen points jabbing the front of the tautly held robe. Considering
that the robe is terrycloth, that's pretty impressive.
     "And I like you," she said suddenly. "You listen to me and talk to
me. But you're telling me to take a chance and give in to being a slut."
     "When you wanted to lose weight, you didn't stop eating completely,
did you?"
     She shook her head. "I just learned to eat regular meals and eat
the right stuff."
     "Same thing. Get crazy only when it's right for you and do what
feels good with the right people. Use your head the way you did when you
were dieting. You're acting like an anorexic -- someone who's compulsive
about not eating so he can avoid being fat."
     "So you're telling me that you don't think I'm a slut, that it's
natural for a woman to get over so much and that the way I'm doing it
isn't really healthy for me."
     "In my humble opinion."
     She looked up at the Library Wall. I watched the robe, to see if
the nipples were going poke holes in it. I didn't think so, but I wasn't
willing to put money on it.
     "I don't know," she mumbled.
     "Think about that while I get some coffee."
     "Mm-hm."
     I stood and went over to stand before her. She refocused her eyes
on me. She was slightly flushed and her breathing was shallow. "And one
other thing," I said.
     "What?"
     "While I'm drinking my coffee in the dining room..." I took her
hand put it over her cunt and squeezed. She gasped -- but didn't try to
stop. "I want you to touch yourself."
     "I don't know -- "
     "Please, as a favor."
     I didn't have to wait for a reply, because her fingers were already
moving of their own accord. I would have preferred to stay and watch,
but I wanted my coffee -- and to keep the conditions I'd set.
     I fed to so-called cat and sat down to drink my coffee. I did not
look at the clock and tried not to scald myself with haste. I also tried
not to visualize what was going on in the living room.
     I remembered Elly as I'd met her. She was mentally rather mature
for her age -- 16 -- and sold donuts at a local store, over near the
subway. Her poise and perception and literacy had impressed me. Becoming
acquaintances and even friends was odd.
     Odd because I am truly repulsed, physically, by overweight females.
(Don't take this as sexist, please; I suppose that the vast majority of
women are repulsed by overweight males, too.) That made it easy to be a
friend to her, to be a confident and, occasionally, 3j or --
because I knew I'd never be tempted to hit on her and she could sense
that I was safe.
     As time passed, she would sometimes call me late at night, after
her strict (Old Country Polish) mother had already turned in. She knew
that I stayed up late and l encouraged her to call. There was something
fragile about her. She needed a friend, a man whose interests weren't
confined to fucking her, or who -- like me -- wasn't at all interested
in fucking her. Considering her weight, that was no problem for me.
     After she left the donut store, sometimes we'd bump into each
other. More often than not, it was at the local video store. We'd chat a
bit while we walked as far as my corner (she lived much farther east, in
the old end of the neighborhood) and one night we stood and talked for
almost an hour. Neither of us wanted to stop sharing of ourselves.
     She'd ask about my girlfriend -- though "main squeeze" was more
like it, since my girl and I had sort of an open relationship -- and I'd
ask what new love was in her life. She was a hopeless romantic, falling
in and out of love weekly, but usually had to worship from afar.
Eventually, we simply lost touch with each other.
     Her footsteps in the hallway snapped me back to the moment. I
finished my coffee and looked up, expecting to see her come into the
dining room. Instead, the steps changed direction and then I heard her
bump into the door jamb -- she is Polish, after all -- and then heard
her hit the bed. I heard sheets rustle.
     Then: "David, please come here." Her voice had a quaver in it.
Being not nearly as dumb a I look, I immediately went to her. When I got
there, she had the covers pulled up to her neck. Only her flushed face,
framed by disheveled hair, was visible. Her hands wee moving beneath the
covers, though, clearly cupping and gliding over her breasts, then
sliding down her torso to move at the juncture of her thighs.
     I closed the door and looked down at her from the foot of the bed.
My cock was already throbbing hard beneath my robe.
