Whitechapel - Sex Stories

Whitechapel

... saying, told him: "That's all right. We'll just call it a thank you." “Huh?” he said, but she didn’t answer. If she thought about it long enough to say anything she’d change her mind and she didn’t want to change her mind. She took him by the hand and dragged him along, stunned look and all. She took him to where someone had left an empty cart in their hurry to evacuate the neighborhood before sundown. It was dry and provided a little cover, and the fog even more. The boy (and he was a boy, 18 years old, he said) looked by turns startled, disbelieving, terrified, and clumsily eager. He was a freckled thing with unruly hair and trousers that had been mended too many times, the sort of East End boy you could find on streets like this since the days the first brick was laid on the road. She went to pull her skirts up and get straight to business like usual, but then changed her mind. Instead she kissed him--and when was the last time she had kissed anyone? He the tasted like strawberries, and the bare whisper of a light beard tickled her. She teased him by taking his cap off and holding it away, telling him he wasn't going to get it back until she said so. Then she pushed a hand into his trousers. He squirmed. "Don't be shy," she said. "I've seen all kinds." "It's not that. It’s just...that is, I never--" "Ah. Never you worry. I'll be gentle." When she discovered his half-swollen cock ("a lobcock" the neighborhood girls called it when it was like that) she stroked it with her ...

... finger and thumb in a circle, from the base all the way down to the end, and with each stroke it grew, like a stage performer's trick. Soon she had quite a steed on her hands, and she tested it by squeezing just below the head. It was swollen up so much that anymore would hurt, and the boy let out a kind of pained mewling. Taking her cue, she raised her skirts and drew the boy down with her, tangling him up in her arms and whispering: "Enjoy yourself, but be quick. There might be people about." It was like a little light went on in some part of his brain that had never been used before. She pictured a factory machine churning to life, slow at first but picking up speed until it was finally humming along. The cart was not entirely stable and threatened to tip over and deposit them both onto the street, but Rose held on as tight as she could without risking splinters, letting the boy hammer away until he was worked right up into a frenzy. She nudged him along by throwing her arms around his shoulders and making cooing noises in his ear. He was awkward but ardent. She liked it. Her nipples turned up and her loins clenched tight and wonderful wet sensation spread below. She soon had her legs up (in such a way that no one who happened by could have any misconception about what was going on) with her heels clicking together every time he went in again. She kissed him and licked his neck, tasting the hot sweat cooled by the autumn fog. He was a hot young morsel and she felt likely he ...