Young Cock Rocks!

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By Lauren McAllister

To tell you the truth, I was boiling mad at my husband. It was pretty shitty having to turn 42 in the first place, but having to do it on my own because Mr. Dickwad felt it was more important to sit in a cold tiny room and blow the heads off some ducks… Well, let’s just say that Jimmy did not get a “have-a-great-trip hump.” And…I splurted a whole dispenser of mustard into his waders. And I under-cooked his eggs that morning so he’d feel nauseous on the long car ride. I also hid a card among his luggage saying, “I hope a duck flies up your ass and the jerk-offs you’re with shoot it.”  Yep, I was pretty steamed at the little shit.

My friend Amy decided to throw me a party to pick up my spirits. It worked. The second I got there, I was picking up spirits right and left and swallowing them at a rate that would have had Lindsay Lohan counseling moderation. The get-together was okay, I guess. I managed to successfully drown my sorrows and several of my vital organs. There were quite a few people I didn’t know milling about but I was so slobbering drunk by then end of the first hour that getting acquainted to any of them was beyond impossible. Although, there was apparently one exception.

The next morning, predictably, was epic-ally hellacious. I was somewhat philosophical about my dire (about to turn diarrhea) situation, as I lay there and moaned like a cow stuck in a mud pit. Hey, let’s face it; I had earned every micron of digestive misery and every diamond-tipped chisel-blow of excruciating agony to my temples. I was now officially 36 but I felt older than David Bowie when Catherine Deneuve nailed him into that coffin in “The Hunger” (I’ve got a thing for Lesbian-themed movies and I really, really want to fuck Susan Sarandon before I die.). The whole room was spinning. I felt like I was going to see Margaret Hamilton riding by on a bicycle at any second. That’s when Jimmy put his hand on my ass and started to rub it gently. What a world-class fucking jerk! Didn’t he realize what kind of catastrophic, self-inflicted distress I was in? At that pivotal moment, he had a hundred-to-one better chance of getting thrown up on than getting laid. In fact, I could feel my first big heave session coming on. Why not, I thought (as much as I was capable of thought). This will teach the fucker a lesson, leaving me alone on my birthday.

I had already turned before I put two and two together and realized that there was no way that Mr. Inconsiderate Ass-Feeler could have been Jimmy.

“BLECHHHHHHHH!” I suggested. Massive swells of overly-salted party food and cheap wine erupted out of me and onto the poor naked guy lying next to me. I was horrified beyond belief but I just couldn’t stop throwing up on him.

“I wam so sowwy.” I tried to talk but it felt like Satan had taken a gigantic hell-shit in my mouth. Focusing was a tad difficult as my eyes were pissing all over my cheeks but it sure looked like I was sharing my bed with a vomit-covered twelve year old. Oh my God, I’m a baby raper!!!!

“How old are you?” I half-blubbered, dreading the answer and reaching down to see if I had pissed the bed.

“I told you last night, Steph, don’t you remember? I’m 18.”

Fuck! Well, at least he was legal. Not that whatever I’d gotten up to the night before was in any way excusable. What had we gotten up to the night before? Before I could formally posit that question, I upchucked again.

“Did we have sex?” I forced myself to ask between violent retchings. Sam was so sweet. He cleaned my face with a wet towel that he’d fetched from the bathroom.

“You were amazing,” he kindly lied, wiping a particularly nasty chunk of something off my tits.

“I fear I may have had a little too much to drink last night,” I unnecessarily informed him.

“I got up about an hour ago and started the coffee machine. Would you like some?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea about me, but I would blow you for a cup of coffee right now. No! That’s a joke, I mean, I probably have blown you….Oh God, this is the worst birthday of my life.”

