Pussy-Licker: Pussy-Licker Squad

'I love pussy too' I'd agreed. Those of us with addictive-personalities are prone to obsessive compulsions. But the aroma of a sexually aroused woman is more intoxicating than whisky, and I love getting drunk on pussy-wine. 'Pussy in every sense of the word. Call her by any name you like she's just as beguiling. Cunnilingus is surely a Latin word? As is fellatio. This stuff has been around a long time. Ain't nothing new. I'm sure there are Neanderthal cave-paintings of impure poetry. A grunt was all they needed. I'm sure they had their primal moments. Those old pagan religions knew how to venerate the fecund Earth-Mother, the vagina, the yoni, pudenda, snatch, cunt, quim, fanny, coochie. It's there on the mosaic wall-art in ancient Pompeii. It's there carved into the statuary of Hindu temples from the very dawn of civilisation. 'Cunny' was a name used for lady-parts in Victorian times. Not quite sure how that relates. But it sounds like poetry to me.'

There are some slow-witted dullard men who claim that vagina's are all alike, a hole to be fucked. Nothing more. They know zilch, nada, and they appreciate less. Each pussy is as unique as a smile, with her own special beauty. From the lure of that cute front-opening, perhaps coyly veiled in soft hair, peeping with lush invitation. To the deeper realm beneath where some are shy and keep their loveliness drawn within, blossoming only at the tender beguilement of a loving finger-caress, or a worshipping tongue to open and reveal herself. The pearl inside the shell. The moistness at the very core of the fruit. Others are a feast of generous labial lips, swollen with a rich nectar of sensual appetite demanding satisfaction. With a deliciously succulent spectrum between to be desired and respected, lusted after and coaxed to bloom. The perfect recipient for all male need, ecstasy and delight. I pity those poor fools too shallow to perceive and appreciate it.

I lean across the desk towards Cheetham, and adopt a more conspiratorial tone, 'so what happened with your strange client today?'

'Ha, yes. A weird one. I responded to an out-of-town address. Turns out they were two sisters living together in the old rectory house. She meets me at the door, austere and prim, but calm and obviously in control. Her face is delicate in its lines, but seems frozen, more a sculptor's creation than a warm human being. I'm courteous and respectful, according to the guidelines. She invites me inside with a superior attitude, as though I'm some kind of insurance salesman. It's Spartan clean inside, just a crucifix on the wall and a vase of white camellias.

I say 'today, I am your designated Pussy-Licker. I have no other identity. I am your Pussy-Licker.'

'Good Lord no' she says, as though affronted at the mere thought. 'It's my sister who requires your attentions.' She pushes open the bedroom door. I step inside and gasp. The woman is tied spread-eagled across the bed, naked... but there are coverlets up over her face, effectively masking her from me. All I can see is her hirsute pubic bush and her vaginal slit, then an area of her pasty-white stomach. The rest of her is concealed.

'She's shy' says the first woman, by way of explanation. 'We live a tranquil life of quiet respectability, my sister and I. We read books from the local library. We knit and embroider in the evening. As a general rule, our lives are content. Except that my sister is occasionally troubled by urges of a more carnal nature.' I know that by rights I should be in receipt of consent before commencing, but this situation seems to preclude that possibility. The sister watches sternly as I prepare, crouching down on the cool coverlets between those spread legs, held wide by silken chords. But the tethered woman responds as I begin to lick her pussy, I feel her moving up against my face in very obvious symptoms of pleasure, which only encourages me to more. There are muffled sounds coming from beneath the covers. I imagine her face. Can't help but wonder what she looks like as I lick and lap. Maybe she's a virgin? With their father the Rector inflexibly guarding their morality. Yet perhaps she's not as puritanical as her sister, more susceptible to the ways of the flesh, yet nervous and unsure how to appease those appetites? If so, isn't that what we are here to do? To answer those needs? The older sister watches, her arms folded, as I perform. Until I feel the squirmy bucking of orgasm.'

