Date: Sat, 23 Oct 2010 16:20:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Edna Martinez <baby_edna2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Gift to Arizona (Adult-Youth Lesbian)
A Gift to Arizona
baby_edna2000@yahoo.com
Only a few stragglers hobble down the deserted streets of Bullhead,
Arizona. The sweltering conditions are unendurable during this time of the
year. Most townsmen remain under the shadows of their domiciles. The
caustic heat caters poorly to summer fun, and outdoor campaigns are often
abandoned.
The whole town seems to be in an incessant state of sweat. Innocuous
outlanders venture out of their motel rooms only to find the pestiferous
sun intolerable. Blue skies are more a melodic theme than a reality.
Summers here are uneventful and irksome--unfriendly to blithesome hearts.
Melanie watches an old bloke totter down the avenue--his hands avidly
clearing his eyes from the acidulent sudor; his gaze seems transfixed on a
far horizon. Absent-mindedly, she nods her head as her eyes lazily follow
the old man. She is all too acquainted with this spectacle--meaningless
figures, empty sceneries, inanimate portraits of a monotone existence. It
all seems surreal. Has she been sitting on this same dust-covered stoop for
the last twelve years?
"Hmm...It can't be. I just turned fifteen..."
Her gaze follows the miffed hobbler until her peripheral vision snaps to a
colorful shape. Almost carelessly, she turns to make out the polychromic
pattern. Through the mantle of heat-waves, the figure appears to be
ablaze. Is the heat playing tricks on her mind?
She squints and tries to cut through the myriad of undulating waves. As her
focal point clears the distorted curtain, she recognizes a gold summer
dress and a platinum mane. Is this an apparition?
"I've been sitting out here too long."
She shuts her eyes and suspires. This town is slowly driving her insane.
But as she opens her eyes, Melanie remembers that specters are myths
created to impress small children. The figure is very real.
The gracile movement of Ms. Thorn's hips is bewitching; the effulgence of
her hair astounding. The grandiloquent swaying of her haunches maintains a
rhythm that can only be leal to her hefty frame. Her exposed limbs are
bronze and dense--subtly sculpted with lean muscle. Her slender waist seems
almost incommensurate to her extremities, but her muliebrity is
incontestable.
"Wow..." Melanie proclaims under her own breath. She has never experienced
love at first sight.
Mouth ajar, she observes incautiously as the baronial blonde makes her way
to the porch on the empty cottage.
'Hmm...next door?'
Melanie observes as Ms. Thorn hauls her bundles up the uneven ramp. Her
calves undulate exquisitely as she tows the luggage up the stoop. Her
biceps ripple with each effort.
"Can I help?"
A feeble inquiry... 'How did I get here?' Melanie thinks, as she finds
herself offering the mighty lady a hand.
"Sure sweetie, I could use some help."
"Are you my new neighbor?"
"Yes, I believe I am young lady."
"I am Melanie." The teenager offers.
"I am Carla Thorn...nice to meet you."
There is something about Ms. Thorn's eyes that reminds Melanie of her once
melancholic visit to Pensacola--a time when her mother was alive. 'Yes, her
eyes are blue like the ocean'. Melanie finds herself swimming in them.
"Want to bring that tote?"
"Sorry...sure..."
Her ineptness does not go unnoticed.
As Melanie follows Ms. Thorn up the uneven porch, her eyes admire the
waggling hillocks of the lady's corpulent buttocks.
"So where are you moving from?"
"California..."
"Is it nice?"
"Hmm hmm...it's very nice."
The rustling of tumbleweed driven by the tepid breeze is a melody lost in
the forsaken avenues. The dusk is warm and humid--loud with the desiccated
silence of a forgotten town. A child's cry is unnoticed in the
distance. The sunset is glorious and saddening--Melanie and Ms. Thorn
observe its magnificence with nostalgia.
"It's beautiful."
"I know..." Melanie whispers.
"Hey, thanks for all your help today."
"Oh, no worries..." Melanie answers timidly.
Ms. Thorn watches the teenager closely--her brown hair frowzy and her skin
adust from the baking sun. She likes Melanie; the teenager reminds her of
an irrecoverable youth--a disregarded time of her life.
"Hey...isn't your mom waiting at home?"
"No." She answers sadly. Her gaze fixed on the ground.
"Want to talk about it?"
But her secret is painful. The death of her mom left Melanie void and
lifeless--her spirit broken. For seven years she has endured the
irrevocable withering of a broken heart. 'I miss her so much'. The knot in
her throat is painful, but her teen pride keeps her from weeping--yet,
tears flow from her beautiful brown eyes.
"I am so embarrassed. I barely know you..." Melanie valiantly wipes her
tears away.
"Honey, don't be...I am so sorry."
"I'll be ok."
Ms. Thorn observes the delicate girl with sorrow. "Will there be anyone at
home?"
"Yes, my auntie will be there later tonight."
But the truth is that Melanie's aunt is another vexing secret. She is a
lady of the world--driven by mundane affiliations and selfish concerns. Her
heart is dark and piteous--poisoned by a painful past that makes it
bitter. She hates the world and everyone in it. She doesn't love Melanie.
"Well honey, let's make a deal. Why don't you go home, get some rest and
tomorrow you can come over and have some lemonade with me. Yes?"
"Hmm hmm..." Melanie nods enthusiastically. It's a great idea.
"Would you like that?"
"Yes!" She confirms happily.
Why does her heart find joy in the company of a complete stranger? A few
hours of knowing Ms. Thorn feels like an eternity. Maybe happiness is found
in the forgotten corners of the Earth--in the desolate paths discovered by
few and yet walked by so many. Maybe joy is agony; maybe joy is pain.
Later that night, Melanie dreams of Ms. Thorn. It's a wonderful dream,
blessed with friendship and laughter; yes, Melanie loves to laugh, she
really misses her mother's laughter.
She wakes up bright and early, her memory fresh with the canorous tunes of
cackles and chuckles. She closes her eyes to keep the suiting sounds alive
and close to her. They are assuasive and romantic. They make her feel
silly.
Knock...Knock...
"Oh honey you are here so early?"
"Is it ok?
"Sure sweetie, come on in...I'll wake up as I go." Ms. Thorn smiles warmly
and opens the netted door.
The forty-one year old is not decently appareled but she already trusts
Melanie.
"Wow...that is incredible!" The teenager blurts out.
Ms. Thorn's brassiere and sleeping shorts reveal something fascinating.
Her body is sensational--impressive to those unfamiliar with her past
craft.
The lady's waist is slim and void of subcutaneous adipose. Her rump and
thighs are thick, round and muscular. Her shoulders wide and
elegant--capped with well pronounced tie-ins. Her abdominal muscles are
lean and well-defined. She reminds Melanie of a female superhero.
