Billy Babb's Bargain

2021 Nellskitchen. All rights reserved. The essayist asserts her right to be identified as the author of 'BILLY BABB'S BARGAIN.' This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review). If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it is pirated without the author's permission.

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"So, this is for real?"

His skeptical and struggling voice was low, gravelly--his vocal cords inflamed. His nervous chuckle, though meant to highlight male confidence; instead, conveyed agitation.

As intended, his initial sure-footedness dropped with his jeans, which, piled loosely about his ankles, made him appear what he was--alone, foolish. I neglected to answer his question. Instead, gazing up into his dull eyes, I grinned and playfully waved my banner of feminine defiance, a Ziploc sandwich bag.

Yes, my little prop was for real. And in answer to his question, yes, I was serious. That aside, Billy Babb was merely a pacifier, an unremarkable stand-in for the far more appetizing Jackson Sylvane. Fixation of my obsessions, and doubtlessly up to no good, Jackson is back home in Atlantic City, where, summering without me, he spends his time hustling boardwalk dupes.

On the other hand, I am here, stashed away in the backwoods of Maine, the victim of over-the-top parental control. At this very moment, the clock is ticking. With no other options, I seem destined to work with Billy Babb, the handsomish country bumpkin I plan to convert to my personal Sir Galahad, not forever--just for a few weeks.

Unlike last year's selectee, Billy is not stupid; he thought twice before loosening his belt buckle. Moreover, he knows a good offer when he sees one, meaning he's smart. I like smart boys. My ploy is not new; it is a reprise of last year when it tested out well on the slightly more handsome but equally bumpkinish Evan Greaves.

Like Evan, Billy exhibits the same nervous laugh, look of disbelief, and effort to appear comfortable, all with flaccid cock and weighty balls on parade, even as his rather cute backside faces our living room picture window, in this, my parents' summer cottage.

As the reader can well imagine, since I am a clever girl, I started out with a particular type of boy in mind. I liked tall; both last year's victim and this stood tall. I leaned toward lean; each leaned lean. I fancied cocks up close; each offered to show me his. Each stood--I knelt. Each frowned--I smiled. Each trembled--I was serene.

I relied on the uniqueness of my plan. My proposal, after all, is not something backwoods boys trip and fall over on an average day. The blueprint was perfect, and, smugly, I cannot help thinking any girl--well, any calculating girl--would swap places with me in a flash!

I inspected Billy's limp dick. Like the rest of him, it was long and lean. I wonder if, when standing straight, it will display the necessary stamina, something yet to be proven. In addition, there is the question of volume: How much sperm would he shoot? Would Billy's load impress me? I needed to find out!

It is afternoon, warm for Maine. Only yesterday, Billy offered to come by in the morning. "You will not," I commanded. I did not say why, but for you, the reader, I will be honest. Breezes off the ocean are cold in the morning. The chilly air works at cross-purposes with my appetite for unique visuals. A girl wants to see certain things. Testicles, heavy and hanging loosely in their sack, intrigue me. The morning air discourages the spectacle as crisp breezes prod scrotums to lapse into safe mode, making them tighten as balls seek refuge up nearer a boy's body. That, I do not like!

"No, Billy Babb," I decreed. "It's cold in the morning. Come by in the afternoon when it is warm. Sneak into the woods behind our cottage. After my parents drive off, I will open the back door." In anticipation, I lay awake half the night, obsessed that in a few hours, testicles, loose, ripe--like peaches splitting with heavy syrup and dangling vulnerably between masculine legs, would be mine. It is what I wanted!

We were high school seniors when the subject first came up. Standing by Andrea's locker, we listened as she matter-of-factly lectured us about balls. "They float! They move," she assured us. We brightened and glanced about, only half-hoping no boys were listening. It crossed our minds that only Andrea had ever experienced balls--real ones--up close. I had only seen videos.

Playacting skepticism, I asked, "What do you mean, they float?"

Blinking excitedly, the stuck-up cheerleader scolded us like children. We were not children! Authoritatively, Andrea mocked us, saying, "They lift and fall as the temperature goes up and down! A girl can watch them, but she needs to get real close. When she does, she sniffs the boy's sperm!"

"What does it smell like," Berengaria Navarre asked.

