82 Nights with Christine Pt. 01

"Yes ... yes... oh fuck ... don't stop, don't you dare sto-AHH ... you're gonna--fuck! ... yeah ... oh you fucking tease, I'm gonna ... fucking ... keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgo--aiYEEEAAI!"

She let out that final wail and her whole body went rigid except for the instinctive grinding of her hips. I was completely transfixed. The only thought left in my head was the one reminding me not to slow down until Christy was spent. The rest of me could only watch in amazement as her cock finally swelled, jumped, and released the first jets of an absolute torrent of girlcum. It was so fucking much, just shot after shot, each accompanied by a guttural "AH!" I was still pumping her cock so the streaks flew off in every direction, with more force and more volume than I thought humanly possible. All over Christy, all over the furniture, and to a lesser extent all over me: one huge burst even crashed into my cheek. I was overwhelmed, but also proud: proud of the fact that I was able to bring her to such a state. At last she started to wind down as I firmly squeezed out the last of it, watching a heavy trickle cascade over my fingers.

As we slowly came back to earth I had a second to take stock. First of all, there really was cum everywhere; it wasn't just some erotic hallucination while my rational brain was in standby mode. It might have been 4 or 5 or maybe 8 times as much ejaculate as the largest load I've ever blown on my best day. Was this normal? For a futa, I mean? Is Christy just a freak? I thought: it doesn't matter, it's fine, but we definitely have some cleanup to do. And were we too loud? Fuck, I guess we'll find that out later.

But really, I told myself, we're ok. Right? I looked over at Christy, and she seemed to be feeling no pain. Still catching her breath, eyes closed, but she had by far the most the most serene aura I've ever seen around her. Of course she did. Actually it was more than that. She's laying there panting, still twitching a little, with her cock hanging out, in the middle of a damn eruption of jizz, and the idea that dashed across my brain was: she's in her element. For once she didn't seem like someone who was uncomfortable in her own skin. Maybe that thought says more about me than her. But I was fine. Wasn't I? Even if my pants stayed on it was still an extraordinary experience. And I was happy for Christine -- this seemed like a big deal for her. But I tensed up just a little when some of my old hang-ups returned. What, exactly, the hell was I doing?

I could only dwell on that question for an instant before Christie stirred and broke me from my reverie. I assumed she'd be embarrassed, or unsure, but that's not what I saw. She sat up and turned to me with a soft, warm smile that sort of made my night.

"Heh, we made a bit of a mess," she said, amused by the situation but not concerned.

"Yeah." I returned her smile. "You ok?"

"Mmmm. I am, like, so ok." I paused, not knowing what to say, and glanced around the room. When I did, Christy put her hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, Noah." I looked back at her. "Thank you." She reached out and ran her hand through my hair. Then she caught sight of the warm goopy mess still clinging to my cheek, and did something weird. Was any of this not weird? Maybe just something unexpected. Her eyes seemed to get bigger and, almost like she was fixated, she took two fingers, scooped up the hefty glob of her cum, and brought them to my lips. I wasn't disgusted, not after what I'd just done. But I was surprised. I must have just looked at her unresponsively for a moment too long as she grazed the outside of my lips, because she got this earnest look on her face, like it was really important.

"Please?" That's all she said, just above a whisper, still looking right at me with those eyes. Ooph. This didn't seem like my idea of a good time, but it couldn't be helped -- she's more seductive than I've given her credit for. I gave her a slight nod as I open my mouth a bit, and she immediately slipped her fingers, and their cargo, into my mouth. She sort of massaged my tongue for a second, but I knew what she wanted and sucked them clean as she slowly withdrew.

Ok. I'm still not sure what I think about this. There was definitely a part of me that was shouting an objection -- I'm very comfortable as someone who doesn't eat cum, you know? And the experience was too intense to just kind of ignore it and pretend nothing was happening. I mean, I've tasted my own cum before, but Christine's was just, I don't know ... thicker, sweeter, saltier ... just all-around "more." I was taken aback and a little grossed out. But I also can't deny it was viscerally exciting. In the few seconds between her cum hitting my taste buds and my sucking it to the back of my throat and swallowing, this powerful wave of erotic energy swept through me, unlike anything I can remember. I was already pretty fucking aroused, but instantly I could feel my dick become so rigid it hurt, like a flash erection, and my heart felt like it was going to crack my ribcage from the inside. I'm getting flushed just thinking about it now. Damn.

