Rumspringa and the Nymph

"Will you guys show me your beauty," she begged. With haste the men undid their belts and dropped their trousers. Larry held his apron to one side as Emma grabbed their freed members with her hands and pumped them rhythmically. She pulled at Larry's rod and dragged him closer, then closed her lips and sucked roughly while pulling her head back. After a few bobs of her head, she repeated the same with David. In her spirit of experimentation she then tried to fit both into her mouth, but could only get them an inch in.

Larry was the first to go. Her third time switching to Larry, his hips tightened. He pulled his dick from Emmas mouth and pinched it between his fingers, milking it himself. Like a bird clamoring to be fed, Emma kept reaching her mouth to his rod- she wanted to drink every last drop- but Larry kept stepping away. Then Larry's body spasmed and his milk released, first across Emma's forehead and into her hair, then across her two soft round cheeks, but finally she managed to get the last three squirts in her mouth.

Despite his apparently small rod, he made up for it with the massive amounts of milk he had to share. Emma held her head back to minimize the amount that dripped down her chin, then garggle the juice. Larry reacted in shock and Emma laughed out loud. The whole load spilled from her mouth and on to her chest. Emma laughed even harder as Larry lifted his pants back up. He waddled to his stove and tended to his cooking.

After her fit of laughter subsided, she pulled at the front of her dress and licked up what she could of Larry's load; It tasted very bitter this time. As she pulled at her dress, David could see her breasts escape from the side. Emma looked up and gave him her sultry eyes. She let him know it was his turn.

She crawled on all fours to David, then fumbled back into her squatting position to tend to David's short, but thick rod. David had her all to himself now and decided to explore a bit more. While Emma sucked on his kindness, he reached for her hand and placed it on his dangling balls. Emma found them amusing and pinched, pulled, and stretched them about. Then David reached into her dressed and pinched her soft, puffy pink nipple.

Electricity ignited her body and her head bob harder. She closed her eyes tight and moaned while trying to keep her lips tightly sealed around David's member. She could hardly contain herself. She could feel the her pussy contracting and liquid run down her leg. She had never felt such bliss. Before long, David pulled his dick from her mouth, turned around and bent over in front of her.

"Lick here," he suggested. Emma looked curiously at the new perspective. She grabbed either side of his ass cheeks and let her tongue roam about. She saw his balls still hanging there, so she reached for them while he pounded at his own beauty. His body began to tighten and Emma took that as her signal. Small enough to crawl between his legs, she ripped his rod from his hand and pulled it straight down and into her mouth. Though an odd position, it did the trick. She swallowed as he shot his load until there was none left. It tasted sour, with a lingering sweetness. She smacked and licked her lips, then accidently let out a burp. She giggled, then grabbed onto the edge of the metal sink and helped herself up.

"Thank you," she said bashfully. David lifted up his pants and stepped aside.

Larry returned and handed Emma a plate. "This one is for your daddy," he said.

Emma laughed at his misperception. Brook was not her father, but she thought it might be cute to play the part.

"Yes, Sir. Daddy will love this," she joked.

Larry then took the second plate in his hands and dropped it down to his waist. He pulled out his tiny rod, hovered over the plate, and massaged his rod between his fingers. Emma assisted by squeezing his balls with her warm hands. It didn't take him long. Emma giggled again as he shot a second load over an open omelette. He folded the omelette in half and handed Emma the second plate.

"And this one is especially for you," said Larry. Emma laughed and with graciousness accepted them both. She walked back to the stools she had picked out with two plates of food in her hands and saw Brook still there playing on his phone. She placed the plates on the bar and jumped onto the stool.

"Here you go, Daddy," said Emma, sarcastically. Brook looked at her funny and she giggled again. "That's right. You're my daddy." Brook shrugged. He grabbed a set of utensils and started to cut away at his food.

Emma excitedly cut her omelette in half and watched Larry's load seep onto her plate. David had stepped back into the bar and watched Emma eat her special food. Between cum-filled bites of her omelette, Emma scraped the ooze that managed to escape with her fork and guided it to her mouth. Each time, little strands of dew would form, so Emma would tilt her head to one side, raise her fork extra high, then cut the threads with her tongue and pile the dripping dew into her mouth. She loved watching David's reactions as she ate.

