Message-ID: <20377eli$9903070428@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: kellis Subject: {Kellis} "Hidden Journal: Estri's Escape" (MFg) [3/4] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: Hidden Journal: Estri's Escape [3 of 4] NOTICE: The following file is one of an ongoing series, transcriptions of files decrypted from the hidden journal of Harrison Everett Stone. For a summary of their provenance see the initial file, D910412.ZEN, included in the release, "Hidden Journal: First Files." --Kellis. Copyright 1999 File D9104182.ZEN Anelda joined us in the dining room almost immediately. "Couldn't find them?" I wondered as she snuggled her chair close. She chuckled grimly. "You don't find the Savak. They find you." "But you were so quick!" She shook her head. "I don't understand it either. This morning they didn't know you, but now ..." "Now what?" She regarded me quizzically. "What did you do when you went out?" "Nothing. What did they say?" "It's partly what they say! They never asked for any kind of report." "No kidding!" She shook her head again. "And I can't believe what they say!" "Tell me." "They said to stay with you so long as you'll let me." "Did they? Surely they know I'm flying out tomorrow afternoon -- Estri and I." She shrugged. "I suppose. But listen to this. I'm to phone them if you leave the hotel. You'll never guess why." I muttered disgustedly, "So now they're following me around." "I repeat: you'll never guess why." "Okay, I'll bite." "Because the shah might want to talk to you." "Eh?" I'm afraid my mouth fell open. Had my invalid heroic reputation made it all the way to the royal palace? She laughed, clearly pleased by the effect of her bombshell. Estri's hand fell on mine. "Is it problem?" "I don't know. But it's not one to worry you." "I cause you problem, Hah-ree?" I placed my hand over hers. "You cause me happiness." "Oh, Hah-ree!" I asked Anelda, "You sure they said 'the shah?'" "Oh, yes, that's what they said, all right." "Okay. If he wants to see me, he's got till noon tomorrow, then we're taking a powder. Here comes the waiter. Would you like a cocktail?" Anelda ordered a large steak from the supper menu, discounted for lunch, with a coke. Estri and I split a pizza and beer. I feared that the pizza would be too spicy for a Meshir palate, but I needn't have worried; she ate five of the eight slices and rubbed her belly afterwards. Never yet met a kid who didn't like pizza -- except in power plays, of course. Estri is still a long way short of pulling one of those. As to the beer, I suppose alcohol is so thoroughly despised in Moslem countries that they never considered it might be worse for minors. I recall my own early experience, as well as that of my real niece, and conclude that few kids dislike beer either. Estri drank a full pilsner glass. It failed to affect her, so far as I could tell, beyond an attractive rosy glow in the face. I asked Anelda, "If you obey the Savak, will it keep you from something important?" "Important?" she repeated around a mouthful of steak. "I told you my ... friend is in jail." "Don't you have a child to worry about?" Her face reddened. "Mr. Stone!" "Excuse me. I know it's none of my business. But I hate to owe something to anybody's police, much less a police!" I could see her decide to be mollified. "You think you'll owe them if I hang around?" "I might. I know I enjoy having you in my 'temporary family.'" "Thank you, Harry. I'll bet a girl could do a lot worse." "You said something earlier that interested me. Why do you think prepubescent virginity is so rare here?" She grunted. "That would be Iran's guilty secret if Westerners learned it -- and gave a damn." I shook my head. "If that's a joke, I don't get it." "Not a joke. It's the truth. Virginity is in very short supply here." "Do you know why?" "Of course I do." "Tell me." "Because incest is not forbidden until a girl's first menses or a boy's first ejaculate." "Not forbidden! You don't mean ..." I'm sure my shock was evident. Suddenly Constance's excuse for ancient Meshir gained a little credibility. "How wide spread -- how long has this been going on?" She shrugged. "Who knows? It's not really discussed. You find no statistics. But every woman I ever met here, if they'll talk about it at all, admits it's true." "But who would --" "Who else? Fathers, uncles, brothers -- and the reverse, too: mothers, aunts and sisters. And close cousins. Everything happens in your own family. You get killed quick if you try it in someone else's." "Your own experience bears it out?" "Of course. It's my earliest memory. Many women say the same. Nobody would expect Estri's hymen to be intact. I can hardly believe it myself. I have a Baluchi friend. I'll have to ask her if things are different in Baluchistan." "How old were ?" "Three and a half." "Good god!" "Huh! So far as I know, God says nothing about it." I shook my head. "It sounds terrible." "Harry, you might be surprised. I know what the West believes, but I'm not sure its way is better. One thing can be said for us: no Iranian grows up sexually ignorant. We certainly know what to expect in that department!" "Innocence is also valuable." "You mean ignorance. I don't see how. Remember: I was exposed to both. The Iranian way is to segregate a girl when intercourse gets risky -- just when