Love Juice
Story Codes: MF, Consensual,  Exhibitionism,

by Big Don

Upstairs. It had happened upstairs. Just 12 steps away. Not two minutes ago. On the bed or on
the floor, I didn’t know. Probably on the floor, with a sheet down. Now she was seeing all her
friends out the front door, but I doubted any of the gang was kissing her goodbye. I would kiss
her goodbye. I would kiss her hello. I’d prospect the bottom of her throat with my tongue and I’d
stroke back her dampened hair and lick every inch of her precious neck and face, like a tasty

If she would let me.

I peeped through the window. The blokes were strutting towards their cars, some of them carting
equipment such as tripods and lights which had been used to record the special event. No
doubt the experience would be uploaded onto the web before one could say ‘veiny mammaries
in a Wonderbra’. I searched for the buff chap with the blond dreadlocks, as he was the one
whose subscription-only franchise netted a million a year. He’d done time for racketeering, yet
still lived the life of a prodigal pimp. I was jealous of him for sure. I wanted to plant a punch
square on the flashy fucker’s mouth.

If I was capable.

His £300 had caused this to happen. I wonder, if I offered her £350, whether Melissa would tell
blondie to stick his six fifty pound notes up his jacksie. That would be like trying to buy the love
juice for fifty quid. Ha! No way! No deal! I’d need a grand to stop her doing it. She wanted the
splodge as much as she wanted the doe!

Melissa is a redhead. Redheads feel more pain. Redheads are wilder.

Melissa is my babysitter. Melissa feels more pain. Melissa is……

I scrunched my English homework up into a paper ball and stabbed the wall with my fountain

“Bye guys, come again soon!” she called after the group, closing the front door.


But all I heard is her bare feet thudding up the stairs and the sound of the shower running. My
heart sank. It took several minutes to psyche myself up. Darn this……I must act now!

So I bolted up after her, straight into the bathroom, and peered down the plughole of the shower
cubicle before she had even towelled herself dry.

“Where is it?” I asked.

Her pencilled eyebrows were riding high in surprise at my invasion. “Where’s what?”
“You know what, the love juice!”

Her features slackened. She looked incredibly horny. “Whose love juice?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her unnaturally bald clit, off her flat pink nips. “Theirs.”

A good actor, she faked an apologetic expression. “Aw, it’s all gone, hun. You just missed it. I

I must have looked upset.

“I was covered,” she added, “it was like a mask on my face, sticky and salty and sour and
stinging, like white, hot, snot.”

She was so attractive and handsome now: I resented her like this. What I sought is to see her
messy and dishevelled: I would love her like that.

“How many of them?” I enquired.

“Sixteen, in all.” She slipped into a towel. “I was lying flat, so it pooled in my eyes.”

Her lips were so irresistibly pink; I wanted to chew them clean off and devour them, like slices of

“Melissa……” I muttered, despairing, WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME UP TO TAKE A LOOK?

“Can you make those kinds of fluids yet?” My babysitter stared at my bulge. “I could always use
a little more.”

I felt like fainting. I felt like my sixth lottery number had just come out. “Why, of course……”

“Follow me, then.”

Melissa led me into my parents’ room, unzipping my fly and pushing me down upon the stained
silk sheet on the floor. Already fully-aroused, I was stripped. Pathetically, I erupted upon my own
stomach before she could even mount me, as if ‘premature’ was my middle name. Kindly, she
rubbed it all in, and bent forward to kiss me anyway. Her moist mouth was like an inquisitive
creature from the bottom of the ocean, as succulent as blubber. Before this tonguing business
was done, I was rigid as a rocket again.

I reached my second climax inside her after just a dozen strokes, and within the oneness we
shared I distinctly felt more reserved than those who had aimed their essences upon her face,
as if that ritual was a truer form of dedication, as if that unnatural pack mentality was a truer
form of love.

It didn’t make any sense, but the proximity of penetration spelled disaster; despite the thrill of
losing my V, my ultimate fantasy was to be perched aside from her at a distance, shooting my
seed onto her, not into her, through the air, like gel from a gun. On my back like this, I felt like a
hunk of meat, used by the abused.

Melissa worked herself into quite a state with just her fingers afterwards, and ended up
showering me with a version of her own love juice, screaming the house down, before rising to
depart the room.

I was left there blinking and shivering, arms still up as if to shield myself from another blanching,
until eventually I swallowed what was in my mouth and licked part of what remained on my lips.

Hmm, more-ish……

Copyright© 2012 Big Don

'Big Don' has discovered a personal sense of liberation through literary eroticism, and plans to
pursue shaping the most powerful driving force of humankind into words. He lives in the
northwest of England, between Liverpool and Manchester.

Other stories featured by Big Don on Bare Back Magazine

Visit his blog online @
Send comments about this story CLICK HERE. Discuss this story in our forum
Share |