Date: Tue, 20 Dec 2016 13:05:49 -0500
From: Olivia Palmer <olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com>
Subject: Geek Girlfriend (tg, M, exhib, oral, vom, ws)

Geek Girlfriend

by Olivia Palmer

(tg, M, exhib, oral, vom, ws)

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This story is a work of fiction and does not purport to depict any real
people, places, or situations.  It is entirely fantasy and should be
treated as such.  This story describes explicit sexual acts between human
beings of various ages, gender, and sexual persuasions.  If this type of
content offends you or if you are not of legal age to view adult content,
then do not read it.

Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the
author.  One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does
not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work
without consent.

Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved.

Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!):
olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com

---


I'm not prone to stupidity, but the law of averages is going to win every
now and then.  So yeah, I'm not proud of it, but it happened.  I spurted
semen all over my laptop's keyboard.

I didn't even notice at first, I was so deep into my orgasm.  I'd been
edging for hours, chatting on IM, surfing my favorite sites.  Finally I'd
found the perfect video to end my night, so I blasted away, forgetting how
high and how far and just how much I typically spurt after a night like
that.  And trajectory?  Never considered, of course.

So I hit the bullseye, repeatedly.

After surface cleaning I could still see gobs and gobs of the gooey stuff
underneath, and there were definitely performance issues right away.  Three
keys died immediately, and another four keys were dead by the morning.
Being a laptop, I couldn't just pop off the keys – have you ever seen
the microscopic pegs they use to keep laptop keys in place?  I'd fooled
with them before, on my previous laptop, when I'd spilled coffee all over
it.  I could never get the tiny, fragile pegs back into the equally
miniscule holes beneath the keys without breaking them.  That was the whole
reason I'd gotten my current laptop in the first place!

I finally resorted to a hair drier, hoping to get the moisture out of
there, and then I let the computer sit for a couple days.  Even then, the
seven keys were still dead.  Fuck.

Next thing I know I'm at the computer repair place down at the local
shopping plaza, pushing my laptop across the counter and explaining to the
chubby, middle-aged technician that I'd "spilled a milkshake" on it.  He
only chuckled a little, thank God.

"You have no idea how many milkshake disasters I see," he grinned.

I fled.

The next Thursday morning I got a call from the repair shop, but it wasn't
the man I'd met.  It was a woman – a young woman, as far as I could
tell.  She told me the laptop was ready and we reconfirmed the cost of the
repair.  I hung up blushing.  If she'd been the one to work on it, well,
what if she'd checked my browser?  What if she'd dug around in my files?
They have a privacy agreement with their customers, of course, but I
couldn't help it.  I was nervous.

The chubster was there, at the same spot behind the counter, when I arrived
at lunch time.  A door behind him led to the workshop, but it was closed.
No sign of the young woman.  My heart finally began to settle.  I paid the
man, slid the laptop under one arm, and left the shop, exhaling a long,
deep sigh of relief once the door closed behind me.

"Hey," a voice called to me.  I couldn't help but glance that way.  A young
woman walked toward me with a fast food sack in one hand and a fountain
drink in the other.  She was small and thin, without much in the tits or
hips department, but she was pretty.  She wore her light brown hair in a
ponytail.  She was tattooed on one side of her neck.  Dark-rimmed glasses
framed her face with an aggressive rectangularity, only seeming to
emphasize her light, clear gray eyes.  Altogether she was the picture of a
college-aged geek girl, making a little money between classes.

It was her, of course: the girl from the phone call.  Embarrassment dropped
on me like a piano.  My chest tightened and my stomach tried to push right
up through my throat.  I averted my gaze and continued away from the store,
off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, fumbling in my pocket for my
keys.

"Hey!" the girl said again, following me.  I stopped and turned, feigning
surprise.

"Oh, you were talking to me?"  I had my key in the door of my Jeep.  I had
the door open.  I was about to slide in and make my escape.  Yet manners
prevailed.  I paused, holding the door ajar, and gave her time to reveal
whatever pornographic horror it was that she'd discovered on my computer.