"It...it doesn't smell like anything else," Andrea pontificated. "Sperm only smells like sperm." The incident was thought provoking. Then, like now, I felt an inexplicable enchantment with the male body. Like piglets waiting in line for slop, the three of us giggled.

Andrea was not joking. Roosevelt High's resident ultra-slut, she knew things, and Berengaria and I hesitated to question her ill-gotten expertise. Andrea had done both Andy and Jake, though, mind you, not at the same time--she would never; none of us would--not back then. Back then, she had standards. Back then, even when she blew two boys on the same day, she never did more than one at a time.

I wonder about her now, about this summer, and what she is doing in far-off Peru. She sent that curious text. "I met this guy," she wrote. "He's cute, but he's run away for a hot weekend with some Irish hussy." I hate Andrea, but I texted back anyway.

Billy's hungry eyes roamed my kneeling form, refocusing my wayward attention. Uninvited, he reached to caress my hair, but I pushed him away. "No touching, Billy Babb," I snapped. "Not till we make a bargain."

He smirked as if he did not care--but he cared. He cared about toeing the line for a girl. He knew to get what he wanted, he needed to do what I wanted. With my 'no touching' rule in place, his browsing eyes did the rest. When his attention reached my knees, I tugged my skirt up and opened my legs for him. I kept tugging until he could see everything.

"Wow. No panties," he observed. "Wow...you...you don't shave. I thought all girls shaved."

With an ill grin, I countered, "Then you thought wrong, Billy Babb. And, for your information, I'm a woman, not a girl." He smiled as if he was 'OK' with that. Well, it was OK! A girl waits forever to be a woman, to have hair down there. I refuse to shave for some throwaway summer fling!

He studied my breasts. "Nice boobs," he mumbled. Eyeing him, I raised my pullover and pushed my titties together. It took effort, but I managed to coerce some cleavage, prompting his cock to jump! His cock! It bounced! I so loved it!

"Well, well, Billy Babb," I mocked. "Your cock is awake. I was starting to wonder." His face was a study in resolve, and he stroked himself for me--three times. All boys take chances, and Billy was no different, so I half-expected what he said next. "Maybe you can suck it a little," he suggested.

"A little?" I countered, raising my voice to emphasize the point. "Why would I suck it a little?" Without answering, he inched the tip closer to my face, and tempted as I was, I drew back, and without taking my eyes from his, I turned my head to one side. "No sucking," I insisted. "I only suck boys who do nice things for me! And I only do it when they do a lot of nice things!" He frowned and probably wanted to slap me but didn't dare. He knew if he did, I would hashtag him, that he would lose his job at the farm supply store.

I glanced at my watch and declaimed, "You're wasting time, Billy Babb. My parents only went to the 'Stop & Shop,' and they'll be back before long." I slipped a finger inside my pussy. After letting it marinate, I calmly withdrew it and licked it clean for him. His cock jumped again! Only this time, it stayed hard and stood straight out! Such a turn-on! "I need answers, Billy Babb," I said. "Do we have a bargain or not?"

Reluctantly, he seized his cock, and pulling back his delicious-looking foreskin; he exposed the head. I love the head--the corona, the tip! It is undefended, velvet! "Oh, and Kari," he began, "about that bargain; let me get this straight. I jerk off, you watch. I drop a load into that stupid baggie and..."

"...it's not a baggie!" I commandingly corrected. "It's a Ziploc." As if to say, 'what's the difference,' he sneered, but there is a difference; Ziploc's keep food fresher! "Stop interrupting and let me talk!" he insisted. "I know what you want: I jerk off into your Ziploc; you wrap the bag in brown paper, label it 'pancake batter' and stash it in your parents' freezer till August. That's the deal, right?"

Satanically, and grinning up at him, I confirmed his reasoning: "Spot-on, Billy Babb."

"And," he continued, "all summer--no questions asked--I do whatever you want. I let you drive my jeep; I take you to local yokel parties at the beach; I find you reefer to smoke--all that stuff."

"You're so smart," I jibed.

"Then, on August 4th--on, ah...what do you call it?"

Frowning and with as much condescension as a girl's face can conjure, I answered, "August 4th is Midsummer Eve, Billy Babb."

"Yeah, and on mid--whatever the fuck it is--you defrost the fake batter, which is really your cum stash, and it's suddenly my turn--I get to watch you gulp it." Still grinning and still waving my Ziploc, I nodded. He gave me a dark look. "So Kari, how do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain? I mean, if your parents decide to cut their vacation short and after I've been your slave for six weeks, where does it leave me?"

