Part one of this two-part story, Drive in, posted on #MasturbationMonday can be found here.
As the queue for the toilet dwindled I clambered from the car, thighs trembling, and joined the last of the stragglers. Inside, I scrunched up some paper towel, wetting it under the tap, swabbing at my ruddy face and neck and puffy lips as I eyed the lust dazed woman in the mirror before me. When the last of the other occupants left the washroom, I checked my neck and breasts for bruises, ran my fingers through my hair, then wet a new piece of paper to carry into the cubicle. My other lips were swollen with that delicious recently used sensation and I patted my vulva cautiously with the cool paper, then dried myself, somewhat ineffectively, with handfuls of the shiny toilet paper squares, before walking unsteadily to the kiosk.
With a freshly opened Dixie Cup in hand I headed back to the mini, taking in the action on the big screen as I went. While I had found Robert Redford appealing in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, somehow he seemed less convincing in this role, the chemistry between him and Mia Farrow lacking in spark. But I was fascinated by the opulent decor and costumes of the era.
Russell eyed my partly eaten ice-cream with interest as I scrambled back into the mini. “You didn’t get one for me?”
“I did. This is it.”
I dug a chunk of icecream from the cup, feeding him from the wooden spatula, then placed the confection carefully back on the parcel shelf and reached for his jeans. Russell laughed softly, swallowing the creamy ice as I unzipped his fly, licking his lips, as much, I thought, in anticipation as appreciation. His dick surged upward as he lay back against the seat, watching my expression as I peeled back his underpants, catching my breath once again at the length and thickness revealed in the flickering light of 1920’s decadence.
“Close your eyes, relax.” I urged. “It’s your turn now.” Straddling his thighs, I quickly spooned a mouthful of ice-cream into my own mouth then lifted Russell’s t-shirt and jumper and slid my hand firmly along the taut muscles of his stomach and chest, smoothing him backward into the angle of seat and sidewall. His belly fluttered and tensed further at my caress. I wriggled upward, pushing back his jumper, rubbing the tight brown nodules of his nipples between my fingertips, then leaning back to slide my hand back down toward his thatch of dark hair. As my fingertips and palm traced a pathway upwards again I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around one teat, swirling the melting icecream around the puckered tip.
Russell gasped at the sensation, “You little witch!” and his fingers tangled through my hair, holding my head to his chest as I suckled him wetly, enjoying the sensation of nursing, loving the surge of his dick against my belly. Pulling away I reached for the Dixie Cup again, seeing that his eyes were open, blazing with desire. I stared at him intently as I took another spoonful and swallowed it deliberately as he watched, flicking my tongue suggestively across my lips. He grinned appreciatively and held himself watchfully still as I took a second mouthful.
Clasping his shaft in one hand I leaned forward, pursing then sliding my lips across the tip. The salty taste and heat of his dick mingled with the sweetness and chill of the icecream, and I felt him pulse with the shock of it. Wrapping my lips delicately around the evidence of his arousal, I eased my mouth over the thickness, allowing the melting liquid to trickle and coat the surface. Russell groaned softly, his teeth bared in lupine gratification. Suctioning his dick, tongue and lips working with ardent fervour, I slurped what was left of the chill liquid into my mouth, then allowed it to recoat his shaft again. Hands threaded through my hair again as I slid downward once more, then pushed myself up, teasing him repeatedly with the point of my tongue, until the sweetness disappeared.
Since he was too big to take in completely, I began to work him with the flat of my tongue in earnest now licking and stroking the length of his shaft, before taking his swollen head in my mouth again. My hand, first fondling and tugging his compact balls, followed my mouth in its pathway up and down. Dimly conscious of his groans of pleasure, of the dramatic events unfolding on the big screen behind me, I concentrated on the tension growing in his belly and felt his balls tighten. “Quick!” he cried, “grab the towel!” I captured the spasm in the damp cloth, holding his dick in place as he spurted and pulsed before collapsing back against the car seat. Replete, he smiled lazily, one hand came up to touch my face, and I leant over to kiss his lean jaw. “Mmm that was good” he sighed and made to sit up, reaching past me to the Dixie Cup on the parcel shelf. Tilting it toward the screen, he peered in, then lifted it to his lips. “‘S’melted” he mumbled, seemingly disappointed, then leaned forward to trickle a few drops of creamy liquid into my waiting mouth.
In the 1970’s Australians enjoyed a range of ice-creams, perhaps the plainest of which was the Dixie Cup, a vanilla flavoured confection, which was popular at theatres – probably because it was less messy. Some examples of the iconic Peters brand are visible on this advertising sign I’ve carried around with me for years. I kept it, not for the sign but for the collage I created on the back (see below). Made from magazine cut outs and pasted on with Clag the work provides some indication of the times surrounding the events in this story, although I believe I made it about three or four years prior, in my late teens.
In 1972 the popular book The Joy of Sex by Alex Comfort was published. It adorned many a night stand including my own (and, I’m sure, many of yours.) For a discussion on the making of the groundbreaking illustrations click here. If memory serves me correctly (thank you Iron Chef), people were advised to practice fellatio on ice-cream cones, which from my point of view was and is just brilliant all round!
Readers familiar with descriptions of recipients swallowing bucket loads of semen may wonder about the towel in this story. However many women are not comfortable swallowing semen including myself. I’ve always believed that the sight of me gagging and throwing up is not conducive to male self confidence.
It’s nothing personal guys, I’m an equal opportunity offender…
To see who else is complaining about on-screen chemistry or fellating ice-creams click on the logo below.