Date: Thu, 24 Dec 2009 01:08:57 +0000
From: tina foster <tinafosteruk@gmail.com>
Subject: Should've said - in full CD TV/M

04:10 A.M.  22nd 2009

By Reading this, you acknowledge that it's intended for adults only, like
the rest of the work of tinafosteruk@gmail.com

Now, please do remember this is just adult fantasy, if you're not old
enough to read this, or if this sort of thing isn't for you, "why are you
here?? Go away..."

To those who enjoy reading these, thank you for your attention. It's
appreciated.  ..

"Should've said.."


Chapter One -- Mike and The Pokie thing

Mike walked down the drive and went behind our bungalow, on the back patio
where he'd learnt his bike behind the bench-seat, beneath my old bedroom
window and the room that was now the computer room; and, to the right of
the three wheelie-bins.

After the cans we'd drunk, he was wobbling, as was I as I put the key in
the gates lock and, couldn't find the device he used to switch on his
battered backlight.

"I can't find the pokey-thing!" I heard him exclaim, in the dark of the
night.

Then he said it again, realising I'm sure, how my mind would take onboard
what he had said: and he would've been right. I was laughing, albeit
quietly.

I was still laughing as he walked up the drive and, approached me pushing
his bike.

"An I've heard that one before," I told grinning, as I looked over my right
shoulder.

For a moment the light-hearted badinage took on an undercurrent that'd not
been there before and, he added with a nervous smile, "So, I guess I missed
my birthday blowjob?"

And, as he mounted his bike, I looked on and said with a grin, "Should've
said something earlier."

Then as he rode away I heard Mike laugh, "Now he tells me."

It was getting cold and the air promised rain, as I entered the kitchen
wondering; wondering why I was still wondering about it.


Chapter Two -- The Return Of The Pokie-thing

It was three days later when Mikes `pokie' thing rose again. He'd come
round in time for our usual `film evening,' in time for its 7:30 start.

And, within less than ten minutes, the `pokie' showed itself, as it were.

He was sitting on the edge of the single bed, the screen on a shelf on his
left eye-line; and my right, from where I sat cross-legged on the floor.

The coffee had been finished were half-way through a can of bitter,
enjoying the full-bodies taste, when Mike asked "You got a pokie thing?"
Then he'd giggled, before adding, "I need to clean the pipe before wee use
it again."

And, as if to evidence this, he held the brass tube to my eye-line, to show
how much oil had gathered there.

We'd been smoking a nice green, a cheese variant: and maybe that pipe did
need cleaning; but he'd interrupted Megan Fox, looking smoking hot.

But I'd wanted another smoke, so I'd found him a something, or other and
he'd done the do, chunnering throughout.

Finally he'd made a point of saying to me, "I've cleaned your pokie thing."

Laughing at his remark, he'd handed me some skins, smeared in oil, with
which to make a joint.

Reaching for the remote I'd pressed pause and turned to face Mike with a
scowl on my face; and, a grin in my dirty mind.

"Tell you what Mike," I began, "I've been waiting ages to see this download
of `Revenge Of The Fallen', so if you shut up, I'll satisfy your
pokie-thing..."

He'd looked at me blankly, so I'd continued: ""Once this is over," I told
him, "you wash your cock. And, while you do I'll get changed. Then when you
come back in, if you don't laugh at how I'm dressed; I'll suck you off, or
you can fuck me. Alright?"

For a second Mike sat there open-mouthed, then I added, "So what do you
say? Does you pokie thing want to cum?"

I'd seen Mike topless, when I'd given him a massage: he's a bear of a
man. So as I'd waited for an answer, I'd found myself wondering whether his
size and girth would match the rest of him, his shoulders, arms thighs and
gut.

And, having said what I'd needed to say, I lit the smoke I'd been building,
having laid it pretty well indeed.

I'd inhaled deeply, on the sweet blue-grey smoke, then having exhaled, I
asked him, "So have you made up your mind? I want to watch the end of the
film."