     "I just kept getting over until I had to have you. Oooo... What
would make you hot?" she breathed. Her eyes were half-closed. The
heaving of her breasts beneath the light blanket increased. "C'mon --
tell me."
     I walked around to stand beside the bed next to her head. She
started to reach for me.
     "No -- keep touching yourself."
     "Does that turn you on?"
     I opened my robe. "What do you think?"
     She licked her lips. "Whatever you like ..."
     "I want you to -- " I stopped, watching her reach between her legs
under the covers. Her legs parted wider and she hunched her shoulders.
Her breathing deepened.
     "You want me to what?"
     "It turns you on having me watch you, doesn't it?"
     "Yeah!"
     "I want you to cum for me while I watch you."
     "I can't -- "
     "Yes, you can."
     "But I want you inside me, where it aches -- " She kneaded her cunt
frantically. "I need it so baaaaad inside me..."
     I reached behind me and into the top drawer of the dresser. When
she opened her eyes, they widened. "I want to watch you using this."
     "I couldn't -- "
     "That's what would get me really turned on."
     "I can't -- " But even as she objected, her eyes were locked on the
very realistic eight-inch . I pulled back the bedcovers, exposing
that magnificent young body. She started to remove her hand from her
soaked pussy, but I covered her hand with mine and then kissed her
slippery fingers. She barely hesitated in her furious masturbation. She
was holding her labia apart with the fingers of one hand and furiously
rubbing her clit with the other thumb while trying to force two fingers
deeper into that sweet, syrupy little slit.
     I stood and took the K-Y from the same drawer and smeared a liberal
dose on the . She focused on it like a bird watching a cobra as I
brought it slowly down between her thighs. When I put the tip against
her exposed cunt, she jerked. "Cold," she said.
     "It'll get warm fast."
     She rolled her hips and pressed her pelvis down and toward the
. I pushed it a little and she gasped as it began to slide in. Her
fingering of her clit speeded up. I worked the latex head back and forth
a few times, watching her rhythm alter. When her cunt was reaching for
it all the time, I pushed the head all the way in. She gasped and then
groaned and began revolving her hips around it. She took the labia
parting hand away and began caressing her breasts. I was jealous.
     "It feels so big in there, so good and big and stretching me so
muuuuu..."
     I led the tit-fondling hand down and placed it on the shaft, then
took my fingers away. She worked it back and forth experimentally a few
times, then began slowly pumping herself with it, taking the inch-and-a-
half thick  deeper each time.
     "Oh, yeah, this feels so good, feels so good, feels so good," she
breathed, chanting in time to her thrusts. Her hips were taut, now, and
she was starting to arch her ass from the bed. Suddenly, she arched
higher and rolled slowly over onto her belly. She pulled her knees up,
leaving her shoulders and face flat on the bed, and began pushing that
latex prick deeper. Whatever she was muttering was lost in the pillow.
     I looked at her in profile. Her face was turned toward me and was
totally slack with pleasure. Her hair was a singular, disheveled mess.
Her position was crushing her over-sized tits so they bulged out to
either side of her. She had her knees pulled up so far that her kneecaps
were pushing against her breasts. Her sleek little ass was outthrust
beautifully. And her hand, still gripping the base of the ,
occasionally appeared briefly between her taut thighs before
disappearing back between.
     I reached out and began lightly caressing her back. After about
twenty seconds, she was cumming -- hard. She kept pumping her pussy with
the indefatigable  and her pussy kept pumping right back: She kept
cumming. I took my fingers from her back and she moaned, "Touch me!
Please!" She was cumming faster now and I didn't want to spoil the mood
or anything, so I accommodated her. It was a great sacrifice.
     I traced my fingertips on the overflow swell of her left breast and
she continued pumping, now with less regularity. She was starting to
lose her coordination and all self-control. I leaned forward and kissed
her hot cheek gently and whispered, "You are so beautiful and wonderful.
You're turning me on beyond belief!"