American girls are allowed to try it." "It looked that way to you, did it?" She grinned, "Should I say, 'just when American parents lose control?' That's another opposite. Iranians really clamp down on their daughters after puberty." She gazed into distance. "The shah is trying to change all that." "Feeling as you do, I'm surprised the shah considers you his enemy." "The shah? It's the Savak, not him. They consider the enemy!" "Don't all police?" Her eyebrows rose. "Even American police?" "I've had my share of speeding tickets." She laughed. "So have I." Suddenly she changed the subject. "You saw my stretch marks." Her expression was thoughtful instead of vindictive, so I admitted it. "They're faint." "But they're there. I did have a kid, Harry." " have?" "I was pregnant but didn't know it when the shah recalled my family. The Savak froze all my father's assets. I haven't left Iran since. There's nothing to do about a delicate condition here but let it proceed to term." "I see." "No, you don't. I wouldn't want you to think I just abandoned my baby. Her husband graciously permitted my older sister to raise him as her own. To him I am 'Aunt Anelda.'" A tear trembled on her eyelashes. I put my hand over hers. "That must have been hard for you." "He's a sweet child." She snapped her head, dashing the liquid from her eyes. "Tough shit, as you Americans say. It could've been a lot harder." She grinned humorlessly. "Lucky for him he didn't get his father's blue eyes." Based on displayed appetite, the luncheon was a success. Back in the room we discovered that the single TV station didn't begin transmitting for another three hours. Thinking of Estri's heritage, I proposed a sight-seeing tour that would take advantage of Anelda's knowledge of Tehran. She picked up the phone, dialed a number and spoke briefly in Farsi. Hanging it up, she grinned at me. "They say okay, but don't leave the city." "I didn't ask their permission." "Well, you need it anyway." So we taxied around and saw the sights: gates, palaces, mosques, an impressive expanse of glass and concrete modern buildings and the new Azadi Tower, topologically equivalent to a huge triumphal arch with splayed-out skirts on its legs. Anelda mumbled something disparaging. "What was that?" "They say it commemorates past glory. You know what it reminds me of?" "What?" "Every time I see it from a distance, I think of a woman squatting to relieve herself." Estri giggled, craning her neck. I said with feeling, "I'm glad you said that and not me!" "Well, what do you think?" I shrugged. "Either way it's very interesting." Anelda chuckled indulgently. "Trust a man to like that idea." Estri took it all in, saying little. She never let go of my arm and often shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight until I understood the reason and bought us all sunglasses. After a life underground she might have reacted with at least mild astonishment to the colorful, bustling city. I wanted to ask about her impressions but not in front of the woman. As we paused before the shah's palace, Anelda asked, "Want to go up and say hello to your buddy?" "Suppose we go to Savak headquarters and ask to see yours?" She looked away, losing her grin. "They don't allow visitors on Friday." Anything for a sharp retort! I must be a latent schizophrenic, certainly a thoughtless wise-ass. What if she had agreed? We drew stares whenever we alighted from the taxi. Anelda is an attractive woman, smartly turned out. Estri was neat with dancing hair and flashing black pumps. Then I realized that by no means was every stare admiring. Several onlookers scowled and turned their backs on a blue-eyed foreigner escorting two of their women. Or maybe it was Anelda's lipstick. On the way back to the hotel she asked, "Would you like me to recommend a restaurant for dinner?" I thought about it, wondering how well she intended to obey the Savak. "No, thank you. They have a long menu at the hotel. Thought we might relax and try room service." "Oh. Are you tired of Tehran?" "Not me. Estri seems a little tired of it. Too much novelty in one day. Of course you're invited to stay and eat with us." She studied me. "Because of the Savak?" "Because Estri likes you." "What about you?" I nodded. "Oh, yes, I like you, too. Why not? You're a looker ... and --" "Despite the stretch marks?" "I was about to say, and fun to be with. You have a droll sense of humor. 'Want to go up and see your buddy? -- indeed!'" She grinned and laid her hand on my knee. "Thank you." Suddenly she was serious. "Let's lay it all out, Harry. Just what do you want of me?" "Well, why don't you stick around and have breakfast with us, too?" Her eyes shifted back and forth on mine. "And watch television in the meantime? Here it's the news and maybe an Indian movie with Farsi subtitles." I suggested, "Then we'll have to make our own amusement." I'd be amazed to learn that Estri had ever heard of television or movies, but somehow she understood the gist. She leaned across me to place her hand on Anelda's, looked up at the two adults with twinkling eyes and suggested, "We make sex." Anelda laughed aloud. "See what I mean? Virgin or not, you can tell she's been here a while." Her smile faded. She said pensively, "I may need a few things." I nodded. "Tell the driver to swing by the bazaar." She proved