I'd taken yet another `toke then handed Mike the joint.

"Yeah.."  He'd answered dully, with a sheepishly expression on his face.

"And you'll not laugh when you see how I'm dressed, to satisfy your pokie?"
I'd added, as a kind of afterthought.

He'd shaken his head, as I'd picked up the remote, "No, I won't."

"So which do you want?" I'd asked with a smile on my face, that he'd
couldn't see, as I'd turned my back to him, as I pressed play.

"Do you want me to suck you off? Or, do you want to fuck, as long as you
want, or as gentle, or rough as you want?" It was a straight question and,
one that kept him deep in thought throughout much of the film.

Finally, as the credits rolled, I turned to him and asked the question
again.

"A fuck," he had answered simply.


Chapter Three -- Dressing to meet the pokie thing

There was an air of expectation in the room that had nothing to do with the
smoke, or the climax of the film; rather a climax of a whole `nother kind.

More than once through the film Mike had looked over toward me then as the
credits rolled, I caught him doing so once again. And, I'd not been able to
help thinking that he was thinking I was pulling his wire.

And, as we finished yet another smoke, I'd turned to him and said to him,
"Well if you're still interested in filling a hole with your spunk, go wash
your cock."

He sat t here with his hands clasped in his lap, in an effort I mused, to
hide his arousal, "Erm sure," He said slowly.

"So do I get some of that?" I asked, pointing to the spliff, "Now at least
I know you want some of the other.."

He didn't get the joke and, I'm not surprised. Mike still looked
shell-shocked, as he stood and made his way round me, to get through the
door and go to the bathroom.

At the door he paused and turned toward me, as if to say, "Are you sure?"

"Go on," I told him, "I'll knock when I'm ready."

So, there I stood looking at myself, opposite the door and on the side of
fitted wardrobe.

Once he'd left I'd got my old stool and dragged it in front of the
wardrobe.

Standing on it, I opened the cupboard and rooting amongst the childhood
memories and photo albums, found the half-stuffed carrier bag I'd been
looking for. Inside was `my collection;' and I'd dressed hurriedly.

`After all,' I reminded myself, `he isn't interested in me being
passable. He just wants a good shag.'

I grinned thinking, `And I'll be a damn good shag.'

So there I stood, looking at myself in the mirror, on the side of the
wardrobe, opposite the door.

I'd worn my smartest white shirt, tied off at the waist, to show off just
how slim I am. With it I wore an A-line tartan skirt, with an elasticated
waist, beneath which I also wore a pair of purple panties, worn reversed,
so that my sex was held in comfort; and a pair of sheer pair of tight tan
tights.

Finally satisfied with my appearance, I knocked on the wall to my left; and
hearing the toilet flush, I realized that Mike wouldn't be long.

With that thought, I briefly wondered how long he would last, inside me,

I crossed the room and knelt on the sheepskin, by the side of the bed, the
bent forward resting my chin on my clasped hands.

`He wanted his fuck,' well, I was ready for him, so I thought.

 Chapter Three -- Satisfying the pokie thing

When he entered the room a few minutes later I was standing in on the
sheepskin, hands at my sides, flexing my fingers, as I waited to see his
reaction.

I was a tall fellow, about 6'1" with a slim build and as I found out later,
a very nice circumcised cock of about 7" in length, hidden inside my
panties and kept in place by my tights. And, as he stared at me, my nipples
almost ached for attention, with my sphincter kinda twitching at the
prospect of what was to `cum.'

Mike didn't laugh, or smirk; instead he smiled, eyes wide: "Not bad," he
said with a bit of grin.

"So what now?" He asked.

"Well you did you didn't laugh," I said noticing him rubbing his right hand
over his trackie bottoms: "So you get your pokie thing satisfied, if you
want?"

He nodded dumbly, running his free hand through over his scalp, bristles of
hair showing through.

"What should I do?" He asked apprehensively.

"Just take your trackies, if you want, while I get ready for you..." I
explained slowly.

"Get ready for me? Whattcha mean?" He queried.