     She just moaned and continued getting off on what she was doing.
     I went to the foot of the bed and bent and began kissing and
licking the small of her back. Inches beneath my chin, she was thrusting
the  harder and harder into herself. I grabbed her buttocks and
gave them a squeeze, then spent so time nibbling lightly on them, then
kissed and licked them. My hands stayed busy on her hips and thighs,
caressing. She was moaning softly and continuously now and her whole
body was shaking.
     I licked down the sweet, narrow furrow of her tiny, taut ass and
when I got to the opening, kept right on licking. She was quivering all
over, cumming without pause, now, and with growing intensity. I located
the K-Y, and lubed up a finger while rimming her teeny little asshole. I
thrust my tongue against pinpoint opening, then licked up and down and
kissed the inner swells of her cheeks again. Then I put my slippery
fingertip against her anus and slowly massaged the K-Y into it.
     "Yessssss...." she hissed loudly. I pressed the fingertip in to the
first knuckle. I could feel the  pumping through that thin membrane
separating the channels. Her ass clamped down on my finger and spasmed
powerfully as she continued cumming. I worked it in farther and then
carefully moved it in and out. I thought of how it would feel to have my
prick in there and regretted that she was so tiny that my dick would
hurt her too much. Doubly regretted it, because she was obviously
enjoying what I was doing back there and she moaned when I removed the
finger.
     I went back to the side of the bed and rolled her onto her side.
She slowed her pumping and looked up at me. Her eyes focused for a
moment and she said in a distant, amazed voice: "I just can't stop
getting over, David! I just keep cumming!"
     "It's so wonderful," I answered. I rolled her over the rest of the
way. She reached up with one shaking, juice-soaked hand and grabbed my
stiff prick.
     "Please?" she said, pulled me toward her face. "Please?"
     I straddled her and felt the her huge breasts brushed the backs of
my thighs. Her nipples were stiff as spikes. I lowered my cock to her
eager mouth and that long, limber tongue flickered out to guide it the
rest of the way to her welcoming lips. She locked on to my dick about
halfway down. I leaned forward, onto my outstretched arms, and looked
down to watch as I slowly, carefully, pump my dick in and out of her
mouth. Beyond that, her wondrous tits thrust upward, capped by
outrageously swollen nipples. And beyond those, I could see her hips
canted up, her knees wide and feet flat on the bed. She was holding the
 almost motionless and fucking it with urgent thrusts. Every half-
minute or so, she would hold herself still and catgut taut and cum in
shuddering waves. The room was ripe with the smell of hot pussy.
     It was too much for me and very quickly I was pulsing in her mouth.
I didn't have to tell her I was cumming; she knew it was imminent. She
sucked maniacally, cumming constantly as she did.
     When I finally began spurting in her mouth, she gobbled my cock to
the back of her throat and gulped me right down and in. I felt like all
my semen was exploding out of me in one long, uninterrupted stream --
and she was drinking it all and cumming so hard that she was arching on
the bed beneath me.
     She drained me dry and kept sucking. I pulled my spent dick from
her lips and rolled to one side. She continued cumming, her hand a blur
as she rubbed her clitoris, her hips chattering up at the  held in
fast by the other hand.
     She was gasping a word. I put my ear close and finally made it out:
"More...more...more..." Each time it was a little explosion of barely
modulated breath. I leaned down on the bed and began licking her breasts
and then suckled her. I ran my hands lightly all over her. She was
cumming constantly now, without interruption. I licked lower, over her
abdomen and then around her mons. I caressed her thighs and reached
beneath the lightly cup and squeeze her ass. Her buttocks wee in
constant spasm as she came.
     I leaned farther and she grabbed my hair and forced my mouth down
to her clitoris. As she kept grinding her cunt on the , I sucked
her clit carefully into my lips and began lightly running my tongue
around -- but as fast as I could: swirling. I wrapped my arms around her
slim hips and grabbed her ass and bore her back down to the bed.
