tagNon-EroticShell Fish Me

Shell Fish Me


Knell wanted me to marry her.

She was young, just a teenager or maybe in her early twenties. I was close to thirty. We met in a night class at Bronx Community College. A slender girl with big brown eyes and plump cheeks, she was from a small island country in the Caribbean, living in the projects with an older sister and a few siblings. One of the first times I met her family, someone shoved a picture of Knell into my hands. She was maybe thirteen or fourteen in the picture, all knobby knees and elbows, skin blackened by the tropical sun. She was mortified that I'd seen that picture, but suffered the indignity with grace. She knew her family doted on her. She was a princess. They dressed her in designer clothes, sent her to the salon for her hair, and always kept her smelling fresh and pampered. Knell was one of the last to arrive in America. She'd let her visa expire and then settled into her new life as an illegal alien. She could go to school, but couldn't get a decent job or do much else. Marriage offered a quick path around the immigration laws, so she set out to secure herself an American man.

The biggest problem with the plan was me. I had already been married once and had no interest in doing it again. I just wanted Knell for sex.

Maybe that sounds mercenary, but it wasn't like that. I didn't realize she wanted us to get married until well after we'd already started a physical relationship. The first night we went out, she got down on her knees and sucked my dick. She wasn't particularly good at giving head and required a lot of coaching, but I didn't mind. It wasn't Knell's experience that drew me to her. It was how she approached our relationship. She encouraged me to fuck her, to casually use her body to satisfy all of my whims. I'd never been involved in anything like that before, and haven't seen anything like it since.

People say that if you're born in America, it's as good as winning the lottery. Knell understood this. She weighed the benefits, calculated the cost, and then set aside her decency and did all the dirty things necessary to secure a man. Of course, I didn't realize any of this at the time. I had to discover it, exploring the boundaries of a relationship I didn't really want, but soon found I couldn't turn away from.

It was an addiction or maybe an ethical challenge I just couldn't rise high enough to meet. I used, humiliated, and degraded that sweet little island girl until I made myself sick with guilt and shame.

It may have been the most fun I've had in my life.


That first night, the plan had been to go to a movie. I hoped afterwards we would end up in my apartment. I felt certain we would neck. I hoped she would let me finger her pussy or maybe dry hump her thigh. In the run-up to date night, she surprised me by asking me to show up at her house a few hours before the movie. When I arrived, her whole family was there to greet me. Her older sister had cooked a special dinner for me, a greasy meat stew with bones floating in it. There was no polite way to avoid eating it. Upon learning we were using a car service to get to the theater, the sisters all wagged their hands, oohing and aahing at the extravagance of a taxi. I grew up in a working-class family, so the sisters' behavior put me at ease. I laughed and tucked Knell under my arm.

After the movie, we ended up nestled into a recliner in my living room. She kept her thighs locked together to prevent me from petting between her legs. She twisted in my lap to keep my hands off her chest. I suggested that maybe we weren't right for one another and she responded by fixing me with the most wounded look.

We moved to the bedroom and she let me open her blouse. She wore a lacy black bra. Her nipples were like big chocolate gumdrops.

I offered to go down on her and she declined. She used a euphemism to express her reason for refusal, but I didn't understand what she was telling me. I finally realized she was menstruating. I told her I didn't care, that I had plenty of towels and was willing to proceed. I used my own euphemism: A romp in the Red River.

She gasped. Fear and excitement flitted across her face.

I asked her about what she'd do with me. Would she give me head? My request took her by surprise. I hadn't planned to put her on the spot, and when she looked around the bedroom, quietly composing herself instead of flat out refusing, my pulse raced.

"Okay." Her voice sounded hoarse.

I was delighted, but didn't want to laugh or exalt because I could see she was right on the edge. I kicked off my shoes, stood on the bed, and unzipped. I didn't think she would actually do it, but I didn't want to give her any time to reconsider or walk it back. I wanted her to wrap those pretty lips around my cock.