I knelt in the sheepskin, the locker a few inches to my left, pulled my
skirt up over my buttocks, then eased my tights and panties down my
recently shaved flesh.

And, with my gaze directed toward him, I parted my butt-cheeks.

"There, I'm ready," I told him simply.

And, slappin my left buttock, I beckoned Mike over.

He was still wearing his tee and, a sweat-shirt, and an off-white pair of
sports socks.

And, a smile: "Yeah, I do."

Mike just looked at me, seemingly transfixed by my, or should I say, my
exposed ass?

"Well you washed for me, didn't you?" I asked with a smile playing on my
lips and, in my eyes.

"Yes, I did," he answered, nodding as if to emphasise his words.

"So come here and fuck my ass-pussy," I told him, sliding my left hand over
my left buttock flesh, and his eyes widened. He wanted me.

That was alright with me, I wanted his cock inside me, it seemed from the
size of my own erection, pressed against the duvet cover.

"Your what?" He asked, still unmoving.

"My ass pussy," I told him, gliding fingers from my left hand onto the
crack of my arse.

I slid my middle and ring finger past the well-lubed sphincter-muscles and
moaned quietly with the pleasure I found from doing this; preparing myself
for his entry.

Oh-it-was-nice, but I wanted to make a point: it was on offer and, I
enjoyed what I was offering him.

And, maybe my fingering myself was just the very incentive Mike needed?

He kicked off his well-worn trainers, and then quickly slid off his
track-suits bottoms and, blue, cotton boxer shorts.

And I grinned, noticing how the foreskin had retracted a little, to show
the bulbous read end, already seeking pre-cum.

Mike now obviously wanted this as much as I did.

And with the left side of my face resting on the back of my right hand, I
watch as he takes a few steps toward me, then kneels cautiously between my
calves, his hard shaft in his right hand.

I withdrew my fingers, and without asking, I move his fingers aside and
take hold of his warm flesh myself.

My fingers reached round to encompass his warm shaft.

As I held his flesh, it swelled in my hand, the girth felt enormous.

"I'm not queer," I heard him say, somewhere above me.

"I know," I murmured into reassurance, "but you do want to fuck your
sissy-girls ass-pussy, don't you?"

Rubbing his shaft between my recently shaved lube-slick buttocks, kinda
sensuously, I'm pleased to hear his gasps of pleasure: and then I press the
head against my pucker, which needs, needs him to fill me.

I rest my face against the beds duvet, and holding my rounded buttocks
apart eased his hard cock passed my really well-lubed tight sphincter,
quite unable to withhold a light groan of pleasure. Sure it had hurt a
little, but I was also so aroused, feeling like the slut I can so enjoy
being, on occasion.

"Oh yeah, that's nice," Mike muttered, holding still a moment, just
enjoying the feel of my ass-pussing around his hard shaft, as I tightened
my muscles, enjoying him being where he was. I was cock, an he was cock,
pure and simple; and I loved it.

And a groan escaped from my tightly pressed lips, as he withdrew the cock
an inch and then pushed in once more. He pumped me with a rhythm, and each
motion eased the pain as my rectum stretched to accommodate him.

He laid over me, his arms on the duvet either side of me as he pumped his
length back and forth, his gut heavy on my buttocks.

Mike began to use his full body weight, as his speed increased as he slid
back and forth, powering his strokes.

He was moaning as he started running his hand through my hair.  He was not
forcing me to do anything, I just think he liked my fine hair, in the
throes of passion.

Suddenly he gripped my hips, tight, as I felt those tremors in his thighs
when he tensed up and his seed filled me, seeking to escape around the
tight fitting cock and my tight rectum.

Mike lay heavily over me, slowly shrinking within me, breathing hard
against my right ear.

"Fuck, fuck fuck. That was good," I heard him mutter to himself.

Slowly he lift himself up with a loud groan, his wilting cockhead slipping
from out of me, his cream dripping from me, trickling down my thigh's to
puddle into the tights gathered around my thighs.