unembarrassed to let me buy her a negligee, two brassieres, a slip and three spermicidal douche kits, or so it said in English on the boxes. Estri hung on my arm and watched with interest. As she was pushing the three boxes into her purse, I said dryly, "Hope I can live up to your expectations." She laughed -- and blushed for the first time. "Mightn't you need panties?" I wondered. "You've forgotten the panty hose." "Right." I guess women don't to wear both, though Daisy always does. We ran the television while we ate: as Anelda had said, an Indian movie with Farsi subtitles, incomprehensible to me. Estri was fascinated by the motion, of course, and very curious about the technical side of it. God, where to start on that? Most kids are late teen-agers, at least, with a background in math and basic science, before they poke into technical details. I mean, the kids who do so poke. kids, especially females, give less than a damn about any of it! Estri's almost breathless fascination with how things work is a wonderful handle on her personality, an avenue into her soul, if I can just find the right approach. I tried somewhat over dinner, drawing the diagram of a cathode ray tube on a napkin, mentioning magnetic deflection -- fortunately I had a small magnet on my key ring, even sketching the time waveform of a full vertical video frame. Estri's questions showed remarkable understanding. Most significantly to me, her interest never flagged. Thinking it over, she looked up at me with bright eyes. "Hah-ree, is another man wise as you?" "Oh, many others!" She shook her head. "I not think so." We had neglected Anelda shamefully. She had calmly eaten her dinner and drunk the champagne I'd ordered, listening alternately to us and the television. Now she winked at me above a slight smile. "Thank you, sweetness," I told Estri. Before I could attach any self-deprecation, she continued, "You make me wise, too?" "I'll teach you everything you'll sit still for." "I want know all of everything," she warned. "You can learn it," I assured her, "just not in one night." "Oh, no, I forget." She grinned at both of us. "Tonight we make sex." "Ah ... yes." Anelda pushed her chair back from the room service cart. "Thanks for the meal, Harry." "There's pie left." "Got to remember my waistline. Estri can have my share." She stood up. "I'm going to try that new negligee, if you don't mind." "On the contrary. I want to see if it fits." She grinned. "What if it doesn't?" "Well, if it's actually uncomfortable ..." She studied me. "How long did you say Estri has been here?" "I don't remember saying. Call it five years." "In that case I'm sure she's accustomed to nudity in the family." "I believe that's true. But let's see the negligee." "Okay." She shrugged, then suggested, "You should get comfortable, too." "I will, when I've pushed this cart into the hall." Estri finished off the apple pie with relish. It had been bought mainly for her benefit. She had also downed a tumbler of champagne, observing like many other first-timers that it "tickle nose." Still chewing the last bite, she stood erect, hands going immediately to the buttons behind her dress. When I returned from pushing out the cart, she was already down to cotton panties while busily tugging off her sight-seeing tights. I saw no evidence of the scattered clothing one would expect in a child's disrobing. "Where's your dress, Estri?" She pulled open a dresser drawer to show me dress and slip neatly folded away beside Constance's homemade items. I glanced at Anelda, who stood in bra and panties at the clothes rack, hanging up her suit and blouse. "Your idea?" "Her idea." Which pleased me. Children are so quick to learn new tricks -- this child, at least. I doubt she'd worn even so much as the Meshir gray robe before this week. Already she was concerned with preserving her new property. As is my custom in hotels, I draped my still loaded pants over a chair back in case of sudden need but hung coat and tie beside Anelda's suit. She stood nude at the desk, searching under the light for tags in the new negligee. She leered at me over her shoulder. "Finish the job." "Yes, ma'am." Underwear and socks went into a dirty clothes drawer. I emptied the pocket of the dress shirt onto the desk and after hesitating a moment, put my arms back into it. Anelda chuckled. I turned to see her watching me, the pink negligee shimmering around her. I also saw Estri's mouth gape in a huge yawn. She was sitting naked on the low suitcase stand, leaning back against the wall, having added tights and panties to her clothes drawer. I went to her and picked her up in my arms. One of her arms encircled my neck while she nuzzled her face into the hollow of it. Her skin was cool. "Are you sleepy, sweetness?" I heard her jawbone creak as she yawned again. "Oh, Hah-ree," she murmured drowsily. "I love you forever." "Didn't you sleep on the train?" "Elsik-man ..." she began but another yawn made subsequent words unintelligible. "What about Elsik?" "Want me help with Constance." I could only too readily imagine the help he required, realizing that it was of course nothing extraordinary in Estri's experience. Disregard of her need for sleep angered me a bit. At least Constance had preserved the child's maidenhead, if Anelda wasn't mistaken. I resolved to verify that at the next