She got onto her knees and took my penis in her hand. She looked up at me, looked at my cock, and then opened her mouth and put as much of me inside as would fit. What happened next took me by surprise. She started sucking me with such vigor I wondered if she were purposely trying to hurt me. It felt as if she wanted to siphon my nuts right up through my cock. I grabbed her by the ears and separated myself from her mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I realized too late that she was just inexperienced. She looked at me all hurt and ashamed and I instantly regretted my tone. I tried to make it a joke, but it was too late.

"I'm, I'm. . . sucking . . . it."

She couldn't bring herself to say the word cock. I watched her wipe a tear from her eye and felt like shit. I'd been holding my dick protectively and let it go to comfort her. She wanted a second chance, so I put my cock back into her mouth and stroked myself. I would have been perfectly content to finish this way, but she wasn't satisfied with such a passive role. Brushing my hands away, she took over. I was close to orgasm and wanted to give myself the attention I needed, but she refused to let me participate.

She wanted to redeem herself.

It was annoying but I didn't want to risk scolding her again. I let her do whatever she wanted, but none of it felt particularly satisfying.

She eventually put my whole cock into her mouth. It occurred to me that I could come in her mouth without giving her any warning. It was a tantalizing fantasy and it shot a bolt of hot fire through me. Prostituting myself as a teen had taught me the utility of fantasy. If you're a minor letting adults suck you off for spending money, fantasy is a necessary tool. I whispered that she was a good girl, a good little cocksucker. She liked hearing that. She held me in her warm mouth and swirled her tongue around my cock. She allowed me to touch myself just below my balls. Combined with what she was doing with her mouth, it brought me a little closer to orgasm. I realized I could easily make the fantasy a reality; I could actually come in her mouth without letting her know. It was so forbidden that I had to open my mouth to mask a moan.

I looked at the top of her head as she nuzzled my cock. She was just a baby, all innocent and fresh. Mine was probably the first cock she'd ever sucked. I thought about her family, her big-breasted older sister who pampered her so much. I couldn't bear to use her this way, but then before I could act, it was already too late. My orgasm arrived like a herd of virile, sweaty bulls all charging down a narrow lane with a single, glorious purpose in mind. A hot load of cum burst from my cock. There was that first satisfying flush of semen, followed almost immediately by another, both of which went right down her throat.

I doubt she even tasted those.

I felt that wonderful satisfaction that comes with release, the expulsion of all that pent-up semen, the relaxation of the entire muscular system at once. These wonderful feelings were only slightly marred by the shame of what I had done to poor Knell. I rested my hands on my hips and watched her. My cock throbbed with the last of my orgasm and the remaining spurts of cum oozed from my dick.

She certainly tasted those.

She let my cock fall from her mouth and touched her hand to her chest. Gazing up at me, she met my eyes with a confused look.

"I came in your mouth," I said.

I felt guilty but tried to sound matter-of-fact. It was appropriate to acknowledge what I had done. I'd been hiding my arousal and feeling ashamed, but now it was all out in the open and I felt such relief. I wanted to massage my shaft, but it seemed inappropriate and even disrespectful in light of the circumstances. Not touching myself provided me with some small amount of satisfaction. I was showing restraint.

She gasped, looking away from me. "You did," she whispered, marshaling her wits.

I resigned myself to accept whatever her reaction would be. I didn't know what to expect. I certainly wasn't ready for the response she gave me. In a sudden motion, she threw her arms around my waist, laid her cheek on my hip, and held me tight. I was so surprised I almost snorted.

After a bit, she began nuzzling her head against my body.

I considered an apology but that seemed wrongheaded. The sweet young thing had just swallowed a big load of my cum. No sense spoiling her fine effort with an apology. I took her head in my hands and petted her thick hair. I whispered that she was a good girl. I wasn't exaggerating. She was a good girl.

She'd just sucked my cock like a pro.


I didn't call Knell after that night. She'd done a good job sucking my cock, but her inexperience and eagerness to introduce me to her family put me off.

Instead I fooled around with other girls.