When I hesitate, 'you may now leave now' says the standing sister.

So I say my thanks. Wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and leave.'

Zenna is beckoning us through the divider window. His story told, Cheetham shrugs in a way that says 'duty calls'. I twist the doorknob, which is loose, and we step inside. It's only then we can determine that Zenna is not alone. She sits in her swivel chair, monitoring incoming messages on the screen, but her legs are apart, and there's a slender female figure down there, her face buried in Zenna's groin. As we enter, the pussy-licker pauses, draws back and looks up at us. She is long-haired, very attractive, maybe in her mid-twenties. She smiles and waves to us, brushes her hair aside then lowers her face back into Zenna's pussy and continues licking.

Zenna smiles. 'This is Ms Honeykiss. She provides a new perspective' she says, by way of explanation. 'Some women claim they feel intimidated when they're approached by a male Pussy-Licker Squad responder. Despite the guidelines and assurances, it's very difficult for them to put those fears to rest. They say they would prefer the feminine tongue.' She squirms a little in her chair, reacting to the girl's intimate attentions.

'I suppose I can understand their trepidations' I admit. 'But it's so sad. To me, this has always been a way we can compensate for all that male neglect, for the abuse and inconsiderate behaviour inflicted on women through the ages. This is our penance, we should give freely for all the patriarchal unfairness of the past, for all the male gender-cruelties of today.'

She brushes my words aside. 'Anyway, I've had an interesting proposition that you boys may care to consider.' She grimaces as Ms Honeykiss' tongue obviously hits a sweet spot. 'The Health & Wellbeing Centre, the spa retreat where women book in for therapy, sauna, meditation and massage have suggested installing a cunnilingus lounge for use of their guests, which would be staffed by our responders...'

'No' says Cheetham abruptly. 'We are not tongues for sale. This is a charitable not-for-profit foundation. The women who frequent that place are all wealthy, bankrolled by their husband's credit cards.'

'Don't be so hasty' she counters. Pausing to groan from sheer pleasure. Then, 'it could be a useful way to generate revenue-streams in order to help offset day-to-day running and operational costs, which will then benefit our other more worthy cases, as well as to finance the implementation of expansion plans, for other branches in other cities. Think about it.'

I can tell that Cheetham is not impressed by the powers of her persuasive logic. Just then a new signal pops up on her screen. She looks around at me. 'It's for you. A return engagement...'

Which gets me off the hook, I no longer need to make awkward moral choices. Zenna has the ability to baffle me with logic until I can no longer tell right from wrong. So instead, I'm here again at Shelley's house, set back from the road, the garden just as untended and overgrown. She's waiting. And she's no longer quite so coy.

She looks up at me. 'Ever since this morning, all I've been able to think about is you. And your tongue. And what you did for me. I keep thinking of your tongue slipping inside me. Your hands caressing and teasing my breasts and nipples. I'm aroused at this moment. Wanting to share more than just words with you. You've cast a spell on me. I touch myself as I fantasise, I run my fingers up my wetness and dip my fingers inside. My pussy is wet. Dripping wet. I use that wetness to lubricate my clit. The hood pulls back and the hard swollen pearl is there for you. I dip my fingers back into my wetness and rub my fingers over my left nipple. It gets hard from the touch. I raise that breast up and lick the nipple. I taste myself as I pull the entire nipple into my own mouth. I imagine the look on your face as you watch me, a cross between surprise and pure lust. I smile at you and return my fingers to my pussy. I stroke my clit with two fingers. I know my body and I want to share it with you. You are so close. As my climax is imminent, I rub my clit with an open palm. My arousal reaches climax. As I cum, my juices flow. I rub my clit again and squirt juices at you. Do they reach you? I see your erection, it is such a compliment.'