"Impressed...Huh?" Ms. Thorn says heartily. She is accustomed to this
reaction.
"Yes..."
Melanie blushes recognizing her blunder.
Ms. Thorn yawns and lazily stretches her limbs. Her face shows an idyllic
smile. She pats Melanie softly on the head.
"Alright sweetie...let me go change and I'll tell you everything about
it. OK?"
"Hmm...hmm..." Melanie nods--she is stupefied.
Ms. Thorn returns properly attired, but Melanie's eyes are not
deceived. Now she sees Ms. Thorn through a different prism--through a
sensationalized filter. The lady's sheer femininity and strength stimulate
Melanie's senses.
"Ok darling, it goes something like this..."
Over fresh morning coffee, Ms. Thorn narrates the tale of an iron
legacy--an epic fit for a gladiator. She speaks of a time in her life when
wielding steel was more valuable than gold itself; a season in her life
when blinding lights and standing ovations drove her relentless passion; a
time in which she would have sacrificed it all for the thunderous applause
of a roaring crowd. Ms. Thorn was an iron-disciple--many years ago she had
fallen in love with the sport of bodybuilding.
"That is amazing!" Melanie is enraptured.
"Yes, it was indeed. Back then, it was all I had darling."
"Do you still compete?"
"No..." Ms Thorn looks into the horizon with melancholia.
"Why?"
The inquiry is one that brings about a host of emotions.
"Oh Honey, it's a lot of hard work for a woman my age."
"But, you look incredible!"
Ms. Thorn smiles warmly at Melanie and then again looks into the
horizon. The sadness in her eyes is genuine.
"Sweetie I've made some mistakes that have changed my life, and I have to
live with their consequences."
Ms. Thorn confesses a bleak truth. She speaks of the often disconsolate and
dark paths that she walked in her quests for an elusive victory. She tells
Melanie about her stern addiction to anabolic steroids; about her torrid
love affair with muscle enhancement drugs. She speaks of needles and
syringes, sterilized vials and forbidden chemicals. It is a compelling and
often pitiable account. She tells the captivated teenager about a
cicatrice--a mark, a hideous scar that she bears as a result of her drug
abuse. But this is her secret. Yes, she has to live with this mortifying
secret.
"What is it?" Melanie asks intrigued.
"Well darling, that is why it is my secret. It's embarrassing, so I keep it
to myself."
Ms. Thorn smiles tenderly and playfully pats Melanie on the nose.
"Oh, I understand." Melanie says in deep thought.
She is a very curious girl, but she respects the lady's privacy.
"Hey, want to give me a hand with this couch?"
"Sure..."
Melanie helps Ms. Thorn with some house chores. She does it with
alacrity. As they work together, they share excerpts from their
past. Melanie loves Ms. Thorn's adventures; she loves the
mystery. Ms. Thorn's soothing voice appeases Melanie's spirit--it lessens
the pain in her broken heart.
She observes the lady closely. Ms. Thorn's diligence in her chores amuses
Melanie. Her energetic pace and elegant posture makes Ms. Thorn an
appealing spectacle. Melanie enjoys contemplating her. She loves the lady's
vigor and determination. She finds it contagious and inspiring.
"Whew...Arizona is one hot place, isn't it sweetie?" Ms. Thorn complains
in a stew. She wipes the sweat from her forehead.
Melanie watches entertained as the lady struggles with the muggy
conditions. Her vexation somehow seems incongruent to such a perfect
anatomy. Melanie wonders: 'what possible secret could Ms. Thorn need to
hide?' The potentiality of any blemish on Ms. Thorn seems inconceivable to
the teenager.
"Alright, these are coming off!" Ms. Thorn announces as she disrobes from
her sweat pants to once again remain in sleeping shorts.
The teenager watches intently as Ms. Thorn again reveals her tanned bionic
legs. Melanie finds Ms. Thorn's bare limbs breathtaking.
'Amazing...' The teenager thinks to herself.
She watches intently as Ms. Thorn discards the sweats and raises her arms
to dress her platinum mane in a bun. Melanie notes the two sodden spots in
the ladies armpits; her t-shirt is drenched.
'Hmm... she is human after all.' Melanie thinks to herself, then smiles at
her own nescience.
"Ok, just a couple more boxes and we get to have our lemonade." Ms. Thorn
heralds and places a friendly arm around the teenager.
Melanie blushes as she finds herself willingly accepting the lady's
affability. Ms. Thorn's scent is beguiling. Her perfume is mild and
sweet--it reminds Melanie of peach gardens. ----Memories of a far away
past----
The fifteen year old also seizes the unprocessed scent of Ms. Thorn's
sweaty armpits. It is a rude and earthy fragrance--mildly reminiscent of
sweet scallions. 'Hmm...' The spicy scent attracts her. Viscerally, it
makes her feel safe in the company of this complete stranger. It reminds
her of an intimacy that was lost many years ago--a closeness that has been
replaced with desolation and superficial episodes. It reminds her of a
happy time in her life.
"Sounds great..." She responds in the midst of sensations.
They sit in the porch and make little talk. The lemonade is refreshing. The
day is bright and young.
"Are you married?"
"I have been a widow for seven years honey."
"Do you miss him?"
Ms. Thorn sighs. "Many times I do sweetie...many times I do..."
Melanie can't help but feel sorrow for Ms. Thorn. 'She must feel so
lonely. Poor Ms. Thorn...' The moment brings a bitter taste that the
fifteen year old understands all too well.
Melanie also knows about pain and grief. She knows about unhappiness, about
loneliness. She lives it every day. It has become a part of her very
existence. Yes, she too knows about loss.
"I am sorry..."
She hugs Ms. Thorn--but her manifestation becomes more a reflection of her
own broken heart. The lady recognizes the pain.
"It's ok darling...I know." She squeezes the teenager warmly.
Melanie seeks comfort under Ms. Thorn's arm. She lays her head on the
lady's shoulder and delicately rests her nose on the still damp
armpit. 'Hmmm...' The inelegant smell makes her feel treasured--it makes
the moment real.
"You ok honey?"
"Hmm hmm" She nods--subtly burying her nose in the sweet and warm axilla.
They spend the rest of the day in the porch. They spend the rest of many
days in the porch. Every day Melanie impatiently counts the minutes for
school to finish. She can't wait to see her beloved lady. She dreams of
Ms. Thorn every night. She dreams of her warm smile, her blue eyes, her
lustrous hair; she dreams of her scent. She dreams of holding hands
forever--of conquering distant galaxies together. She dreams about giving
the world to Ms. Thorn. She dreams of making Ms Thorn happy. She dreams of
love. She has fallen in love with Ms. Thorn. 'Yes, that is it!'
"I love you." She confesses.
"Aww... I love you too Mel!" Ms. Thorn responds happily. She is oblivious
to the teenager's true sentiments.