The apartment was the first I'd ever lived in all by myself, and I reveled in the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I met a young girl from Brooklyn with broad shoulders and short nappy hair. I brought her home and pissed on her face. I'd never pissed on anyone before and was surprised to discover that asking for what I wanted thrilled me more than actually peeing on her. I met another woman at an AA meeting who was in her late thirties and may have been married. We ducked out of the meeting amid the glares of the other alcoholics. She had large dangling breasts and nothing I could say would convince her to remove her top. I asked her to lick my ass and she didn't bat an eye. While she rimmed my asshole, I lay on my bed with my heels in the air (like a cockroach flipped on its back) and jacked my cock.

Knell would call me every so often and I liked to talk to her on the phone late at night. We were both transferring to different four-year colleges. My transfer included an expense-cutting scheme that involved moving into the dorm. The move made financial sense, but the big shake up to my lifestyle filled me with anxiety about the future.

I started seeing Knell again.

She was coy about when she'd come see me, only making herself available at times we wouldn't be alone. I got the sense she didn't want to have sex with me. Meanwhile, the dorm was filled with attractive young women on their own for the very first time in their lives. As I grew more confident, I realized my relationship with Knell was turning into something I didn't want. The writing was on the wall.

I invited her over, cooked for us, and we ate dinner sitting cross-legged on the bed. We started necking and I asked if she wanted to fuck. Knell drew in a deep breath and then silently nodded. She'd read the writing herself.

I got her pants off and found a secret treasure: a thick tangle of dark fur between her legs. I knelt before her and opened her knees. Her pussy lips were covered with soft downy hair that went all the way back to her asshole. I licked and tongued her cunt until the hair grew moist, and the plump folds of her vagina got sticky and wet. She was clearly aroused but didn't make any noise, which made it feel weird, like having sex with a stranger. I put my tongue in her ass, and she pushed my head away.

I laughed. We didn't need to do it all the first night.

I took her in my arms and slid my cock inside her. She was tight. Her face had this deer-in-the-headlights look that turned me on. I whispered that she was a hot little slut. Her face flushed and she started breathing through her mouth. We both knew she wasn't a hot little slut, but now it was only a matter of time. She was learning how to satisfy a man, and I was showing her all the dirty things I wanted from a girl.

I asked her to pet my ass and she meekly laid her hand on my hip. I took her by the wrist and moved her fingers deep into the crack. She was hesitant at first, but I let her know it was okay to act like a slut.

"Stroke the dirty parts, baby. You can do it."

The terrified look was gone, replaced by a look of hell-or-high-water determination. She caressed my asshole. I wasn't going to last much longer. When I was right on the edge, I took her face in both my hands, looked in her eyes, and told her I wanted to come in her mouth.

She immediately nodded her assent.

I explained that when I was ready, I would take my cock out of her, and that she should scoot down between my legs and put my dick in her mouth.

I made her repeat our agreement back to me.

She went quiet and I thought we might have reached her first hard limit. She couldn't bear the shame of verbalizing how I wanted to use her mouth. But then in a hesitant voice, eyes cast to the wall, she submitted to me again.

"I'm going to go down there," she whispered. "Put it in my mouth."

Her surrender was intoxicating, especially the hesitancy in her voice, the lilt of her Caribbean accent. What a love! I held her head to my chest, listening to the bedsprings squeak as I prepared her meal.

When the moment arrived, I pulled out and urged her to hurry. I was in no danger of coming but wanted to gauge her commitment to satisfying me. Knell passed with flying colors. She raced down there, legs and arms all akimbo. With her lips latched to my cock, I made a big sigh of contentment and filled her mouth with hot nut.

Knell's eyes glowed with pride. Her lips were pursed together in a sheepish grin, her mouth filled with my gift. Going to the sink, she spat out the semen. When she returned, we cuddled in the bed. The naïve little girl who'd needed instruction on sucking cock was gone. In her place was a confident little submissive, ready to explore kinky sex with me.

Or so I thought.

In reality, Knell was just grooming me to be her husband. I found this out over the course of the next few weeks. Immediately after that first time, we spent a lot more time in bed experimenting. She assured me that I could call her anything I wanted. I liked whispering that she was my little whore. I said it without giving it much thought, certain Knell was a good girl. I felt powerful barking out sexual requests like some self-indulgent rock star. I didn't realize just how badly she needed that green card.