"I like your Jeep," she said, gesturing with her cup at my Wrangler.  "I
drove one exactly like that all through high school."

I relaxed.  A little.  Smiling at her, I got in and lightly dropped the
laptop on the passenger seat.  Maybe she wasn't out to humiliate me after
all.  I patted the steering wheel and continued to talk to her through the
open door.  She stood just beyond its arc, sipping on her drink.  Her
t-shirt read Caution: Wet Whore stenciled onto a picture of a yellow
janitorial sign.

"What do you drive now?" I asked, trying not to look anywhere at all, in
case she might suddenly remember what a pervert I was.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged.  "Scooter.  I ain't proud."

I chuckled and she went on.  "But my cousin's got a Prius.  She lets me
drive it back home sometimes when I go see Mom."

I nodded, "So where's home?"

She snorted and cocked her head.  "Now that's a little personal, dude," she
chided.  "You gonna stalk me now?"

I felt the color rise into my face.  As I tried stammering my apology she
laughed and winked.

"Relax, man, I'm just fuckin' with you.  No worries."

Whatever else she was, the girl was certainly bold.  Confident.  I took a
breath and settled myself.  Looking her over good, I finally stared her
right in the face, taking in her petite beauty.

"I guess you're flirting, then?" I asked.

She nodded.  "Yup," she smiled.

"I'm forty, in case you were wondering."

She nodded again.  "Cool.  I'm into forty."  She took another sip from her
drink, and this time I watched her wrap her lips around the straw.

She finished and winked again.  "Or, rather, forty's been into me."

I grinned and felt the delicious thrill of blood beginning to fatten up my
cock.

"But not in a long time," she finished.  "Not since I drove one of those."

As I explained, I'm not stupid.  "So you dated a teacher in high school?"

"Nope," she chirped.  "Fucked."

I tried to imagine her as a teenager.  She would have been scrawny, to say
the least.  But if her personality was the same then as it was now, it
probably didn't take her long to get what she wanted, once she'd made up
her mind.

She shrugged.  "What can I say?"  She cocked her head and took a long sip
on the straw.  "I'm just a sucker for ...dirty old men."

Busted.  It was my turn to shrug.  My face went hot.

She held out her hand, and we shook.  "I'm Macie."

"I'm Jack."

She had a pretty good grip!  Pumping my hand, then dropping it, she said,
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jack."  She began to back slowly away.  "Gotta get
to work now, sorry."

"No problem, it was nice to meet you."

She raised her face a little, chin in the air, and looked down her nose at
me through her glasses, which had slid down a little.  "We'll meet again."

I smiled and ducked my head back inside the Jeep.  "Yeah, I guess.  Maybe!"

The girl stopped and squared up, shaking her head.  "Not maybe, Mr. Jackson
Allister Allbright.  Tomorrow night, at The Pump.  Ten o'clock."

I wasn't the kind of guy to simply cave; just on principle I bucked up a
little.  "Well now, I don't know...."

She stood her ground.  "Well.  I do."

We stared at each other for a beat, then she softened a little.  "Just be
there, dude," she muttered, turning away.  "You won't regret it."

Then she was gone inside the repair shop.  And it hit me.

Fuck.  My laptop.  Of course.  She'd said my full name!

And of course she knew – oh fuck, all the things she knew – there
would be no doubt I'd show.


* * *

The Pump was a dance club, really more an alternative bar for most of the
week, but every Friday was "Ozzy and Harriet Night".  That ostensibly meant
straights, of course, or at least so far as the eye could tell.  It was
really a big dress-up night for the drag queens, but there were always a
fair share of honest hetero couples in attendance as well.  The DJ was a
true master, and it was the kind of atmosphere where everybody could mingle
and relax and really let loose.