opportunity. With my chin I gestured to Anelda. "How about turning down that far bed." She preceded me toward it, the negligee streaming. "Isn't the cot for her?" "I won't let her sleep alone." I laid Estri gently on the crisp bed sheet. She sighed and thrust her feet under the cover. I leaned over her to catch the blanket edge where the woman had thrown it -- and froze as the child's hand grasped my unsuspecting dick. She shrank down in the bed while raising her head to kiss the glans -- actually more than a kiss: she took the whole end in her mouth momentarily before scooting back onto the pillow. Face hot, I looked up at the woman standing at the foot of the bed where she'd enjoyed a clear view. She met my gaze with raised eyebrows but none of the disdain I feared. She chuckled. "You blush prettily." I pulled blanket and top sheet over my little darling and bent down to kiss her good night, only to be met by another huge yawn. So I kissed her cheek instead. Immediately she turned on her side toward the dark wall. I believe she was already half asleep. I came around the bed, took Anelda's hand and led her across the room. She said, "Estri's already asleep." "You think so?" "Yes. Children can do that." When I released her she threw the negligee off onto a chair. "I never needed this anyway." "Only if I call for more room service." "Then I can be in bed." She came to me and grasped the edges of my open shirt. "And you don't need this." Who was I to argue? I shrugged out of it and she came into my arms for our first kiss, a lengthy wet one. Her tongue was pleasantly aggressive. When our lips parted, she took a breath and said, "I think all Iranian men smoke. I'm so glad you don't." Stupidly I asked, "Have you kissed all Iranian men?" But she grinned. "As many as I can. My American boy friend taught me how much fun it is." "He taught you well... These are very nice. They seem glad to see me." "Huh! Not half as glad as this thing is!" "Oh, I'm glad to see you all over!" She chuckled deep in her throat. "Harry, you are a very sweet man." "Thank you." "No, I want to thank . This way." She stepped back, sank to her knees, leaned forward with head tilted back and sucked my whole dick slowly into her mouth. Okay, it's a small sausage compared to some, but it's still longer than the distance from anyone's lips to the back of the throat. God knows where she put it if not into her esophagus. I felt it pass feathery obstructions before her nose butted my pubic pad, then a swirling tongue as she gradually withdrew it. Her arms went around my hips and forced me deep again. I added a slight thrust of my own as the tempo increased. Flaring nostrils revealed that her breathing was timed to withdrawals. A woman kneeling with my entire dick in her mouth: I can imagine nothing more stimulating. "Anelda ..." I warned with a preliminary shudder. Her response was to release my hips. Both hands snaked into my crotch to knead my balls between her fingers. I had masturbated in the shower at Fellavi, my last previous sexual release, about four days ago, so I was loaded with juice. At the first squirt she backed away slightly and slipped one hand around the base of my shaft, preventing me from jamming everything down her throat as instinct prompted. Her tongue touched the glans delicately while I spurted. She swallowed several times, hard enough to be audible above the low television background. Fortunately I was standing with my back to the desk. My knees lost their starch and I sagged weakly onto its mahogany veneer. Until that moment I would have unreservedly nominated Eunice Hollowell for world champion cocksucker, but here was at least the tying mouth and in a much younger woman, or so I felt then. Now, writing these curlicues while Estri drowses beside me and Anelda gets farther away every second, I am inclined to agree with the old gal who claimed that the present tongue, cock or cunt is always best. One thing is certain: Anelda is an adept cocksucker of very wide experience, even if necessarily less than Eunice's. With the last dribble she resumed a gentle suction. I took a deep breath and told her, "That's all. There ain't no more." She backed away but held on to me. "Are you sure? Sometimes there is." "I'm sure." The plum glans was satiny with moisture but she hadn't spilled a drop. Her face and mouth were clean. "I can do this until you make more," she suggested. "Maybe, but hard work for you." I once had paid a Vietnamese whore for that very service. It had taken her 45 minutes with the help of another woman. I added, "There's an easier way." I slipped forward, raised Anelda to her feet with hands in both armpits, pulled her against me and kissed her mouth deeply as I could reach. It was a moment before she responded in kind. Fresh semen is basically pretty tasteless. At least mine is. I suppose I tasted it in her -- must have -- but all I registered was woman's mouth with a trace of the spiced lamb she'd had for dinner. While kissing her I turned her around and pressed her against the desk, forcing her to sit where I had briefly lounged. A rug is not enough padding for knees. I snatched up the pillow meant for the cot, presently resting at the other end of desk, and threw it to the floor, pausing in my descent long enough to mouth both nipples briefly. As my shoulders forced