Smitten Kitten

Then to me, she said, "call on me down South, soon. Mamma and I will be expecting a visit from both of you. Mamma has exhausted three husbands to date, and is slowly killing a fourth with her ... shall we say, attentions. She is anxious to meet both of you ... in bed."

Turning to her ... companion? Bodyguard? ... she announced, "we shall go now. Mamma is expecting me to help welcome the officers of the newly merged company."

Turning to me, she whispered to my ear, "the head of Mamma's company may be contacting you, as we have need of an independent 'finder' now and again. But, above all, you must remember that I LOVED your deep thrusts and Britt's love and caring. Tell her that she's a total slut."

With that, our shipmate, lover, and overall orally-sexed buddy settled herself into the limousine. Jose closed the door, and murmured to the both of us, low-voiced, "the Donna gives her love and trust to very few. You are privileged." He settled himself into the passenger seat, and grasped the body of the sub-machine gun placed there. The door closed, and the powerful car eased away, out of the parking

Britt and I just stood there, slowly shaking our heads. Turning to Britt, I said, "I feel like such a dork."

We broke the spell in a few minutes, as I turned to go back to the marina office. Introducing Britt, as my girlfriend, I got her a key card to the marina, and the spare padlock key to the Smitten Kitten.

Smiling at me, and grasping the tiny bag with all her worldly possessions, she queried, "where to, now?"

"Well," I said, twinkling a smile at her, "I'd like to take you home, but first things first. We better get that prescription for birth control pills renewed, and I think lunch is in order. Then home."

The prescription proved to be a non-issue, as the Point Loma Pharmacy simply transferred it from Mission Bay, and, on my account, re-filled it on the spot. We also got an order for a couple of the 'morning-after' OTC tablets, just in case. Lunch was somewhat more interesting, given that Britt had changed at the marina into Martine's creation, and, eating at Nati's in Ocean Beach, we were overwhelmed with servers and wait-people.

I got out of the cab in front of my small house about mid-afternoon. Unlocking the door, I held Britt back until I could do a romantic thing. Sweeping up my new teen lover-daughter, I carried her across the threshold ... but then dropped her, tail-over-teacup, on the little couch in the front room. She alternated between dribbling romantic tears and telling me I should be castrated, right after she raped me to death.

What an act!

Making sure she had a front- and back-door key, and promising a key to the car as soon as possible, I showed her around. Houses are pretty much alike, these days. Mine was only unique in a few ways. There were a lot of built-ins, and relatively few pieces of furniture, which gave the illusion of more inside space that there really was. I'd cut out a small bedroom, and enlarged the bathroom, giving space for a small hot-tub and a small sauna. The bathtub had gone, and been replaced by a luxury shower. The kitchen was small and compact, but there was lots of storage space. I'd ripped out all but one closet (who needs a dark hole into which someone looses things). There was a very small 2nd bedroom, which was re-offered to her, and just as firmly rejected.

Very firmly rejected. She bites!

The master bedroom had been set up for one, of course, but that immediately changed, as my Britt stripped off her Martine original, hung it up carefully in the free space of the only closet, and stood gloriously nude in the center of my bedroom. Stood with legs apart, and pretty titties cocked up, shoulders back. Hands carefully placed behind her back, so there was no fuckin' doubt that I had a fuck-buddy lover in my bedroom.

Since my traitor dick wasn't responding just then ("Don't worry, we'll just see what ... comes up."), I suggested a bathing experience. I fired up the sauna, and we waited out the half hour it took to come up to operating temperature. The little wooden cell was just large enough for two, and the sweat started immediately. Britt started her seduction then, and I had to obscenely remind her that sex in a sauna was dangerous! Think about hard work in the Arabian Shahra desert. The strain of heat and elevated heart rate could kill a guy. So we had to limit it to kisses, caresses, breast-and-nipple play, and flirty conversation.

I finally got around to asking, "Britt who?"

She got serious immediately, but said, "I suppose I gotta, but you're gonna make fun of me, like they all did, and I'm gonna cry. My name is Brittany Fuchs Goode. There, I spelled it and said it. Mommy picked it out when she had me, when she was all fucked up with painkillers. She thought it was soooo cute. I couldn't hide it in middle school, or in high school, and all the girls and guys made fun of me, an ..."