Melanie lowers her gaze to the ground. Her heart is pounding.
She whispers. "No, I am in love with you."
The epic revelation is one that takes Ms. Thorn's feet from under
her. Involuntarily she falls to the couch and tries to organize her
thoughts.
"Mel honey, I don't...I mean, I don't understand..."
"Ms. Thorn, I love you so much. Do you not love me?" Melanie croons.
"I don't...I mean I do, but not like that honey."
Feeling the squeeze in her heart, Melanie's eyes become a well of tears.
"Oh... honey no...please don't' cry... Understand that what you ask of me
is...well...it is impossible."
But Melanie does not see the world rationally. She is a creature of deep
feelings--a fragile rose in a harsh world. The scars in her delicate heart
make her easily penetrable. Her pain makes her blind to the boundaries of
reality. She lives in a world governed by the voices in her heart.
Ms. Thorn attempts to rationalize with the teenager. "Don't you like any of
the young handsome boys in your school sweetie?" "No...I love you!"
Melanie announces with childlike demeanor. Her tears begin to flow.
"But honey? You know this can't be..."
"Why?" Melanie asks--her voice broken.
"Well...I don't know honey...because this is not right...we could get in
trouble."
Melanie suspires and closes her eyes. She tries to utter words, but the
knot in her throat is too painful--it keeps her mute. 'Why do you want to
hurt me Ms. Thorn? I love you.' Silently she walks out and sits on the
porch. She needs time to mitigate the pain. Her heart cannot bear another
disappointment.
'Oh Mel honey, don't do this to me.' Ms. Thorn imbibes the magnitude of the
moment. She thinks of every possible path to escape her plight, but every
one of them leads to pain and despair. She thinks of every possible lie
that could sway the teenager from pursuing her irrational interests, but
they all spell abandonment and desertion. 'Oh goodness, what can I do?'
Ms. Thorn knows Melanie's heart--rejection would certainly mean a complete
annihilation of the girl's already broken spirit. The lady then clearly
sees her only alternative--the only viable path. In order to spare the
teenager's heart, Ms. Thorn will have to travel down a road that would
change both their lives forever.
She walks outside and sits next to Melanie. The sniffling teenager keeps
her eyes closed and her head down.
"Sweetie...honey...Mel, look at me." She calls tenderly.
The teenager tries to meet Ms. Thorn's gaze but the heartache is deep--she
prefers to dwell in the comfort of darkness.
Ms. Thorn observes Melanie with tenderness. 'I must do this.' She takes a
deep breath and utters the magical words--a simple yet powerful love lyric
that carries with it a mighty promise.
"Mel, it's ok to have a crush on me. It's ok to love me."
"Really?" Melanie whimpers.
Ms. Thorn's words are healing words. They make the teenager feel warm and
giddy.
"Hmmm Hmmm..." Ms. Thorn confirms.
Very softly, she puts a finger under Melanie's chin and looks deeply into
the sweet girl's puffy eyes; they now display a growing light--a change in
aura. The teenager's semblance speaks of a compelling and touching story--a
story of love and renascence.
'Oh darling...' Ms. Thorn's heart melts.
The forty-one year old closes her eyes and gently places a very tender and
liquid kiss on Melanie's soft lips. The kiss is syrupy and saturated with
warm saliva. It's the substantiation of their new alliance--the start of a
fresh and exciting season in their lives.
"Haa..." Melanie gasps. She has never been kissed before--it takes her
breath away.
For a moment, lady and teenager fall into a dreamless slumber--a languid
state of mind in which the only pertinent notion is the adhesiveness of
their melded lips.
"Hmmm..." Ms. Thorn slowly ends the sloughy kiss and awakens from the
magical moment. Fondly, she observes the dainty drool bridge that remains
between her mouth and Melanie's slightly parted lips. The salacious sight
makes her feel ruttish. It makes her feel alive. 'Oh my...what am I
doing?'She thinks as she feels an urge that she hasn't felt in years--an
itch that she hasn't experienced for far too long. But Ms. Thorn knows that
such feelings are only hers to bear, for she has a secret--an embarrassing
secret. Yes, a secret that she must keep to herself.
"Wow..." Melanie too awakens from the sorcerous moment. 'Is this real?'
The teenager comes down from the cloud of sensations with a dreamy
smile. 'Yes, this must be what happiness feels like,' she tells herself as
the overspill of Ms. Thorn's warm saliva drivels down the sides of her
mouth. Unconsciously, she collects the excess spittle and watches it seep
through her delicate fingers. Lifting the bedewed fingers to her nose, she
smells the lady's drool and then wipes the digits clean on her tongue. It
is an impulse driven by a naive infatuation--a sinless caprice which is not
disregarded by Ms. Thorn.
"Melanie?" The lady complains as she feels a prickling sensation in her
loins.
"Oops..." Melanie announces timidly. Suddenly awakened to reality, the
teenager's face reddens in embarrassment--she has no sensible explication
for her act.
Ms. Thorn smiles and gently fixes the girl's hair behind her ear. She
studies the bashful girl closely.
"You liked that...Huh?
"Hmm hmm" Melanie nods shyly.
"Come sweetie, let's go inside." Ms. Thorn whispers. She glances around to
assure their privacy.
The afternoon is placid and uneventful--dull with the resounding silence of
empty streets and alleys. The squeaky sound of an old wooden chair fades in
the distance, and only the remote cackle of an unknown lady is heard in the
mute horizon. The town remains uninteresting and tiresome.
"Nnnnggghhh...tilt your head a little more Mel..." Ms. Thorn complains. She
is flustered.
Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she takes a deep breath and smiles at
the fifteen year old.
"Ok...let's try again." She whispers.
Extending her wet tongue, she instructs Melanie to suckle on it.
"Nnnnggghhh...that's better..."
"Yes?" Melanie inquires--she is blushing profusely. The close liaison with
Ms. Thorn makes her feel naughty.
"Hmm...hmm...it's called French kissing...you need to use as much of your
tongue as possible."
"I like it!"
"Very good...here, let's see Mel..." Ms. Thorn hoards an indecent amount of
saliva on the tip of her tongue and offers it to Melanie.
The teenager softly collects the spittle with her lips and swallows it.
Being this confidential with Ms. Thorn quells her desire to be recognized
and accepted. It brings back loving memories of a partly lost childhood.
'Hmm...honey, indeed you need love!' Ms. Thorn thinks to herself.
As she observes the frail and necessitous teenager, Melanie becomes an
idyllic prospect of family--the offspring that Ms. Thorn was never able to
conceive. Embracing Melanie as her own comes naturally to Ms. Thorn--it is
an instinctual disposition that she assumes willingly.
"Aww...honeyyyy...here!"