her legs apart and my face sank to her trimmed pubes, she asked, "Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?" "I'm sure I to, all right! Why shouldn't I?" Her eyes glittered. "There's no reason you shouldn't." Her inner lips were strongly flavored and already wet. She quivered when my tongue first touched her and again when it reached the clitoris, a substantial one bound to react well in ordinary intercourse. Pleased at that discovery, I helped her throw her legs over my back and settled to my work, probing with several fingers below the tongue. But I was hardly at her longer than she'd been at me before her moisture increased and her torso twisted violently. She made a curious gargling cry deep in her throat, audible even through the thighs clamping my ears, and forced my face away. "Please, Harry," she moaned, eyes huge. "Please ..." Her legs came down from my shoulders and her hands sank into my hair, clearly trying to lift me upward. I rose, slipped between her legs and into her. She threw her arms around me. In two or three thrusts she was coming again. "Wrap your legs around my hips," I told her and felt her heels drum into my ass. I picked her up by the buttocks and took a whimsical turn around the room. Though strenuous, that's a maneuver I enjoy, especially during the cool period after a recent orgasm. If the woman bounces, the friction of chests and bellies is delightful and the penetration is exceeded only later with her heels over your shoulders. But I've found few women who'll indulge me. The closest I ever got to an explanation for refusing was that it's not "dignified" to walk around while fucking, which I suppose is true enough. But Anelda was beyond such considerations. She grunted and groaned with every step, bouncing on my dick. Beginning to tire, feeling my own pleasure rising, I lowered us to the bed, slipped my arms under her knees and raised her calves up against my chest. Now every plunge struck the cervix, eliciting a soprano grunt. Her eyes were clenched shut and lips drawn back over her teeth as she gasped for breath. Her anguished voice made incoherent sounds, possibly Farsi, as vaginal sphincters clipped me sharply. It was an extremely passionate display and it finished me off. When my meager second offering was complete, I backed off her and looked up, recovering my breath. My gaze went across the far bed to Estri's face, in which one eye was open, the other closed. She said sleepily, "Was good, hus-ban'?" "Oh, sweetness, I'm sorry we woke you up!" "I love you forever." "And I love you. Can you go back to sleep?" Instead of answering she turned her face back to the wall. Anelda had stretched out atop the bedcovers. Her head was thrown back, mouth gaping for breath. I went to the ice bucket, split the rest of the champagne between our tumblers and returned to stand beside her. When she didn't react, I bent down, raised her head and shoulders and presented a tumbler to her lips. She drank thirstily. "Thank you, Harry. God, my throat is dry!" "Are you making a pun about the champagne?" "No. I can think of nothing that would taste better. Is this the last?" "Yes. Should I order more?" "We have ice left, don't we?" "Oh, yes." "Cold water will do. I'm not used to alcohol. It can give me a terrible headache." She sighed and swung to a sitting position. "Better get those wrigglers out of there." "Wrigglers?" "Your millions of half-babies." "Cute. But there's not so many on the second shot." "Huh! Even one is too many in the right place. And, boy, did you ever put them in the right place!" She stumbled to her purse, took out a douche box and disappeared in the bathroom. I sat naked in a chair, sipping my drink and recalling how her throat tissues parted before my glans penis, a sensation delicate but visceral, more for cognitive than physical reasons. And she had squeezed my balls pretty hard. Had that contributed to the great power of the first orgasm? I felt of them: no soreness. Might compressing the testicles produce a larger seminal volume? I could experiment, I supposed, but careful measurement would be required. I laughed aloud, imagining Estri submitting the results as a science project in school. Anelda came straight to me from the bathroom, still naked, and lowered herself into my lap facing me. Her hand went between us and cupped my genitals. If the dick had been hard I believe she would've tucked it in. She leaned her tits against my chest and kissed me, then said huskily, "Harry, you made me see stars." I smiled. "That's good." "It's been such a long time. Guess I'm just a nut for Americans. But you've ruined me." "Ruined?" "Temporarily. I know the signs. I'll hardly be able to walk tomorrow." "Should I be sorry?" "No. not sorry! What were you laughing about?" "Eh? Oh, that." I told her about my science project whimsy. She smiled. "But the reason is to add to your pleasure. Didn't it?" "Hard to tell. Everything you did was incredible." She nodded smugly. "I'm told I give good head." "You do. How can you take it so deep?" Her smugness increased. "You like that, do you?" "Yes," I admitted. "Who wouldn't?" "And I liked it when you returned the favor. Why did you, Harry?" "What a question!" "I'd like to know." "Hmm. You enjoy sucking a dick, don't you?" She hesitated. "What if I do?" "Well, I enjoy licking a cunt, especially