Young Cunts Act 03

"I've not thought about it that way before," replied Olive pensively.

Eddie smiled. "Most people don't, Olive. They see sexual liberalisation, tolerance, non-judgmentalism -- and it all seems great. For someone like you, it may well be great: you'll be able to ply your trade without fear of reprimand or scorn, maybe even with official approval and support. But the Enlightenment is only tolerant of those who agree with them; others, like me, like poor Samantha and her friends, are all being slowly crushed. It won't be long before we can't live here anymore."

Olive paused, looking troubled. "Oh... I guess I was a bit of a bitch to Sam, eh?"

"Just a bit," Eddie nodded. "Best not to kick a person when they're down, Olive. And people like Samantha, who have never sought anything worse than try to live a virtuous life, but who now find themselves facing exile for their beliefs... well..." Eddie's train of thought ran dry, and his faced looked deeply troubled.

"You're not talkin' about just Samantha, are you, Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"You're the man who's down. You're scared. You're watchin' your whole life fall apart because of this Enlightenment fing that I'm so enthusiastic about."

Eddie nodded. And then, to the surprise of both of them, he began to cry -- softly, just softly. His body shook in distress, as he wiped a couple of tears from his eyes and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Olive. You came in here for some spiritual advice. But all I can tell you is that it's over. For me anyway. Ever since my teens all I've wanted to do is to help people discover God's love for them. But now even talking aboutlove is risky -- never mind God! For you there's still a future here: you can embrace all this 'fucking' stuff and make the most of it. But for me..." He snorted derisively. "Ha! Not much of a religious counsellor, am I?"

Eddie felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked up to find Olive standing above him, looking down in pity. "Sorry, Eddie," she said.

"Ah, not your fault, Olive. Don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"Want me to make you feel better?"

"What?" Eddie looked up, puzzled.

"Well, that's me job, innit?" There was a twinkle in her eye -- but Eddie still didn't catch on, so Olive continued: "I spend me life making men feel better. Lonely men, frustrated men, sad men, scared men, men who fink they're failures. Sometimes all it takes is a flash of me tits and they're smiling again... but," she giggled, "sometimes it takes a bit more..."

"Oh!" exclaimed Eddie. "You mean...?" His heart was suddenly beating very fast.

"If you like," replied Olive. "You do like girls, dontcha?"

"I..." Eddie fumbled. "I mean, yes, but I've only... that is to say, only a couple of times... I mean, it's been a while, and I shouldn't really, but... Oh God, are you serious?" Olive nodded, grinning. He laughed nervously. "But I'm really out of practice!"

"Here, I'll help ya," said Olive, taking one of Eddie's hands in her own. "Want me to show ya what to do?"

Eddie trembled -- and nodded. Olive took off her jacket and slung it over the back of one of the armchairs, before removing her top completely, revealing again her large, luscious, swaying breasts. "Here," she crooned reassuringly, placing Eddie's hand where she wanted it, "d'ya like the feel of that?"

Eddie nodded, gently kneading, cupping, lifting, feeling her soft flesh yield and flow at his touch. "Oh, these are lovely!" he grinned nervously. "Your breasts are like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies!"

Olive burst out laughing. "'Twin fawns of a gazelle'? No wonder you've only fucked a couple of girls, if that's your normal pick-up line!"

Eddie laughed too. "No no, that's a poem by Solomon -- King David's son. It's called --"

"Oh, so he inherited his dad's taste in tits, then?"

Eddie laughed. "Quite so." Now both his hands were on Olive's breasts, glorying in their flexible flowing beauty as he cupped and kneaded.

"Well, why don'tcha have a taste of Bathsheba's tits, then, Yer Majesty?" teased Olive. "Go on." She gently lifted Eddie's hands away and moved forward, brushing her right nipple against Eddie's lips.

Any restraint Eddie may have been harbouring till now crumbled in an instant. Close up, Olive's breasts were a vision of perfect beauty: her nipples large and firm, ever so slightly crinkled, inviting his lips to kiss them; her areolas wide, round and slightly puffy, jiggling and shifting at his touch, one solitary nipple-hair cheekily tickling his nose. Eddie's mouth closed over one breast, at first tentatively; then, feeling her flesh yield and flow against his lips, more passionately. Soon he was sucking, licking, moaning with joy, his hands still kneading and cupping and weighing her breasts as he gave himself up to such pleasure as he had rarely, if ever, experienced. "Oh God!" he moaned, voice a-quiver. "I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit. May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, and your mouth like the best wine!"

"Ooh, better, Your Majesty!" giggled Olive, as she felt her nipples begin to tingle and twitch at Eddie's oral ministrations. "Want a taste of 'the best wine' then?" She removed her breast from his mouth and leaned over with parted lips, inviting Eddie to kiss her. Soon she was on his lap facing him, their tongues tangling, lips sucking, faces mashed passionately against each other.

Eddie moaned with joy and wonder, as he felt himself, soul and body, rejoice in the sensual beauty of the woman in his arms; her naked breasts squashed against his chest, her long sleek hair parting at the touch of his hands, her lips -- Oh God, her lips! -- soft and sweet and yielding, despite the lingering taste of strawberry vape. "How beautiful you are, my darling," he exclaimed. "Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon; your mouth is lovely. You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you."

Olive giggled. She had had many men before -- some weak and pathetic, some idiotically lustful, some abusive, a few violent; but even her own cynical heart felt touched by this strange awkward fellow, who praised God with his lips even as his erection throbbed and pressed against her crotch, who found himself poised in fear between the ideals he so lovingly espoused and the new fucking-ruled order which threatened to destroy everything he believed in. It was not long before Olive was naked, perched on the back of Eddie's sofa, her legs spread and her lightly-thatched pussy gently lowering itself toward Eddie's upturned face. "I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense," exclaimed Eddie, "a mound of wheat encircled by lilies!"