Ms. Thorn renders her mouth replete of saliva, and gently offloads the warm
spit inside the girl's mouth.
"Hmm" The teenager accepts the price volitionally.
Nursing Melanie makes Ms. Thorn feel motherly--it makes her feel complete.
"Good honey?"
"Hmm hmm" Melanie nods happily.
Yet, such an indecorous approach to maternity brings about an intense
arousal. It exposes a shameless and wicked necessity that Ms. Thorn
harbors, but must abstain from. 'Oh goodness, someone help me!'
----Is she running out of time? ----
As the morning light shines down on the quite streets of Bullhead, it
brings with it the promise of another slow day. Ms. Thorn idly watches the
delicate sunrays as they filter through the blinds and into her bedroom.
She is awake early today--earlier than usual.
The pensive look on her face mirrors the troubles in her heart. For the
first time, she is not in control. Her destiny is taking an unknown road
that she can't steer away from.
The fifteen year old has captivated her heart. Melanie's starvation for
love has unveiled a deep maternalistic feeling in Ms. Thorn that she can't
traverse. It is an uncovering that, although singular, does not really
trouble her--but conversely satisfies her. So why is she so disturbed? The
nature of her worries lies in the incoherent byproduct that seems to
originate from such noble intentions--the wicked and reasonless feelings
which makes her loins burn with intense arousal.
'Hmm...' She closes her eyes and daydreams of such risqué sentiments. She
dreams of delicate fingers caressing her soft and silky skin; of hot and
wet mouths suckling on her sensitive nipples. She dreams of a slimed
well-dowered tongue loving her anus--of soft and tender lips sucking on...
Knock...Knock...
'Oh honey...you are here!'
Melanie and Ms. Thorn listen to the day's axles slowly plowing through the
town's quiet streets. It is going to be another day that belongs only to
them.
They sit in the porch and observe an aged woman with a cane struggling to
make her way down the avenue. She seems vexed at the galling sun.
"Who is the old lady?" Ms. Thorn asks.
"That is Mrs. Hill. She works at the grocery store down the block." Melanie
answers.
"Huh...Is it always this slow?"
The aged dame is only the third straggler to hobble down the main avenue.
"Hmm...hmm..." Melanie nods.
"Hey, tell you what. Do you want to help me with my workout today?
"Yes, Yes!" Melanie responds enthusiastically.
----But then again she would do anything for her beloved lady----
"Ok, let's go inside then."
Ms. Thorn offers Melanie a full clinic on warm-up and compound movements.
"See honey...knees apart at shoulder length..."
Melanie loves watching Ms. Thorn go through the torturous routines. She
finds the lady's flexibility and athleticism spectacular. With an even coat
of sweat, Ms. Thorns exposed limbs display a lambent purity which Melanie
finds entrancing--the sweaty lady makes a redoubtable spectacle.
Yet, at a tender age when peculiarities shape the future pleasures of a
young woman, it is the lady's natural fragrance that beguiles Melanie the
most. The piquant scent effused from the lady's sweaty joints excites
Melanie's delicate senses.
'Ahhh...'
She loves the sweet and unpolished smell of Ms. Thorn's perspiring
armpits--the mildly sour scent of the lady's overworked flesh.
'Hmm...so good!' The teen is suddenly assailed by a peculiar thirst.
"Mel, hon...do me a favor, help me get this t-shirt over my head. I am
sweating like a piggy!" Ms. Thorn announces candidly, awakening the
teenager from her reveries.
"Yes Mam!"
Melanie nervously helps Ms. Thorn disrobe from the sodden jersey--her
senses fully doped with the lady's musk.
"Sweetie, just pull it above my head. OK?"
"Yes..."
With Ms. Thorn's arms fully bound above her head, Melanie indulges in a
rather queer, yet naive proclivity. Absent-mindedly, she laves the lady's
sweaty armpit with the tip of her tongue.
"Hey...w--what are you doing down there?"
Expecting a sweet taste, the isotonic solution of sweat and oil betrays
Melanie's taste buds, and she indulges once again. This time utilizing the
entire surface of her tongue, she paints the axilla with a broad stroke and
collects the remnant sweat.
"Te--he he he...Melanieee stop... It tickles!" Ms. Thorn complains--her
arms helplessly bound above her head.
The teenager's brain registers the salty taste of perspiration as her
tongue disperses the sweat around her mouth and palate. The sharp salinity
of the sudor, although incongruous to the expected taste, has an alimentary
component which maintains Melanie's thirst alive.
'Hmm...Ms. Thorn tastes nice...'
As she the teenager dips her head to once again luxuriate in the pasture of
Ms. Thorn's musky armpit, the lady firmly breaks through the seemingly
unconscious cycle.
"Melanie...stop!" She hollers.
The teenager immediately gains cognizance and hastily unbinds Ms. Thorn.
"S--Sorry..." She apologizes.
"Melanie???"
"I am sorry...I just...I...I am sorry." She stutters nervously and lowers
her gaze.
Observing the subdued teen, Ms. Thorn's heart softens with compassion. As
she contemplates how to address the awkward moment, Ms. Thorn reluctantly
sniffs her own armpit (she needs to understand the teen's infatuation.)
'Ughhh...' The crude smell of her own gingery axilla repels her. 'Gosh,
this place is too damn hot. I am going to need to start showering before
these morning workouts.'
Yet, the sudden image of the innocent teenager mirthfully licking the raw
armpit brings about the nourishing side in Ms. Thorn.
"Honey...don't you think that's a little gross?" She inquires melodiously.
Melanie slowly nods her head from side to side--her gaze still fixed on the
ground.
"Mel...come here sweetie."
Looking deeply into Melanie's eyes, Ms. Thorn attempts to expose the
teenager's troubles--the rootage of her estranged propensities (surely
enough there must be some sign of irrationality that explains her actions.)
Yet, the purity in Melanie's heart is indubitable. Her brown eyes speak the
truth of a destitute soul--a famished spirit in need of care and
compassion.
'Oh Melanie...' Ms. Thorn recognizes the supplication in the teenager's
eyes.
"Sweetie, would you like more?"
"Hmm hmm" A nod of approval; a sparkle in her aura...
Charitably, Ms. Thorn offers the teenager her sweaty armpit, and suddenly
finds herself assimilating an onslaught of sensations as Melanie licks and
nuzzles her erogenous axilla.
"Te he he...te he he...Melanie slow down!"
The teenager becomes fully engaged in the scents and tastes. The humid day
provides her with an abundant reservoir of oily-sweat constantly produced
by Ms. Thorn's sudoriferous glands. Her tongue scours every inch of the
salty concavity--seeking and collecting every drop of the mineralized
fluid.
