Strange Taste - 4. Georgie

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

She took hold of his hand and led him through the outhouse to the garden. (18+)

She took hold of his hand and led him through the outhouse to the garden. It was getting dark. Alyn made out the stars appearing in the young night sky, a half crescent moon. The mossy lawn was surrounded by shrubs, bushes, and overhanging trees, creating a feeling of privacy, peace and quiet. They were alone. Georgie took a deep breath, relishing the fresh evening air, reached up for Alyn, drew him to her, and kissed him. She was wearing scent.

He responded, parting his lips, opening his mouth. She explored his palate, savouring his taste, coating her flickering tongue with his saliva. He crushed her in his arms. When they came up for air, Georgie was panting, breathless, clamouring for him,

‘Think we should go and play on the swing now, don’t you?’ 

Georgie took off her t-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her back was dripping with sweat. She took his breath away. He couldn’t speak. There was a child’s swing in the corner of the garden. She led him there.

The twins must have played here once, as little girls, he thought, feeling a sickening rush of guilt over the wretched state that he’d left Lindsey in. Georgie wants to play with me.

She forced him to perch on the seat while she unbuttoned his shirt, undid the stud on his cords, unzipped his fly, and slid her hand inside his pants. Alyn gasped as she played with him, on the swing. Georgie ran her tongue down his neck. He fondled her ample breasts. Her tongue explored his hairy torso, licking wet his stiff nipples, tasting his sweaty navel. Tenderly, she caressed his rigid shaft, his taut sac, till she felt he was ready to make love to her. Kneeling in the soft grass, gasping, she stared up at his flushing face, and asked,

‘Would you make love to me?’

Alyn nodded, slowly.

She spoke to him as if he were a child, ‘Shall we go inside then, see if we can find a bed?’

He hesitated before replying, ‘I don’t have a sheath, Georgie.’

Sheath! Such an unusual word to use! she mused, excitedly. He was so functional! She let go of his swollen glands and stood, toying with his words instead. Sheath: a covering for a knife blade, a protective close-fitting casing, a figure-hugging dress with a narrow tapering skirt, another name for a condom, our dividing!  

Georgie felt inside her back pocket and took out a thin foil package, whispering naughtily,

‘You mean a rubber Johnny. It’s alright, I have one. Come with me.’

She tucked him away inside his pants, zipping him up. Then she put on her tee-shirt, held his clammy hand, and led him to the scullery door. 


Submitted: December 29, 2020

© Copyright 2021 HJFURL. All rights reserved.

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