How Did You Learn To Love Fellatio? Ch. 06

This chapter wasn't intended, but an anonymous comment on chapter 5 asked why Mark didn't ask Peggy's sister the question: "How did you learn to love cocksucking?" That had also occurred to me while I was browsing the chapter prior to submitting it. Their relationship didn't seem to suggest that Mark would ask her. I thought that maybe after she had sucked his cock for the second time their last day together, and if they had been lying in bed recovering, he could have, but they weren't. They just got dressed and returned to town.

I find it intriguing that chapter 4 has been been clicked on by so many fewer readers than chapter 5, but better rated. The description doesn't promise cocksucking, and there isn't any. The ratings by those who have read it show that they enjoyed the build-up, as did I, writing it. But I can understand the greater interest with cocksucking,

Since someone else also had the idea of Mark's asking Peggy's sister about that, I have given my fantasy free rein. There is no underage sexual activity in this story. If a reader thinks so: "Honi soit qui mal y pense," ("Shamed be the person who thinks evil of it."). After rereading, revising and expanding the story, I recognize that there could be women who might take umbrage at this explanation of her love for cocksucking, maybe even that she does. I doubt, however, that they would choose to read the stories with this title. My apologies, if a woman with that attitude does.

* * *

All toddlers have an oral fixation: suckling mom's breasts, then the bottle and pacifier, their thumbs. Peggy's sister didn't just suck her thumb. Her mom had to watch out that she didn't put other things in her mouth. She really loved to suck the pistol handle cheese knife. Mom let her do that, since it was blunt and too big for her to swallow. That was after she had learned to keep lipsticks and the like out of her little daughter's sight and reach.

She sucked her thumb longer than most kids, even after she was teased about it in first grade, then just not doing it in public. She still did, however, when she was despondent, when she was enjoying reading her first grade "Dick and Jane" book.

(I will assume that the authors of those books didn't imagine what the title suggests in the context of this website.)

She seldom fell asleep without her thumb in her mouth. One morning, she saw a cock for the first time, just Dad's morning woody, about level with her face. Of course, nothing happened. It looked so big, that she didn't even think about sucking; it didn't tickle her oral fixation. It did leave a lasting image in her visual memory, however.

She had a fantastic (this is all fantasy) oral fixation; everything long and round, especially with a knob at the end, looked to her like something to suck. The pistol handle cheese knife was a prime example. Mom probably didn't know why she liked felt-tip pens and highlighters so much. She preferred to suck them with the cap end in her mouth, so her tongue could lick around the clip. Once, she was doing that with her fountain pen, twisting it with her hand, and suddenly the cap came off. She almost swallowed it and was more careful after that.

Then she was old enough that Mom had to tell her about the birds and the bees; not enough (why she later told Peggy more than either of them had heard from their mother). She suddenly remembered having seen Dad's cock, envisioning that it had grown with her, twice as big as it had been, when she was half the size she was. To explain that, although it wasn't her thought back then or later, that her fingers still couldn't reach around it. Of course, she knew it couldn't be that big, but her childhood image of it stuck in her visual memory, much too big to do what she thought Mom had been talking about, and much too big to want to suck; it was just similar to the things she had liked to suck.

She hadn't sucked her thumb for years, but when she discovered what all girls eventually discover feels good, she started sucking it again, with more relish, her tongue rubbing everywhere it could. By then, she had revised her image of the size of a cock – not her Dad's, any cock, all of them – to something that might fit, now through girl-talk understanding what her mom had been talking about. That was much more interesting to speculate about; a cock wasn't something to be sucked, even if it was shaped liked that.

And then – but then! – she saw her first one freshman year in college. They had gotten that far, and he was fumbling to get a rubber out of its wrapping. She stared at his bobbing cock, and suddenly it all came back to her in a flash – overcame her: something to suck, not too big to put in her mouth, so nice and round with an almost shiny knob!

Before he could say "What the fuck!" it was in her mouth. No tentative licking, her lips slipped around it, and her tongue found where it had unknowingly been practicing on the clips of her felt tips. He did then say that, said it again, just a few seconds before he came.