Having moved the campaign to a comfortable couch, both lady and teenager
engage in a queer ritual which corroborates their gothic, yet very
emotional bond. Melanie laps and sucks on both of Ms. Thorn's armpits, for
what seems like hours, until only a satisfied palate, and the warm and
bland taste of flesh remains. Sore jaw and joyous souls, they fall asleep
together, glowing in the languid aftermath of their illegible, yet tangible
connection. Outside, the warm breeze blows silently; taciturnly carrying
the message throughout the town of a budding new romance.
----The moment of truth draws near----
Now it seems Ms. Thorn's porch is always empty, only dust and dried leaves
bear witness to the lifelessness of the desolate streets. Lady and teenager
spend most of their days inside the warmth and humidity of Ms. Thorn's
home. Gazing into each other's eyes, the heat and the constant sweating
become but venial aggravations. Instead, they kiss endlessly in the
quietude of their new found joy, exchanging copious amounts of drool as
they tongue grapple in the tepidness of each other's breath; Melanie
tenderly cools her beloved lady by licking the sweat off Ms. Thorn's face,
neck, armpits, and even from in between her toes. It is a physical and
spiritual orchestration that keeps both hearts contented.
Yet, in the midst of glee and mirth, Ms. Thorn's body slowly withers under
the searing manacles of arousal, assailing her every thought and every
dream; driving her into a dark precipice of forbidden desires, caprices
that exquisitely blur the line between innocence and malice--daring her to
dishonor the trust that has been so gullibly bestowed upon her.
And then, just in the nick of time...
"Ms. Thorn--what is the secret?"
The response comes prophetically--an automated rebuttal. "Aw--honey, we
have spoken about this already."
But this time the wager is too great, and the stake far too high.
"Please?" The teenager begs.
There is now history that demands more than a wispy rhetoric, substance
which requires a lot more than a vague excuse. Carla realizes that there is
no escaping this quandary, not when there is innocence at stake. She must
face the moment with valor.
"Ok honey..." She whispers in a motherly tone--her palms are sweating and
her heart is thumping. She peeks outside to confirm their privacy once
again--it's more a nervous reflex than a preventive measure.
"Mel, this is just between you and me...right honey?" She inquires
anxiously.
The teenager nods with enthusiasm.
Ms. Thorn then hesitantly hooks her thumbs inside her shorts, and slowly
pulls them down and off--with her lower half unclothed, she sits and
spreads her legs wide.
"Come closer honey..." She instructs--signaling the space in between her
splayed limbs. Her voice is rickety, and her hands unsteady. But is it fear
or excitement?
She closes her eyes and listens to the perpetual thumping of her heart; it
slowly numbs her senses and becomes a mellifluous tune which gently unwinds
her.
"Ha..." Melanie's gasp announces the uncovering.
Ms. Thorn tardily opens her eyes and observes as the teenager esuriently
contemplates the phenomenon. Carla feels both embarrassed and excited.
"Wow...What is it?" The purity in the girl's heart confounds her as she
attempts to put a name on her discovery. It is like nothing she has seen
before.
"Well, I call her Ms. Coochie..." The lady replies nervously.
Ms. Thorn's cunt reminds Melanie of a fat-lipped cartoon character. The
inner lips project heavily and crease over one another beyond the plumpness
of the outer labia; the colorful palette of grayish and angry-pink tones
gives the overstuffed vulva a lively and enthralling appearance.
Yet, most fascinating to Melanie is the inch-and-a-half burnished tubercle
of flesh which sits defiantly at the apex of the thick-lipped cunt. The
oversized clitoris is the true culprit; it has been the cause of much
nuisance and much pleasure in Carla Thorn's life. It is all that is left,
alongside memories, of a passion that had once consumed her life. It is her
secret.
Transfixed in a haze of thoughts, Melanie extends her hand and gently
caresses the pulsating nodule with her warm index finger.
"Aghhh..."
The unexpected touch sparks a charge which propagates to an entrenched mesh
of nerves that intricately connect to the over-exposed
clitoris--intensifying the fire which was already raging in the depths of
Ms. Thorn's loins.
"Sorry..."
"It's ok honey. She is just very sensitive."
"Can I?"
"Sure..."
Melanie's immediate bond with Ms' Thorn's 'secret' is one which emanates
from a strong coalition of physical and emotional affinities--it is the
result of a developing framework of neurological pathways--synaptic
connections which obscure the line between love and its physical
counterpart.
"Oh my goodness..." Ms. Thorn groans as she feels curious warm fingers
exploring her cunt.
"I don't know if...aghh...if I should be letting you do this." She tries to
summon the withering bit of reasoning that her maturity had once instilled
in her, but she is quickly losing the battle.
"Why?" The inquiry comes with a wounded look of despair; an all too
familiar tone of hopelessness.
"Well because its wro...ughh...damn it Mel." The saddened look in the
teenager's eyes seals their destinies--it fatefully desorbs any residue of
rationale which had once existed in their relationship.
"Its ok sweetie...Go ahead...Its fine." The lady surrenders to the
inevitable. Sliding forward to the edge of the couch, she spreads wider and
gives Melanie unencumbered access to her oversized, mature cunt.
The teenager joyously accepts the moment as a way to strengthen the bond
that she shares with her beloved lady. She lays her cheek on one of
Ms. Thorn's warm, solid thighs and proceeds to explore gently and
softly. She squeezes the heavy lips together and carefully reopens
them--they remind her of a blooming flower. She caresses the entire vulva
with the palm of her soft hand, and traces imaginary circles and heart
shapes on its surface.
"Ahhh..."
The teenager loves the low-pitched moans that her touch elicits from
Ms. Thorn, they are soothing and enchanting--they reaffirm the closeness
that she feels to her beloved lady.
Dreamy-eyed, she looks up and finds an exact reflection of her
emotions. Ms. Thorn smiles and blows a kiss at her.
"You are amazing sweetie..." The lady whispers.
Melanie's heart flutters, and her cheeks redden--she has never felt this
loved. Impassioned by the tenderness of the moment, she moves closer to
Ms. Thorn's, now very hot vagina, and sniffs it. The scent is warm and
feral, but she can't quite secernate it from other fragrances--this one is
familiar but still unique. She ventures on with this quest for several
minutes, attempting to agnize the scent--sniffing and prying, smelling and
poking, searching for its origin.
Gently, she spreads the thick inner-lips of Ms. Thorn's cunt to sniff
inside, and fatefully comes across the very source of the prodigal
aroma. Ms. Thorn's cum is heavy and concentrated. It reminds the teenager
of sugared milk.
As she contemplates the assortment of thick and thin syrupy-strands that
adorn the pink smoldering hole, Melanie is again struck with that antic
impetus which thrusts her to drink from Ms. Thorn's well. Eyes closed, she
latches on to the coagulated lips and sucks up the ropey secretions from
the cunt cavity.