One night on the phone she mentioned that she was in the country illegally. I have always been a rule breaker so her status didn't bother me, but I didn't know anything about immigration. She gave me all the details. Her plan was to live with her sister until she finished school. Meanwhile, she could never return home to her father, who still lived back on the island, because if she did, they wouldn't let her return to America.

It seemed like a good plan, but that wasn't the whole of it.

The next time she came down to my dorm, she brought up immigration again, but this time, she added the stuff about marriage.


I couldn't believe I'd heard her correctly. She was sitting on the bed and I was unloading groceries. I clarified that it was me she intended to marry, and that it wasn't just marriage in general she was speaking of.

She nodded.

It caught me completely off guard. I didn't have an answer. I felt like such a fool, but I didn't want her to know this. She must have sensed how I was feeling because she started talking, explaining how marriage was just a small technical detail that would enable her to achieve all her goals. She went on and on, but I didn't hear much of what she was saying.

"Take off your pants," I said.

I'd cut her off and she narrowed her eyes. She tilted her head. "Do you want to—"

"I want you to take off your pants."

She quietly undressed and then lay on the bed. I was irritated with her but kept my tone calm. I had her get on her hands and knees, facing the wall. I didn't want to look in her eyes. I didn't even want to take off my clothes. Kneeling behind her, I licked her. I didn't spend a lot of time getting her ready. I wondered if she even liked sex with me. Maybe what I had initially sensed as sexual repression from her was really just that she didn't enjoy sex with me. These were the thoughts going through my mind as I unzipped and squared my hips with hers.

I used the head of my cock to smear the moisture around her opening then shoved myself inside her.

She gasped.

Her pussy was still a little dry, and she clutched the sheets in both her fists. I worked my cock inside her tight canal. By the time I had myself buried balls-deep, the shock of learning what she'd wanted from me had passed, and I felt only bitter amusement.

She wanted to get married. "Slut," I laughed. "Little fucking slut."

Her pussy had grown slippery. I decided it didn't matter if she didn't like me. I liked her. I enjoyed calling her a whore and hearing only her breathy gasps in response. She was a good girl, from a respectable family. I wondered if fucking me made her believe she was a whore, and the shame of that belief prevented her from asking me to hold my tongue. As penance for being a whore, she let me call her a whore. I encouraged her to shake her ass. I slapped her hip like you would a horse. When I was close, I pulled out and put one knee on the bed. My cock was slick with her juice. I wordlessly indicated that she should put it into her mouth, but I didn't have to do that. She already understood what was expected of her. She moved toward me on hands and knees, scooped my cock into her mouth, and obediently received my cum.

Afterwards, everything felt different. I wondered if maybe I had overreacted, but I didn't allow myself to think about it too hard.

I took off my pants and started preparing our dinner.

Knell put on her panties and lay on the bed. We didn't talk, but it was a comfortable silence. We hung out in our underwear. After we ate, we watched television. Her head was on my chest, and I stroked her hair. She said she had to get home and started getting dressed.

"I was married before."

She looked at me, her pants at mid-thigh.

"It's hard. Marriage is hard. I don't want to be married again."

She laughed. "Not that kind of marriage. It's just a marriage to let me stay in the country. . . "

I felt foolish.


I didn't quite understand what she was getting at, but it felt as if she were pulling back from me romantically, and it wasn't clear what that meant for our current relationship. Instead of saying any of this, though, I blurted out something about the tax implications of marriage. My voice was sharper than I intended.

She waved the whole conversation off, saying she didn't want to talk about it anymore.

But it wasn't over.

The subject of marriage or her immigration status always seemed to return. Over and over it came up, sometimes in the strangest ways.

One time she told me her sister had teased her by saying that if the farmer gives away the milk, there's no reason to buy the cow. It took me a minute to grasp that she was talking about sex. I didn't even realize her family knew we were having sex. They all seemed very traditional, so I had assumed Knell was keeping our sexual activity a secret, but the way she talked about her sister teasing her, our physical relationship was all out in the open at her house. Her family knew we were having sex. They knew and they approved.

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