Anyway, when I looked back at Christy after this, her demure little smile was gone and she was positively beaming.

"Oh, thank you, Noah!" Much more exuberant than the first time she said it. I guess it really was a big deal to her, because she threw herself forward and gave me a tight hug and a big kiss, then practically skipped off towards the bathroom to shower and change. Seeing her like that, knowing what we just did, it was hard not to be happy in that moment: dazed, but also deeply content, even though I was now a sticky mess. I only sat for a minute before getting up to start the cleanup on myself and the living room.

Really, I must be less conflicted about the whole affair then I would have predicted. For one thing I slept like a baby afterwards, drifting off to happy thoughts of Christine. And when I saw her before she left today, I didn't feel that nagging, bullshit awkwardness I've come to expect of myself. I just felt glad to see her. Mom was around, so we couldn't talk about it, but then I'm not sure we even had to. We'd just shoot each other furtive smiles, like we were sharing a fun little secret ... which of course we were. Or are.

I don't think this should be a regular occurrence, what we just did, but somehow I also don't think I feel bad about it. And I'm still looking forward to seeing Christine again tonight. It's faint, but there's this scary/fun/sickening/eager feeling in the pit of my stomach, like just before the roller coaster reaches that first big drop. I can't remember the last time I felt like this.

June 30

It's been an odd few days. Some good, a little bad, but most notably ... kinda surreal.

First, the bad. I had my bi-monthly appointment with Dr. Morgan, and for the first time in a long time I went out of my way to hide something from her. I simply had zero appetite for telling her about what Christine and I had been getting up to since the last time I saw her. Hiding shit from your therapist is usually a bad sign, I admit, but it's only because I don't want to drive myself crazy with my usual overthinking instead of, for once, just enjoying this weird new experience. But, I don't feel great about that decision. I'll get her caught up next time, I swear.

Aside from that, things have been good. Seeing Christy cum that first time was so disorienting that my first thought was we shouldn't make a habit it of it, but I (surprisingly!) don't feel like a pushover even though we've had a repeat performance each of the last three nights. Now it just seems like the natural conclusion to our evenings, so what's there to feel bad about? We'll watch TV, chat, cuddle, etc., then at some point Christy will get all cute & playful and kind of nuzzle my neck, and say something like, "Noaahhhh..." while not-so-subtly grinding her crotch against me, and just then I really will want to help her out.

And it does feel like "helping her out." I'm sure an outside observer might find that laughable, but it's true. She's not my girlfriend, she's my friend. Fundamentally, I mean. For instance, even though I do get a charge out of the whole arrangement, I'm not touching myself while I'm working on Christy, and she sure isn't touching me either. That's not what it's about. It's about Christy, because being able to get off with another person is so obviously important to her. Whatever excitement I feel is more of a bonus.

But it's still gratifying in other ways. Every day she seems to get a little more self-assured, which is rewarding. Every night I get to see her whole body contort in ecstasy, which is fascinating. (Ok, thrilling.) And she's getting more comfortable being vocal as we go along, giving me these little compliments while I jerk her off, which are always heartwarming to hear. "Oh, that feels so good" or "You're learning so quickly" or "You were made for this, Noah." She just enjoys our nights together so intensely I wouldn't want to deny her.

(The only the thing she didn't enjoy is when I said we can't deal with a cum fountain in the living room every night. It was a sight to behold, but the cleanup was hellacious, and we seem to have permanently fucked up one of the couch cushions. So, when she cums, I've been catching her load in a big clump of tissues -- which is also a sight to behold, since it winds up being a dripping mess that weighs as much as a baseball.)

And of course it's not like I don't eventually get off as well. By the time Christy heads to her room I'm pretty keyed up, so I take care of myself before bed. Last night I didn't even wind up watching porn on my phone. I just thought about what we'd done and came in no time flat.