one like yours with a clit big enough to suck." "Oh, Harry!" She studied me. "That's the second surprise. My American boy friend would lick me, but I don't think even he liked doing it." "Implying that your Iranian friend likes it less?" "Iranian men say it's unmanly." "Unmanly! To lick a woman? Frankly, my dear, that's stupid." "I'm very glad you think so." "What did you mean, 'the second surprise?'" "The first surprise was your deep kiss after I'd just sucked your come. I never met who'd kiss me then. I should say 'any man.'" "But you've known women who would?" "Some women claim they like the taste." "How about you?" She shrugged. "It's okay. Mostly it has no taste." "I've heard that it depends on how much the man needs to pee." "Huh! Who told you that?" "Two women who cocksucked their way around North America." [Editors Note: See File D9104133.ZEN, ] She grinned. "That sounds like fun." I chuckled. "I'd bet you could get along with them." "If I could get to North America." She arched her back in a partial stretch, causing her backbone to creak audibly, grinding her tits into me. She smiled and kissed my nose. "I can certainly get along with you. Did you notice I was coming the whole time you were bouncing me around the room?" "I noticed." "Little ones. You really turn me on, Harry." "That's the idea. It beats hell out of TV." She scooted forward, lifting her feet onto the chair edge, placing her knees in my armpits. Deftly the hand between us popped the head of my resurrected dick back into her slot. Usually women dry out between bouts. Not this one -- or if she had, she was wet again. Unless it was the douche. "Indian movies are more prudish than the old American ones," she commented while slowly gyrating her pelvis to work my shaft deeper. "Of course, if a boob should ever be seen, the ayatollahs would scream bloody murder." "Too bad. They're depriving themselves of nature's prettiest sight." She chuckled. "You're a man of simple tastes, eh?" "And you have pretty ones." "Thank you... I didn't nurse. The pills I took to dry them up shrank them some, too. But I'm told I have nice nipples." "Very nice," I agreed. She was fishing in the right place for compliments. I tweaked her left one. "They must be half an inch tall." "When they're standing up," she agreed, looking smugly down at herself. Question: do long nipples relate to a prominent clitoris? Ah, what a research project! She shuddered. I asked, "Feels good?" "Nothing feels better." "Huh! I don't think I ever heard a woman admit that before." She shrugged with pleasant effect on dick and chest, retorting, "I have simple tastes, too." She snuggled closer, arms around my back, head on my shoulder, hips gently bobbing. Her feet in the chair seat beside my hips bore most of her weight. Her womanly fragrance filled my nostrils. I squeezed her buttocks, alternately stroking her back. "Did I wake Estri?" she murmured, mouth beside my ear. " did." "Oh? Were you noisy, too?" "Maybe not as noisy as you." "God, I totally lost control! No telling what I might do or say when I go off like that. Oh, Harry, it's been such a long time!" "That's very flattering, my dear." I chuckled. "I believe you were screaming in Farsi." She repeated a few words. "Like that?" "What does it mean?" "Mainly 'fuck me harder.'" "Well, that's appropriate." "Not in Iran! It's funny. I must've translated something I learned in America. I thought I heard Estri tell you something." "She wanted to know if I had fun." "Did you?" "Anelda, you must know how well you do this." "Tell me." "I believe you really do love it." She grunted. I heard a grin in her voice. "That says I do it well, I guess." "You do it very well!" "Do you get better head in America?" "Not better, no. You're the best, my dear." She kissed my neck. After a moment she asked in a tone of more than simple curiosity, "Iran teaches its women well. What did you think when your niece mouthed your cock?" "Well, it certainly surprised me." "So I noticed. You were surprised to get caught." "Implying ... what?" I felt her shrug. My hands rose to her shoulders and set her back far enough for me to see her face. "Do you think I should've slapped her away?" "Wouldn't most American uncles -- if anybody was watching?" "Maybe. Of course, most of them wouldn't have let it hang over her." "Why did you?" "I was reaching for the cover, if you remember." She smiled. "I wish you could've seen your face." "Looked guilty, did I?" "And a little wistful, I would say." "Wistful!" "If I hadn't been here, I think she would've got a drink." "No, she wouldn't." I bounced her slightly. "Let's go to bed." "I'm getting heavy!" "Not at all. In fact this is very sweet for me, but your back is getting cold." "Harry, I think she's a very lucky girl -- even if she did go to sleep thirsty." "I mean to see that she has good luck." "I know you will. Carry me like you did before." Up we surged to start around the room again, but after three or four bounces she swung her feet down to the floor and leaned against me. Her eyes were wide. "What's the matter?" I wondered. "You ruin me!" "Are you sore inside?" "Very sore!" I glanced at my wristwatch. "And the evening is still young!" Her hand enclosed my dick. "Don't give up." "I won't if you won't." "We just can't put it in all the way. You bruised my cervix. It's not