I hadn't been in over a year, but it was still the same – a huge old
warehouse that had seen a giant overhaul, with baffles in the open girders
of the rafters, three huge disco balls (over three separate dance floors)
light rigs splashing color everywhere, tables and chairs up on raised
platforms overlooking the dancing, and a bar that stretched the entire
length of one side of the massive space.  Opposite the bar, the DJ perched
up above it all in a crow's nest of sorts – what I figured was the old
supervisory offices back in the day, the facing wall of which was now gone,
replaced by a nest of sound equipment and one thin, sweaty girl beneath a
huge pair of headphones.

I wore jeans and a blue Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled up, Sperrys, a little
splash of Old Spice.  Nothing fancy.  I couldn't really do the metrosexual
thing.  I was sadly, squarely sticking out.  Mr. Middle Age Fucktard,
trolling for college ass.  Macie was nowhere to be found.

By 10:30 I was into my third Red Stripe at the bar, when suddenly I felt a
hand on my bare neck above my collar, dipping inside my collar, reaching
forward, down, fingers on my nipple, gently stroking.  I was frozen,
surprised, pleasured.  Beer bottle to my lips, I turned my head to see my
gentle attacker – Macie smiled at me from behind her expensive lenses.
Her face only inches from mine.  Her perfume all around me, a wisp of
patchouli and ginger, her lips coming to mine, her free hand on my beer,
pulling it away.  We kissed for two songs.

At some point I swiveled on my bar stool.  She ended up standing between my
knees, one hand rhythmically squeezing my cock through my jeans as her
other unbuttoned my shirt so she could continue her assault on my nipple.
My hands were on her tiny tits, braless beneath her child-sized
plum-colored tube top, her nipples growing fat and hard under my thumbs.
Her mouth tasted like clove cigarettes and whiskey.  I couldn't help but
groan as she ground the heel of her hand into my crotch.  I was about to
come in my pants.

"Hey you two!" came the bartender's voice.  "Take it to the john!  This
ain't a fuckin' sex club!"

I gasped as Macie suddenly released my mouth, dick, and nipple all at once.
Her eyes were wet and huge, her jaw slack.  Her glasses were crooked across
her nose.  Her hair was up in a bun, her neck long and smooth, the tattoo
on one side diving down across her shoulder and back out of sight.  Her
lips were red.  Her lower lip was pierced with a silver ring, as was her
left eyebrow, twice, as well as her left nostril and her septum.  Her
earlobes were stretched out around silver rings at least the diameter of
quarters, inlaid with smoky green stone.  She was breathtaking.  And she
was yelling at the bartender.

"Well, fuck YOU, Jerry, you fuckin' asshole!  Like I would throw down in
this shithole bar for your fuckin' pleasure!  Where the fuck do you get off
tellin' me what I already fuckin' know, you cocksuckin' goddamn queer!"

She was still between my knees, rail thin and trembling all over.  The
force of her rebuttal at such close range was terrifying, thrilling to
behold.  The bartender raised both hands and stepped back, nodding his head
toward a point somewhere behind us.  "Shit, Macie, I have to do my fucking
job.  Carmine texted me five minutes ago about warning you two, and I still
didn't say a damn thing till he started walking over here."

Macie looked back over my shoulder at somebody – presumably this
Carmine-the-bouncer – and smiled like a princess, giving him the finger.
Turning back to Jerry the bartender she shrugged and asked for two shots of
Powers.  "Sorry, Jerry," she cooed, leaning back into my lap, "I was just
excited to see my new man.  Lost my head."

Her narrow, muscular ass ground against my raging hard-on, causing me to
groan and reflexively reach to hold her hips.  Jerry shook his head as he
watched my suffering.  "Macie... you're killing the poor guy."  Macie
shrugged and looked over her shoulder at me, winking.

"I know."

We downed our shots and hit the dance floor, kissing again, glued to one
another.  Her hand was in my jeans, in my boxer briefs, wrapped around my
dick, stroking me slowly as our tongues slid every which way inside our wet
mouths.  She held her glasses in her free hand.  I held her tits in both of
mine, her tube top riding up against her armpits.  Finally a hulking
presence bumped itself against my back.  A throat cleared.  There was a
tapping on my shoulder.  Carmine.

