04:10 A.M. 22nd 2009
By Reading this, you acknowledge that it's intended for adults only, like the rest of the work of tinafosteruk@gmail.com
Now, please do remember this is just adult fantasy, if you're not old enough to read this, or if this sort of thing isn't for you, "why are you here?? Go away..."
To those who enjoy reading these, thank you for your attention. It's appreciated. ..
"Should've said.."
Chapter One -- Mike and The Pokie thing
Mike walked down the drive and went behind our bungalow, on the back patio where he'd learnt his bike behind the bench-seat, beneath my old bedroom window and the room that was now the computer room; and, to the right of the three wheelie-bins.
After the cans we'd drunk, he was wobbling, as was I as I put the key in the gates lock and, couldn't find the device he used to switch on his battered backlight.
"I can't find the pokey-thing!" I heard him exclaim, in the dark of the night.
Then he said it again, realising I'm sure, how my mind would take onboard what he had said: and he would've been right. I was laughing, albeit quietly.
I was still laughing as he walked up the drive and, approached me pushing his bike.
"An I've heard that one before," I told grinning, as I looked over my right shoulder.
For a moment the light-hearted badinage took on an undercurrent that'd not been there before and, he added with a nervous smile, "So, I guess I missed my birthday blowjob?"
And, as he mounted his bike, I looked on and said with a grin, "Should've said something earlier."
Then as he rode away I heard Mike laugh, "Now he tells me."
It was getting cold and the air promised rain, as I entered the kitchen wondering; wondering why I was still wondering about it.
Chapter Two -- The Return Of The Pokie-thing
It was three days later when Mikes pokie' thing rose again. He'd come round in time for our usual film evening,' in time for its 7:30 start.
And, within less than ten minutes, the `pokie' showed itself, as it were.
He was sitting on the edge of the single bed, the screen on a shelf on his left eye-line; and my right, from where I sat cross-legged on the floor.
The coffee had been finished were half-way through a can of bitter, enjoying the full-bodies taste, when Mike asked "You got a pokie thing?" Then he'd giggled, before adding, "I need to clean the pipe before wee use it again."
And, as if to evidence this, he held the brass tube to my eye-line, to show how much oil had gathered there.
We'd been smoking a nice green, a cheese variant: and maybe that pipe did need cleaning; but he'd interrupted Megan Fox, looking smoking hot.
But I'd wanted another smoke, so I'd found him a something, or other and he'd done the do, chunnering throughout.
Finally he'd made a point of saying to me, "I've cleaned your pokie thing."
Laughing at his remark, he'd handed me some skins, smeared in oil, with which to make a joint.
Reaching for the remote I'd pressed pause and turned to face Mike with a scowl on my face; and, a grin in my dirty mind.
"Tell you what Mike," I began, "I've been waiting ages to see this download of `Revenge Of The Fallen', so if you shut up, I'll satisfy your pokie-thing..."
He'd looked at me blankly, so I'd continued: ""Once this is over," I told him, "you wash your cock. And, while you do I'll get changed. Then when you come back in, if you don't laugh at how I'm dressed; I'll suck you off, or you can fuck me. Alright?"
For a second Mike sat there open-mouthed, then I added, "So what do you say? Does you pokie thing want to cum?"
I'd seen Mike topless, when I'd given him a massage: he's a bear of a man. So as I'd waited for an answer, I'd found myself wondering whether his size and girth would match the rest of him, his shoulders, arms thighs and gut.
And, having said what I'd needed to say, I lit the smoke I'd been building, having laid it pretty well indeed.
I'd inhaled deeply, on the sweet blue-grey smoke, then having exhaled, I asked him, "So have you made up your mind? I want to watch the end of the film."
I'd taken yet another `toke then handed Mike the joint.
"Yeah.." He'd answered dully, with a sheepishly expression on his face.
"And you'll not laugh when you see how I'm dressed, to satisfy your pokie?" I'd added, as a kind of afterthought.
He'd shaken his head, as I'd picked up the remote, "No, I won't."
"So which do you want?" I'd asked with a smile on my face, that he'd couldn't see, as I'd turned my back to him, as I pressed play.
"Do you want me to suck you off? Or, do you want to fuck, as long as you want, or as gentle, or rough as you want?" It was a straight question and, one that kept him deep in thought throughout much of the film.
Finally, as the credits rolled, I turned to him and asked the question again.
"A fuck," he had answered simply.
Chapter Three -- Dressing to meet the pokie thing
There was an air of expectation in the room that had nothing to do with the smoke, or the climax of the film; rather a climax of a whole `nother kind.
More than once through the film Mike had looked over toward me then as the credits rolled, I caught him doing so once again. And, I'd not been able to help thinking that he was thinking I was pulling his wire.
And, as we finished yet another smoke, I'd turned to him and said to him, "Well if you're still interested in filling a hole with your spunk, go wash your cock."
He sat t here with his hands clasped in his lap, in an effort I mused, to hide his arousal, "Erm sure," He said slowly.
"So do I get some of that?" I asked, pointing to the spliff, "Now at least I know you want some of the other.."
He didn't get the joke and, I'm not surprised. Mike still looked shell-shocked, as he stood and made his way round me, to get through the door and go to the bathroom.
At the door he paused and turned toward me, as if to say, "Are you sure?"
"Go on," I told him, "I'll knock when I'm ready."
So, there I stood looking at myself, opposite the door and on the side of fitted wardrobe.
Once he'd left I'd got my old stool and dragged it in front of the wardrobe.
Standing on it, I opened the cupboard and rooting amongst the childhood memories and photo albums, found the half-stuffed carrier bag I'd been looking for. Inside was `my collection;' and I'd dressed hurriedly.
