If I’d had even a little less willpower, I’d have had her knickers off, and she wouldn’t have even wanted to stop me; feeling as wanton as I did. It was the first time since childhood that I had sucked on a pair of tits as well, and there was something indescribably sexy about doing so. I’d sucked my mother’s as a baby, seeing as that was what they were intended for. My mother insisted on breast-feeding both my brother and myself, because that was what nature intended.
After we’d both got dressed again I said to her, "If you blush like that before I’ve even got your bra off honey, what are you going to be like when you drop your knickers for me on your birthday, as you’ve said you want to do?"
"I’ll probably blush even more, at showing you my fanny, but I will drop them for you, and I will let you make love to me, because it is what I want to do."
We got to the turned on stage all too often, but with sufficient willpower Joanna reached her eighteenth birthday with her cherry intact, but we both wanted that to change soon after. There was one night, a few weeks before her birthday, after a night out on the town, we got home and she put a hand up my skirt, and, for the first time, quite unmistakably reached for my fanny through the gusset of my knickers. "You know, Katie, I think I’m going to quite enjoy slipping my tongue into this little honeypot. Will you let me lick your fanny tonight, baby?"
"You’re too young for that."
"No Katie, I’m too young to let you stick a strap-on cock into my fanny, if you owned one. I’m not too young to lick yours, or let you lick mine. Please baby; you know I want to lick you out!"
Her logic was good, and she was right on that score. I’d let my first real boyfriend see and suck my tits at thirteen, and then he started to poke and lick my fanny when I was fourteen. At the same age I’d first started sucking his cock and swallowing his spunk, so did it really make much difference if I licked Joanna’s fanny when she was still sweet, virginal seventeen?
As long as it didn’t go further than that, then, no of course it didn’t. "Let’s go into the living room, honey, and then you can pull my knickers down and lick my fanny to your heart’s content," I told her.
"Will you teach me what I’m supposed to do, to pleasure you?"
"I’ve never licked a fanny myself, so I’m not really sure."
"You’ve had yours licked before though, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ll be able to tell me what to do, won’t you. I’ll do what you say."
"Perhaps it might be best if I licked yours first, to show you what to do."
I didn’t get the chance to use my tongue; I was quickly but gently pressed up against the living room wall, and Joanna quite roughly yanked my knickers down around my ankles for me to step out of. She seemed quite surprised that I had shaved off all my pubes, so my fanny was bald. I’m not really sure how I looked; holding my skirt up out of the way, while directing my seventeen year old girlfriend in the art of fanny licking.
When Joanna had given me a climax, and it was time for me to return the favour, she stood up and walked across the living room to the couch and lay back on it. Then visibly blushing with a mix of embarrassment and shyness, she hitched her skirt up and pulled her knickers down for me, exposing a triumphant red bush and a tight virginal fanny.
She invited me to use my fingers on her fanny, to loosen it up for the dildo we were going to buy later on. Her fanny was wet and warm, and oh so tight around my fingers. Joanna’s sense of humour was great, but sometimes she picked the wrong subject. That day, after I’d stuck two fingers into her fanny, she jokingly asked me how long it had been since a partner had begged me to get my knickers off, just to lick me out; rather than actually have sex with me, which she did want to do, and would do when it was legal. I didn’t like the concept that I’d made her beg for anything. I actually apologised if I’d given her that impression. That wasn’t what I wanted her to think. "With the exception of sex before your birthday, I’ll give you anything you can reasonably want. That, I promise you, with all of my heart," was what I told her that night.
She asked me for one promise; a nice simple one. "Poke my fanny every night, lover? I’ll lick yours if you do. I want to be ready to be taken on my birthday. I want to be ready for you to enter me that very night, and not get hurt too much."
"I’ll do my very best not to hurt you, honey. I’ll be very gentle with you when the time comes; I promise you I will."
From then on we did the same virtually every night, yet we didn’t sleep in the same bed. In fact we didn’t do anything in either bedroom together, although we both admitted to poking ourselves during some nights, and imagining that it was the other one doing the poking. We deliberately refused to buy a strap-on dildo until the day of Joanna’s birthday, so there could be no temptation after a night out; or after a night in for that matter. If we had nothing to use to have sex, then we clearly couldn’t have sex.
Five weeks down the line, after a night out on the town, to celebrate Joanna’s birthday, we arrived home with only one thought on our minds; sex! I was going to claim Joanna’s virginity. We stumbled into my bedroom, literally tearing at each other’s clothes, until we were both entirely naked, and we reached for the double-ended dildo we’d bought especially for the purpose that very afternoon. Joanna had already decided that I was going to be on top; I was going to be the dominant partner, being the one who had a job. The facts that I was nine years older, four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier also had something to do with it. As I looked down at Joanna lying on what had just become our bed, she looked so small and vulnerable. It was a big bed in an equally big bedroom, and it dwarfed her five foot, three inch; size eight, frame.