We barely get inside before she's pulling my face down and into her moist pussy... Humans are unique in that we go to great lengths to scrub away our natural aromas and then replace them with various concoctions of perfume and after-shaves, body-sprays and deodorants. But there are some intimate aromas that are a delight. Moist pussy is one of them. Mmmm... she feels my breath warm on her skin, she yields to the pressure of my hands parting her legs, she sighs softly as she feels my lips press firmly to her exposed pussy... this is the moment I love the most, tracing a moist trail around her pussy lips with my tongue, feeling her open to me in response, feeling her warmth surround me, the faint and delicious aroma of her arousal, the taste of her pussy-wine in my tongue... seeking out the perfect kissable morsel of her clit, teasing my tongue around her sensitive mound, then gliding across her clit, teasing and loving that little catch in her breath... this is just the beginning... licking her pussy gets me so very hard... I won't stop until I feel her convulsing and spasming around my tongue...

Later, as I'm preparing to leave, she confides more. 'My late husband, Jacques, had a beautiful penis. I probably shouldn't say that to you. It sounds so wanton, so vulgar. I would happily have sucked it for him, if he had allowed me to. But whenever I suggested sucking his cock he got angry. He said that only faggots, perverts and deviants do that. He said I should be ashamed for even thinking thoughts that no decent woman would ever entertain. I wonder if maybe he had some kind of psychological hang-up when it came to sex? Because now I read all these stories on Literotica and I see the online Porn clips and those women seem to enjoy sucking all those cocks. It seems to me that the whole world has been enjoying this global orgy of oral sex from which I've been excluded. Maybe it's still not too late for me? Maybe next time you come here, we could sixty-nine? That would be so nice...'

In the morning, when I log in again at operations central, Zenna says I've already got several priority calls. All from Shelley. Zenna had suggested sending Cheetham - or young recruit Reynolds, he's keen and enthusiastic and he's about ready for some field experience, but no, she'd insisted it had to be me. No-one else will suffice. She'd written directly to me, 'Happy Valentine's Day, we will stay in bed together all day, I will sip pink Rosé wine from your tongue, and you will sip pink Rosé wine from mine, and we will fuck and suck each other into blissful erotic ecstasy...'

Zenna is not pleased. 'She's lonely. She's low-esteem due to her late husband's neglect. And she's only now discovering her full erotic potential. So naturally she's become besotted with you. I should have anticipated something of this nature. But it can't go on. Fixations are to be discouraged. Pussy-Licker Squad was set up to be impersonal, not to encourage new dependencies.'

That's when I suggest my proposition.

Shelley replies immediately. Her message pops up onscreen, 'as you've confessed your situation to me, so must I. With those words and that tongue I'm powerless to resist you. I give the power of that decision to you. Holy Fuck, your suggestion has me wanting to cum already.'

Of course, it's not really Shelley's fault. Not really. In fact, Shelley is exactly the kind of woman the project had been devised to serve. It's just that... her extreme needs exceed our capacity to deliver. So we've arrived at a compromise solution. A mutual result that satisfies both of our needs.

Later that same day Zenna is crouched over the laptop, monitoring the website for incoming calls. Ms Honeykiss is out on her first home-visit. Cheetham has accepted the Health & Wellbeing Therapy Centre commission, as courtesy in-house Pussy-Licker-on-call, resident and available for client-use during business hours. In the side-room a couple of new recruits are being put through their paces with a big wall-chart diagram of female genitalia and an onscreen video. Shelley is in there too, on her back on the couch, legs parted as they take turns to practice and perfect their cunnilingual skills. She's a strict tutor. Encouraging technique, correcting errors, insisting on repetition, over and over again, until they get it right, to her absolute satisfaction. Theory has its limitations. There's only so much you can learn from diagrams and video. There's nothing to match rehearsals on a real living, breathing vagina. Shelley has discovered her vocation...

Zenna's screen pings. There's a new incoming request. I'm alert, and ready for my next assignment. Pussy is addictive. I enjoy my obsessive compulsion.

By Tristan Trotsky