Like a Rolling Stone

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“Is this a dildo?” asked Clara, holding the smooth, stainless steel tube tentatively by the base.

“Better,” Shawnee replied. “A vibrator. Haven’t you seen one before?”

Clara shook her head, her shoulder length reddish blonde hair flicking lightly over the high cheekbones flushed red by embarrassment. She was sleeping overnight at her best friend’s home, so they could get up early and get tickets for the Ulthar Cats’ concert.

Shawnee’s parents were out of town, trying to figure if her grandmother’s recent nude trip around the supermarket meant it was time to put her in a home. Resultantly, dinner had been a vegetable pizza, Shawnee having been a strict vegetarian since she had seen “Super Size This” two weeks before. They had ordered from the local parlour.

“You’ve got to see the delivery guy, Clara, he’s so hot,” Shawnee had told her. When the doorbell rang, she had added, “watch this,” and undid the top four buttons of the blouse stretched tautly across her chest. Shawnee had enormous breasts, huge round orbs that pressed ripely against whatever she wore. Her skin was the colour of milky coffee, a shade darker than caramel, and she had long, straight dark hair. Thin dark eyebrows perched exquisitely above her rich brown eyes. Her lips were a scarlet movie star pout.

“Hi,” she panted to the delivery guy. He looked about a year or two older than them, maybe twenty. His body was soaked in muscle that rippled with his every move, cold blue denim clinging to the large muscles of thigh and calve and cupping an impressive bulge at the crotch. Shawnee bent over, ostensibly to place the pizza on the table by the door while she paid him but really to give him a show. He obliged, staring deep into the fleshy, dark crevasse between her two stunning breasts. Shawnee looked up and smiled when she caught him looking, running her long pink tongue over her bright red lips. As Clara watched, that large bulge in the jeans twitched. Shawnee said, “thank you,” then closed the door with a swish of her ample hips.

“He’s going to jerk off in the van, I bet,” said Shawnee laughing.

They ate the pizza and watched DVDs, ignoring the films to talk about the rumoured immense endowment of the Ulthar Cats’ front man and, of course, lesser boys. Hesitantly, they both admitted they were still virgins, though Shawnee had given one guy a blowjob.

“What was it like?”

“It was great,” Shawnee replied, “like nothing I’d tasted before. It was sort of incredibly hard, yet there was a softness, too. It was about as long as my index finger, though much thicker. It had this big purple head. I took it all into my mouth and sucked on it for about a minute and then he came. All this sticky white stuff, it tasted salty.”

Then they had gone up to Shawnee’s room and when Clara had gone looking for a night-shirt, this long tube had fallen out onto the floor.

“Have you used it?” Clara asked.

“Yes,” said Shawnee, “though only on my pussy lips and over my clit. I’ve never stuck it deep inside me.”

“Will you show me?”

Slowly, not sure whether to do it or not until it was done, Shawnee lifted up the oversized T-shirt she slept in. It slid up over her dusky thighs and brushed lightly against her moist bush. Clara looked on, feeling her own pussy get wet like it did when she lay in bed and thought about some of the boys on the football team. Shawnee’s pussy was so different from hers, thick rubbery olive lips drooping out from a sparse tangle of coarse, tufty black hair. As the T-shirt continued up, Shawnee’s breasts were tugged up momentarily from the motion of the fabric. They bounced down and spilled out of the T-shirt, completely spherical with huge coppery aureolae. Shawnee stood nude before her best friend, aggressively defensive, one hand curled over but not concealing her mons.

“Show me,” was all that Clara said and handed her the vibrator.

Shawnee twisted the base and a low buzz suffused the room. She rubbed it over her breasts and placed it under her arms. “Have to warm it, a bit,” she said. Once more, she brought the vibrator to her magnificent breasts, running it around those large nipples, which quickly swelled into sharp points. She trailed it down her body, running it over her flat stomach and down into her bush. Her pussy was soaking, tiny beads of liquid heat falling to the carpet. Shawnee placed no more than an inch of the vibrator inside her, then slowly ran it around her cunt. She began to moan, almost reluctantly at first, but then louder and louder. Her legs buckled and she flopped back on the bed, still desperately running the toy around her labia. It sent liquid flying from her cunt in a spray that dashed against Clara’s still clothed legs, and she found herself touching the hot liquid to her lips. It tasted sweet and perfumed, like her own.