accustomed to that. No!" Her finger touched my lips. "Don't say you're sorry. I already told you, not!" I turned off the TV on the way back to bed. She laid her cold back partly across me as she pulled up the covers. Her hand found my dick and began to pump it gently. I cupped a breast with one hand, stroked belly and pubes with the other. Her clit was still a grand lump. A barely perceptible tremor affected her each time I touched it. "Still sensitive?" I wondered. "You have sensitized me. It feels good wherever we touch." "But especially here?" She didn't answer. Instead her hand clutched my butt cheek. "Turn on your side." When we were aligned to her satisfaction, her back to my chest, head resting on my biceps, she reached between her legs and lodged my glans just inside her vagina. I made a few thrusts and commented approvingly, "Now it won't go so deep." "That's the idea." I felt the hand that was still between her legs lift my balls, fingertips squeezing them. My free hand tweaked a nipple. She said, "I'm impressed." "By what?" "This cock. How long can you keep it up?" I chuckled. She protested, "It's not a silly question." "I started to say, 'as long as you give it your sweet attention,' but I remembered it's been pussy whipped once or twice." Eunice had done it to me more than twice, and there were others. Any determined woman can exhaust a man's erectability, even his total interest in sex. But thank god it's only temporary! "'Pussy whipped,'" she repeated. "What an expression!" "I'm also impressed." "Why?" "Most women are only too ready to quit soon as a man comes." "Huh! You know the reason for that, Harry... Well, maybe don't!" I shook my head even though she couldn't see it. "It's not always the man's incompetence." She declared, "It's usually impatience." "Not always. Some women don't seem to feel anything." "Well, you don't have one tonight." "I already figured that out. You do love this, don't you!" It was her turn to chuckle mysteriously. "Don't you?" I repeated. "I've been called a cold woman, Harry. One guy told me only a cold woman could give such good head." "You're anything but cold." "For ! You bring out the best in me -- or the worst." I recalled Florrie -- cold at first but too hot when stirred. "You're saying there's something to the claims of chemistry?" "I know it's a very individual thing: the guy's attitude, the girl's ... and probably chemicals, too. What's that word, pher ... phera--" "Pheromones?" "That's it. If it works with insects, why not us?" "Well, of course it does work. Your body odors, especially here" -- I produced a stronger thrust -- "go straight to my dick." "I think I know what you mean." "Do you? Don't tell me you like a sweaty man!" "Not old sweat. But fresh sweat? Yes, I do! Like the smell of a gym." "Hmm. Don't think I ever heard a woman admit that before." "I remember how hung up Americans are on body odors. You believe your commercials, I think. How'd you escape, Harry?" "I don't pay attention. I think they're supposed to make women hate other women's odors. That's an easy sell." She laughed. "I guess so!" "But to me the way you smell ... You have no perfume or even deodorant, have you?" "Well, no, but I had a good soak this morning and I use cologne." "It's long gone." I sniffed her shoulder. "Your skin isn't what I'd call sweet, but it smells good in a way that goes beyond sweet. I can't find the right words. English doesn't have much vocabulary for odors." She abandoned my balls, caught my hand and pulled it to her nose but grunted in disgust, declaring, "All I can smell is pussy." I forced her hand near my own nose. "Ah, yes. How delightful!" She laughed. "Harry, do you have a wife?" "Not yet." "When you get one, give her my congratulations." "Sure, I will!" I retorted sarcastically. "For what, by the way?" "For finding a man who really likes a woman's body." I chuckled. "It's true. But I can't believe it's so rare." "You'd be surprised." She bent her shoulders away from me, raised one leg over mine and began to rotate her hips. Both hands went between my legs, one to squeeze my balls, the other to ring the base of my shaft. "Oh, god!" she murmured two or three times then moaned and pronounced her Farsi benediction, whose meaning I remembered in time to add to her effort, careful not to thrust too hard. When she fell still, so did I. In an impatient gesture she threw off the covers and straightened her back against me. It was moist and far from cold. She wriggled her hips. "Still up there!" "Are you surprised?" "You didn't come?" "No. The third time for me can take a good while." "So what's keeping it hard?" "I told you: your attention." "Harry, you'll wear me out!" I asked with real interest, "Do you mean you feel some kind of obligation to work on it until it gets soft?" "Obligation? To myself! As long as good things are coming around, I want my share." "You count hard dicks among the good things?" "The best! ... Harry, do you mind if I get on top?" "Where I can admire those long nipples? Of course I don't mind." I rolled on my back and she lithely straddled me, recoupling us. She smiled at me and wiggled her hips indescribably. "Oh, yes!" she exclaimed tightly through a grimace. "That's perfect." Apparently it was. She threw her head back and moaned oddly in a constricted throat, hips rotating violently