Sid Devonshire, Ju Dai, and lacross

At first I try to find words to go with this clearly invasive act. But I am starting to wonder if she understands English at all. She clearly understands some. The simple stuff. But it is possible that my more complicated explanations of what I am doing, and why I am doing it, and where, in particular, it needs to be done, may be beyond her. So I stop being too particular in what it is I say.

"Salt," I say at one point, followed by, "Cannot be too careful," followed by, "Terminitis," (which may be a disease). I have a nipple between finger and thumb and am rolling it softly. The nipple hardens, interestingly! The girl's back curls some more. She doesn't speak. Doesn't do anything, much. Just keeps on drying her hair within the towel. Like a cowl. Hiding all. I proceed to do the same with her other nipple, and notice one dirty lacrosse boot lift in the air. I cup and squeeze both boobs. The buttocks clench, the back curls more, the lovely girl gives out a gasp.

I heard it. Muffled, in the towel.

"Any pain when I do that?" I ask.

A little shake of head within the towel; her fingers stilled.

I squeeze again, then wait. I watch her buttocks clench, then hold. I hold the warming weight of breasts within my hands but do not move my hands. I merely hold what they're around. Hold them, reverently. Her buttocks start to cautiously relax. After a pause -- a count of three, or four, or so -- her fingers resume their work. Their work on her hair in the towel.

I wonder what she's looking at, down on the floor -- down the long tunnel of towel -- as I shuffle down the table towards her feet. I lower my face to the gorgeous girl's spectacular butt. I stick my tongue in the cleft I found so appetising last time. With the tip of my probing tongue I feel around the little anus on the girl for a second -- I lie, a third -- time, since kick off. God but she tastes nice!

So private, so secret, so innocently closed against my tongue. So not-for-me-to-be-here, sort-of-thing. I point my tongue and make a stab of easing the little 'o' open. It doesn't open, but I feel it twitch. I do it again. I still have my hands beneath her chest, nipples between my fingertips. I play with the little pea-hard nubs of clearly sensitive flesh and feel her sphincter twitch again: as if she needs to tighten more to stop me getting in. I stab again and tweak a rock hard nipple with a nail. I feel the tip of tongue creep in, a tad, then -- Clench! -- I'm out again. But I hear the gasp this time. She can't disguise her gasp!

"Relax," I say to her pretty little anus. "To test," I waffle on. "The bodily reactions, you understand. Ensure all's well." As her flawlessly pert and smooth young ass and my debauched and blotched much older face continue this absurd one-sidded conversation, I am shuffling towards the end of the table where hers are. As I move towards her feet I stretch out my arms to retain my pleasant hold on her playful breasts. I note her lovely backbone curled around her breasts as if to give protection to the delectable bits of her that's causing some concern.

Not to me, of course -- but judging from her gasps, to her.

With a last verbal assurance of something-or-other to the microphone of her prettily puckered anus, and a last request that she 'keeps quiet as I have to listen,' I angle my head towards hers, and lower my chin to the narrow 'v' of the treatment table just visible within the confluence of her girlish legs. Once my face is between these lovely limbs, my chin against the leather of the table, my eyes drink in the private pussy sights. How pink, how glistening, how pulsingly alive it all seems!

You have to move closer, of course.

It is the way of things.

The tip of my nose rests lightly against smooth skin: the lower slopes of buttocks, where they meet. I burrow my face further in. The appetising gap between her legs, easing them apart as I do.

My lips hit girl.

A lightening bolt!

I freeze. I wait. A count of five, or eight.

No sound. No muffled outrage. No muddy boots kick out.

A count of ten, or twelve, and then ... I move my lips. I lift my chin and kiss the lower part of cleft. I slip out my tongue and ease it between her buttocks -- now clenched tight. My chin sinks down, between her legs. They open, with what sounds like a groan from the towel up ahead. My tongue tastes the hot moist salt of pussy.

Lovely girl.

I stop all pretence at talking, or remedying anything other than what I am now most clearly doing: I am seeking to arouse her, excite her, seeking to drive this scrumptious little beauty to a state as wild as a leopard hungry for food. I have stepped over the line of Well-maybe-he-was-only-trying-to-help-me, to The-dirty-old-man-was-molesting-the-sweet-young-thing. I am past the point of no return! I sink my chin to the table, her firm warm legs either side of my face, my tongue lapping deeply in her labia lips. I taste the honey stickiness of girl. A girl who is clearly aroused. I hear her gasps, her groans. One hand is on my head, as if to push it off. Or pull it closer? Difficult to say.

"Monsieur," I hear her gasp. "Please," she gasps some more. "Non ... Monsieur. Please, non."

But languages were never my strong point.

The tip of my tongue is slithering around a clitoris that's nicely protruding from the girl's pretty labia hood. Like a tiny penis. I suck it, lick it, kiss the little nub, to feel her back arch strongly and her pelvis thrust at me. I open my mouth wide and let her push her little pussy hard against my lips and probing tongue. What a lovely feeling it is to have a gorgeous girl, shaped like all eighteen year old girls should be shaped, riding her crotch in your mouth, arching her back to your tongue's cheeky forays into intimate places, and reacting like a pretty little panther, to all you are doing to her plumb and tender breasts and between her young and long and now becoming agitated legs and thighs and hips.