     "YES!" she screamed suddenly, loud enough to scare the neighbors
dog into barking. Her body began writhing, serpentine, beneath me. She
wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled herself to me so tightly, I
thought one of us was going to break. Her mouth was against my abdomen
and I felt her screaming nonstop against me as she came.
     She came harder and harder and then, abruptly, went silent. Her
hips hunched and then relaxed and she fell shiveringly limp. The 
was pushed ever so slowly out of her cunt, followed by an enormous
accumulation of Elly juices that seemed to pour out of her. Even as I
rolled away, hearing her panting slow, she shuddered and came again.
     I sat up with my back to the wall and looked at her. Elly's body
continued, slowly, to shake with pleasure, as if echoes of the orgasms
were still bouncing around in there. The flush was just beginning to
fade from her chest.
     I stretched out beside her and took her into my arms. The bedside
clock said noon. I nestled her, spoon-fashion, against me and kiss the
side of her neck. She smiled in her sleep. I smiled back, anyhow. When
she woke I would tell her that she had helped me realize a fantasy I've
had since I was eighteen: To be with a woman and help her cum so hard
and so much that she passes out from the sheer pleasure of it.
     Forty-five minutes later, I was awakened by the sound of the shower
running. I donned the ratty old robe, creaked out of the bedroom and
knocked.
     "Come on in!" I heard her drawing the curtain.
     She had drawn it open. Elly stood there with her hair in the
incredibly stupid pink showercap I keep for guests, with water sluicing
off her incredible little body. I had great fun watching her use the
Ivory Soap on the astonishing curves, and my cock had even more fun in
mind. She spotted the growth and her eyes half-closed and her nipples
began to swell. Her hands dipped between her legs and started moving,
then withdrew. I started to pull off the robe.
     "Don't," she said softly. "I have to get going."
     "Don't you want me anymore?"
     She grabbed my hand and put it between her legs. I slid a finger
deep inside her. The hot moisture in there wasn't from any shower.
"Desperately," she said softly, putting a kiss on beard and pushing my
hand away from her cunt. "But I have to run some errands and do some
housekeeping."
     "Still think of yourself as a slut?" I whispered.
     She laughed and straightened, completing her rinsing. As I watched
her towel herself dry, she said, "Right now? No. But when I want to,
I'll be a slut, alright. Like before." She shook her head in amazement
and wrapped the towel around herself. "I never would have imagined I
could ever cum so much! I actually passed out from it!"
     I walked her to the bedroom and watched her dress while I told her
about the fantasy.
     "That's the kind of fantasy I would've thought you had, David." She
was wearing her jeans and had her bra on, but not clasped. She leaned up
to kiss my chin. "It's too bad that once you do something, it can't be a
fantasy anymore."
     "Naaaah. I'd like to do it again -- lots."
     "Really?"
     "You betcha."
     "Me, too. The same goes for my fantasy."
     I frowned as she hooked the bra and reached for her plum-colored
blouse. "What's that?"
     "The one I've had since I was sixteen -- about you."
     "I'm ready."
     She gave my stiff dick a squeeze. "So I noticed." She button her
blouse, saying, "And I've had other fantasies, but I've always
suppressed them."
     "I'd love to hear them."
     "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours -- that is, if you've
got any left."
     "Don't worry. I've one or two left, maybe even three."
     She cocked an eyebrow at me. "`Lezzy Bitch' was it? How many of
those books did you write?"
     I made a face. She laughed as she bent limberly and straight-legged
-- as if to taunt me with her body -- to pull on her sandals. She
straightened and said, "You know, I really would like to see that book."
     "`Lezzy Bitch'?"
     "No, the one on the shelf -- `Fear of Flying'."
     We went into the living room. She retrieved her handbag (which is
what they call a canvas steamer trunk with a strap on it) and I gave her
the book.
     At the door, I asked, "Can I count on getting this book back?"
     "Hand-delivered," she said and started down the stairs. She waved
from the third-floor landing.

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