I’d never had sex with a woman before and it was a little strange, really burying my face in a hairy fanny and going at it for all I was worth with my tongue. It was also a lot of fun as I listened to Joanna whimpering. She smelled divine, and tasted the same way. I quite quickly realised that I liked the smell of what my first serious boyfriend called, "a dirty little girl." I suppose he was right about me, too. At the age of fourteen, I was lying on his bed, bra and knickers in my handbag, skirt up around my waist and my blouse open, all of my girlie parts on display, ready to be touched, probed, licked or sucked, and they certainly were.
I had been a dirty little girl, hadn’t I? Originally, I’d dropped my knickers for him as a Christmas present, and quite enjoyed having my fanny poked, so I continued to let him poke it on a regular basis. I’d been getting my tits out for him for a few months by then already. What would his parents have thought if they’d caught us at it; their sixteen year old son with two fingers in his fourteen year old girlfriend’s fanny on his bed? Let alone what they’d have thought if they’d seen him with his cock in her mouth, never mind actually spunking into her mouth for her to swallow. He wanted to put his cock in my fanny as well, but I wasn’t having that; at fourteen I figured I was too young to screw.
A few months later I made the mistake of letting him find out that my GP had prescribed me the oral contraceptive pill as a remedy for my headaches, so he figured that it would be safe to have sex me without risk of my becoming pregnant, and began to pester me for sex. I refused, and threatened to dump him if he didn’t stop pestering me.
I made another mistake by promising him my unprotected fanny on the night of my sixteenth birthday, if we were still together, and on the condition that he gave me a good night out to celebrate. I got plenty of presents and a good night out, and was then taken to his brother’s flat, and shagged over the arm of the settee, because we weren’t allowed to use the bedroom. Not exactly what a teenage virgin should have expected for her first time, but it sufficed for both of us. Inconsiderate twat that he was, he boasted to everyone about what I had agreed to let him do, although if I had known what he was telling people, I may well have reneged on my part of the bargain. I had expected a little discretion, after all! As it was, he got me home a bare five minutes before my midnight deadline, and as everyone found out within a few days, when I got there, I had no knickers on under my short skirt and my fanny was full to overflowing with his spunk. He claimed to be surprised that my parents hadn’t heard the filthy squelching noises from my well-spunked fanny as I walked into the house! He’d had his cock in my mouth as usual, but he wouldn’t spunk there. He said he was saving it all to put in my fanny, and as the boasts said, he spunked in there no less than four times, and apparently I looked so dirty as the spunk trickled out after he’d squirted it into my fanny.
He’d wanted to me up the arse as well, but with a cock as big as his, I told him that that there was no way in hell he was doing that. I’d been worried enough about its effects on my virginal fanny, and that was designed to have a cock shoved inside it! It didn’t hurt though, and I was thankful for the time and effort he’d lavished on my fanny for the previous eighteen months or so, making sure that I was ready to shag. As I said to him, nature didn’t give me an arsehole to have a cock shoved up it; that was what Mother Nature designed fannies to do! I’d enjoyed my first ever shagging, so as long as I got more pleasure, he could give me a lot more of them.
Within eight months of that night, I was single again. I went to his little flat to surprise him. I surprised both of them! It was an unpleasant surprise for me too; finding my boyfriend shagging a woman old enough to be his mother, on the living room floor! To make matters worse, he wasn’t wearing a condom, so I had little idea of what he might have given me. I dumped him on the spot, despite his protests of it being the first time, and his pleading and his begging for a second chance. The odds of it being the first time were remote, and I’d have had to have been a fool to believe him. Being a smart girls, I get myself checked out at the local pox-doctor, and and the tender age of sixteen, that was bloody humiliating!
I liked the unique odour of a wet fanny in front of my nose, and the taste of it on my tongue. She tasted so sweet too! I understood why a fanny was often called a honeypot, because of the sweet taste of fanny-juice. I hadn’t been laid in more than a year and despite having Joanna’s tongue in my fanny every night for the previous few weeks, I was missing the sex. However, seeing as I was living with my girlfriend, I couldn’t cheat on her and go out to get laid. I wouldn’t anyway, because I’ve been cheated on before, and I know how much it hurts. Besides which, I’ve never done a one-night stand, just for the sex. Being licked out was all well and good, but nothing beats a long, hard cock, shoved as far as it will go. Well, I wasn’t going to miss it anymore, even if the cock was made of latex rubber.
