Now, where had I got to?
I don’t know if you remember but when we left Pippa she was slouched on her sofa, legs spread wide, her face the colour of a barely ripe tomato, her breasts heaving and her body all aflutter as the orgasm she had given herself with her rather substantial double ended dildo pulsed through her.
I’m the scaredycat who’s been liberally doused in wine, beer and sambuca sat on the other end of the sofa; my eyes fixed on the black rubber member protruding from beneath Pippa’s skirt, my little breasts rising and falling in time with my raggedy breath, my hands shaking as they caress the pale, tender skin of my inner thighs and my pussy aglow, awash, a … a … a … a needy, pulsating, dribbling, furnace of lust.
I couldn’t really leave things like that now, could I? And besides, there was a question that had been gnawing away inside me ever since I’d pulled open the kitchen drawer and I knew that if I didn’t ask it soon I was going to burst.
Her orgasm sated eyelids languidly open and with some difficulty she manages to focus on upright, quivering, little me.
“Why … why do you have that?”
I point a near steady finger at the thick double ended dildo that Pippa’s long, slender, tanned hand is gently probing into what I am absolutely convinced is her happily pulsing pussy, hidden beneath her skirt and hope that my question hasn’t left me sounding like some disapproving, prissy, innocent.
“Because … well, you know … for sleepovers … and stuff.”
My teeth nibble at my bottom lip and my fingers slide along the engorged, sensitised flesh of my vulva as I wobble my head from side to side in an attempt to show incomprehension.
“Look, this isn’t the only ‘girls’ night’ I’ve ever had here. Other people come here sometimes too; not just you. And it’s not always movies, PJ’s, hot cocoa and Enid Blyton at bedtime. Sometimes there’s a little more bedroom athletics involved.”
And sometimes you reach a point in a conversation where you know you really don’t want to ask the next question, that nothing good will come of it, yet if you don’t ask it you will spend the rest of eternity wondering what the answer might have been.
I had to ask. I really did.
“Who Pippa? Who have you had on the other end of that?”
And now she looks shifty … and I mean really shifty. She’s avoiding eye contact, has stopped massaging her pussy with her rubber dick and is instead picking at the hem of her skirt.
“Um … Melanie.”
“And Tamsin, and Bobbi and Kate.”
What! That is just about everybody we know. That’s our ‘gang’ … ‘the girls’ … and I can see us all together; drunkenly eating curry in the Indian, queueing in the rain to get into our favourite nightclub, giggling and gassing as we down shots, check out the tightly trousered talent and bitch about all the ‘slags’ and ‘whores’ parading up and down in “I wouldn’t be seen dead in that” outfits. Yet all the time Pippa’s been fucking them all except for …
I’m scanning through their faces looking for the missing name but Pippa beats me to it.
“But mostly Andrea … before she hooked up with John of course.”
And then a quick smile plays about Pippa’s lips.
“Oh! And a couple of times afterwards too.”
And then as an afterthought.
“I think I might be a better fuck than John, and Andrea never could quite get enough of ‘Mr Shaft’ so she kept coming back.”
Well I could of asked who ‘Mr Shaft’ was but in truth I think the answer was right before my eyes, which really only left me with one question left to ask.
“What about me?”
“What about sweet, innocent, demure little you?”
There is a lascivious glint in Pippa’s eyes and, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was licking her lips like a pussy hungry wolf that has just got Little Red Riding Hood pinned down with her legs akimbo, her petticoats and skirts trapped about her waist and her perfect fairy tale pussy dribbling with anticipation.
“You wouldn’t really want any of this naughty, thick, black cock. Not really. Anyway, look …”
Pippa slowly slides the dildo from beneath her skirt, a soft squelching accompanying the movement, and holds it aloft, the top third slick with her pussy juices glistening in the lamplight.
“… It’s much too big for a little girl like you. See how thick it is; it would stretch your tight pussy unbearably and I doubt if you could even get its head inside you.”
“But Andrea is petite like me. In fact she might even be a little smaller than me …”
How it hurt for me to say those words; to acknowledge that just possibly Andrea might be even more delicate, slender and diminutive than I; but my need was great and Pippa was waving big, thick, black, rubber temptation right before my eyes.
“… And you said that you and she had … you know.”
Actually I didn’t quite know what Pippa and Andrea had done with ‘Mr Shaft’, though I had some idea, but I was determined that no matter how much I had to whine, whimper, cajole or beg Pippa was going to show me.
“Yes, but you should have heard how much she screamed the first time, how much she pleaded and how sore her poor little pussy was when ‘Mr Shaft’ had finished with her. Here, take him …”
Pippa sticks the double ended dildo in my face and I close my fingers around it. Well, I try to but she’s right it is way too big and I have to extract the damp, sticky fingers of my left hand from beneath my skirt and grasp hold of it with both hands.
The heady aroma of wet pussy permeates the air; wafting from between my legs, from the juices coating my fingertips and from the cum sheened dildo, creeping its way up my nostrils and into my befuddled, lustful head as Pippa, seemingly unaware, continues to prattle on.
“Andrea loved to watch me fuck myself; to marvel as I buried that dick inside my pussy and her eyes would widen as I sucked it, inch by inch, deep within me. She’d sit their dribbling and excitable as I rode that big boy, as my pussy coated it with lovely cum juices until eventually …”
As Pippa’s words played about my ears I extended my tongue in search of those ‘lovely cum juices’. With closed eyes and open mouth I reach blindly forward until the wetness of my tongue collided with the slick rubber and I began to lap across its bulbous head in search of Pippa’s familiar yet exotic flavour.