"Aghh..." The warm contact makes Ms. Thorn squirm in delight. She can't
recall the last time tender lips touched her vagina. Only indefinable
memories remain--dim and shadowy thoughts of a distant romance.
She looks down at Melanie; languid gaze and lips greased with milky
discharge--the teenager seems to be floating in a fanciful world of dreams.
"You like it...huh?"
"Hmm hmm...it's sweet..." The teen replies shyly.
"Want more?"
"Hmm hmm" She reaffirms with gleamy eyes.
Biting her lower lip, Ms. Thorn ponders. "Ok...let me show you a little
trick."
Offering her index finger to the teenager's lips, Carla educates Melanie on
how to effectively service the overgrown clitoris. It is a lewd and tender
lesson --an illicit liaison which brings them ever closer to the very
pinnacle of their vicarious relationship.
"Are you ready?" Ms. Thorn inquires--her heart is pounding, and her vagina
is creaming.
"One more time?" Melanie pleads nervously. The expedited lesson makes her
unconfident, but the naughtiness and obscenity of the moment excites her
immensely.
"Of course honey..." Ms. Thorn again offers her wet digit to the teen's
warm lips. She volitionally waits for Melanie's reassurance, but her body
is on the verge of a cataclysmic disaster.
"Ready sweetie?"
"Hmm hmm"
"Ok, make momma proud!" Ms. Thorn jests, but the forty-one year old knows
she is hardly in control.
Melanie suspires in concentration, and then softly grabs the fleshy nodule
between her moist, tepid lips.
"Hrrrgghhh..." Ms. Thorn grunts. The contact is electric. Her nails dig
into the couch.
Immediately, Melanie's lips begin the oral assault--an identical replay of
the fallible crash course. Up and down, up and down the warm lips move;
clothing and unshrouding the growing organ from its slithery prepuce; her
tongue avidly lathering the pulsing node.
'Aghhh fuhh...' Carla is barely able to sustain sanity. Melanie's lips are
painfully exquisite.
"Ok...stohh...stop...stop..." She announces out of breath--her body almost
on the brink.
"Here let me show you." Using both hands, Carla spreads her vagina open to
unveil the result of the teenager's efforts. The rewards are astonishing
and abundant.
Melanie observes as the viscous curtain of ivory cum spills out from the
bubbling cunt. The stream is dense and glutinous.
"Wow..." The teenager finds the lewd sight galvanizing.
Diligently, she stretches her tongue and captures the flow before it hits
the carpet. It's rich and mildly tart. She closes her eyes and savors the
offering with passion. 'Hmmm so good...'
"Was that better?" The inquiry awakes her from her reverie.
"Hmm hmmm" She nods dreamy-eyed.
"Well...you know how to make it!" Ms. Thorn encourages with a playful pat
on the teen's nose.
Forthwith, Melanie again latches on to the now fully erect clit and
pleasures it with alacrity. The intensity of her efforts is now coupled
with the expectation of nourishment. Up and down, up and down her lips
move; around and around her tongue dances; seeking sustenance, craving warm
cunt milk.
"Oh goodness...oh goodness baby!" The melodious groans announce the summit
of Ms. Thorn's resistance.
"Too much...Aghhh..."
Suddenly, the pressurized flow of ejaculate showers the teenager's face,
momentarily blinding one of her eyes. The warm icing bathes her skin like a
soothing lotion--leaving the mark of romance printed on her. It is a
heart-warming moment--it is a splendid way to end the day.
This unorthodox coupling soon transforms into an unrestrained passion--a
daily coordinated effort which is greatly coveted and highly
anticipated. Craving her fix of sweaty, fragrant cunt has Melanie
salivating every day towards the end of school day--the exhilaration has
her contemplating on skipping classes. Conversely, Carla chastens her own
excitement by moving her routine workouts closer to her lover's arrival
time--yet, her cunt betrays her and begins creaming in anticipation of
young and adoring afterschool lips. In a ritualistic manner, absent a
morning shower, the lady brews her cunt with cum, sweat, and residual
urine--bringing her genitals to an exquisitely spicy peak which will
present an extraordinary and mouthwatering dish for the teenager. Once the
starved fifteen-year old arrives, lady and teen spend the better part of
their day exulting in the haze of sensual ecstasy. Legs spread open and
hungry mouth attached to weeping cunt--only the obscene wet sounds of young
pleasuring lips and tongue, and the loving whispers of encouragement vex
the deaf silence.
Time marches on through the fog of love and passion. Still the town remains
dull and irksome--unaware of a budding new romance in the midst of its own
obtuseness.
----Those silly hazards of love----
"Mel, skipping classes is unacceptable sweetie..."
"But I like being here with you..." comes the innocent reply with a wounded
tone...
"I know, but you need school too."
"But I rather be here..." The teenager complains--reaching to caress the
lady under her robe.
"No, Melanie...I am serious!" The lady announces--blocking the fragile hand
from its target. It is only a mild reflex, but one which weighs heavy on
the teen's feelings.
It's the first time in a while that Melanie has felt this way. She had
almost forgotten the sharp sting of a broken heart.
"Oh, please honey, don't cry...you know I..."
But her healing words fall on deaf ears as the teenager storms out. Perhaps
it is that all-nourishing, motherly side of her or perhaps it is the deep
love that she feels for the innocuous teenager that drove her
actions--nonetheless, after three days without Melanie, the forty-one year
old greatly regrets her fault. The realization of her flub comes cloaked in
intense desire and frustration--an alien vexation of immoral sorts. It
manifests itself in an incoherent longing to have her pussy licked and
sucked--selfishly considering only her self interests--even at the
teenager's peril. It is a mental actualization that both scares her and
excites her in a wicked manner.
Then a knock on her door...
"Mel, I am so sorry for what I did. You know that I only want the best for
you."
Carla sounds orderly and moral, but the truth is that she had been artfully
crafting her words for days.
"I know...I am sorry too" The teenager whispers--embarrassed of her
previous bout of immaturity.
"Hey...don't be." The lady announces lovingly... a finger under Melanie's
chin.
Carla contemplates the teenager sitting on her porch. 'Gosh, when did you
come into my life?' She loves this girl, but she also now perceives that
she needs this girl in a very special way--there is something about the
teenager's innocence and loyalty that makes Carla's loins burn with
depraved arousal--maybe it is the unyielding trust in her eyes, or perhaps
the notion that such trust is there to exploit; yet, three days of celibacy
has her cunt ripe and ready, begging for attention.
"Hey, I have a surprise for you...wanna see?" Carla whispers on the teen's
ear.
"Hmm hmm" Melanie nods enthusiastically--she is just happy to be with her
beloved lady.
"Well, then follow me young lady..." Carla announces flirtatiously.
