Do whatever you want with this story, only keep my name attached, please. Please report any and all orgasms arrived at through reading and masturbating to these words. I love knowing that I am deliberately manipulating your mind into an erotic state. This story is to be considered "Fiction" although it has its basis in "Fact". This is not to be considered a true tale of underage sex, statutory rape, or molestation, as these events happened more than a quarter century ago. Some of the principal parties are no longer living. The only reason I'm telling you that it has its basis in truth, is it might make it all the more sexy for you, and maybe make your orgasms better/stronger/faster. Thank you, and enjoy.
Part 3
Ronnie’s tongue found my clitoris. It was everything I could manage not to cry out in joy or pleasure, or some mixture thereof. This boy had a great tongue. It wasn’t designed for talking, that’s for certain. The guy could barely hold his own in a conversation, but put it to a nipple, or a clit, and it proved its value very quickly. I held his head right there, not wanting to let him up for air, even. My ass squirmed and squirmed on that sofa, and my body actually became more and more sensitive, and the rough covering of the sofa felt more and more rough on my bare ass. Eventually, I kept it up in the air, giving Ronnie a better angle for his tongue, and I threw my head back, over the arm of the sofa, in pure pleasure.
After what felt like mere seconds, but was probably more like 10 minutes, Ronnie moved, bringing his hand to replace that golden tongue on my clitoris. Using his thumb, he put much more pressure on it, and rubbed it much harder. I didn’t think I could feel any better than when his tongue was on my clitoris, but I was wrong, his thumb, with its strength and speed felt better. Different, but better. I still held onto his pretty head, though, and now I could feel him spreading my vagina open with his other hand. [How is he keeping his balance?] I wondered to myself?? Soon, I felt that golden tongue creeping inside me. OH My FUCKING GOD!!!! Was this really happening to me?? My pretty Ronnie with his face and hands totally occupied for my pleasure alone. Just thinking that urged me towards a warm, powerful feeling that started to build inside me.. down deep — deeper than Ronnie could reach, but feeding from Ronnie’s every movement…
Harder and Harder he manipulated my clitoris… Faster and Faster his tongue darted inside me, and soon, it, too was replaced by the roughened fingers of his other hand. I could feel a scratching sensation from his rough skin, but it still felt so good.. the pain of the scratches hurt in a good-hurt kinda way, and the heat from that hurt brought that warm, powerful feeling up higher and higher in me, until my legs, suddenly went straight, stretching out atop Ronnie’s strong shoulders, and I grabbed his hair roughly, and threw my head back, and I made a yelping kinda sound that I’m sure woke some of the house, but in the dark, I didn’t think anyone would know what was going on.
I pulled Ronnie up on top of me, covering me with his shirtless body, like a blanket — right then, I loved the way he felt on top of me. I loved his weight, which, actually was a little less than mine at the time, pressing against me, and I was probably a comfy cushion to lie upon, because it didn’t take long for him to drift off to sleep. I thought I’d take advantage of this, and let him stay right there for a while, and enjoy the intimacy, and the feel of my Ronnie on top of me.
As I lay there, basking in my first post-orgasmic afterglow, I didn’t hear my mother coming down the stairs, or lighting the railroad lantern on the wall.
No one over the age of 10 would have had any difficult whatsoever figuring out what had happened based upon the visual clues so dimly lit by the old kerosene lantern. I pushed Ronnie off of me and grabbed the blanket in one smooth motion, never exposing myself completely, but it didn’t help my predicament one little bit.
Mom came over into the “living room” area, and directly ordered me to her and dad’s bedroom, to sleep on the floor. I grabbed my clothes, dressed under the blanked, and went, tail between my legs, so to speak, feeling the void left by Ronnie’s absence so keenly already.
I have no idea what she said to Ronnie that night, but he hardly spoke to me afterwards, for the rest of the week, and he slept outside, in one of the trucks at night. My grandparents treated everyone just the same, with no change in behavior towards either of us. I was never sure if my mom had told them about us, and they were ok with it, or if mom just kept it all to herself. My dad barely talked to me at any point in my life, so there was no difference there, either. I figured maybe things would blow over.
But they didn’t.
When we returned home, Ronnie was banished, for the most part. I assumed he returned to his parents’ house, or one of his friends’ houses. — He always had lots of friends. I was hoping to see him at my grandparents’ house from time to time, but I never did. I began to resent my mother terribly. She was never kind, nor affectionate towards any of her children, but she seemed especially unreasonable towards me. That was not just the opinion of a miserable child. This was the “objective” opinion of my grandparents as well. I began to spend more and more time at their house, virtually making that my home.
Time went by, I turned 15, then 16, and I quit school, and soon, summer was upon us once again. My brother, Jim, was getting married to a sweet girl whom he’d gotten pregnant, although they waited, for some reason, until she was in her 8th month to do so.
The reception was held at my grandparents’ house, and sure enough, I saw my beautiful Ronnie park his pickup, but he had a date with him, and she looked like she was pregnant.
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