With each bite, Emma would lean forward, exposing her asshole to the men behind her. The quiet men started whispering to each other. When the omelette was completely devoured, she licked the plate clean, then sat into her stool and burped again. By this time a crowd of men formed behind her, some taking pictures with their camera phones.

Brook finished his plate, as well. He pushed the plate aside and stepped down from his stool. He held out his arm and Emma stepped down and held on tight.

"We're going for a walk," Brook said. He tugged at her gently and they waded past the sea of men. The men turned their heads and followed the swaying of Emma's hips. The two of them stepped back into the sandy lot, but instead of walking straight to Brook's truck as Emma expected, Brook paraded her in circles around the lot, walking her past any group of men he could find until a large circle of horny men formed around them.

Emma melted in on the attention. She felt her body shake. She took the opportunity to strike her poses in front of the lecherous crowd. She strutted herself around the men, occasionally spreading her ass cheeks or dipping her finger in her mouth and pulling out a thread of saliva, only to carefully fold it back onto her tongue. She watched the men reach for their crotches and belch out crude colloquials about the quality of woman she represented and the misdeeds they'd enjoy performing on her. Emma's heart beat like a drum.

"Twenty dollars to get your knob jobbed," Brook hollered out as he opened his arm to Emma. Emma hung her feathery weight onto Brooks arm once again as he lead her to a corrugated barrier behind the restaurant. The circle of men reassimilated into a staggering line of lascivious ids pursuing a bin to deposit their carnal impurities.

Brook slung his leather coat from his shoulders and rested it on the ground. Emma knelt down and took in a deep breath. Show time, she thought. The men watched her and she watched them, both seeing who would act first. One man in a cowboy hat and the attitude to match, unfurled a sheet of legal tender and handed it to Brook.

With Brook's consent and two strides, the man towered over Emma in a wide leg stance. Emma looked up and laughed. She tugged at his tight, musky jeans until finally he removed his oversized belt buckle. Emma could unwrap her beautiful gift. She took her time with him as she did with each man to follow.

She would tease them, joke with them, and laugh coyly while their rods hung from her mouth. She wanted each of them to feel special. She would look them in the eyes as she started slow to watch their expressions contort, their bodies twitch, and their mouth gasp. As she inevitably switched to a more ambitious tempo she would wait for that moment of no return and flip her tongue against the edge of the bell to feel every twitch while spurts of sappy goo flooded her mouth.

She would show them she had properly received their gift, then adequately dispose of it all and thank them graciously for their contribution. This was the basics of her routine as she started servicing each man, one by one. However, her methods evolved over the course of that evening.

By the third man, Emma began counting the number of loads she had swallowed thus far. By four, she became hyper-aware of the varying shapes, sizes, and colors of each man's beauty. She began to name them after their characteristics and attributions: This one was Hairy; this one was Chubby; and this one was Like Daddy's.

By number five, she would give nuanced critiques to each man on the flavor they had produced with words such as nutty, bitter, gooey, sweet, and fruity. By number eight, Emma became aware that if she pressed a man in just the right spot between his scrotum and asshole he would release his load faster. By twelve, she realized they also produced more goo.

By fifteen, she figured out how to finger a man's asshole and by twenty-five she mastered it. This, she realized, produced even more goo than before.

By 29 her stomach felt stretched and bloated, but she felt obligated to let each man who asked enjoy her beauty. She dreaded the idea that if she missed a man, she may never have another chance to taste his special blend of flavors.

By 35, the loads would spill from her stomach when she burped and she could taste a brand new blend of man's milk splashed across her tongue. By 42, she was tired. After 43, there was no one left. She thanked the last man graciously, then gave Brook her puppy dog eyes. She whimpered sheepishly, stretched her arms out listlessly, and impotently flapped her hands about.

The last man scurried off and Brook lifted Emma by the pits of her arms and threw her over his shoulder like a child. With half-open eyes, head resting on Brooks shoulder, she took note of the sky. It lit afire like garnet. The sun perched itself on the horizon at the verge of recession and sleepily descended down. The sun, she thought, so openly shares it's beauty with the world. But the sun, too, needs it's rest.