I stopped her in mid sentence, carefully saying, in a neutral voice, "I can imagine. I really can."

I added immediately, "Britt, I won't say it. I don't want to say it. Can we just leave things as plain 'Britt' for a while?"

She smiled a thousand-watt grin, composed of relief and wonderment. I would have bet that no one had ever turned down an opportunity to humiliate a pretty young girl whose pronounced name became Brittany Fucks Good!

We stayed in the dry heat of my sauna until we were both wringing wet from sweat, and then stepped directly into a cool shower. The shock from the temperature change sharpened both our senses, and I picked her up bodily, sat her down on the bathroom countertop, spread open her thighs (with lots of cooperation from Britt) and proceeded to lick her clitoris and womanly parts, while she squealed, thrashed and orgasmed. That girl could define multi-orgasm. She never learned to have 'just one.'

Giggling, she jumped off the bed and ran into the bedroom, and then burrowed under the covers of my queen-sized bed. Half-hard, but just enjoying her nudity and free spirits, I joined her there. Looking over the side, she spotted one of my frustrated-bachelor 'experiments,' and quirked an eyebrow at me.

She held a set of kid gloves in her hands. Finger-tip-less opera-length kid gloves. You know, the kind that are open to the second joint on the fingers and thumb, but extend 'way up the arm, half way to the shoulder. Utterly impractical. Sexy as Hell! Really, they were slut-wear. I'd had a leather worker at a Rennaissance Faire further modify them, to include a thin but stout flat strap that came over the backs of the fingers, and ending in a sizable patch of Velcro. Another patch of the opposite type of Velcro was placed at the edge of the wrist, on each glove.

As I'd made up the idea, the mythical girl who'd wear these gloves would fold her hand over a smooth hemp rope strung across the head of the bed, which rope would be pulled taut, threaded through holes in the bases of the four posts of the bed frame. Like mine were, on this very bed. Like I said, this was a bachelor fantasy, and I'd indulged myself ... no one had tried it, yet.

If 'she' grasped the rope with her four fingers, and let 'me' fold the Velcro flap over those fingers, 'she'd' be held to the bed—on her back or on her knees in front—comfortably but firmly. Think of a very comfortable set of restraints for a bondage session. Legs spread, or 'forced,' open, and me thrusting like a wild man into a girl-woman-slut who couldn't stop me, or slither out from under.

Strictly a guy-type fantasy.

There was a 'safety' factor, too, because, with a little effort, 'she' could work the thumb of each hand up under the Velcro, and flip the fastening off.

Britt, lying there nude on the bed, with a very-recently eaten out pussy, ran the smooth gloves from hand to hand, through her fingers, inhaling deeply of the tanned and cured leather smell. She let the length of the leather tubes caress her body ... over her inflamed pussy lips ... across her breasts and stiff nipples ... across her face and down her arms. Grinning like a fiend.

She suddenly rolled over, out of my grasp, and ran down the short hallway. With my still half-hard cock swinging and banging from side to side (naked men with half-hard erections look utterly ridiculous), I followed.

I found my Britt, sitting in my favorite easy chair. She somehow slid on the gloves, and was smoothing the leather up her arms. Her lovely long legs were crossed tightly, one knee over the other, free leg swinging. Gloved to the mid-arm length, and entirely nude otherwise, she somehow managed to cover her breasts with one hand and her pussy with the other, while, at the same time, emphasizing her nakedness. She was slightly rolling and thrusting her hips. She looked up, through her blonde hair, at me, her incongerously-black eyes flashing with not-so-innocent passion.

I don't understand women. Or girls. Any man who says he does is out of his freakin' mind. But I thought I understood men ... and myself.

I was wrong!

There was my new teen lover, sitting in a chair. Nude but for a pair of arms-length fingerless gloves. Totally accessible. I'd made love to her dozens of times. Penetrated her in most of her holes. Heard her squeal with happy, laughing orgasm as we sexed together. The girl I'd offered up my boat, home and life to care for, protect ... and use. I'd come at least a half-pint of semen into. She let me screw a new-found friend in front of her. We'd flirted in a hot sauna, sweat running in rivers off our air-heated bodies. I'd just eaten her out, tonguing her little clit and slurping around her nether lips, in the bathroom of my home.

