story code: M/F, Consensual,  Exhibitionism

The Pussy Whisperer
Dean Jéan-Pierre

Legend has it that as a boy he was so enthralled at being inside the
warmth of his mother’s pussy that he talked his way into staying there
for an extra three months. Everyone thought that she was crazy, and
that maybe the stress of giving birth had sent her over the deep end.
She would swear up and down to anyone who would listen that late at
nights she could hear the gurgling noise of a baby whispering through
the tunnel of her vagina walls. The whispers would move gently
through her pubic hair like a warm breeze gently singing through a
cornfield.  So soft was this breath it often times reminded Sonja of her
mother singing her a lullaby as a child. Her stories of hearing whispers
in her vagina were readily discounted because she was merely a child
of twenty-two herself, and in the eyes of the older villagers she was
naïve and just a stupid little girl. The village doctors had no
explanation why Sonja hadn’t given birth when the ninth month came
and went and still no baby. They tried the usual methods to induce
labor: standing naked in the river facing the current, a concoction of
bush tea that made her stomach lurch from its bitter taste and prayer
to the Gods for deliverance of a healthy baby. None of these methods
worked and finally Sonja did the only thing that made sense to her.

On the 12th moon of her pregnancy she laid naked in the flower
gardens that belonged to her family, and with only the moon and the
stars watching her; silently she began to speak to her stomach in her
native Wallasoo language. She put both hands on her stomach and
ten long delicate fingers caressed her round firm belly and gently
tapped around its roundness for a response. Nothing. Her fingers
wandered lower and she gently ran her long fingers through her long,
untamed pubic hair. She felt him rising inside her, and the whispers
began again. This time, she was able to understand what he was
saying because he was now speaking Wallasoo. He told her that
others had told him that the world awaiting him was full of misery, and
he felt safe and protected being inside of her. She continued stroking
her soft feathery pubic hair and accidentally one of her fingers slipped
into the moistness of her heat. The thrill of it made her shudder with
pleasure, and she at once felt guilty for indulging in such an
unladylike manner under the watchful eyes of their Moon God.  One of
her fingers touched her unborn son, and in that moment he felt all the
love in her heart for him.  A warm sensation trickled down Sonja’s
legs, and in a few minutes, Whisper exited his mother’s vagina. The
first thing he saw of the world was the face of the full moon staring at
him as he laid in the green grass between his mother’s legs.  He
longed to feel again that strange, yet comforting feeling he felt when
her fingers touched him. When she held him close against her ample
bosom, and fed him a dark, brown nipple filled with a rich white fluid;
he smiled. For the rest of his life, Whisper would be consumed with
the pursuit of pussy and breasts. He chased it like the wind chasing a
butterfly.

By the time Whisper was sixteen years old everyone in the village of
Tlic Tlic knew there was something different about him. Women and
girls gravitated towards him, and seemed to be in a state of constant
arousal when he spoke to them. When Whisper spoke to anyone
especially the women of the village, his gaze never ventured from him.
Nothing else mattered to him at that moment but to give them his
undivided attention. No one had taught him this. He just knew it
instinctively, the same way he would know in a very short time the joys
that two warm bodies could bring each other during the cold winters in
Tlic Tlic.  Some of the young ladies were so beside themselves with
shyness that when they looked away from his gaze, Whisper’s eyes
would lower and a picture would form in his mind of the dimensions of
their pussy. They could feel it happening and the sensation
enrapturing their bodies kept them speechless as a fire trapped inside
their vaginas ached for Whisper to release its heat. They would only
feel this way in the presence of Whisper. The ladies in the village were
too embarrassed to admit that a young boy on the cusp of manhood
kept their panties moist whenever they thought about him. Their
husbands wondered to themselves what suddenly had gotten into
their once docile wives. They left home in the morning timid as
pussycats and returned at nights excited like a tiger in heat. Not a
single husband voiced a complaint to this interesting twist in their
lovemaking. After all, they were getting the best of both worlds.
Whisper laid the foundation with subtle seduction, and their wives
came home ready to be devoured with dreams of Whisper in their
hearts and minds and wishing it was him filling them up with his love.