Shawnee lightly touched the vibrator to the thick dark bud Pendik Escort blossoming in the centre of her and came, screaming. The vibrator fell from her numbed hand and danced about on the floor as Shawnee lay paralysed on the bed, flushed and panting from perfect pleasure.

Clara had never been so aroused, not when she touched herself late at night, not in the car when she felt some boy’s thing pressing against her thigh. The liquid arousal in her cunt had completely soaked through her panties and formed dark stains on the front of her trousers.

“Do me,” she begged.

Shawnee countered, “Show me.”

With fingers numb and thick, Clara obliged. She slipped the shoulder straps of her top down her slender arms, and tugged the top over her shoulders. Her skin was porcelain white, her breasts – perhaps half the size of Shawnee’s – pale rich swells capped with chubby pink buds of nipples. She slipped off the jeans and the sodden panties with her back to Shawnee, displaying a fine, rounded ass, then turned to reveal the delicate curves of her pussy lips below a natural triangle of soft red hair, now damply shining.

“Lie on the bed,” Shawnee demanded.

Clara did and Shawnee retrieved the vibrator from the floor, crawling up the bed. She paused as her lips neared Clara’s pussy and sniffed. Clara’s cunt smelled of fruit, of pomegranate and mango, and Shawnee instinctively lapped out with her long tongue, licking Clara’s succulent pussy, spreading saliva around her lips and fluttering at her clitoris. Clara moaned loudly and Shawnee thanked god her parents were away. She continued her journey up Clara’s body, pausing only to briefly nip one nipple with her teeth. At last, she lay a top her teenage lover, their breasts squashed together, the juice in their pussies mingling. Shawnee kissed Clara’s pouting pink lips as her dark hand caressed the pale skin below Clara’s bush, revelling in the sweet hot moisture. She sucked on Clara’s nipples as she brought the vibrator against her pussy. Clara came immediately, silently, the only sign of her incredible pleasure the vice grip of her hands on Shawnee’s neck.

They slept nude on the bed, sticky limbs entwined, their pussies grazing against each other in the fevered dreams of the night. In the morning, Shawnee woke to find Clara gone. A note perched guiltily on the bedside table.

Shawnee, it read, what we did last night was wrong. I’m sorry but I can’t see you again. I’m going to have my father transfer yours to a different corporate office, with a promotion of course. I’m sure you’ll understand. Clara Barrington.

“Bitch,” screamed Shawnee to no one in particular. Michael Barrington, Clara’s father, was head of Barrington Industries, a business colossus that he had raised himself from a garage based software company. When she and Clara had become friends at a corporate event, her father had been pleased, though she imagined he would never credit just how she would improve his career.

Clara stood in the queue for maybe an hour to get her ticket. Halfway along a bum squatted, as dilapidated as the building he leaned against. She opened her purse and he got a look at more than ten fifty-dollar bills. Then she opened her change purse and gave him a dime. Sure she could have got the ticket immediately from one of her daddy’s media contacts but that would be missing the point. Momentarily, she felt guilty about her treatment of Shawnee, but then she realised that with the move Shawnee’s family would have more money. Clara remembered Shawnee saying how much she liked New York – she’d have her daddy move them their. All it would take were the right words – ever since Mom had died, daddy did whatever she wanted just to make her happy. Daddy thought Shawnee’s dad should move up anyway, he just hadn’t wanted to deprive his daughter of her friend.

Once she bought the ticket – the squat tattooed woman who sold it to her laughing secretly at her – she clutched it like the Holy Grail.

The night of the concert, her father drove her to the stadium in one of his less ostentatious cars. He dropped her at the gate, kissed her good-bye and told her he’d pick her up in a few hours, then drove off. Once his car had disappeared, Clara went behind one of the parked buses and tore off the modest blouse she was wearing.

(Unknown to her, a porcine bus driver too doused in caffeine to sleep spilled his drink in surprise and masturbated furiously as this heaven sent nymph undressed beside his coach.)

Underneath the blouse she wore a low cut top that clung to her beautiful breasts like skin. Likewise she took off her jeans to reveal a tiny skirt bunched up around her waist, making it obvious that she wore no panties.