Olive burst out in a fit of giggles. "Ooh, very nice, Yer Majesty! Most of my other clients limit themselves to 'look at that hot fuckin' cunt!' No wonder Bathsheba fell for him. Bet Uriah the Heap or whatever his name was didn't talk to her like that! Here, Eddie, have a taste of me 'mound of wheat'!" Olive lowered her crotch lower, so that Eddie's tongue could slip between her sweet fragrant pussy lips. Soon he was tongue-fucking her wildly, probing deep between her dangling flip-flapping fuck-folds, letting the heavenly mélange of saliva and cunt-nectar smear across his hooked nose and cheeks, and dribble down his chin.

"Your wips dwop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bwide," exclaimed Eddie, as best as he could with his nose buried deep in Olive's juicy gaping gash, as his tongue slobbered up and down her perineum, coating her tight puckered anus with spit and cunt-cream. "Miwk and honey are under your tongue. You are a garden fountain, a well stweaming down from Lebanon!"

"Oh fuck!" squealed Olive -- not, this time, in reaction to King Solomon's poetry, but to the shivers of pleasure Eddie's tongue and lips were transmitting through her body. "Shit, Eddie, maybe you've only fucked a couple of girls in your time, but you ain't forgotten how to eat pussy, have ya?"

"Like widing a bicycyle," came Eddie's muffled voice from deep between Olive's thighs, "some things you never for--"

"Jesus, Eddie, enough pussy-licking for now!" interrupted Olive. "Shut the fuck up and fuck me! Come on, King David, you've got your Bathsheba all horny, got her cunt slime all over yer face. Now it's time to fill her up with the royal dick!" She lifted herself off Eddie's face, dropped to her knees, and started to pull his trousers down. "Come on, Yer Majesty, let's see what you've got. You gonna make it worth Bathsheba's while? Have ya got a big hard -- MOTHERFUCK!"

Olive stopped in shock as she pulled Eddie's underpants down. "Look at that huge fuckin' dick!"

There was something almost comical about the sight, Olive thought, for sprouting from the crotch of this small, slim, awkward Anglican curate was the biggest penis she had ever seen. It was, quite simply, huge: thick as her wrist, some eight inches long, with a massive throbbing purple head poking out from its capacious foreskin, a little dribble of pre-cum glistening on the tip of the glans. It twitched in anticipation, and so did Olive. "Shit," she muttered, "that's fuckin' amazing! Lemme sit on that!" She lifted herself back onto Eddie's lap and lowered herself onto his huge throbbing shaft. "Oh fuck!" she exclaimed, as she felt her damp cunt fill up, felt the huge glans press against her cervix, felt her clit rub against the base of Eddie's stiff flesh.

Eddie was happy -- happier than he had been for a long time. He loved his vocation, loved his God, but this girl was sexy, and funny, and endearing, and clever, and wry -- and she even laughed at the way he recited Scripture while fucking. "I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice," he cried out loud, as he felt her hot cunt bounce up and down on his thick shaft, felt her gorgeous warm fuck-slime lubricate his way in and out of her heavenly depths.

Olive was enjoying herself too. "I'm gonna come, Eddie. I'm gonna fuckin' come on that big dick of yours. Oh, you're so good, Eddie: you know that? You're a good church fucker, you are, the perfect Christian counsellor. Not feeling bad about meself no more, Eddie: your dick's done that to me, you're... oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUUUUCK!"

"Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, come with me!" cried Eddie, as they both climaxed. He felt Olive's cunt spasming around his cock, just as he exploded and his seed shot upwards and inwards at her cervix. Olive kept bouncing up and down on Eddie's lap, prolonging her pleasure, squeezing the last globs from his dick, so that cunt-cream and semen swashed and squidged together joyously in their shared cum-space.

As their climaxes subsided, Eddie and Olive held each other tight, feeling each other's bodies revel in their joint ecstasy. Then Olive laughed first, a long, silly giggle which began quietly but developed into a belly-laugh which didn't stop.

"What?" asked Eddie, worried. Confusion washed over him as he realised the awkwardness of his situation: an Anglican curate who really oughtn't to be consorting with prostitutes, certainly not in the C. S. Lewis Reading Room -- and yet, it felt so enjoyable, so genuine, and so... Oh, surely not! mused Eddie to himself, but he felt so safe, so reassured in the embrace of this strange, funny, tart-with-a-heart, that he barely hesitated before declaring: "You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace. How delightful is your love, my sister...

"... my bride..."

It must have been the evident sincerity with which he said it, for Olive knew instinctively that this was not just lust, and not just poetry. She looked deep into his eyes, studied him, looked deeper still, past his face and his words, and knew, somehow, that he meant it. And so, "I like you too, Eddie," she said.

"Really?" he replied.

"Yes." She did not move, her pussy still wrapped around his softening dick, semen leaking slowly out of her fuck-lips onto his large balls -- but what she felt most was something emanating from his soul, which she knew to be truer than anything she had ever felt from any other man before.

Promptly, however, habit reasserted itself, and she snapped out of it. "Just as well," she joked, "otherwise I'd be charging you for this, at me hourly rate!"

And they both burst into long happy laughter.

Neither of them noticed that the door was open just a crack, and that through that crack, from the darkened corridor outside, Samantha from SOAS had been watching, her skirt rucked up to her waist, her right hand between her legs. As Eddie's cum had exploded into Olive's slut cunt, Samantha had climaxed, her whole body shaking in an ecstasy she had never known before. Now she wept in silent fascination, her fingers still wet with her own holy slime, shameful tears coursing down her cheeks.

To be continued...