She knew enough to expect that. Sure, it tasted very strange, but sucking a cock was so much better that anything she had ever sucked before. This was it! This was what she had subconsciously always wanted to suck, and she continued to enjoy the ultimate realization her oral fixation.

He groaned and complained, wanting her to stop, but she just couldn't. Then he repeated his words in a resigned tone and let her. She finally drew her head back after his second orgasm. She licked her lips, now embarrassed that she had so spontaneously surprised him, but then was aware that her pussy was aroused like it never had been before without her rubbing it.

When she told him that she still wanted to fuck – without using that word – he was then embarrassed. He looked at his sagging cock and murmured that he couldn't. She wanted it, needed it, and sucked it again with delight. He was surprised: three different ways; that she had openly said that she wanted to; that she had then started to suck his cock again; and that she apparently thought it could want to after two orgasms. As his surprise about her again sucking it faded, he was still surprised that she had so openly insisted that she wanted to fuck, then wondering if she had more experience, if she knew that his cock could want to after two such good orgasms.

When they had taken off most of each other's clothes, they had both admitted that it would be their first time. He couldn't know that sucking his cock and feeling him come in her mouth had made her pussy so aroused. When his cock twitched in her mouth, he forgot his questions about her experience and whether his cock could want to. Her pussy was again aroused, when she looked up at him triumphantly and told him that she still wanted to and that he now could. He didn't say it again – "What the fuck!" – just thought it, and they did.

It was, of course, much, much better than it would have been, if she hadn't sucked his cock, since it took so long and also satisfied her. Afterwards, they were both very pleased with themselves and each other, admitting that they had heard about bad first times, agreeing that theirs had been so much better.

(Don't expect him to ask the question. Poor guy, lucky as he was, for the next fifty years, his sex life was disappointed by the hope he would find a woman who was so eager to suck his cock.)

She thought that she should love him, since they were having sex every Saturday evening, but she wanted to see another cock. At least, that was the way she thought about it to herself, telling herself that she was just curious to "see" another one, wondering if all cocks looked the same, wondering how they could differ.

In one lecture course, she usually sat in the same seat, as did others, also the student who usually sat next to her. She realized that she had started to suck on her pencil, when she wasn't taking notes. Then she noticed that he was doodling in the margin of his notebook, sketching something that looked like the mushroom cloud of an atomic explosion. That related vaguely to the subject of the course. During the next lecture, she sketched her version of that and stuck her pencil in her mouth.

He noticed and drew something that looked more like a mushroom, one with a flat top. She drew one with a more domed cap and a slender stem.

This was going on between taking notes. At the end of the lecture, he quickly drew one like hers but with a thicker stem. At the next lecture, he surprised her by drawing three circles in a triangle, the one at the top larger than the other two. When he added mouth and eyes in the top circle, she reached over and put dots in the middle of the lower circles. They both chuckled silently. She drew another mushroom, this time with a thick stem and almost round cap. The lecture ended. As they were gathering up their books, they both smirked. They had never spoken to each other, didn't know each other's name.

At the next lecture, although they had both started a new page for their notes, they slid them back to see their previous drawings, then silently chuckling again. When she drew three circles, he drew her mushroom with its round cap. Before she could add eyes and mouth, he reached over and put dots in the lower circles. She felt her nipples pop out. She reached over and added an inverted V to the bottom of the circle that was the cap of his mushroom. When she then drew a light line down from the vertex of the V, he hummed softly. Her thighs twitched, when she realized what she had done. He hummed again and added a vertical line below the three circles of his previous drawing.

Her thighs twitched together again, and she nodded with a hum. They glanced at each other, shrugging but smiling. Their notes for that lecture were rudimentary.

Two-timing, while she was sucking and fucking every Saturday would be a problem. She didn't really want to two-time, she told herself – just see another cock.