While I selfishly wallowed in a big icky pool of self-pity and recycled foodstuffs, Sammy gallantly scurried off and fetched the carafe and a couple of mugs from downstairs. I spent the next hour curled up in fetal position, warming my dyspeptic cheek with the rich dark liquid I was still to sick to taste. Sam removed all the Technicolor sheets off the mattress and put new bedding down while I lay there groaning like I’d been impaled on a garden gnome. Of the two of us, he had the better job.

I was literally helpless. If I stood up, I became demonically dizzy. Sam had to carry me into the bathroom and I (GASP!) had to do No. 2 in front of him (though it sure felt like there was a lot of No. 1 back there as it blasted out of me at seemingly fire-hose velocity). I couldn’t even wipe my own ass! Damned alcohol had turned me into a plague victim. Several times, I begged this stranger-turned-nursemaid to leave me to my limitless suffering and imminent death (there are certain things that a girl never wants a man to see her do – and I was doing just about all of them) but I secretly wanted him to stay.

Plus, I immediately had three more scorching trips to “the bowl”, and someone had to clean up my messy patoot. He even let me curl up next to him on the bed, knowing that there was every possibility that I would once again turn Vesuvian with nary a second’s notice. “I swear I will make this up to you,” I gurgled at about 2:30 in the afternoon, giving his almost bald nutsack (from youth, not shaving) a gentle squeeze.

The very next moment it was 7 o’clock at night. I opened my bleary eyes to plain toast and a new pot of coffee on a tray.

“Are you an angel sent from heaven?” I only half-jokingly queried.

“You should try to eat something,” he kindly smiled.

“I’m so sorry I made you watch me poop,” I moaned, “I’m not usually like this with strangers.”

He took off his pants and crawled into bed next to me. Now that I could see more clearly, he looked even younger than I’d originally thought. On the upside, this was the first time I was well enough to register the size of his cock. The boy was he packin’!

I felt like a complete perv, snuggling up to this teenager (I had bras older than this kid), but it was just so comforting to have him there. About 8 o’clock, we watched a movie he had on his I-pad. It had this guy in it who could open jars of peanut butter with his mind and he got onto a rocket ship and I’m not really sure what happened after that because I fell asleep again.

When I woke in the morning, he was still snoozing. God, I felt better. Life in all it’s multifaceted glory had returned to my formerly disease-infested, puking flesh-lump. My head still hurt a little, but all things considered, I was back to my old self. Sammy looked so cute lying there. All that young, perfect skin. I pulled back the covers very carefully so I could have another look at that dick of his. Yum. It was definitely very munchable.

Of course, there are those nagging little thoughts that go through your head as you’re about to despoil the very young. He was practically a child and I was a married woman of three-dozen-or-so years with sagging 42 year-old boobs, for Christ sake. What would I think if I was his mother and some other wicked vixen was about to sully him? I put his cock in my mouth and tried not to think about it. Yikes he was 18; it shot up like the knife out of a switchblade. A new discovery a my age. I liked sucking young cock! It was hard and smooth and “squirt”. A huge helping of teenage-boy semen coated my uvula before I’d even gotten started. Ah yes, I remembered this part now. I was getting high school-prom flashbacks.

“Wow, that was even better than in your friend’s closet,” he thanked me.

Oh my God! I blew this virtual fetus in Katie’s closet? I had some serious apologizing to do on Monday morning.

I patted his nuts and made a big show of swallowing his offering. “I’m going to make you some breakfast, young man. You just lie here and refill this thing and I’ll be right back for another helping.”

I don’t know what got over me. I was practically dripping as I whipped up some eggs and whatever else I could find in my depleted cupboards. Having this cherubic coital neophyte in my bed had turned me into a sex-crazed loony cock-whore. I took a few minutes to shave anything that was beginning to darken and then I trotted back up stairs with the grub.

“Don’t worry mom, I’m just staying over at a friend’s house. I’ll be home for dinner.”