forward and back. The effect of her motion was not to vary the penile penetration so much as the points of pressure inside her belly. Her nipples oscillated. It was a fascinating display of sight, sound and feeling. It lasted a good while before she collapsed forward, hot cheek against mine. My hands stroked her back as she gasped for breath. After a bit she murmured, "You make me feel like a puddle." "A ?" "That you've stepped in." A puddle of what? I wanted to say. Instead I asked, "What do you mean, Anelda?" "It's the best way I can express it. I feel melted." Her hips began to move again. "I feel like a butterfly you're pinning to a board." "That's a little better. But surely it hurts the butterfly!" "This hurts, too. good!" She raised up enough to kiss me, tongue probing. Her hips resumed their grind. She moaned nasally, nostrils flaring, then forced herself erect as before, hands extended to my shoulders. This time I reached up and squeezed each nipple between thumb and forefinger. Her whole chest had reddened. Her face was flaming, lips drawn back over teeth, eyes clenched shut. Her Farsi imprecation escaped her lips again, but I added only a slight thrust to her effort. Again she was gasping for breath when she collapsed upon me, chin on my shoulder. Again I rubbed her back, long strokes from shoulder to buttocks. When her breath was recovered she complained, "Harry, you'll kill me." I chuckled. "That's the exact way I'd prefer to die!" "How selfish! Think of your poor partner." "I am. With unmitigated envy." She chuckled, too, then complained, "You haven't come yet!" "I might have this time, if ..." "If what?" "It had lasted a bit longer. If that's what you want, turn around." "Backwards again?" "No. Head to foot." She raised up enough to study my face. Her hips resumed a gentle motion. "You don't mean ..." "Sixty-nine." "Harry!" she breathed. "I that!" "So do I." "But -- but I should warn you, I can't concentrate on you while you're ... doing ..." "I know. That makes it last. Just don't bite if you come." She meant it. A few strokes on the clit itself proved enough to freeze her jaw, neck and tongue. To get any attention to my dick I had to stay mostly away from that prominent lump, stirring the labia instead, thrusting into the very wet hole and the dry one above it. Poking at the higher one made her quiver and tongue my glans harder, almost as if it acted as a reminder. The asshole as a conscience button! She came several times, I think even if only by pressure transmitted to the clitoris through the flesh from elsewhere, and each time I felt her teeth on my dick, though not painfully. I wonder if the awareness of how terribly a suckling woman can hurt a man contributes to the pleasure of it. For anyone. At last she settled on a "hold" -- tongue pressing the sensitive underside of the glans against palate ridges, lips gripping the shaft while hand held its base for the rapidly bobbing head -- that fetched me. Spurting at one end, I bore down on the swollen clit at the other. She began immediately to lunge about, screaming nasally. She bore it only briefly before literally tearing herself away. In her anguish her knee struck me painfully on the forehead. Hands went between her legs, presumably to soothe the tortured flesh. I had a glimpse of her wild face, a watery semen steak visible on the chin for the first time, before she went sideways off the bed with a couple of thumps. Aware of the noise, I rolled to look at Estri. Both her eyes were watching this time. She smiled at me before again turning away. Do the Meshir practice sixty-nine? I can't remember, but presumably not to conclusion. Turning back I found Anelda's face risen off the carpet. She stared at me dazedly, licking my residue from the corner of her mouth. "Are you all right?" I demanded. She responded by clambering up the side of the bed. Her hand shot to my dick and turned the end towards me. She declared triumphantly, "By god, you came that time!" Indeed a last white drop cowered in the eye. I retorted dryly, "It seems I blew you away." She laughed and surged completely up onto the bed, compressing her breasts on my chest, to kiss me briefly on the lips. Her chin wet mine. She raised her head and regarded me fondly. "I couldn't stand it another second." "Then you're not hurt?" "If I am, it's a good hurt." "No bruises from the floor?" "I think I landed on hip and shoulder. I was all a-tingle. I still am! Ah, Harry, what a evening!" "You can say that again!" We lay in a companionable silence for awhile, her chest partly on mine, head on my shoulder, one of my legs entangled in hers. I stroked her buttocks and lower back. Her hand worked my dick gently, keeping it erect and revealing a familiar soreness. When I told her so, she transferred her massage to my balls. Her breath tickled my ear. Sometime later I awoke. Her back was cold. I wormed out from under her, stood beside the bed and pulled the covers over her. I took a leak, noting 00:40 on my wristwatch, turned out the lights and slipped into bed with Estri, apparently not so quietly as I'd wanted, because she immediately turned her warm body, throwing an arm and leg over me and small head on my shoulder. "Love you forever," she murmured before her breathing resumed its even rate. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----