That night, just before we first made love, I promised to be very gentle with the young woman I was about to have sex with. I understood, the way no boy or man ever could, the feelings of anxiety a virgin girl often had. She was wondering about the sensation of having our new rubber cock inserted in her tight, virginal fanny. She saw that it was eight inches in length, and it looked positively huge. She was wondering where it was going to fit within her lower abdomen. Just as I had been many years ago, Joanna was anxious yet excited. She had reached the age where her partner could legally have sex with her, and that was what she wanted. To be fair though, she wasn’t the only anxious one in that bedroom. I was worried that I might unintentionally hurt her, as I pushed the rubber cock inside her.
After I served Joanna breakfast in bed, I asked her what she wanted for afters. I got what I could only describe as a dirty laugh, and the answer, "I want to suck your boobs and lick your lovely bald fanny of course. Come over here and stick it in my face before you make love to me again." I was still tired after the last night, but I performed like a good ‘husband’, and gave her another orgasm.
I knew than, if I didn’t already, that I truly loved that eighteen year old girl. "How are we going to tell your parents," I asked, later that day.
"We don’t. I already have."
"What did they say?" I wanted to know.
"They told me that you and I were both little better than perverts, and they disowned me on the spot. That’s why they haven’t been round recently."
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. "I don’t need them anyway, as long as I have you, oh love of my life," was what Joanna said to me with a lovely smile on her face.
We discussed how we were going to tell my friends about what we had become. We decided that a demonstration was the order of the day, so the next night out, in our usual club; Joanna planted her mouth onto mine in full view of the entire group, and grabbed a good, double handful of my arse cheeks. There were no shocked gasps, the way I had been expecting. In fact, the only words were, "Right, that’s twenty quid you owe me, Maggie." Clearly we’d been sussed a while ago, but, much to my surprise, no-one seemed to care that I’d morphed into a muff-diver.
There was only one question relating to our relationship, and Joanna answered it for me. The question was, "How long have you been shagging this little honey then Katie; six months; a year; or even longer?"
The answer was, "She’s been, as you put it, ‘shagging me’, morning and night, since my eighteenth birthday, and that was a mere four days ago."
Joanna changed her surname by deed poll shortly after her adopted parents disowned her. She didn’t want to keep their name, to remind her of how stupid and hurtful they had been. It took her a while to choose a new name, and I was surprised when she asked my permission to take my surname. We were partners, so we may as well have the same names, even if we couldn’t marry. That brought tears to my eyes, as I realised what it meant. She had promised that she would be a good wife to me, and, like any good wife, she wanted to take my family name. Needless to say, I quite happily gave her my blessing to take my name if she wanted it.
For her eighteenth birthday, I bought Joanna a convertible Nissan Micra, the glass roofed version, as she’d only just recently passed her test. She liked Micras, seeing as that was what her driving instructor had, and what I owned, and let her drive, so it was what she’d become accustomed to driving. The car wasn’t brand new; an ex-demonstrator, about six months old, but it was still a nice looking car in a metallic dark green, complete with warranty and free servicing. It came out of my inheritance, and when Joanna took the keys from the salesman, the look on her face was worth every penny that car cost me. It was the best birthday present anyone had ever given her, and, as I had come to expect, Joanna cried. When I told her that I wanted to buy her a car, she was expecting something from a corner end used car place; a few hundred quid, maybe a grand at the most. She sure as hell wasn’t expecting what she got! Unfortunately, when she took the keys to the car, she had no insurance. I couldn’t insure it in her name without giving the surprise away. I had to drive it home for her, and then we got her insured to drive it, and I had forgotten just how expensive car insurance could be for the young, inexperienced drivers without any no-claims discount.
Being adopted, Joanna has no idea about her real family. Had she been taken from them by social services because they couldn’t look after her? Had they given her away voluntarily? Or was she an orphan, with no family? Prior to that day, she told me that I was the only family she needed, and had suggested that in a few years she would like us to adopt a child or two, to create a proper family. She insisted on adopting, rather than fostering, because she wanted us to keep the children for life, rather than just have different children for short times, before they went off to other homes. She wanted to be able to build a proper bond between the two of us and any children we adopted. I quite liked the idea of raising a couple of children the way I would have if I had married and let my husband make me pregnant.
We classed the name change as our wedding day, and went off on honeymoon to Quebec, in Canada. While we were there, we underwent the Canadian wedding ceremony, even though it isn’t legally binding in this country. I made the hotel reservation at the hotel where I had been a couple of times for a girls’ holiday, and as usual, I had to spell my family name.