July 2

When I started this journal I didn't think I was starting THIS journal; I had no clue it might be this eventful or this filthy. It should have been nothing but a log of my dreary self-absorption as I sat on my ass for another three months, but then Christine rode in and saved me from that bullshit. Going back and reading what I wrote just a few weeks ago, it's so farcical, all my worrying about Christy and our nights together and the propriety of it all. I still don't know for certain what we're doing, but I have a pretty good idea, and what I do know is that it's one hell of a ride. I woke up today feeling content, even carefree -- it's been a while! -- and I know who I have to thank for that. She's aces in my book.

No doubt my new outlook is influenced by the past couple of days -- they've really cleared things up and washed away some of that ridiculous mental struggle. The night before last was wild. Christy had prompted us to start our nightly playtime ... wait, why am I being coy? Christy shot me a pointed look that told me without words to take out her giant throbbing cock and stoke it until I bring her to an inhumanly ferocious orgasm. Anyway, she had me get her off earlier in the evening than usual, a couple hours before our normal bedtime. I assumed she'd turn in afterwards, as usual, but instead she stuck around, and after freshening up we went right back to watching TV. Fine by me -- cuddling with Christine is always a pleasant way to pass a couple hours. The only thing was it broke up my routine, since normally Christy cums & goes, then I jerk off and pass out. No big deal, but I could tell my body was expecting to relieve that sexual tension following our encounter. So I was slightly on edge.

An hour or so later, Christy starts getting frisky again. This would be a new one, twice in one night, but I know the signals pretty well by now. I already knew I wasn't going to decline -- and the prospect of getting her off always carries a certain excitement -- but right then I did also feel a hint of annoyance, or entitlement. I was tired, and horny, and I'd just spent 25 minutes serving that beast a second ago. And our favors only ever go one way. For the first time, and only a tiny bit, it felt like a chore.

With just whiff of sass, I gave her a look and said, "Again?"

"Aw, don't be like that," she said, a mock-pouty expression on her face. "It's your extra-special talent, I can't help myself." She pressed herself up against me, nuzzled my neck, and whispered right in my ear: "Besides, you know you're gonna do it." She sucked on my earlobe and bit down -- almost hard enough to hurt -- and I just kind of liquefied. It wasn't much of a fight, but she won it. God damn.

So she whipped off her shorts, laid back like the Queen of Sheba, and I started working her pole with both hands. She let out a lewd fucking moan and my own dick responded.

"See? Right where you belong," she said. She pulled up her shirt and started tweaking her nipples. I'd seen them before, but her breasts never cease to amaze me -- hefty but not pendulous, firm but soft, perfectly shaped: the platonic ideal of feminine sensuality (he thought, while massaging her huge erect penis).

Between her tits, her moans, her words, and my frustration from earlier, it was only a few minutes before I was rock hard and sporting an embarrassing tent in my pants that couldn't be hidden no matter how I shifted around. God, why was I self-conscious about being turned on in front of her? I realized how absurd that was, given what we'd been up to the past couple weeks, and allowed myself to take one hand from around her pole and use it to start rubbing my own though the fabric, even though it meant contorting in an awkward way to grip both at the same time. Ah, relief. I still couldn't bear to look Christine in the face while I did it, but it's safe to say she noticed.

"Mmmm, no. Don't get distracted," she drawled after only 10 seconds; she drove home the point by reaching down and guiding my hand back to her cock. I let out a frustrated groan as I followed her lead, but if Christy noticed she gave no indication at first. I kept at it, still enormously aroused, but it must have been clear I was uncomfortable. A minute later she decided on a solution.

"Ok, I know. Hold up a second, sweetie." She'd never used a mushy nickname like that before -- it was always buddy or dude or some such. I liked it. I think it might have encouraged me to go along with what came next.

"You want to get off, and I'm kinda starting to chafe down there. Sit up." I did, and Christy rolled off the lounge to stand beside it, facing me, her cock jutting out obscenely. "C'mere, sit on the edge." I looked up at her for a second. I knew where this was going, but I had no idea how I was going to react. A handjob was one thing, but...

"Come, come. Just trust me," she said. Still addled, I defaulted to doing exactly what she said: trusting her. I scooched over and sat on the edge in front her, in front of it, just as she'd asked. I could hear my heart thumping as I waited -- anxious, aroused, uncertain. I still didn't know what I was going to do. Or maybe I did. I just sat there and looked up at her at first. I was stunned into paralysis, or maybe just waiting for further instructions.