After all,' I reminded myself, he isn't interested in me being passable. He just wants a good shag.'
I grinned thinking, `And I'll be a damn good shag.'
So there I stood, looking at myself in the mirror, on the side of the wardrobe, opposite the door.
I'd worn my smartest white shirt, tied off at the waist, to show off just how slim I am. With it I wore an A-line tartan skirt, with an elasticated waist, beneath which I also wore a pair of purple panties, worn reversed, so that my sex was held in comfort; and a pair of sheer pair of tight tan tights.
Finally satisfied with my appearance, I knocked on the wall to my left; and hearing the toilet flush, I realized that Mike wouldn't be long.
With that thought, I briefly wondered how long he would last, inside me,
I crossed the room and knelt on the sheepskin, by the side of the bed, the bent forward resting my chin on my clasped hands.
`He wanted his fuck,' well, I was ready for him, so I thought.
Chapter Three -- Satisfying the pokie thing
When he entered the room a few minutes later I was standing in on the sheepskin, hands at my sides, flexing my fingers, as I waited to see his reaction.
I was a tall fellow, about 6'1" with a slim build and as I found out later, a very nice circumcised cock of about 7" in length, hidden inside my panties and kept in place by my tights. And, as he stared at me, my nipples almost ached for attention, with my sphincter kinda twitching at the prospect of what was to `cum.'
Mike didn't laugh, or smirk; instead he smiled, eyes wide: "Not bad," he said with a bit of grin.
"So what now?" He asked.
"Well you did you didn't laugh," I said noticing him rubbing his right hand over his trackie bottoms: "So you get your pokie thing satisfied, if you want?"
He nodded dumbly, running his free hand through over his scalp, bristles of hair showing through.
"What should I do?" He asked apprehensively.
"Just take your trackies, if you want, while I get ready for you..." I explained slowly.
"Get ready for me? Whattcha mean?" He queried.
I knelt in the sheepskin, the locker a few inches to my left, pulled my skirt up over my buttocks, then eased my tights and panties down my recently shaved flesh.
And, with my gaze directed toward him, I parted my butt-cheeks.
"There, I'm ready," I told him simply.
And, slappin my left buttock, I beckoned Mike over.
He was still wearing his tee and, a sweat-shirt, and an off-white pair of sports socks.
And, a smile: "Yeah, I do."
Mike just looked at me, seemingly transfixed by my, or should I say, my exposed ass?
"Well you washed for me, didn't you?" I asked with a smile playing on my lips and, in my eyes.
"Yes, I did," he answered, nodding as if to emphasise his words.
"So come here and fuck my ass-pussy," I told him, sliding my left hand over my left buttock flesh, and his eyes widened. He wanted me.
That was alright with me, I wanted his cock inside me, it seemed from the size of my own erection, pressed against the duvet cover.
"Your what?" He asked, still unmoving.
"My ass pussy," I told him, gliding fingers from my left hand onto the crack of my arse.
I slid my middle and ring finger past the well-lubed sphincter-muscles and moaned quietly with the pleasure I found from doing this; preparing myself for his entry.
Oh-it-was-nice, but I wanted to make a point: it was on offer and, I enjoyed what I was offering him.
And, maybe my fingering myself was just the very incentive Mike needed?
He kicked off his well-worn trainers, and then quickly slid off his track-suits bottoms and, blue, cotton boxer shorts.
And I grinned, noticing how the foreskin had retracted a little, to show the bulbous read end, already seeking pre-cum.
Mike now obviously wanted this as much as I did.
And with the left side of my face resting on the back of my right hand, I watch as he takes a few steps toward me, then kneels cautiously between my calves, his hard shaft in his right hand.
I withdrew my fingers, and without asking, I move his fingers aside and take hold of his warm flesh myself.
My fingers reached round to encompass his warm shaft.
As I held his flesh, it swelled in my hand, the girth felt enormous.
"I'm not queer," I heard him say, somewhere above me.
"I know," I murmured into reassurance, "but you do want to fuck your sissy-girls ass-pussy, don't you?"
Rubbing his shaft between my recently shaved lube-slick buttocks, kinda sensuously, I'm pleased to hear his gasps of pleasure: and then I press the head against my pucker, which needs, needs him to fill me.
I rest my face against the beds duvet, and holding my rounded buttocks apart eased his hard cock passed my really well-lubed tight sphincter, quite unable to withhold a light groan of pleasure. Sure it had hurt a little, but I was also so aroused, feeling like the slut I can so enjoy being, on occasion.
"Oh yeah, that's nice," Mike muttered, holding still a moment, just enjoying the feel of my ass-pussing around his hard shaft, as I tightened my muscles, enjoying him being where he was. I was cock, an he was cock, pure and simple; and I loved it.
And a groan escaped from my tightly pressed lips, as he withdrew the cock an inch and then pushed in once more. He pumped me with a rhythm, and each motion eased the pain as my rectum stretched to accommodate him.
He laid over me, his arms on the duvet either side of me as he pumped his length back and forth, his gut heavy on my buttocks.
Mike began to use his full body weight, as his speed increased as he slid back and forth, powering his strokes.
He was moaning as he started running his hand through my hair. He was not forcing me to do anything, I just think he liked my fine hair, in the throes of passion.
Suddenly he gripped my hips, tight, as I felt those tremors in his thighs when he tensed up and his seed filled me, seeking to escape around the tight fitting cock and my tight rectum.
Mike lay heavily over me, slowly shrinking within me, breathing hard against my right ear.
"Fuck, fuck fuck. That was good," I heard him mutter to himself.
Slowly he lift himself up with a loud groan, his wilting cockhead slipping from out of me, his cream dripping from me, trickling down my thigh's to puddle into the tights gathered around my thighs.