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From: cobillard@hotmail.com (Carol)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 30 Jul 2002 14:18:51 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Seducing a young boy on the boat
Date: Tue, 30 Jul 2002 17:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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The way to a man's heart is not through his stomach, but mine. There
are few boys and men who cannot be captivated and captured through
oral sex.

I came early to sex, and early to oral sex. I think I know as much as
anybody about its methodology and physiology. I love to fellate and I
love to have a boy perform cunnilingus on me. I love to give a boy his
first experience of sex. When I was younger I actively sought out boys
who were "ready" but who didn't have the courage to approach a girl. I
rarely wore a bra, and I was ready all the time. It's easy enough for
a girl to strike up a conversation with a likely lad and to encourage
or discourage him with a word.

Because of my early sexual background, and that our extended communal
"family" went around nude a lot, I grew up something of an
exhibitionist. I like people to admire what I'm good at, and I'm good
at giving a boy an orgasm. Of course when one is exhibiting, as they
say, like justice an orgasm has not only to be done but seen to be
done.

My style is to swallow all the semen, except for a bit that I let drip
out. And because I like to admire a boy's penis while I work on it,
I'm constantly taking it out of my mouth. And I leave my mouth open so
that the boy, and anyone else watching, can see what I've got.

Of course I also want to show off my nice breasts and my pussy, which
means keeping my shoulders back, my legs spread apart. I want every
boy to have a hard-on in my presence and that whether I care to give
him a second look or not. I want to be wanted.

One time when I was 12 and we were living on a houseboat and my mom
was out (she wouldn't have minded being around and I wouldn't have
cared either, but a boy might; it might have cramped my style) a
couple of likely pre-teen boys walked by the pier. The trick was to
get rid of one of them. We started talking, and pretty soon one of
them, ignored and left out of the conversation, found reason to leave.
I invited the other on board for a soda and we chatted.

I told him I was recovering from a sunburn and needed a back massage:
always a good start for sex anyway.

He was obviously uncomfortable and nervous -- they all are -- getting
so close. He started  massaging my back through  my T-shirt. Then I
told him I'd have to take it off, that he was a real professional and
that all professionals work with skin. He tried not to look at me, but
I deliberately turned around every so often to force him to see my
breasts. Then I told him I'd have to reciprocate, he'd done such a
good job. He was wearing his bathing suit and a T-shirt, and I took
off his T-shirt. Of course I contrived to touch the outline of his
penis from time to time, but he must have thought it was by accident.
Still, I noticed him getting hard.

I added that I had a lot of experience in massaging backs and that he
should relax and lie on the bed. I pulled his bathing trunks down
halfway and continued my work. And then I pulled his bathing trunks
down a little more. I said "Oh, I seem to have caught you..." for his
hard-on had stuck on the elastic of his trunks. I moved my hand around
his front -- he sort of resisted, but gave way. I put my hand around
his penis, his pubescent, growing penis, and massaged it a bit. I
asked him if he liked it.

He scarcely answered: he was obviously dumbfounded.

With that I just pulled his shorts off and turned him over. There was
his stiff, if small, penis, in a lovely bed of public hair, quivering
towards me. And I could see just a drop of joy juice at the tip. I
grasped his penis and flicked my tongue across the tip, licking up the
juice. "Lovely", I said.  "Let me have some more." And I went to work
on him.

After two or three minutes of licking around the head of his penis
running my tongue up and down, squeezing his balls lightly, I moved
away and said, "let me take my clothes off -- it's kind of stuffy
here." I took off my shorts. He stared at my breasts, then at my
crotch. My public hair showed through my panties and bits stuck
through the leg holes. He gasped.

I told him to take off my panties, slowly, and to caress what he saw.
He did that. I told him it wouldn't hurt -- put his fingers inside and
touch my vagina, caress my clitoris. But I was still not moist, so he
was having trouble. I said, "you know what -- you have to do the same
to me that I just did to you: you have to lick and suck my vagina to
make it ready". And I moved over so that I was astride his chest, and
raised myself on my knees so that my vulva was close to his mouth.
"Stick out your tongue and move it inside me, make me feel good" I
told him. He did as instructed, and it did make me feel good.