(At this point the bus driver came, mottled white fluid gushing out of his cock. He caught it in his coffee cup. An hour later, forgetting, he accidentally took Kurtköy Escort a big swig, then spent the rest of the concert vomiting on the spot where the exquisite teenager had stripped.)

The opening act was all right. Nothing special but they did a couple of good covers, their own material being utterly dire. Then the Ulthar Cats came on, and from the first chord to the last falling echo of Den Buck’s powerful voice, Clara was in rapture. Her pussy as wet as last night when Shawnee had… but no, she shouldn’t think of that; her nipples making large spikes in her tiny red top; her eyes filled only by Den and thoughts of Den. As he sang, she imagined his lips on hers, his cock filling her cunt as they slowly made love on a four poster bed. In dreams she toured the world with him, as he fucked her every night to endless orgasm.

She had been dancing up front, fruitlessly trying to get him to notice her, so she was working her way out when the guy approached her. He was scruffy, smothered in thick brown hair and wearing a bruised leather jacket to match. He was short, much shorter than her and skeleton thin.

“Saw the way you were looking at Den. Like you’d cream if he smiled at you. Wanna go backstage?”

Clara had been getting indignant, right up to the point where he mentioned backstage. Then, because no one had taught her, in all those fine schools, how to live out on the street, she nodded frantically.

“Not free, girl. Gonna be fifty bucks and a blowjob for me. But who knows, maybe you’ll get to see if Buck’s as big as they say.”

She couldn’t even think about refusing after that.

“Okay, girlie, follow me.”

He took her by the hand and led her to a shadowed corner of the arena.

“Got the fifty bucks?” She handed it to him.

“Alright,” he said, tugging down the fly on his jeans and letting his long, thin cock flop out. “Go to work.”

Clara knelt in front of him and ran the back of one hand over her lips. She had no clue what to do, but knew if she didn’t get this right he wouldn’t let her backstage. She thought back to Shawnee’s story, that night seeming so long ago now.

She reached out and wrapped one small, pale hand around the slim flesh dangling long between the stranger’s legs. Oddly, she felt the same powerful desire that had stolen her reason in Shawnee’s bed grip her again. The man’s cock was thickening even as she held it. She lifted the head to her pouting lips and kissed it gently, then began to lap at it like a cat. His cock grew steadily, swelling until it stood rock hard off his body, no longer requiring her support. She still did hold it though, enjoying the sensation, and slowly stroked it as she suckled on its head.

He was beginning to moan low now, and Clara marvelled at the size of his cock. It was much bigger than the vibrator. She estimated it was more than a foot long, and it was so thick her hand could not close around it, her clear nail varnish glinted distantly at her thumb.

When she opened her mouth and slowly swallowed perhaps two inches of his immense cock, he pulled out of her.

His voice was thick and desperate. “I’ve got to have you,” he whispered.

He pulled her up and spun them, pressing her against the wall and lifting her. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him to hold herself up. Clara felt his monster cock pressing against her dripping wet cunt and suddenly realised she was as desperate to have him inside her as he was to fuck her. One hand under her ass, squeezing between her cheeks to brush delicately at her asshole, the stranger’s other hand tugged down her top, spilling her left breast out. He sucked on her nipple, then bit it as he rammed the full length of his cock into her. She screamed in pain as he split her cherry, but as he kept fucking her and kept lapping at her delicate nipple she began to feel a pleasure growing that made even the unbelievable orgasm Shawnee had given her seem insignificant. Somewhere, she thought that this experience would only make her time with Den Buck better.

His thick cock strained inside her, her tiny young cunt gripping it with fiery ardour and making it fight for every inch. Agonisingly, ecstatically, finally he managed to slide it all the way in, the monster bathing in her teenaged arousal.

“You’re so tight,” he breathed. “Oh, God! You’re so tight.”

Slowly, but then with increasing speed he began to stroke his huge cock in and out of her virgin pussy. Clara felt it, stretching her, fulfilling her. She began to moan, and ran her hand through the rough hair of the stranger’s head. As she felt her pleasure peaking Clara closed her eyes and leaned her head back, over and over whispering “I’m coming” to the sky.

