Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968 - Sex Stories

Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968

... salivating, sucking oral cavity. It was like being inside a vagina, but one with a tongue. She was warm and willing and welcoming, and I began to feel that familiar glow deep inside my organ. She slid herself off again, and if the bus engine had not been so loud, everyone would have heard the sound of my cockhead popping out of her throat and her lips and tongue sliding and sucking, her saliva splashing and soaking my pubic hair. Then she slid me back inside, simultaneously pressing her finger against my asshole, and I came, all the energy that would have gone into moans and gasps and thrusting going instead into keeping still and quiet, as she received what felt like huge dollops of semen into her gulping, sucking, slurping mouth and throat.

My hands were clutching the bus seat as the waves of pleasure moved from my penis all through my body, like an orgasmic electricity, stiffening every muscle even as my cock, in spurting its thick, lumpy cream, began to soften.

I expected Belinda to gag or cough, but she did not. She simply kept stroking me with mouth and fingers until, finally, I was empty, and my half-rigid cock slid wetly out of her cum-filled mouth. She let not a drop escape but swallowed it all, down to the last exhausted ejaculation which she received with lips and tongue; and when she had swallowed one more time, she gave my cockhead a quick kiss, pulled my kilt down, and quietly rose up to sit beside me.

I could barely whisper, I was breathing so heavily. ...

... “Thanks.”

“Your welcome.”

“No, I mean, really, that was really amazing. But I should. . . I should do something for you. . .”

She patted my knee. “No need. I just thought I owed you that.” Then her hand slid back up my thigh and fondled my near-flaccid cock, “I like kilts. I hope they come back into style.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and went back to her own seat.

We would scarcely speak from that moment till graduation some weeks later.

Academically, I had done surprisingly well that year. Sex agreed with me. At graduation I would wear the gold tassel of the Beta Club and the white stole of the National Honor Society. I had a partial scholarship to a church college, and I received special awards for music and English. Belinda was there; as a junior she could play the piano and let Gail, the choir’s usual accompanist, march across the stage. Annabelle was also there to see me graduate, and I wondered if they would actually meet each other—and if they did, what fireworks might ensue. They were each vaguely aware of the other’s existence, but I feared Annabelle especially might be quite jealous. She tended to be a bit possessive at times and to assume we were “going steady” though I had never actually made any such commitment, much to her.

As it turned out, there was no meeting between the two girls. Annabelle met me at the door as I marched out, and Belinda was still inside playing “Pomp and Circumstance.” Gail, accompanied by her fiancé, did pass us as ...