Brooks arms comforted her. No, more- they sheltered her. She felt at home. Emma's body fell limp in Brooks arms, pure exhaustion seeping in. She let out a burp and rustled into a more comfortable position. She tried to recall each man in her head, one by one, until she finally slipped into the void of darkness.

"You did good," Brook said as he rocked her side to side. "You're safe now."

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From then on, several times a week Brook, would line the men up for Emma and Emma would empty them out. On days when Brook had no freight to carry, it was pretty much guaranteed.

Except for shopping days, Emma's second favorite days. When they traveled to a city, they'd inevitably hit a mall. Emma would pick out every cute dress she could find and Brook would purchase them with the money she had earned them. She often had to shop in the juniors, and sometimes even children's, section to find dresses that were short enough and could fit her willowy body, though she often altered them anyways to flash more skin.

Clothes distracted from her beautiful body, Emma thought, so she only used them strategically to emphasize her personal beauty. She would experiment with different cuts and lines to focus on the different curves of her body. She loved plaid skirts and puffy dresses. She liked the look of knee high socks, but preferred to go barefoot or wear the high-heeled sandals Brook had surprised her with.

At the end of shopping, Brook would buy ice cream. Emma would order the double fudge with chocolate chips, or the brownie fudge chocolate malt, or the cocoa coffee chocolate bark. Brook would order the vanilla. He always ordered vanilla. Not vanilla bean. Not French vanilla. Just vanilla.

Several months had passed since that first fateful day and Brooks truck overflowed with Emma's assortment of scandalous dresses. They must have crossed the country several times by then, though they never seemed to arrive in Ohio. Their adventures turned to routine course as she counted her total loads into the thousands.

Brook and Emma would have moments of excitement from time to time. Like when an old man with crooked jaw and weathered hands snatched Emma by the waist and tried to get more than just a blow job. He lost a couple teeth before Brook dropped the pipe. We cut that day short.

Emma didn't like the sight of an injured man. She just wanted to spread her beauty. Up to her, she would have let the man take her there, in front of all those men, if it meant no one got hurt. But to this day, no one has actually enjoyed her in that way.

She knew why. Brook was protecting her. When they met, Emma was innocent. He corrupted her, but deep down she thought he felt if only he could keep her pure in this one way, she could maintain her innocence forever.

She knew Brook loved her. And over the months she fell in love with him, too. Those nights they cuddled to keep each other warm, Emma would shove her hips into his lap late at night and rub his groin with her ass, but he never took her like she wanted.

In the beginning, she did it all for herself. Over time she did it for the many men who enjoyed her. She watched as she spread happiness and relief into the world. By then, two years later, she did it all for Brook, those men be damned! It was their thing. It was how they bonded. Without it, they were simply two lone souls, lost in the complexity of what life is, or at least what it's suggested to be, on a road trip to nowhere.

They had just left the New York harbor. Emma wore the first dress she ever altered. It fit her differently now. It stretched at the hips and the chest, almost clawing at her body, though it still sat comfortably at her waist. She hung her head outside the window and smiled into the gusting wind, the cold air flapping her mouth obscenely.

Flowering wheat hugged the edge of the road and she reached out and grabbed a fist full of flowers then let them loose and watched the float away into the dusty air. That's when she saw it. Up ahead. A wooden sign with hand-carved lettering. It hung there at the fork in road, almost like a beacon.

She knew that sign. She once waited under that sign two years ago- the day she met Brook. Emma could almost she her youthful, naive self still waiting their. Still looking for hope and happiness, and redemption. Emma's mind wandered to a place she didn't want, a place she didn't expect. Home. It was time to return.

"Wait, Daddy, stop here!" Emma called out. Brook hit the air breaks, and the truck screeched to a halt on the side of the road. Emma ran out and to the sign. Her dressed flapped in the wind and cold air rushed between her thighs. She looked at that field of flowering wheat, largely unchanged since she had left. It was as if they waited for her and beckoned for her return.

"It's time," they spoke, "to reap the seeds you sowed." She turned and mapped out the direction she had come from. She could still smell that night. After a few moments of nostalgia, she climbed back into the truck. Her head peaked over the chair, and she saw Brook, with his steadfast eyes and rugged hands. Emma fumbled into her chair and clothes the door behind her. "What?" Brook asked.