But I had to reciprocate. I turned around so that I was stretched
lengthwise in the 69 position, my vagina over his mouth. my hand
holding his penis close to my mouth, and started flicking my tongue
over it, to make him fully erect again. His cute penis responded
beautifully: it sprang to life.

Just then we heard a noise. Mom had come back. I coughed, so she'd
know I was there, and that I was busy. There was enough of a crack in
the door so she could look in, and she saw what we were doing. She
watched us for a bit, I think to critique my method. Maybe she would
have come in to give instructions if she'd thought we needed them, but
she didn't, and she went away again.

I worked seriously on the boy's penis. There's not a lot of technology
involved: mouth friction on the glans brings a boy to organism, he
ejaculates: with luck, the girl has orgasm about the same time. But
there is, or should be passion: sex should be fun. There should be
teasing, interruption, resumption. Guesswork, variety.

Even then I could predict when a boy was about to ejaculate and I
could delay it by changing rhythm or by taking his penis out of my
mouth, studying it for awhile, re-starting, stopping again. Or
interrupting his concentration. I like to put a boy's penis into my
mouth, take it out, put it in. I don't want him to make me gag: if we
don't both enjoy the procedure there's no point in it, is there?

If I can get a boy to secrete some semen in the course of oral sex,
but before orgasm, that's great because it's a promise of more goodies
to come, and I can savor the aroma. It makes my mind concentrate and
makes me expectant for his life juice soon to fill my mouth.

I could fee the boy's tongue getting more exuberant, more exploratory.
My vagina was getting tense. I knew I would be coming. I didn't want
to spoil the event. Often a boy loses interest once he's come. I moved
off and told the boy he'd have to wait, first he had to finish up my
pleasure.

I sat on the mattress with my arms back and my legs akimbo. I told him
to get down and lick my vagina, to work on my clitoris, which I
pointed out to him. He did my bidding. His saliva mixed with my own
mucus and a little blood which he didn't notice but which I knew meant
that I had my period coming on were flowing onto the sheet.

The boy resumed his work. With no distractions it didn't take long. I
started to cry out, and it frightened him. I told him not to worry,
that it felt delicious.

"Now it's your turn" I told him.

I had him lie back. His penis stuck straight up, his balls quivered
and, alternately, rose and fell. I licked them, put them one at a time
into my mouth,  squeezed them lightly with my tongue and cheeks. Then
I resumed the final run to ejaculation. Slowly, very slowly, I ran my
lips over his penis, mostly at the end, supporting my body with my
elbows on the mattress. I could hear his breathing get more labored,
he was panting. His penis stiffened, and engorged itself even more
with blood when I took it, momentarily, out of my mouth. He groaned,
telling me in effect not to stop. I resumed, oh so slowly, putting the
glistening circumcised glans just inside me mouth (I will only go to
bed with circumcised boys, the others are ugly).

I could sense the boy's semen building up, the crescendo imminent. His
glands and his muscles were anticipating my next stroke. The point of
no return came ... then another stroke and another, and a wave of
lovely sperm-laden fluid raced the length of his penis and ran into my
mouth.

It was delicious. I didn't stop. I know that the best orgasm is always
your last one, that in the middle of a climax you want it to go on
forever, you want to catch at least one more wave, one more stroke of
tongue on penis or penis in vagina. This is the meaning of life, the
answer to chicken-and-egg question: there has always been sex, because
life is sex.

The boy's penis was still hard. Hard enough for me to put in my
vagina. I told him to continue pumping as long as he could: perhaps he
would have another orgasm. He didn't come again, but I enjoyed it, and
he did, he kept it up for another few minutes.

When he pulled away, exhausted, I played with his penis, tickling his
balls, running my finger through his public hair, playing with the
stickiness of his semen at the tip. I kissed the end of his penis,
told him he'd been a good boy, that I hoped I'd opened a new world for
him.

He asked if he could come back. I told him I didn't think so. There'd
be a next time, but with somebody else. He didn't understand that, but
he didn't argue either.

It was over. 


Carol

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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