She kept uttering it well after her second orgasm had begun to build from the relentless fucking of the stranger’s huge cock. He was moaning now, too, Kartal Escort though it sounded almost despairing and she wondered if she was doing something wrong. She looked at him to see what the matter was, and saw her father standing shocked and destroyed watching her fuck a complete unknown. He turned and walked quickly away.

She battered at the stranger’s shoulders until he put her down, his fat cock plopping out of her pussy with a slow thick glottal sound. She tugged down her skirt and up her blouse and chased her daddy.

Clara grabbed his shoulder and spun him round. He broke her grip with one rough shrug and shoved her back. She fell and her skirt rucked up, exposing her red raw and sopping cunt. Her father looked away in disgust and she covered her cunt with her hand.

“I was so proud of you,” he said, crying, “and now I find you’re just a little slut who’ll fuck anybody. Listen carefully now.” He was all business, and Clara knew whatever he said now, he would mean to the grave. “You are no longer my daughter. I will never see you again. You will not come home, not even to get clothes. All you have is what you’ve got now.”

He walked off, utterly calm. Clara chased him again, begging him to stop. He drove off without a word.

Finally, she walked back to where the stranger had fucked her. He was standing there, smoking a cigarette, his thick cock trapped behind his jeans again.

“That your dad?” he asked. “He pissed?” he inquired, after she had nodded.

“He’s thrown me out,” Clara said and at last burst into tears. She fell at his feet, hugging his legs and sobbing, her cheek resting against his big dick.

There was only one good thing left in her life. “Can you get me backstage now?”

“Um… sorry, girl, but… I mean, I was just wanting to get some head from a pretty teenager. I don’t know the fucking band.”

He walked off, Napoleon in rags, leaving her sprawled in a foetus on the ground.

Two months later, Clara had burned through all the money she had had in her purse that night, frugality not being a virtue she had cultivated. She sat in an all-night diner, abusing the bottomless coffee mug policy. Then she saw him watching her.

He sat in the corner booth, gaunt and tall and pale against the red fake leather. His hair was longer than hers and jet black, straggly. His eyes were dark as his hair and utterly empty of any life or interest, but still she felt his regard inspecting her pert body. From time to time people came in and gave him money for little baggies. When she saw the amount of money, she went over and offered what she had left to him.

Clara and her mystery tramp drifted across the country slowly, stuttering back and forth over state lines at his whim. One night, they stayed in a derelict house in Florida, a beachfront property of three floors, all shattered windows and crumbling plaster, the work of teenagers and the sea air. In the top floor bathroom, they stood surrounded by used condoms and charred cigarettes, Clara resting naked, arms braced in front of a mirror covered in an intricate cobweb of minor fractures. In the mirror, she looked into his empty eyes as he lined his hard cock up with her no longer virgin asshole and forced it all the way home. The pain from his entries had disappeared now and she felt only the rough pleasure of his cock in her ass.

He was not as big as the stranger – if he had been, she doubted she could ever have accommodated him there – but he was still pretty well-hung. As he fucked her in long slow strokes of unvarying rhythm, one hand played with her breasts, cynically caressing her nipples in the perfect way to get her off. The other mechanically fondled her clit – every time they screwed he brought her to multiple screaming orgasms, without once seeming to care. Even as she gasped her pleasure, he didn’t react, just kept fucking her perfectly. At last he came, spilling his come inside her ass from where it would later trickle coldly out.

Once he was done he pulled out and went into the other room to lie down. Clara walked over to the window in the gable end of the house, letting the wind caress her nude body. The chill brought her small nipples to almost painful stiffness and the air cooled her moist pussy. In the distance she could see the flickering lights of a beach party rearing against the sky. She could hear the cheerful sounds of happy people having fun, mingling with the strains of a good sound system blasting out bad music – musical soundtracks and Kenny G. But then someone with taste must have changed the CD because suddenly Bob Dylan was singing.

“How does it feel to be on your own, a complete unknown, like a rolling stone?”

So she’d fucked up her life, had she? So what? So she’d ended up sitting in the ruins of a once proud house, her ass raw from the careless attentions of a lover who didn’t care about her. So what? How did it feel?

Clara wished she could go to him, go to those carefree fools at the beach party and tell them that each day she felt a little less terrible, as she drowned in her unknown little life.

Feedback would be appreciated.

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