Emma gave him a weary, distant start. "Oh, it turned out to be nothing," she replied. Brook hit the gas and the trucked back onto the road. She looked at Brook and watched him steer his monster truck, barreling down the road. He kept his eyes glued to the road. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. She looked back outside, past the wheat field, past the sun, to the deepest corners of her mind.

That night Emma insisted that they rent a hotel room. Thirty miles later, Brook parked behind an old, rustic motel that sprawled out over open dirt. Deep grooves traversed the weathered wooden walls, and the window stained a light brown.

Brook flicked on the single lamp in the middle of their suite and bathe the room in a soft, eerie orange. He turned the furnace and it made a deep thumping sound. The metal ached and moaned. It crackled and hissed as it heated up. There were two beds in the room, but they both wrapped themselves into each other on just the one, to the right, next to the closed drapes and wrenching furnace.

Emma rested her head on Brook's chest and listened to his heart beat and his lung fill up with air. The TV flickered and kaleidoscope the room in muted colors. Emma reached down and slipped her hand into Brooks loose pajama pants and began to fondle him gently. Brook took the hint and shut off the television. She crawled her naked body under the itchy sheets until Brook could feel her warm breath spread down to his balls. His beauty twitched, then hardened, as Emma ran her tongue along the side. She took it into her mouth and bobbed her head a few times until Brook stood solid. She crawled back up to Brook's chest and whispered in his ear.

"I want you," She said. Brook opened his eyes in momentary resistance as Emma finally used the poses she saw splayed on the last few pages of her magazine. She held his rod up and sat slowly down. She struggled as the tip penetrated her, but not the full head. She leaned forward and gyrated her hips, trying to move the tip further in.

Emma's body shivered with excitement. Soon enough she found her anticipation ooze down her leg and Brook's shaft. Her walls slickened, and Brook's rod started to slide. Finally the head popped in and her whole weight fell on top.

Emma trembled, squeezed her thighs together, hunched her back over and tried to lift her hips a couple of inches. She waited their surprised at how much it hurt. Eventually the tinge of pain subsided and she looked to Brook with a forced smile. His eyes filled with a mix of begging and guilt, but he did not stop her. She kissed him on the cheek and began to milk him slowly. Soon pleasure replaced pain and Emma could feel Brook's beauty pushing deep inside her, touch her from the inside of her navel.

Every few minutes her body would wash with ecstasy and she would collapse and shiver on top of brook, drenching his crotch with an avalanche of her own ambrosia. Each time she felt Brook's beauty twitch inside her, but then he would collapse his hips and stop himself from erupting. Emma grew impatient with his resistance and didn't know when she would finally collapse into exhaustion.

His member was so big, and she was so tight, but she forced every inch into her as her rhythm grew more staccato and desperate. It hurt to take in every inch of him, feeling even her organs shifting with each thrust, but she wanted his milk. With each collapse of his hips, Brook found the time it took to take him near edge diminished, and the harder it became for him to stop in time.

Emma kept going and felt him twitch once more. Determined, she took her opportunity and shoved her finger up Brook's ass. She pressed in hard and the more he collapsed his hips, the deeper her finger went. With the other hand she grabbed onto his nipple and tugged at it.

Brook had no choice. Soon his beauty relinquished his milk. It jettisoned out like he had never experienced before. Emma engulfed every inch when Brook finally shot his load. It was an explosion and Emma shuttered in pain as his load unleashed. She felt his semen force its way into and past her cervix.

Emma fell to Brook's side and rolled around to distract her from the throbbing, the gallons of his milk flowing from her flower. She rocked herself until the tingling passed. She opened her eyes and saw Brook staring back with fear in his eyes.

Emma rubbed her pussy softly, then took a glob of Brook's goo. She showed it to Brook, smiled and then licked it off her hands. She held her fingers in front of her and scissored them together, causing threads of Brook's dew to form between them. Brook's eyes softened and Emma giggled. She wrapped her arms around him until they both fell asleep. The next day, Brook woke to an empty bed.