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La Matadora - Part 2

Leilani recounts the origins of her oral fixation
My appreciation of male seed is directly proportionate to my arousal. About five minutes down the road the my post-orgasmic fugue had passed, and I no longer felt like a dirty girl, just a messy one. I pulled off the interstate and found a secluded spot behind a fast food place to change. I flipped my once red halter top over my head as quickly as I could releasing an offensive cloud of dried sperm from the crusted fabric. My bra was mostly clean but still intensely oppressive. Normally I would wear a 32F comfortably. However, for maximum cleavage impact I'd left the house this morning in an old 30D under wire. I unclasped the oppressive snare and revealed deep impressions in my rib cage and breasts that clearly showed dark purple on my golden brown skin. Lamenting them briefly, I remembered my precarious nudity and threw on a light blue, hooded windbreaker that I'd found wadded under the passenger seat. My skirt wasn't so easily replaced, so I quickly scoured the black leather with an alcohol wipe. I removed my panties to give the same treatment to my soiled vagina. Several wipes were required for that disaster.

I arrived home. My cramped little townhouse was paid for my the substantial inheritance my frugal deceased mother had stowed away. Legally, I was still in the custody of my aunt Rebecca, but I rarely saw her. She lived across town and had some high powered marketing job at a tech firm and couldn't be bothered to check on a girl she barely knew. She was my father's sister, and after he died my mother seemed to have no interest in socializing with his family. Now she returned the indifference.

It didn't bother me. I had been the leader of the house since my mother got sick when I was a kid, and I preferred to be left alone. I shuffled into the laundry room and unpacked the dirty clothes from my purse. Then I squeezed up the narrow stairway to my bedroom, fantasizing about a much needed shower. The tension of the long drive would melt away under massaging jets.

Stepping out of the steamy bath, I dried myself and went to the mirror to wrap my hair. Accomplishing that deftly, I gave my tight abdominal muscles a self congratulatory thump and left the bathroom naked but for my head. Carefree nudity was one of the lesser perks of solitary living. I sauntered over to my bureau and opened the top drawer to find some lotion. As I dug through the myriad panties, I couldn't ignore the object buried beneath. It was my idol, my muse.

El Toro, the only sex toy I owned. A strict religious upbringing had deterred me from any vaginal play, so I came to draw great pleasure from the only permissible penetration: my mouth. Eating hotdogs or popsicles, even the rhythm of brushing my teeth got me wet. One weekend when I was 16, I was at a friends birthday party. The menu of this late summer cookout featured hotdogs complimented by homemade pickles. My friend's father prided himself on brining the largest homegrown cucumbers. In the buffet line I found myself entranced by the voluminous vegetable. I placed one on my plate and dazedly walked to the edge of the fence line. Grasping it, I found my young hands could not fully encircle it and my infatuation grew. I set my plate down and secreted my prize further around the corner and out of sight of the rest of the party. I took it in two hands, but it would have taken five to cover this behemoth. I slid it into my mouth careful not to bite down. I was still unsure as to why I was behaving this way, but the pleasure of the knobby vegetable on my tongue had me humming contentedly around it's girth. I was only able to ingest less than a quarter of this monster, but that didn't dampen my enthusiasm. I began to pump it faster and faster. My free hand reached under my shirt to grip a nipple. My juices were flowing thicker and sooner than ever before. I was moments from ecstasy.

Snap!

“Do you need help, dear? I heard you crying,” came the worried voice of someone's mother.

“Mmmo!” I finished chewing the mouthful of pickle I'd bitten off in surprise. “No Mrs. Davidson. I just really like these pickles.”

She raised an eyebrow at me and gave a polite laugh before returning to the group. I don't know if she knew what I had been doing, but my underwear wasn't going to hold the evidence back much longer, so I made a quick exit. That night I scoured the internet for a more durable facsimile and found it: El Toro. Advertised at 12 inches long and 6.5 inches around, it was irresistible to me. I purchased it immediately. When it arrived I was slightly disappointed to find that one of the 12 inches was the uninsertable base. However, my opinion changed immediately after its first use and it has since replaced fingers in my nightly oral rituals.

My womanly ardor grew every year. I was masturbating twice a day nearly every day. Sometimes I would spend entire weekends locked in my house sucking my own nipples and worshiping my silicone master. I had gone so long without penetration that it would be impossible to simply pop my cherry with a random guy or even my finger. The event was so built up in my mind that it simply couldn't happen until I found a worthy partner. I would only fuck a man if his cock were as big as El Toro, and I certainly wouldn't find someone like that at school. Viewing porn had led me to believe my search would be brief. However, one year and almost 30 dicks later that search hadn't turned up one guy even close to my requirements. However, I remained dedicated to my ideals.

My freshly recharged phone was vibrating blithely on the kitchen counter as it had probably been for the past twenty minutes. I retrieved it just before it threw itself to the tile floor like a lemming. There were a handful of texts, mostly superficial and easily ignored. Bethany wanted to go to the gym tomorrow; of course, she wanted me to drive her. XxSprayNRayxX was pissed that I no showed our date this after noon. I laughed, having completely forgetting that I'd even scheduled a second date. I sent him an apology and told him I'd hit him up next time I was in down. There was a very good chance I would forget to do that as well.