My paternal grandfather was foreign you see. He’d arrived in Britain in 1942, a badly wounded P.O.W. from North Africa. His home was Hamburg, but when the war was over, he had nothing to go home to, seeing as his entire family had been killed by the Royal Air Force. When the war was over, he initiated a search for the nurse who saved his life, intending to thank her properly. A year or so later, they were married, and that is why my family name is Von Falkenhausen. My paternal grandfather had two sons, and taught them both their heritage.
My father taught me my heritage and his language. My brother wasn’t really interested, thinking it was all old hat. That was why when our uncle died, single and childless, I got everything; the house, the car and all the money, and my dip-shit brother got diddly-squat, and it served him right too! My German is extremely good, I just have an accent. If it wasn’t for that, I could pass for a native. I’m teaching Joanna, too, so that she can participate in the family debates. My father spent a short while in the army, and on his return from a tour of duty in Germany, of all places, he brought a pregnant, disabled wife home with him. That pregnancy was me, and was the death-knell of my father’s army career.
The meeting between my parents was extremely unusual. My mother stepped onto a road without looking, and my father ran her over in an army-issue Land Rover. Even now, my mother jokes that my father could only get a wife by breaking her legs and knocking her out first. She was paralysed in the accident, and only had good use of one arm, so clearly she couldn’t raise a child too well from her wheelchair. Father got a special reasons discharge from the army, although he was quite happy there, to look after his wife and infant daughter. My parents never denied that both myself and my brother were accidents. Mother wasn’t really able to look after children, so they had decided not to have any. However, when mother fell pregnant, they were left with little choice.
We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Joanna’s adoptive parents since she told them that we were lovers, and by now it doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. It did at the start, but she decided that if they didn’t want anything to do with her, she didn’t want anything to do with them either. She is not any kind of pervert; she is a beautiful, caring young woman, and I love her.
My own parents are quite understanding about the situation, and make Joanna feel quite welcome whenever we visit them, and they’re always friendly towards her when they visit us.
It was going to be awkward when I explained things to them, so we went around to see them when we knew my brother would be absent from the family home. When we told them what was happening, my mother propelled her wheelchair over to Joanna, wrapped her up in her embrace and simply said, "Welcome to the family."
Joanna cried at that and my mother looked at me for an explanation. "When she told her adopted parents that we were an item, they told her that she was no better than a pervert, and wanted nothing to do with her."
"The monsters!" my mother announced. "You’ll always be welcome here young lady, if Katie’s out of the area on business." That did happen on occasion, unfortunately, due to the job. When my boss went away on business, I often had to go with him, which was the downside of being a highly paid PA. There were times I’d rather not have gone, but I didn’t really have much choice. I’ve been to many foreign lands; America, Japan, Germany, France, and even Russia.
I was lucky in a way, and my partners never distrusted me while I was away with my boss. I wasn’t going to get up to any infidelity, for two reasons. My boss, at that time, was in his late fifties, (way too old for my tastes), and had a rather attractive boyfriend of his own, many years younger than he was. As I said to Joanna, "I don’t do boys any more, and he’s never done girls, so that reduces the chances of adultery to just about zero," although she never doubted my commitment to her. Joanna always trusted me to be faithful to her, and I always have been.
I guess that my parents are just broader minded people, content to accept whoever I love and whoever makes me happy. They’ve even started to jokingly refer to Joanna as my wife. I was a little surprised to hear them invite me to a family meal and instruct me to "bring the wife with you."
Joanna was over the moon with that, because it meant that she’d been accepted by my family, in a way that her own either wouldn’t, or couldn’t, accept her. My parents can’t understand Joanna’s parents’ inability to accept her for what she is, because there’s no point in trying to change her. If being in a relationship with another woman is what makes her happy, then let her be happy.
My brother, who had been making ‘lemon’ jokes, for a few weeks beforehand, was staring daggers at me all night, because he was jealous of the young beauty that was quite willing to share my bed, when the time was right. Then again, considering some of the dogs he’s pulled in his time, it wasn’t exactly any surprise. Some of them were so ugly, the only reason he could possibly want anything to do with them, was that they were dirty slags after casual sex. That was often what I told him he was as well; ‘a dirty little blonde slapper,’ and he is too. He’s always been the sort to chase anything in a skirt, and probably always will. The old joke ‘A fanny and a pulse; and the pulse is entirely optional,’ certainly applies to him, because he will screw literally anything in a skirt, between the ages of sixteen and sixty.