Christy gazed down at me with a sly smile and then inched forward, holding her cock by the base. She rubbed the tip across my lips and my heart almost jumped out of my chest. Still I couldn't move.

"Don't worry, I promise you'll like it. I promise." She squeezed her cock from the base and ran it up to the tip, and I could feel a heavy drop of her precum bubble up onto my lips. She pushed in ever so slightly and I could taste it for the first time. God help me, it tastes good.

"See? Not so bad, right? Come on, take a little more." She placed her thumb upon my chin and applied the faintest downward pressure; my lips parted obediently. She eased her whole cockhead into my mouth, resting it on my tongue -- she drew a sharp breath as I let out an involuntary groan.

"Finally," she sighed. I waited for her to thrust into me or guide my head forward, but she stayed still, just letting herself enjoy the inside of my mouth. Letting me feel the hot hardness on my tongue and learn its shape. Some dormant reflex clicked on in my brain and, cautiously, I started to apply suction. A moment later I edged forward, taking another inch of her into my mouth. My tongue came online then, applying pressure, sliding up the underside of her shaft, then back down, then up again. Christy let out a deep, satisfied moan that warmed my heart.

"MMMmmmm ... there, you know what to do. You feel so good, sweetie." She'd said it again, and again that word was soothing. I committed to pleasing her then: sucking harder, swallowing more of her cock, using my tongue to discover what she liked. I was rewarded with more precum, and every time I tasted another dollop I heard myself emit a satisfied moan -- the sensation was outrageous, and I loved having the proof of her joy on my tongue.

By now I had barely half of Christy's rod in my mouth -- Jesus, it felt so thick -- but couldn't take much more without gagging, no matter how much I might have wanted to. Instead I reached up with my right hand to stroke & squeeze the part of her shaft I couldn't get to, and a minute later my hand slid down to also caress her balls for the first time. Fuck, her balls are intimidating, if such a thing is possible. I'd seen them before, of course, but actually holding them drove home the point in a whole new way. Large even in relation to her mammoth erection, each one is around the size of a small tangerine and just as heavy, contained in a perfectly formed, bulging sack which is smooth and entirely hairless -- whether Christy shaves or it's just naturally bald, I have no idea. Either way, holding something so potent was surreal. Christine responded instantly.

"Ohhh, yesss, you're a natural," she said. Then, quieter, as if to herself, "... a natural cocksucker ... fuck, that's it..." I'm blushing now just from writing that, but in the moment it made me proud. I redoubled my efforts.

While my right hand worker her shaft and her balls, my left had drifted over to my own crotch and I was once again squeezing my dick through my pants. Christy had stopped me earlier, and maybe she would again, but I just had to -- her moans & sighs, the hardness in my mouth, the stream of precum coating my tongue: it was all so overwhelming, so much more intense than merely stroking her to orgasm. I wasn't entirely in control of my body.

I peered up at Christine's face -- she was almost smirking. She'd noticed I was grabbing at my dick and I was embarrassed, anxious over how she might react. I began moving my lips and tongue over her cock even faster, I think hoping to forestall a reproach. Or maybe I just needed her approval once we locked eyes. Either way she wasn't displeased.

"You're enjoying this, right?" she asked. When I didn't answer she gently but firmly took a fistful of my hair and slowed my movement to a stop. Her cockhead slipped out of my mouth with an audible pop.

"I said: you like it, yes?"

"... Yeah. Yes." Her grip let me know not to resume my work yet.

"What do you like about it?"

"I like that I can make you feel good." I could tell by Christine's face that I wasn't getting off that easy. "I like ... the taste."

Christy studied me for a moment, holding my stare, before guiding my mouth back to her cockhead.

"Then keep at it," she said. "You do make me feel good, sweetie. Don't think I don't appreciate it. Oh-oohhhh do I ever appreciate it..." She ran her fingers all through my hair as I resumed to service her, cooing her encouragement and compliments. I swelled with pride at her words. Pride, and relief.

"So good ... You take that dick like a champ, babe ... I'm so happy I found you ... Are you happy you found me?" I nodded; she smiled. "Mmmm, I'll bet you are. We're gonna do this all the time from now on; we're gonna be a great team, you and I ... you're so beautiful with a cock in you ... right there, work that tongue ... mmmMMM!" And so on.