The last message made me much more energetic. Tabitha was free next weekend and wanted me to party with her. Tabby was a second year psychology major at the University in Austin. I stayed at her apartment any time I was in the city and she didn't have her head buried in a textbook. Unfortunately the latter condition was rarely met, so I made the most of any opportunity I got. She, in turn, was excellent at finding me capable guys to hook up with. While reading the text I subconsciously groped the underside of breast. The last line had piqued my anticipation. Marco would be in town. Marco was Tabby's cousin and 4 years older than her. Every time our conversation turned to my particular sexual appetites she would mention him. She would swear that she saw Marco changing at the beach when she was fourteen and that his dick was as long as her arm. I had learned to be skeptical of girl's fish stories, but I was a hopeless and horny optimist.

As I pondered my good fortune, my thoughts turned to the paradigm of pricks—El Toro—that I was still carrying around the house. I slid it sensually through my bare cleavage as I reveled in this happy chance. Marco had been a frequent target of my masturbatory fantasies, and the thought of finally meeting him had my skin tingling in anticipation. The sliding dong reached my lips, and I extended a wet protuberance to trace it's underside as it continued up my face. Back and forth I drew it across my tongue like a violin bow, the soft skin of it's ribbed contours making sweet music on my mouth. I poked the well-articulated head into my mouth and sucked deeply. I imagined Marco gently encouraging me. Throwing my head back, I slapped the foot-long phallus across my nipples and let out a pleasured sigh. I wedged the cock into my cleavage and pinched my arms around my full breasts together to hold it in place. This freed my hands to caress my own body while my head bounced enthusiastically on El Toro. I slid my hands down my stomach and pressed my hands into the taut flesh of my flat bronze abs. My hands returned to my breasts, and I gently rolled both nipples as the first drops of my pussy juice splashed onto the tile. Craning my neck downward in this way made for difficult breathing, and as the pleasure intensified, my first squeal had my mouth sputtering against the plump silicone shaft. I coughed as the dong slipped from my mouth and was barely saved by a quick pinch of my knees.

I needed a more comfortable position. To my disappointment, the bottom half of the massive dildo was relatively dry. I had successfully deepthroated smaller items including a foot-long hotdog. El Toro, however, dwarfed even that in thickness and rigidity, and every attempt to take its full length had ended in gagging fits. With the prospect of meeting my golden God on the horizon, insecurity coaxed me into one more try. I lay prone on the kitchen counter with my full breasts thrust toward the ceiling and my head dangling over the edge, loosing the towel that bound my still wet hair. This would make for one straight line from my mouth to my stomach and give me the best chance at total insertion. I reached above my head and drew in the first four inches of the dong. My eyes were already watering as its tremendous girth was stretching my jaw to the limit and probing my epiglottis. I stayed calm, breathed slowly through my nose, and gently massaged my throat with the mass. I gagged slightly, and the slight taste of bile drifted into my mouth. I didn't stop my efforts. I summoned some courage and pressed firmly with the shaft as I opened my unrelenting throat with rapid swallowing motions.

My success was surprising and immediate. As soon as the initial barrier of my throat was cleared, peristalsis drew the full length of the dildo into my throat. Only its wide base kept me from swallowing the entirety. My first instinct was to spit it out. The sensation was terrifying, like choking and vomiting at once. The thickness of the dildo compressed my trachea and made breathing difficult. I focused myself and continued my slow calming breaths. Eventually I was relaxed enough to continue. I slowly dragged the cock from the depths of my gorge. Every inch of it danced across the folds of my esophagus and sent powerful waves of oral delight into my hips. These were familiar but the waves seemed somehow denser to me. They flowed but never ebbed, my pleasure never retreating, and when I had drawn the full length to the edge of my throat, I plunged it back. Faster and faster I pumped the bottom seven inches through my gullet. I could barely breathe. I saw my neck bulging with each thrust, and quickened my pace so I might finish before I passed out. I was wildly bucking at the air. My ass was splashing into a pool of my cream with every stroke.

I came. I tried to scream but could not. The joy and the asphyxiation intermingled, and I felt outside of myself. My body was nothing but warmth and ecstasy, and that blissful form rose off the counter top and spread like a fog over the kitchen. This was no longer a pussy orgasm. Every part of me was cumming. My hands and my eyes burst with joy. My toes curled into balls and rolled away. Every strand of my chestnut hair shot a tiny rainbow blissfully splattered against the walls.

“Arrrgghhhhhhhahhhh!” I grunted as I ripped the dildo from my mouth. I hyperventilated, tears and spit running down my faces as I gazed in horror at the device that had probably almost killed me. I sat on the counter top for a moment to regain my wits before hopping off to survey the damage. Six dishes lay shattered on the floor along with a thankfully intact spice rack. I didn't even remember how I'd done it, but I could imagine the kind of flailing I'd done in the throes of my oxygen starved orgasm. The wall connecting to the counter was also drenched, but I was pretty sure I knew how that happened.

I spent the rest of the week fantasizing about my trip and practicing my technique. I was much more careful in subsequent trysts not to kill myself. Choking on a dildo would not look good in my obituary. By the time Friday came I was literally chomping at the bit to put my new skills to use. Marco was in for the night of his life.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.


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