Letting the bag drop to the floor, I uncaringly snarled at him, saying, "It leaves you nowhere. I might do that, Billy Babb. It's a risk boys take if they want to see this girl swallow." He glowered at me, so I reinforced the point with piercing questions. "Why? Has some other girl come up with a better offer?" He frowned more, and I took his silence as a no. In frustration and reaching down, he pumped his waning cock; it grew by two--its purplish head ready to pop, and I, well, I wished I had one.

Girls wonder what it is like to possess a collection of balls, sack, and shaft, all united to a mysterious prostate gland hidden in a place boys do not want girls to explore. If I had one, I would make it spit white man extract in Andrea's conceited face. In fact, I would make it spit at all the girls I do not like!

One time, Berengaria and I searched online for jerk-off videos. Spellbound, we watched boys touch themselves. It turned into our drug of choice and mutated into an addiction.

"Decide, Billy Babb!" I ordered. "I will swallow, but only if you follow my rules." He did not appreciate that answer, but like a tom turkey fanning his feathers to impress a favored hen, my would-be gobbler spread his feathers, jerking himself two more times.

Sticky pre-cum oozed from the tip. Instantly, my eyes widened, and my slit salivated. I so wanted to do something dirty, to lick him clean. But I did not dare, for fear of breaking the spell. I was running out of time and decided to pressure him for a negotiated settlement by upping the stakes. "Tell you what; if you're a good boy, you can whip up a second load for me. I promise to swig both on August 4th."

As he mulled the idea, my thoughts drifted to bargains where competing parties inevitably reach a crisis, the point at which one side teeters and breaks. There was no way I would teeter--or break, but whether Billy knew it or not, he had options, three: He could totally fuck with me by storming out. If he did, I would call him back and suck him off to make him stay! On the other hand, he could pressure me to swallow a third load when August 4 came around; because I treasured cum, I was prepared to accept that but did not say so. Finally, Billy could play ball with me right then by whipping up a solitary load, thereby inking the deal currently on the table.

With his left hand, he cupped his swollen testicles. Self-fluffing captivates me. His dick grew majestically. Straight and loaded, I doubted he could stop and knew he had selected option number three. His face contorted. "Hurry, Billy Babb!" I urged. "Shoot your big load for Kari!"

His lids grew heavy with want. I refocused, watching as a long viscous drool of precum strung its way to the floor, fashioning a translucent puddle between my open knees. Excitedly, I thought: Oh my, it almost touched me!

I liked Billy's cock and took pride in my choice. It was big. It jutted imposingly, elegantly. Long, pinkish to start, it darkened as he stroked himself. His big body twitched, and, like the guys in porn flicks, it involuntarily jerked. Like an alarm going off, my instincts said it was time for Mr. Ziploc, which I carefully situated to collect Billy's looming discharge. "Tell Kari when--tell me," I jeered.

"I'll fucking tell ya!" Billy groaned, "It's--it's fucking NOW!" Swiftly and not wanting to waste any, I shrouded the end of his pulsing erection and watched as gush after sticky gush turned my handy Ziploc from crystal clear to a surge of creamy white! Afterward, and just before his sated body settled, I got mad at him and demanded more. "All of it! GIVE IT ALL TO ME!" Surprised at my insistence, Billy nevertheless obeyed and urged the final drops from his pulsing urethra, the blue-violet tip, surrendering its glorious fluid.

After that, and disappointingly, his cock drooped. Carefully easing the bag away, I stood, smoothed my skirt, and locked in his sperm's murky freshness by carefully drawing shut the zipper. "We've made our bargain, Billy Babb. Now, you need to leave," I insisted. "Mom and Dad will be home any time."

Billy Babb, fussing with his pants, tried to kiss me, but I turned away, saying, "Take your pathetic cock and get out! Text me tomorrow." Shaking his head in contempt, he shot me the finger, and reaching into his still open pants, he repositioned his enlarged testicles, turned away, and silently slipped out the back door.

I watched from the rear window as Billy's lanky form sprinted to the dark woods. Once gone, and just as mom and dad pulled into the driveway, I opened the Ziploc bag, held it close to my face, sniffed its aromatic fragrance, and smiled.

END