We quickly put ourselves back together and ran to the bathrooms, the
rules-free zone of any respectable club.

And we had to wait in fucking line.  From our vantage point we could see
straight into the doorless entry to the men's room, where two guys were
leaned back against the wall beside the paper towel dispenser, while two
women knelt in front of them, slurping away happily on their drooling
cocks.  One doorless stall was visible as well, with a knot of men and
women inside it, hunched over what apparently must have been some high
quality blow.  One by one they slowly staggered out of the stall until only
the gift giver was left behind, sitting on the toilet seat with an
absolutely empty baggie in his hands and a light silvery dusting all over
his forearms and lap.

We took our chances and got in the crowd jostling to get into the ladies
room, which was around a little corner.  Macie was still holding her
glasses in on hand, while the other was patting at her bun.

"You are even more beautiful with your piercings," I told her.  She
grinned.

"Thanks."  She stepped back and did a little spin.  "I think I clean up
OK."

Taking the cue, I finally took the time to notice the rest of her ensemble.
She wore four inch strappy stiletto heels and a skin tight leather mini
skirt that barely covered her narrow ass.  Everything was in a shade of
luscious plum – that deeply purpled red, so dusky, nearly a merlot.  She
had a small hand bag strapped around her wrist like a corsage, jade green
like the stones in the silver tunnels in her ears.  A tattoo of some kind
of tightly intertwined pattern ran up from the top of her right foot and
wrapped around and around her leg until it disappeared beneath her skirt.
It was like Celtic-meets-Mayan, with little sprigs of leaf and flower
popping out every so often.

"Took eighteen months right there," Macie said.  The she lifted her skirt
to show me how the design dove inward for her groin, obviously terminating
somewhere over her fat, green-pantied vulva.  She pulled my face to hers
and kissed me again, panting into my mouth.  "I'm starting on my left leg
after Christmas."

Once the line gradually moved us out of sight of the dance floor Macie
broke off our kiss and lifted her tube top again, pulling my mouth down to
her long, fat nipples.  Her voice was harsh, hoarse.  "Suck my tits, Jack.
Hard."

Two party girls in front of us squealed and pressed closer.  One of them
spilled her drink all over my back as she staggered in for a better look.
"Oh GAWD girl, you must be, like, so horny for that daddy dick!"  Macie
grunted a "Fuck yeah!" and wrapped her fingers in my hair, holding me to my
task.

The two party girls began making out, then, and a bunch of guys from the
other line suddenly surged over to watch them, phones out.  In the jostling
confusion Macie yanked me through the knot of people and into the doorless
entry of the ladies' room.  Two of the three sinks held college girls, who
were using them as piss pots, with a short line in front of both waiting to
be next.  The four doorless stalls were jammed full of women either doing
drugs or fucking or both.  The one unoccupied sink was overflowing in puke,
with a girl sprawled beneath it, unconscious and covered in what appeared
to be her own vomit.  Another woozy girl sat next to her, holding her hand
and patting her matted hair.

"OK, here we go!" Macie declared, pulling me right into the middle of the
bathroom, shoving several girls deep in the throes of piss-desperation out
of the way.  Her hands were so strong!  They were on my shoulders, shoving
me down to my knees.  Her crotch was in my face, her skirt pulled up above
her waist.  With one hand she held my head steady, by the hair, and with
the other she played at the leg hole of her panties, teasing.

"All right, girls!" Macie suddenly called out, causing all but the drunkest
heads to turn our way.  "A little something extra!"  She pulled her panties
aside.

Revealing her cock.

Macie had a tiny little dick.  Everyone around us gasped.  Somebody started
taking pictures with a phone.  I was transfixed.  Slowly, as if finally
awakening from a deep sleep, her little cocklet unfolded itself from
beneath its small hairless balls.  In a matter of a few seconds it was
pointing stiffly right at my nose, three inches of slender, rigid penis.