The dildo is heavy in my hands and as I spread my lips wide about its tip, eighteen inches further south its compatriot pressed expectantly into the soft mound of my pubic mons. Somewhere in the back of my throat a mew of pleasure escapes my larynx and trickles beyond my rubber filled mouth to reverberate through the air.
Pippa’s still talking but I don’t care what the words are anymore because I can feel the smooth pads and finely filed nails of her fingertips easing apart my soft, alabaster thighs; forcing my short, tight skirt to ride indecently up their flesh and exposing my sodden, rose pink, gently pulsing pussy to her attentive gaze and even more attentive caresses.
Ooopps! It looks like I must have forgotten my panties yet again. How remiss of me.
I moan into my black, rubber, dick gag; saliva escaping from my distended lips to trickle down and wet my fingers and all the while Pippa’s delightful digits are busy tending to the blossoming flower between my legs; smoothing out its swollen petals, squeezing its stiff stamen and dipping a finger into the nectar pooling at the entrance to its hidden delights.
Somehow, amongst all the probing fingers and thrusting hips poor ‘Mr Shaft’ got trapped amongst the folds of my skirt where it bunched uselessly about my waist, but Pippa is so kind and so caring. She untangles him from all that unnecessary fabric and guides his head down my pubis until, at last, I feel his cold tip sliding across my stiff clitoris and into the warm, welcoming lagoon of my pussy.
There he rests; his thick head teasing my outer lips as cum juice trickles out of my gaping, sodden pussy to pool in the mocha, contracting star of my anus, before sliding on to soak my arse and dirty the upholstery. I push up with my hips; try to spear myself on him but the angles are all wrong and I gurgle frustrated about his head that so wonderfully fills my mouth.
That is how I might have remained; bemused and befuddled, mouth filled and pussy empty, moaning, writhing, yet unfucked and as horny as hell; but fortunately Pippa knew exactly what I needed and how to give it to me.
Somehow she managed to ease that well sucked cock from between my lips and as my mouth was left empty and bereft I was rewarded by ‘Mr Shaft’ nuzzling insistently at the entrance of my cum slick pussy. I fell back against the sofa, my head lolling to one side and allowed Pippa’s fingers to push my widespread thighs yet wider still.
Rubber nudged against my swollen flesh and I felt Pippa’s fingers spreading my labia to ease my soon to be lover’s passage. A whispering moan escaped my lips as he pressed forward which quickly changed to a heavy panting as his full width stretched me wider than I was accustomed. He was big; bigger than my little fingers, wider than any of my own vibrating pleasure toys and far more substantial than any of the stallions and young colts I’d accommodated.
I felt him pressing against my pubic bone and push firmly against the fiercely clenching muscle of my perineum as Pippa gradually eased another millimetre, another centimetre, even another inch into my demanding and needy pussy.
I’ve swallowed two, maybe three, inches and already I feel stuffed fuller than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m no longer breathing just repeating “Fuck, yes” endlessly over and over as Pippa, fingers now flicking back and forth across my completely exposed clit, starts sliding ‘Mr Shaft’ in and out of my soaking slit; and with every gentle thrust, she buries him just a little deeper into my hot, sticky vaginal passage.
Four inches; she’s picking up the pace as the tension beneath my quivering clitoris mounts.
I hold my breath as Mr Shaft’s head slides down the corridor of my desire.
And my pussy muscles spasm about his cold, cum slick, rubber shaft.
He’s nudging deeper; ploughing his way through my swollen pussy walls, my lips forced wider causing tiny, tormenting tentacles of pain to intermingle with the spikes of pleasure emanating from my abused clitoris.
Six inches and still he tunnels deeper; hurrying now, eager to press his massive head against the delicate entrance to my cervix. Pippa’s guiding hand becoming more insistent as she thrusts him harder and faster into squelching, dribbling, little me.
Sweat beads on my top lip, air has become scarce, I can hardly breath and I’m turning beetroot red as the pressure in my pussy transfers to my diaphragm. My stomach muscles clench spastically, my splayed legs shaking helplessly in mid air as my hips rock in time to Pippa’s rhythmic thrusting.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes.”
I’m nearly screaming; rolled over on my back, helpless like a beetle unable to right itself, skewered on a huge, unforgiving, relentless rubber dick that is hammering down into my poor, defenceless, orgasming pussy.
“I’m … I’m … I’m …”
Pippa is merciless; frenziedly fucking me, filling me again and again and again in a spiralling crescendo as her fingers vibrate across the red , swollen nub of my stiff clit.
I’m losing control. My body a badly managed marionette; arms, legs, stomach and head all shaking and twitching unnaturally as ‘Mr Shaft’ releases the endless pleasure trapped between my legs and the orgasm I’ve waited so patiently over so many months for Pippa to provide me explodes throughout my mewing, moaning, panting, screaming, quivering little body.
At which point, I guess, I might’ve cum.
And that, dear reader is the story Pippa wanted me to tell you. Of course there could be more; certainly she was most insistent that we both shared ‘Mr Shaft’ afterwards and it was a good while before we both crawled, exhausted and well fucked, into her comfy bed where I fell quickly asleep, the soft pillows of Pippa’s breasts warm against my back, her arm encircling my petite waist and her breath hot on my neck.
But anything further will have to wait for another ‘Blog’ because now I’m completely out of words and time.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.