Shit, my little boy was talking to his mother on the phone! I couldn’t help it; I had to instantly give him head. It was so totally wrong of me; I practically had an orgasm as the purple knobby bit of his goo cannon hit the back of my throat. “Just keep saying the word ‘mom,’” I prayed. Slurp. Slurp. Each time he did, little pre-cum spasms would shoot up into my wicked womb. I signaled for him to keep talking to her as I straddled his thighs.

“Yeah, I’ll cut the lawn tomorrow…”

I grabbed his shaft in my fist and rubbed the end of his cock up and down and across my pussy lips. The conversation with his dear mother got a little stilted after that. I put a small piece of toast into his mouth as I allowed inch after inch of that magnificent phallic edifice to slowly penetrate my inner sanctum. His face went the color of an old Columbia Records label as I ground my twat against the hilt of his wanger. So, I was fucking him, feeding him and listening to him talk to his mother all at the same time. What an unholy combo! It made me so wet; I was practically a human canteen. The first moan seeped out of me.

“That? That’s just Gordie playing with his dog.”

He was an amazingly good liar, considering how hard it must have been for him to think at that moment (men just seem to be born with that ability, don’t they?). I was also beginning to lose a major portion of my cognitive function as I cranked up the speed and intensity of my pelvic thrusts. His complimentary helpings of hot-buttered toast had also abated somewhat.

Sammy was so much bigger than my husband (and so much younger) that I was in complete copulatory heaven. I could feel his thighs tightening between my legs but that was okay because mine were right there with him. My fuckhole began to constrict around the stem of his Johnson and I started to make noises like an idling 1987 Ford Torino.

“Listen, I got to go. Love you,” Sammy choked out.

He’d barely turned off his cell when we both started to cum like psychotic zoo monkeys. Screeches and moans filled the room as massive orgasmic explosions shot up my convulsing torso along with about a gallon of his baby jam. He grabbed hold of my tits and nearly ripped them off – but I kind of liked it in the moment. My clit was throbbing like a be-hammered cartoon thumb. Sammy was smashing his cock inside me like he was trying to kill a cunt troll (in reality, only very old Romanian women have those). Finally, I fell forward and shoved my tongue into his mouth as I drifted into my post-climactic glow. This was our first soul kiss – well the first I remember. His lips were so soft – almost like a girl’s (but there was nothing else girly about him…well, except for that tight little pink ass of his. It was so cute; I almost wished I had a big dong so I could sodomize it!

We spent the next hour or so smooching and groping and then he fucked me two more times. God bless them young uns! I let him slide on top of me for the last one. I figured by the third ride, his trigger would have less of a hair to it and it was safe to let him hump away at his own pace. He didn’t disappoint. I came like a pirate cannon going off. I also soaked the bed with a majestic spray of lap liquids as wave after wave of teeth-shattering sensual-seizures tore through my abdomen. At one point, I caught myself reaching down and trying to pull his big floppity nuts up into my uterus. What a trollop! If my legs were any wider apart, I would have had to open the windows.

After you’ve had a 40 year old guy banging away inside you for an extended period of time, a 18 year old is a revelation! The fact that Sammy remained really geeky and polite as he poured his sour cream into my baked potato was so hot it just about set my hair on fire. And at that tender age, dicks are quickly rechargeable!

After I became too sore to pee, he was finally allowed to go home to mommy and that lawn that needed cutting. I spend the rest of the day gently dabbing ointments on my vulva and hoping to heal before Elmer Fudd came home expecting a fuck for some ducks (and I’m the one who had to cook the little grease-turds, yuck).

I have hired dear, sweet, well-hung Sam to mow my lawn on Saturday and Sunday and I have absolutely no complaints about his work around my garden. Next weekend he’s going to bring his even taller friend over so they can work at different ends of my property at the same time. Yummy!

As for Jimmy, I bought him a new set of hunting fatigues plus fishing equipment, a new set of golf clubs, hiking boots and mountain climbing lessons. After-all, it’s important for a man his age to stay active…ain’t it?

The End

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By Lauren McAllister

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