I no longer insult her intelligence by suggesting I am doing anything more that what it must, by now, be clear I am doing. To her. Fortified by this honourable stance on my part, I take a hand from the youngster's breast and scrabble at the fastening of my trousers. I am trying to get my prick out, so that I can fuck the little treasure. Not that she need know this. Not right away, at least. Besides, the way her hands are holding the towel tight to her head, and the noise of her gasps, and the violence of her movements on the table, make me think she wouldn't hear me anyway.

I turn her over on her back. I catch a glimpse of face. A bit of towel is in her mouth, her eyes screwed shut, each hand a little ball, or fist -- as if it's all becoming just a little bit too much. I grip her dirty boots above the ankles. Pull her towards the bottom of the table, part her knees, and guide my chappie in. I guide my chappie in to find that this is not, despite angelic looks, a virgin, in any way, or shape, or form. No sooner is the head of Little Devon in her snatch, than her pelvis rears up, and her hips thrust hard, and Devon is sucked deep inside the hottest, tightest, slickest, most divinely ridged and pulsing vestibule of pleasure to man that exists, anywhere on earth!

'Good God but you can motor when excited, little girl,' I think, as I feel the girl's ankles lift up and clamp around my ass. The heals of her boots start to mess up my trousers! There's a piston working here and it's my prick, but it is she who is making the movement really steam. Her young arms, tangled up in blouse, discarded bra, and bits of towel, snake out towards my head and the next thing I know I am French kissing a raging inferno of foreign girl. Words and groans and gasps and moans well up from her throat as a serpentine tongue thrusts hard down my own. God but this cutie can kiss like a whore! I've never had so much bodily fluids mixed so thoroughly as her tongue is mixing her saliva with mine in our mouths right now. Her grip round my neck vice-like. My pelvis tries manfully to keep up with the hungry panther side of the luscious little sweetie I have under me. God but this is fun!

"Ngaaargh!" she groans into my mouth as her tongue dips back then thrusts full in again. Her legs are insistent, demanding, strong. The motion of her pelvis is amazing. I cannot not keep time. She is dictating it. Like a rhino charge would affect a woodland butterfly.

(Me the manly butterfly. She the charging rhino.)

I come, I think -- orgasm, hit the peak, spill the beans, pump the sauce, or whatever the medical term is -- a smidgeon before her. But in no way do I knock her off her stride. I actually wonder if she notices at all, so focussed did she seem on coming (like a rhino) herself.

And Jesus when she came, you knew she came!

Her vice like grip held the whole of me stock still as my groaning prick was sucked so deep inside her that I wondered if the thing could be forced from its roots. I've never felt anything like it! Her power pumping pussy sucked me in, then pulsed and pulsed and pulsed. Then she started a low mewling whimper that built to a full throated yell. A yell I did my utmost to contain in my wide open mouth, clamped to hers with the strength of her mightily powerful arms. (Her limbs may be slender, but bugger me they're strong!)

She held me like that, clamped to her, my tongue sucked half way down her throat, my prick sucked so far inside her I wondered whether tongue and prick might meet in the middle of her somewhere, as she growled and rode herself to a state of high satiation. I waited until she signalled that I could carefully withdraw. And when I thought I could, I did. But carefully. I didn't want to act prematurely, and have her break some part of me! Especially an important part. And she had control of important parts now. And then she was done. Her arms flopped off me. Her legs splayed wide. And she took a mighty breath.

I eased myself out of her carefully, thinking the exertion may have damaged my back. I stood up cautiously and found my legs were weak. Weak as in rubbery. As if she'd sucked me dry. I stepped back, my hand on my back. I took another pace. I reached for my jockeys and jeans round my ankles. Hauled them up. Started adjusting myself. Outside I could hear the cheers. Someone had scored, perhaps. Full time must be soon. I zipped myself up. I had definitely done something to my back.

She was poleaxed on the table, arms flopped off on either side; one leg bent in the air, the other hanging off the table. Her pussy was glistening and shiny. I saw my sperm ease out of her slowly -- my sperm or her juices, or maybe a mix of the two. Whatever it was, there sure was a lot. Disgusting glutton that I am, I stepped back between her legs and sunk my face to these glistening, weeping lips of hers. And was rewarded with a "Ngauuuuugr," from the cutie. Two slender-fingered hands clamped over the top of my head, forcing it harder against her, as her pelvis thrusts upwards again, forcing her lusciousness into my face, grinding the soft tender intimacy into my wide open mouth, inviting my tongue back inside her. But quick, before Full Time.

I pull myself back.

The whistle sounds outside. Full Time!

I dive for the girl, virtually rip off the rest of her clothes, bundle her into the shower, turn it on, draw the curtains, back away. I open the door to the hut at the precise same time as the teacher, Miss Shepherd, is reaching her hand for the door handle on the other side. "I think she'll be fine," I say, moving past her on the way out as she and the team head in. I do not hang about. But as I'm down on my knees, inspecting the goal, unable to move very fast -- being as thoroughly shagged as I now am, and feeling my back start to stiffen -- I hear the raised voice of Miss Shepherd, calling out, "Mr Devonshire, what have you done to Ju Dai?"

My back goes 'Snap' as I try to get up and a sharp pain shoots down my leg

What have I done to Ju Dai?

What has Ju Dai done to me!