There was no talking.  Not from anybody.  Everyone seemed to hold her
breath in that bathroom.  Macie's fingers tightened in my hair, but she
didn't pull me any closer.  My own hands fluttered a little, finally
resting on her trim, hard thighs, as I studied her boyish little treasure.
It smelled musky and sweet, and it was already leaking a little precum.

Then she whispered down to me, so that only I could hear.  "Well, Jack,
this is what you like, isn't it?"

It all flashed in my head in an instant.  Of course – my computer.  All
those saved pictures and videos and stories about shemales.  Trannies.
Preop transgendered females.  Macie knew what I liked.  She had what I'd
always wanted.  Holy fuck.

I opened my mouth and leaned in, engulfing her entire package.

Then all hell broke loose.

Every woman in the bathroom squealed simultaneously, and those who were not
close enough for a good look pressed in on top of those that were.  We were
instantly knocked around and separated as women began to trip and fall over
each other.  I found myself buried beneath three hundred pounds of sweaty
club girls, at least, with no clue what became of Macie, except I could
hear her loudly shouting things like "Jesus Christ!" and "What the FUCK,
bitches?"  Then I couldn't hear her at all in the confusion.

I was stunned.  Those precious few seconds when her cock and balls had been
in my mouth – oh God – what perfection!  So smooth and delicate and
delicious.  I had to have more!  I struggled to get out from under the
tangle of legs and asses that had collapsed on top of me.

I heard a girl somewhere nearby have a fit and start puking all over the
girl beside her, which caused one of those horrid chain reaction pukes that
sent more than half of the packed restroom into retreat, despite their need
to see the freak-who-was-my-girlfriend.  In the chaos of girls striving to
navigate the puke-slicked floor, I finally found Macie sitting on her ass
up against a toilet in the center stall, her skirt still around her waist
and her little cock still hard and poking out around the leg of her
panties.  There was vomit between and all over her legs, and one of her
heels was missing.  Her hair was half out of its bun and trailing into the
toilet.  But she was grinning as I crawled over to her and kissed her
spittled mouth.

"That didn't work out like I'd planned," she chuckled weakly, wrapping her
arms around my neck and letting me help her up to her feet.  Then she
promptly puked all over my chest.  "Oh GOD!" she squealed, then did it
again, her body heaving with all the violence of a full, toe-curling hurl.
I had her at arms-length by then, trying to get her turned around and aimed
at the toilet.  Three goth girls were on tiptoes right there on either side
of the flush valve – still managing to pass a fat joint back and forth
between them while avoiding the worst of the mess splattering all around.
"Hell yeah, let it out," one of them muttered, as Macie ralphed for the
final time, finally making it into the bowl.

Somehow we got out of the bathroom just before Carmine and his phalanx of
bouncers charged in with mops and curses.  The emergency exit near the
restrooms was disabled and wide open.  Most of the girls from the bathroom
had fled directly into the back alley to find fresher air, and so did we.

I carefully walked Macie, now shoeless, farther back toward the fenced-off,
darker end of the alley, away from the street.  A bum lay on the pavement
in a stupor in front of a dumpster, but otherwise we were alone.  I steered
her behind the dumpster and leaned her against it as I once again knelt in
front of her, trembling.  Her tube top was still up over her tits, and her
skirt was still mostly up around her waist, but her cock and balls had
slipped back inside her wet panties.  I swallowed and waited, ignoring the
rank odor that drifted up off my puke-soaked shirt and from her slippery,
shiny crotch and legs.

Macie had recovered enough to laugh a little and play with my hair.  "Wanna
see it again, huh?  Wanna , baby?"

I nodded rapidly and opened my mouth.

"It might taste a little... nasty now... you OK with that?"

I nodded again.  She was obviously forgetting a whole other section of porn
I'd saved on my laptop.  Nasty was not a problem.

I reached up and grasped the sides of Macie's panties and pulled them down.
She used my head to balance upon as she stepped out of them.  I stuffed
them in my back pocket and took a moment to admire her again in the dim
light of the alley.