I hope for his sake that he stays away from Scotland! Even the blokes up there wear skirts more than I do. Whenever I’m in a relationship, I always wear trousers to work, to hide my legs. Joanna has always said that I have the most gorgeous legs she’s ever seen, and she asked me why I hide them from blokes’ eyes. I’ve never really figured out why I do that, but it’s become a way for guys at work to tell that I’m not available, and it’s also an old habit.
My brother often used the family name as a tool in trying to pull; seeing as it is an old aristocratic name, indicative of breeding, money and influence. Most of the time, it didn’t work. I used other methods. A pretty face, long blonde hair, a nice, shapely arse in a short skirt, and a pair of thirty eight inch tits in a short, tight top, and no bra, were far more effective at grabbing the attentions of the opposite sex, although I never fooled around on the first date. Blokes had to work to get me into bed, but sooner or later, I went, and I had my fun with them. None of them ever complained that I was a poor lay, and neither did my only girlfriend.
I was never unattractive, but I’m not up to Joanna’s standards of beauty; not that it bothers her. In fact, she doesn’t like the attention she gets because of her looks, and her petite, hourglass figure, but she’s just going to have to accept the fact that she is going to get the attention, whether she likes it or not; what with her forty inch tits in their DD cups, twenty-four inch waist and thirty-eight inch hips; and the fact that she is simply downright, drop-dead, gorgeous. Blokes are going to be attracted to her looks and that is all there is to it, as are a few women as well. Such is the downside to being truly beautiful.
When Joanna turned twenty-one, I took her shopping for a present suitable for her birthday. I also took her to the local office of social services and we registered ourselves as volunteering to adopt a child. As we’d only been together for three years, they were reluctant, but Joanna gave them a little more to go on. "We’ve actually been together a year and a half longer than that, but we had to sleep in separate beds due to my age. Isn’t four and a half years enough to develop a loving relationship, to raise an abandoned, neglected, or abused child in? I was adopted myself, so I know how it feels to be raised by people who aren’t your own family. When I told them that I was a lesbian, they disowned me, and I intend to do better than that!"
After almost nineteen months, our names came to the top of the adoption list, and we adopted a little baby girl, Daniela, only a few weeks old. She’d been abandoned by her mother in a hospital car park on a summer’s night, with a note explaining things. Seeing as her mother wasn’t traced, she went into the adoption program, and came to us. Now we are parents, and it still feels a little funny to me. We vowed to ourselves that we would be good parents.
Danni grew up with us and started to address Joanna as "mummy," and that was wonderful to hear. Yet again, little Miss. Sensitive Soul broke down into tears when that happened. Obviously, Danni will have to be told the truth at some point, and that’ll be rather hard for us to do, I think, but we’ll have to do it. It’ll only be fair to her after all to tell her the truth; that mummy isn’t mummy.
Joanna is a first class mother; no doubt about that. She took to the role like a duck to water. Whenever Danni woke up in the middle of the night in need of changing, or wanting feeding, Joanna was there; no complaints, or curses. She wouldn’t let me do anything at times like that; "Get some sleep baby, you’re the worker. I’m the mother of the two of us, and this is my responsibility," was the sort of thing she’d say to me if I volunteered to help, or take over from her, so I stopped volunteering.
One day I remember in particular. Joanna was in the shower and Danni started to cry. I did all that I could think of but I couldn’t get her to settle. She didn’t need changing, and she didn’t want feeding, so I was unable to figure out what to do. After a few minutes, Joanna walked into the room and said, "It’s ok baby-kins, mummy’s here now." By the time she picked Danni out of my arms, and rested her in the crook of her right arm, the screaming baby was silent!
When little Danni started school, Joanna went back to college and retook the exams she didn’t seem particularly bothered about at school, and didn’t do particularly well at. With motivation and encouragement, her results at the end of the year were substantially better than they were at school, and in between the start and finish of the college year, Joanna broke a couple of hearts because she was spoken for.
Her A-levels followed, she did well on those too. She wants to go to university soon, and get more qualifications, and meet more people. She didn’t have many friends when I met her, but now she’s doing far better at being outgoing, even if most of her friends from college are noticeably younger than she is. She is the group’s matriarch due to her age, and even she finds that to be funny.
This story was taken from one these sites, check them out to find more sex stories:
https://aryion.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=18&t=31025&start=3840#p2978586
http://www.aus99forum.com/showthread.php?66790-What-s-everyone-listening-to-at-the-moment&p=2895426#post2895426
https://community.apachefriends.org/viewtopic.php?f=16&t=83619
https://www.boote-forum.de/showthread.php?p=5478629#post5478629
https://forums.animeuknews.net/threads/new-here.20813/