Their notes for the following lecture were just as poor. When they looked at their sketches, she drew hips around the line he had added below the circles that she had drawn. With a silent chuckle, he reached over and added a slightly curved line to his first one. She hummed and added a tongue to the smile in the top circle. He hummed with a nod and then added some squiggles at the base of the mushroom that she had enhanced with the inverted V. They both more moaned than hummed, almost inaudibly, of course.

When he reached under his note book and fumbled, she smirked to herself and reached over and added two connected curved lines under his squiggles, an inverted MacDonald's sign. He nodded, fumbling some more in his lap, and her thighs twitched. That lecture also ended, but they smirked at each other as they stood up.

At the next lecture, when they sat down together, they grinned and nodded and opened their notebooks. He shrugged with a smirk and drew an arrow from the "mushroom" in his book in the direction of hers. She grinned back and drew an arrow back, first one from where he had drawn two lines, then with a silent snicker from the face with a tongue.

He almost snickered out loud. The lecture started. Between taking notes, he wrote in the margin: "S M T W T F S," and crossed out the last S. She nodded and also crossed it out, and they exchanged slight nods. His pencil pointed at one of the other weekdays, and then he drew a little clock face. She nodded, then shaking her head at where his pencil pointed. It moved to the next day of the week. She thought a moment, and wrote a time on the margin of her notebook. He shook his head, and his pencil moved to the next day. She shook her head again. He shrugged, and his pencil moved further. She nodded and wrote a time. He hummed, and his other hand disappeared under his notebook. Her thighs twitched. He nodded, and she did again.

She blushed at the realization they were agreeing on a rendezvous – or was it an assignation, a tryst? – without having exchanged a word, without even knowing each other's name, and not just for a date! His putting his hand under his notebook made it clear that he thought it was about what their sketches suggested. Her thighs twitched again. Did he have to notice so pointedly with an "um-hmm"?

Her notes for that lecture were useless. When they closed their notebooks, they both held them for a moment so that the other could see their name, and he ran his finger under his campus address.

So, they were going to do it in his room, she thought, nodding slightly.

Their rendezvous was the following week. She remembered that he had immediately crossed out Saturday and that she then also had. Did he also have a regular date, and one like hers? This was too wicked! Was it better or worse that they both knew Saturday was scratched through? She rationalized that it was better, that whatever they did was just that, not more. But wasn't that really wicked?! What would his cock look like? What would it be like when they met at the next lecture, before the day they had agreed on?

He smiled at her when he sat down. She smiled back, feeling that she was blushing. He opened his notebook to fresh page and wrote a question mark in the margin. She wrote one in her notebook. He looked at his and held his pencil over it, moving it to suggest he could cross it out. She shook her head and made a fat exclamation mark of hers, making a circle of the dot. She was really blushing, but thinking that if had gotten this far, and if he wanted to, why not, then realizing that he couldn't know that she just wanted to see his cock. If he let her see it like she wanted to see it, he was going to expect they would do more, and she had virtually committed herself to. Her thighs twitched. He was also revising his question mark to a fat exclamation mark, and worse, adding a small circle at the top so that it looked like that mushroom.

Yeah, they were going to do it, she thought; it was going to be even more embarrassing to back out now. She drew two circles above her exclamation mark and put dots in the middle of them, and looked over at him. He nodded with a slight smirk and reached over and added hips around her exclamation mark. It suddenly didn't look like one any more. She wondered if the little circle at the bottom was supposed to represent her asshole.

He wrote another question mark. She reached over and crossed it out, thinking: now or never; you wanted to see it, he wants to let you. He turned up the cover of her notebook and looked at her campus address, then wrote below their sketch a time fifteen minutes earlier than the time they had agreed. She nodded with a smile – and rosy cheeks – and her thighs twitched again.

Before that time, washing her pussy, she considered that she could still back out, wondering what he would say when he met her. They would finally have to speak to each other.

He greeted her by name, looking a little embarrassed, and she greeted him by name, also looking a little embarrassed. They started walking, then he murmured:

"I don't know if we should do this."

"I don't either, but, well, it seemed like we both wanted to."