Still standing, I watched my Britt change from 'artistic' nude to 'lust-crazed, defenseless' naked in the space it takes to take a breath. I felt the same rush of crazy lust flooding over me that Lupe had generated, just 24 hours ago. My cock, once half-hard, rose and strengthened to a firmness that made me thing of hammers and spikes into hardwood.

Then I had a hard time thinking, as my girl-fuck-toy surged off the chair and stood, legs open, running her gloved hands and arms over her body. Over her butt, arching her shoulders back. Over her breasts, pausing to tug at her own nipples, which stayed hard and engorged. Down her flanks, and over her thighs. Between her thighs, to pull and tug at her inflamed pussy lips. Back up her body to wedge behind her head, her tautened pectoral muscles pulling her breasts wide.

Somehow, those gloves managed to 'frame' her body and enhance a thousand percent the projection of total sexual access I was getting.

I stood there, face red and flaming (she told me later), balls pulled tight under my groin, and my cock ... standing out, filled to its maximum with power. My hand unconsciously wrapped around the base of the shaft. Pointing the pre-cum dribbling head at her. The cock I KNEW I was going to ram into her body.

Breasts thrust out, legs apart, hips rotating, she literally growled at me, rasping, "what's my name?"

"Britt."

"No, you old pervert. What my NAME?"

I somehow recalled, from my lust-demented mind, "Brittany Fuchs Goode."

"No, it isn't. Say it the way you really want to.!"

"BRITTANY FUCKS GOOD!" I ground out, still pointing my so-rigid erection at her body, and taking s small step toward her.

She took a small step back, legs still wide apart, now up on her toes (God, didn't her calves and thighs look sexy). "Does she? Does she?"

"What?"

"Does she? Does she fuck good? Tell me, you fuckin' teen raper. Let me hear you say it."

Advancing toward her, mindlessly I wanted to FUCK her. Drag her down on the hall floor and force my engorged manhood into her body, will she or nil she. My Britt backed away, just out of reach, her gloved hands moving faster over her body and across her now glistening sex.

"Yeah, she fucks real good! Like she's gonna get FUCKED right now."

"Yeah, you wanna FUCK me, don't you? You wanna fuck your little fuck-buddy slut. Yeah, I'm a SLUT! I fuck for free. You like to fuck a slut, don' you?"

She backed down the hall, away from my grabbing hand, since one was still wrapped around my distended manhood. If I'd been able to use it as a tentacle, I'd have snapped it out, wrapped it around her, and jammed the head inside that luscious body.

She back into the threshold of the bedroom, hands flying over her body, pulling and tugging at breasts, nipples, butt cheeks and pussy lips. "Ya wanna jam that big thing inta me, don' ya. Yeah, shove that huge cock into my hole. Make me cum. Make me scream. No mercy. Ya wanna FUCK me. Yeah, Brittany FUCKS GOOD! Real good. Bettern' any Latina Ho."

She reached the edge of the bed, and couldn't back any further. Then she fell backwards, reaching up, over her head for the rope stretched between the two decorative uprights of the four-poster frame. She grasped the smooth and slippery rope, and somehow pressing her wrist to the pillow (or something ... I was too busy to see), latched the Velcro down over her inner wrist, self-imprisoning her own hands above her head.

I looked down at her, now stretched out on my bed, still holding the base of my enormously-hard erected cock, eyes wide, and breathing heavily. I was going to HAVE HER.

"So your Britt fucks good, does she? You got no idea how I FUCK! You jam that piece of HUGE man-meat into me, RIGHT NOW. No mercy. Fuck me HARD! Fuck me FAST! Go on, man, shove that love-pole inta your little teen bitch kitty. Yeah."

Then Britt spread her legs as wide as I've ever seen them before. Not over her head, but wide! Knees bent, and feet still on the bed. Spread herself out, hands imprisoned in my cross-bed rope, in the classis missionary position. Laying herself out to be MADE to PERFORM sex!

Positioning myself between her thighs, I shoved forward, forcing my huge length of erected manhood into her body. I sunk into her, down to the furtherest depth of her body, stopped only by the impact of my pubic bone on hers.

Her widened eyes rolled up in their sockets, as she screamed in total, shattering orgasm, and I started to SLAM my cock into and out of her willing, receptive body.

This wasn't love-making. This was raw, fucking, raping SEX. I forced her body to cum and cum. I heard the 'squish/suck' sounds of rigid penis driving into wet, flowing, willing pussy. She gave me obscene and graphic directions, thrashed and scissored her legs over my back and twisted around, clasped my sliding, slippery shaft with her cuntal muscles and urged me on to my climax.

"Damn you, give it to me! Like that, just like that. Don't stop, don't you dare stop. (squish/suck. "Unghh, I'm cumming.") Fuck me like the SLUT I am. You love to fuck sluts. Fuck me. I'm a slut, you're gonna make sure I stay that way. (squish/suck, squish/suck. "Ahhhh, yeah, I'm cumming.") Fuck your hard sex into me. I love sex. I love SEX. Yeah. Pound me good. Let me see you pound me, in and out, in and out. (squish/sucj, squish/suck. "Geeeezz, I'm cuming again!"). It looks ... ah, power. Fuck me so hard. I'm your slut. You always wanted a fuck-buddy slut and now ya got one. USE ME FOR SEX. (Unnngghhh, cumming, cumming, cumming," Squishsucksquishsucksqujishsuck ... "I can't stop cumming, on and on and on, cumming ...")."

My cock, slammng its full length in and out of my sexy Britt, abruptly swelled up and started pulsing my liquid orgasm in her depths. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, just cum and shoot jism and cum. "Oh, God, fuck (shoot, squirt). Fuck you, slut (squirt, shoot). Fuckin' cunt (shoot, squirt). Sex you (shoot, a drop or so). Fuck, fuck (try to shoot, no squirt). Yeah, take it, take it (pulse). Take my squirt (pulse, weaker). Fuck you, slut (pulse, weaker yet)."

I collapsed on top of Britt, gasping back from a reddened vision, to being able to see and hear again. Grunting with the effort, I managed one-handed to flip back the Velcro fastening holding her rist closed over the hempen rope. Looking down, I somehow managed to lever myself off her body, trembling with exhaustion, and look down at the young girl I'd just ravaged and raped.

I saw, looking back, a sweaty body, trembling with exhaustion and stimulation.

I also saw a goddess of SEXUAL POWER.

Not your Greek Aphrodite; your Roman Venus; your Chinese Kawn Yin ... she of the appellations of 'love' and civilized beauty.

I saw the goddess Astarte and Isthar, a holy temple prostitute ruling Ur of the Chaldees. I saw the goddess of Crete, she of the bull and maiden bare-breasted worship of the Minoans. I saw the nameless-to-us goddess of Stonehenge, who accepted the jism-squirting penetrations of the Winter Solstice, so the sun would return each year.

Millennia old, I saw the Neolithic Goddess, she who demanded sexual worship of men into women, as representative of the Great Father into the Great Mother of us all. Not for love or beauty, but for penetration, reproduction and raw SEX.

She looked up at me, black eyes dilated to their maximum, no irises showing. Face flushed but calm. Thighs and hips moving in the slow rhythms of post-coital sex use, hands slowly wandering over her divinely-used body. Looking lower, I saw her womanly-opening, still gaping open. A dark tunnel, partly filled with pearl-grey liquid, just beginning to close. Breasts with still-distended nipples, rising and falling with deep breaths.

Looking back, mouth agape, I 'heard'—silently, not a spoken word ... more a communication directed from mind to mind—"mortal, your worship was ... acceptable. Hold yourself in readiness, that I may make use of you again ... soon."

Abruptly, my sunny, California-raised blonde teen lover emerged from the spirit of her Goddess. My Britt, slowly smiling up at me, said in a hoarse whisper, "that was awesome, Daddy! You were so big. So hard. So deep inside. I came and came. When's dinner? I'm starved! I wanna get blasted on your wine, and dance for you, and do kinky stuff. I gotta call Lupe an' tell her what you did. She'll be sooooo jealous. God, I'm sleepy. Let's take a nap first."

Then, still looking up, she rolled her hips in a definite thrust, and said, grinning that thousand-watt smile, "When can we do that again?"

I answered, just before collapse and deep sleep, "As soon as I can ... Smitten Kitten."

-- The End --