Getting up slowly and deliberately, the lady turns her backside towards the
teenager and in exaggerated form bends her back to flash a most welcome and
desired view.
Melanie gasps as the short robe raises enough to unshroud a bare vulva with
a heavy strand of pink gluey ejaculate hanging from in between the parted,
thick lips. Ms. Thorn coquettishly waggles her round muscular buttocks in
front of the teen's face before venturing inside the house with an
overstated wiggling of her hips. Melanie observes rapturously as the cum
string diligently follows the lady, stretching closer to the floor with
each step, until it finally hits the pavement right before the lady
disappears past the netted door.
Suddenly, Melanie realizes that the spectacle has left her immobile and
salivating heavily. Recovering quickly from her reveries, she makes her way
into the house only to feast again on another breathtaking sight. In a
remarkable display of flexibility, Ms. Thorn awaits sitting on the edge of
the couch, backside half hanging off, and knees steady by her
ears--displaying her wide open cunt to the teenager's delectation. Melanie
watches with excitement as Ms. Thorn playfully dips her finger into the
pool of pink syrupy cum inside her splayed cunt, only to retrieve it
slowly--coyly examining its elasticity. Melanie's stomach rumbles in
response to the paradisiacal sight, it is one that adds to the already
intense fire in her belly.
Groaning inwardly, Melanie falls to her knees when Ms. Thorn waves her wet
finger sensually--signaling for the teenager to come claim her
prize. Literally, crawling across the living room, Melanie moves with
target-like diligence. As she arrives close enough to the overheated well,
the vulgar, yet sweet smell of unwashed cunt assails her nostrils. It is a
scent which she now cherishes deeply in her heart--a scent that she has
loved since the inception of their gothic romance. Yet, well trained in
Ms. Thorn's earthly fragrances, Melanie's nose captures a distinct
component, a hormonal additive which gives the hot vagina a slightly fishy
smell--a fragrance that spikes her curiosity, but one that she volitionally
embraces nonetheless... Ms. Thorn is menstruating.
The bloody discharge now tinges the lady's otherwise vestal ejaculate,
giving it a pinkish tincture. The new complexion puzzles the teenager, but
also adds voracity to her already insatiable appetite for cunt milk.
Eyes closed and mouth wide open, Melanie attempts to feast on the banquet
before her, but soon finds out that Ms. Thorn is harboring other plans for
her.
"Not yet baby...you are going to have to work for it." Ms. Thorn announces
coquettishly, softly putting her wet fingers to the teenager's forehead to
stall her advances.
But the starved teen tries to nourish once again.
"Hey, hey...I said not yet honey" Carla announces again--this time with a
firmer hand.
She soon finds herself --time after time--blocking Melanie's stubborn
attempts to latch on to her leaking pussy. This contest endures until both
lady and teenager are panting in sanguine titillation. It is a wicked game,
unplanned and spontaneous--a sexual contest that elevates their libidos and
exalts the beauty of the moment. And yet when there are no more pretenses
to be feigned, they uncork the floodgates and give way to their intemperate
passions.
Mouth wide-open with helpless hunger, the teenager clumsily strains to
engulf the over-developed vulva in one serving. It is a valiant effort, but
one that proves fruitless given the task at hand. The high of the moment
makes her irrational and unsteady; the creaming genitals seem monolithic
against her fragile mouth. She tries from different angles, helplessly
twisting and twirling, desperately trying to find an efficient vector from
which to feed on the leaking cunt. Then finally, with a successful grip she
latches on to the lower part of Ms. Thorn's splayed vulva. It is a
strategic move which allows her to arrest the heavy flow of cum and bloody
fluid streaming from the boiling well...she indulges dreamily.
The cocktail of vaginal cum, tiny menstrual clots and menses has a sharp
metallic piquancy that greatly excites Melanie's taste buds. It is an
intoxicating brew which inebriates her senses.
"Hmm..." The teenager complains in complete elation and sensual overload.
As the teen voraciously suckles on the lady's privates, Ms. Thorn
accompanies the sexual march with a slight pumping of her hips. Given her
physical prowess, Carla knows she could do this for days. But somehow today
is different; she can feel her muscle fibers weakening, and her respiration
faltering--the pleasure is too much to bear.
"Aghh fuck honey...your mouth is sooo good..."
"Yes honey, just like that...this is what good friends do together ...this
is what family does...don't stop baby OK?" The teen's ministrations make
the forty-one year old irrational.
"Oh gosh yes...you are mine...you are my little girl..."
"Oh honey...fuck school...you belong here doing this to me...OK?"
"Hmm hmm" Melanie replies loyally--mouth full of cunt.
"Fuck sweetie...nobody has licked my pussy while I am on my period...you
know that?" She inquires moonily--now fully under the dark manacles of
wicked lust.
The sudden sparkle in the teen's eyes conveys a silent response...she feels
important.
"Are you happy to be the first one honey?
"Hmm hmm" Melanie acknowledges with utmost pride.
"Oh fuck...you are so sweet honey....aghhh..."
The teen's willingness and loyalty, and her own immoral incoherence quickly
brings Carla to a soul chattering orgasm--it is a thunderous climax that
has her ejaculating carelessly all over Melanie's face to the tune of
vociferous groans and obscene grunts. It is a majestic moment--a true
binding experience for both lady and teenager; it is an experience that
brings them closer emotionally.
The murmurous wings of a flock of birds are the only live melody in the
desolate parks and dim boulevards. Quietude seems to be the way of this
tiresome place--but, Carla and Melanie live their fantasy amidst this dull
serenity. They march on in the face of oscitance.
---A deviant innocence---
Ms. Thorn again sits on the edge of the couch, knees locked by her ears. It
seems now like the only logical way to sit when her beloved teenager is
around; but today the agenda is new and exciting, of deviant sorts.
Melanie carefully studies the wrinkled hole that is Ms. Thorn's anus. Its
virtuous cleanliness and shiny tan halo make it an exquisite
prospect. Without hesitation she brings her nose to the warm orifice and
sniffs it. 'Hmm...' The scent is crude and musky, it makes her mouth water.
She indulges once again, this time she inhales deeply with her eyes
closed--the expression in her face is one of concentration; the teen tries
to document the smell through the delicious myriad of the lady's natural
fragrances. She has smelled reeking cunt and sweaty feet--yet, she decides
that this fragrance smells more like an assemblage of sweaty armpit
compounded with a darker perfume.
"So honey...what does it smell like?" Ms. Thorn inquires--blushing at the
lascivious, yet provocative game.
The teenager once again engages in the tribal ritual, but this time she
brings her nose in contact with the winking asshole, sniffing diligently
and passionately--yet, her quest yields the same results. Looking up at her
beloved lady, she shrugs in a sign of bewilderment.
"I don't know...like ass?" She announces candidly.