 There would come a day when Whisper would bed his first woman.
He could have his pick of almost anyone in the village, and in a
strange way he already had because they all had erotic thoughts
about him. They too, would hear what his mother heard when he was
still a child.  At nights when they laid all alone and their husbands had
drifted to sleep after losing their strength in one huge wave, Whisper
would keep them company. They would imagine his full red ripe pussy
sucking lips draining all the juices from their vaginas. And sometimes
late at nights, the villagers could hear the inadvertent screams
escaping the clenched lips of the women in the village. Everyone
assumed it was just a nightmare being lived, but if they listened
closely beneath the belly of the scream, the release of unrequited
passion could be heard being released into the nighttime air free to
mingle in the wilds of nature.

On the eve of his 18th birthday, Whisper tasted his first flower. He
had lived the moment in his mind thousands of times before, and knew
that the first one had to be special. She would lay the foundation for
all the others who would try to follow in her footsteps. Anoya was more
beautiful than any woman should ever be. Beauty like hers inspired
men to kill and start wars. Her skin was the color of sunset on one of
those summer days when the sun lingered too long over the earth,
and its beauty was almost blinding. The first time Whisper saw Anoya
a fire burned inside of him to touch her, and he wanted to be inside of
her like he had never wanted to before in his short life. She was
untouched like Whisper, and he wanted to be the first man to release
the heat trapped between her legs.  Anoya had pretended annoyance
at Whisper’s flirtatious nature towards her, but the truth of the matter
was that she could barely contain herself from kissing him every time
they ‘accidentally’ ran into each other.  It became a running joke
between both of them, and they knew it was just a matter of time
before their lips and bodies merged under the watchful eye of the
Moon God. He had been there for Whisper’s first breath, and now he
watched as the two young lovers made their way to the same garden
where Whisper was born.

Beneath the glow of the full moon, Whisper held Anoya in his arms
and everything about the moment felt right. His lips gently kissed her
neck, and he felt her breath trapped in her throat. He kissed her neck
again and her breath released into the air. Everywhere that Whisper
touched on Anoya’s body came alive and she anticipated his touch.
He hungered for her but wanted this moment to be special so he fed
his hunger by letting his fingers feel the fire that was ablaze in her
kisses and her touch. Anoya lay naked on the grass and the softness
of it grazing against her back only served to intensify her desire to
have Whisper lose himself deep inside of her.  Her eyes were closed
and she let her imagination take over as Whisper’s tongue felt like the
sun warming the inside of her thighs. He rested his head gently right
below her navel, and she could feel his hot breath blowing a breeze
through her pubic hair, and she felt as if she was swimming in the
river, but it was Whisper’s touch in her most private of places that had
Anoya drenched in her own wetness. Whisper continued whispering
words that Anoya couldn’t hear but she could feel them just as if they
were being whispered from her own lips. He had the touch of a
woman, and Anoya felt like it was the night breeze awakening her long
simmering passion and she longed to make Whisper hers forever.   
She could no longer control the trembling between her thighs as
Whisper continued to stroke and whisper words of syrup to her
pussy.  Whisper knew this was the moment to turn the fantasies in his
mind into something real, that he could touch and feel and never
forget.

He entered Anoya’s dew dropped flower, and it unfolded without
resistance and welcomed him home.  Whisper felt like he was lost
inside of a rain cloud, and he never wanted to find his way out.  It had
taken eighteen years for Whisper to find his way back to where he felt
most safe. He would stay inside its warmth for as long as he could.
May this night never end he whispered into Anoya’s ears, and she
wished for the same thing.






For more info on Dean, please visit his site www.deanthepoet.com
The Pussy Whisperer
©2006 by Dean Jéan-Pierre
All Rights Reserved