Her cocklet had a slight upward curve, ending in a small button of a
circumcised head.  Her balls were so tiny and drawn up toward the warmth of
her body that they were almost out of sight.  I wondered how old Macie
really could be – or what kind of prescriptions she must be taking –
to have genitalia this undeveloped-looking.  She had the penis and nuts of
an eight year-old.

Again, as I watched, her little dick steadily rose until it pointed right
at my face, waiting for me.

"I took my little pill last night and this afternoon, like a good girl,"
she cooed.  "Just so I could give you this show."

Her crotch smelled awful and wonderful now, a mix of her sweet-musky scent
and the digestive juices from her own stomach.  A chunk of something was
actually stuck to the side of her dick.  I reached out and pulled it free,
then looked up at her as I popped it into my mouth and chewed.  As I
swallowed she shuddered hard and pulled on my hair.

"I knew I was right about you," she whispered.  Then my mouth engulfed her
once again.  Macie groaned and at once began to rock her hips against my
face, fucking her entire crotch into my throat.

I sent one hand up to play with her tits as she hunched over me, while my
other hand worked up into the crack of her ass.  Her hole was slippery and
loose, waiting for me.  I worked two fingers into her easily as I continued
to suction her entire genitalia into my mouth.

Once I was sure I had a firm angle on her prostate I pulled back a little
and let her balls drop out, so I only had her cocklet between my lips.  As
I sucked and rotated my face over her short, stiff dick I made sure to dig
rhythmically against her ass-gland.  Macie went crazy.  Her hands in my
hair locked on like a death grip, and her groans and moans became shouts of
"FUCK ME!" and "OH GOD!" that were easily heard even over the thumping
blast of music still pouring out the open door of the club twenty yards
away.

Then Macie was up on her toes, jamming her dicklet deep into my mouth, and
coming hard.  Her gland twitched mightily under my fingers, sending hot
jets of semen directly down my throat.  She finally shuddered all over,
shivering almost, and fell back against the dumpster.  Keeping my mouth
around her rapidly softening dick, she sighed.

"Oh my.  Jackie, that was nice.  So nice."

My fingers were still deep in her ass, and my other hand was still stroking
her chest.  I suckled tenderly on her little sausage as she breathed deeply
and recovered.  Then her gland tightened again beneath my fingers.

"Here you go, baby," she breathed.

A sudden flow of hot urine surged into my mouth, but I was just ready for
it.  Gulping, I pressed my fingers against her gland and gained control,
alternately jetting it into my mouth and cutting off most of the flow,
giving me time to swallow.  In knew how excruciating a pleasure that could
be, and Macie obviously felt the same way about it.  She began to writhe on
my hand in sweet agony the longer I used her prostate to stop and start her
salty stream.

"Oh Jesus Fuck!" She squealed.  "It's too much!  Oh GOD!"

Finally her bladder was empty, and with the last spurt of her piss juice I
yanked my fingers free from her moist asshole, causing Macie to once again
shudder and groan.

Still on my knees, I grinned up at her and wiped off my mouth with the back
of my ass-slickened hand.  Then, making sure she was watching with her
bleary, pleasure-drenched eyes, I held those two fingers under my nose and
deeply sniffed.  Ah....  There was no mistaking the rich, earthy aroma of
Macie's shit.  Sadly, my fingers weren't thick with it – no, it was more
like the strongest, sweetest hint.  I locked eyes with her as I stuck both
fingers deep in my mouth and slowly licked and sucked them clean.

She managed a weak chuckle and tousled my hair.  "You are a dirty man," she
proclaimed.  I shrugged.

"You had all that access to my computer," I said simply.  "You knew that
already."

I helped her to stand and get her panties back on, her skirt and tube top
back in place.  I ended up carrying her out of the alley on account of her
lost heels.  Out in the streetlights – and amongst all the usual Friday
night downtown crowd – we were suddenly both very aware of our soiled
clothing.  I took her to my Jeep and drove her to my home.  Her new home.



---

Hope you liked it!

Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!):
olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com

Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved.  Do not repost or
redistribute without prior written permission of the author.  One copy may
be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal
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