Ms. Thorn can't help but to break out in laughter at the expense of such an
honest, but innocent remark. The timing of the innocuous response is ironic
and hilarious. Soon both lady and teenager celebrate with giggles and
chuckles as they honor the comedic episode. They laugh non-stop until they
are both gasping for air.
"Do you like it?" Ms. Thorn asks in a whispered tone--her mood suddenly
more businesslike. She bites her lower lip in a display of sensuality as
she expects an all too common reply.
"Hmm hmm" Melanie nods shyly.
"Wanna taste?"
"Hmm hmm"
The teenager is persistent in her attempts to penetrate through the
muscular fabric of Ms. Thorn's anus. As the day becomes warmer the sweat
creeps into her eyes and obfuscates her valiant efforts.
"Honey...you got to push a little harder....hmmgghh."
Melanie's warm and wet tongue causes Ms. Thorn's asshole to clench every
time the teenager attempts to penetrate through the tight rim. 'Gosh, I
need to relax.' Carla knows that Melanie's delicate tongue is no match for
her gluteal muscles.
"Ok honey...try it like this now." Ms. Thorn announces--lying sideways
with her ass dangling off the couch and one leg extended perpendicular to
her torso. She is now sweating profusely and her body is tiring, but she is
very intent on getting that sweet tongue up her asshole.
"Baby, hold on...here, this should help." With one hand she spreads her
cheeks further apart forcing her anus to open slightly.
With a tiring tongue, but also determined to taste Ms. Thorn's rectum,
Melanie pounces on the bright chance presented to her, and with a final
herculean effort she manages to penetrate the resilient hole with a quarter
of her tongue.
"Ungghh...fuck, there we go honey..."
The invasive sensation makes Ms. Thorn's asshole quiver incessantly around
Melanie's tongue, but the teenager knows better than to retrieve after so
much ground has been gained.
"Sorry honey...I can't help it"
"Nnngg nnngg" The teenager tries to console Ms. Thorn but her tongue is
lodged in the warm anus.
After the better part of countless minutes of struggle, Ms. Thorn adapts to
the wet intruder and her muscles start to relax. She encourages Melanie's
lingual caresses by slowly rocking her buttocks against the teenager's
tongue. Her asshole is now ripe for the taking.
"Oh fuck...yes honey, try to go deeper."
As the lady's rectum completely surrenders to the wet invader, Melanie
manages to push her tongue all the way inside the sticky tunnel. Her jaw
stretches to its limits as she attempts to maintain a firm impalement. It
is a compromising position but the intimacy of the moment makes the
salacious act totally worth it.
The gummy lining of Ms. Thorn's rectum seem to have a vice-like grip on
Melanie's tongue, but the teenager knows that she has won half the battle.
In unison with Ms. Thorn's rhythm, Melanie slowly but deliberately begins
her assault on the sweet asshole.
"Aghhh...that's great honey..." Ms. Thorn complains--the sensation of
Melanie's granulated tongue in her nether hole sends electrified shivers up
her spine.
"Gosh...you are so talented!"
"May...mah...maybe you should stay with me tonight...would
you...aghhh...like that?
" "Hmm hmm"
"I could let you do this...ohhh...all night if you wanted..." Ms. Thorn
offers, lovingly caressing Melanie's hair.
"Nngg...nngg..." Melanie nods frantically--thrilled with the idea of
spending the night pleasing her much beloved lady.
"Is that a yes honey?" Ms. Thorn taunts the teenager like a mother teasing
her daughter after revealing a pleasant surprise.
"Hmm hmm"
"Very well...now do it harder and deeper for me OK?" Ms. Thorn demands; her
hand grasping the back of Melanie's neck and firmly pulling the teen's
sweaty face deep in between her warm perspiring cheeks.
Melanie volitionally accepts the rough play and resumes a more energetic
tongue fucking--the prospects of spending the night with Ms. Thorn has her
working with renewed vigor. Aching tongue and jaw become but trivial
discomforts as she closes her eyes and takes to flight in a world were only
Ms. Thorn's wonderful love exists.
Melanie spends the night with Ms. Thorn, and it is a magnificent night. She
falls asleep tongue to cunt and nose to asshole. The musky aroma of
Ms. Thorn's private parts shrouds Melanie in a magical fog--an esoteric
mist which makes her feel safe and loved--it makes her feel protected. It
is the best night's sleep that she has ever experienced. She dreams happily
and reposes contented with her new life.
She skips school the next morning, but somehow it feels natural. Under the
pacifying rain of warm water she relaxes and enjoys the moment. She is
taking a much needed shower with her beloved lady. She is on her knees
lovingly giving head to her lady. As she suckles on the obscenely distended
clitoris, therapeutic fingers wash her hair. They are soothing and
reposeful. Sometimes the loving digits betray her calmness, but only for
the much noble cause of steadying her head to hump her mouth. She happily
accepts the tradeoff. It is a bargain that she would be willing to accept
forever.
"Melanie...aghh...Mel, honey..." Ms. Thorn struggles to revive Melanie from
her reveries--the teen's lips are doing a magical number on the forty-one
year old.
"Honey...hnngg...there is something I want to give you." She manages to
announce.
The teenager releases the ultra-sensitive nodule with a loud pop.
"Aghhh..."
"Here baby, open your mouth..." Ms. Thorn instructs. She accommodates the
teenager's head at a slightly upward angle. Melanie blindly trusts
Ms. Thorn, and lends herself to the moment.
Bringing her left foot high on the slippery wall, Ms. Thorn positions her
spread cunt directly above the teenager's mouth, with one hand she uses the
back of Melanie's head to stabilize her balance, with the other she
maintains her vulva splayed open.
"This is for being such a wonderful girl...I love you honey." Ms. Thorn
offers--her gaze filled with tenderness.
From her vantage point, Melanie witnesses the magical moment when
Ms. Thorn's piss-hole swells and then erupts into a strong and steady
stream of amber urine. The torrent bathes the back of her throat causing
her to choke momentarily. She tries to ingest as diligently as possible,
but the warm flow of tangy pee is too abundant. Melanie holds Ms. Thorn's
loving gaze as she attempts to drink as much of the offering as possible;
her own gaze is one of devotion and appreciation. When the overflow of
urine begins to spill from the teenager's mouth, Ms. Thorn bathes the rest
of Melanie's face until the torrential flow of pee recedes. The exotic act
is one that is considered to be loving and caring by both lady and
teenager. It is a magnificent way to honor their wonderful relationship.
The tepid breeze carries the message through the silent streets and
avenues. It is a loud message of love and revival--a tale of valor and
renascence. Obtuseness is no longer the story of this vapid Arizona town,
for it is now home to fantasy and magic--hope and illusion. It is
Ms. Thorn's and Melanie's gift to this town.
The End