He nodded with a shrug and admitted:

"Yes, it did. Hmm? Funny, well sort of, flirting without words."

"Um-hmm, funny. We sure were flirting."

"For a couple of weeks."

"Longer than, well, some couples do – just flirt."

"That makes it sound better? We still don't have to; I can take you for a cup of coffee or something."

"If you don't want to, but I was thinking we did."

"I was too, but .... Oh, this is too funny!"

"It is!" she agreed, and they both chuckled, almost laughing.

They walked on, both seeming more relaxed, she felt. To say something, she said:

"We both crossed out Saturday."

"Hmm?! Um-hmm," he agreed with a nod, looking a little embarrassed again.

"For the same reason? Like this?" she asked.

"Why we shouldn't – I, at least," he replied looking over at her questioningly.

"Me too, 'like this', but when we were flirting, that didn't seem to bother either of us."

"It didn't, but did you think it would get this far?"

"No, but I began to like that it did. Oh, after the last lecture, it really hit me, what we were agreeing to. A rendezvous, assignation, the words popped in my head, also a tryst."

"Hm-hmm! More like a tryst, sounds more surreptitious."

"I guess that's the right word for it, a surreptitious tryst."

"If we call it surreptitious, then the other words are just as good."

"Um-hmm," she agreed, chuckling and smiling at him.

They walked on, having passed where they could have turned to the shops for coffee. She chuckled softly and said:

"I like that, 'surreptitious'. Isn't that what we were assuming, when we crossed of Saturday?"

"I guess so, not sure I was thinking so much."

"Just flirting, like we never could have with words."

"Not in a lecture hall!"

"Oooh! I don't know what I could have said, would have dared to say, that our doodling suggested."

"I don't either! Oh, it was fun, not just funny."

"I thought so too," she agreed.

When their hands brushed, she took his. He squeezed it, and they walked the last bit to where his room was, exchanging clasps.

"We're going to do it!" she thought, wondering what he thought they were going to do. The obvious, of course, but what had he thought, when she had added that line from the face on her notebook in the direction of the "mushroom" in his? Had she really done that, suggesting to him, admitting to herself that she didn't just want to see his cock? What would it look like?

At the door to his building, she squeezed his hand. He looked at her, and she nodded. He clasped her hand and and opened the door and led her to his room. When he had closed the door, they looked at each other with quizzical expressions. She glanced around, taking in his bed and desk, then laughed nervously and said:

"You want to know how this all really started? I wanted to see another one, see if they all looked the same."

He laughed, maybe less nervously, and replied:

"They don't, not in the locker room, anyway, and – shouldn't assume anything – but I haven't seen any of them like that – like you probably mean."

"Just one," she replied with a nod, staring at his crotch.

"If you just want to see it?"

"Probably not," she replied and crossed her arms to pull up her sweater.

"More like in the locker room," he murmured and found his belt buckle.

They both shrugged with wry smiles and a chuckle. When he began to unbuckle his pants, her hands didn't pull up her sweater, grasping her skirt and twisting it around, so that she could unzip it. They stumbled out of their shoes and stepped out of their lower clothing. His shirt still hid his shorts from her view. When she then pulled up her sweater, he began to unbutton his shirt. When she could look again, she saw that his cock was only swollen in his jockey shorts.

"Locker room," she murmured with a smirk.

"Not quite, any more," he replied.

"That's good," she remarked, reaching back to unhook her bra.

As she let the straps slip off her shoulders, she added:

"Also 'not quite', definitely not," and her bra slid down, revealing her aroused nipples.

He hummed with a nod. His shirt and her bra landed somewhere. She thought his cock was even more swollen, liking that it was. They looked at each other. She held her breasts, not covering her erect nipples. He hummed again. She saw that his cock was wanting to escape being down in his shorts. She murmured:

"Looks like I maybe could just see it, ... to find out."

Her hands slid down and twitched at the elastic of her panties. His also did, as he replied:

"I'm pretty sure," he agreed.

When she began to shove down her panties, he shoved down his shorts. Before his cock was free to spring up, she murmured: