Log in:
Username
Password
Keep me logged in (help)

Forgot username or password?

Create new login

You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?

[ default ] [ 10% ] [ 20% ] [ 30% ] [ 40% ] [ 50% ] [ 60% ] [ 70% ] [ 80% ] [ 90% ] [ 100% ]

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version  |  Mark story  |  Mark author

Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!

Chrissie Bentley has been interviewed! Click here to read interview.

I didn't know whether I felt incredibly excited, or ridiculously stupid. But I lay on my back and spread my legs anyway, while he slipped a grape inside me, then knelt at my feet with his mouth wide open. "Come on Chrissie, give it a go."

Sinking into my vagina, the grape felt cold and hard, a bit like a pebble in your sock, and only slowly did it warm up and soften. But no matter how hard I tried, which muscles I flexed, I couldn't expel it - and I certainly couldn't send it shooting across the room. "You've been watching too much Asian porn," I chided him gently. "They probably do it with mirrors, anyway."

He knelt forward and pressed his lips to my labia. "I'll just have to get it out myself, then." His tongue eased in and, for a moment, chased the slippery fruit through my folds; he made contact and I felt the tight suction as he pulled it out, took it into his mouth and chewed, the motion of his jaws electric against my soft flesh. "Hey, that's good," he breathed. "Mind if I have another?"

I sat forward and stroked his head. "Go ahead. Just take a little longer looking for it, this time." My eyes closed, I braced myself for the alien entry, then relaxed back into its removal, twice, three times, four... until finally he decided to share his bounty, and slipped a juice-drenched grape into my mouth from his, at the same time as he pushed his prick into my puss.

"I've never fucked a fruit basket," he whispered as his rocking hips began to push him in deeper, but any smart retort I might have conjured was lost as the most incredible orgasm began building in my gut. My legs wrapped round his waist, my nails raking the flesh of his back, my own hips grinding against his, I cried out in joy, just as he, too, groaned his own climax, but my own sensations were so intense that I barely felt his excitement. Instead, all I could muster was a weak hiss, "well, people always say fruit is good for you."

That was the first and only time we slept together. It was the last week of college, the last chance to do all those things you'd forgotten to accomplish over the past three or four years. For me, that meant bedding the cute guy who'd been hovering at the back of Sociology all term; for him... well, I think that's obvious. And I wouldn't even get to spread the word around the campus on the sexual telegraph that all the girls subscribed to. I was flying out first thing tomorrow, halfway across the country to Chicago, to the new job... the new life... that was awaiting me.

I never forgot the grapes, though, and when I asked my friend Lisa... to whom, of course, I confided all my secrets... if she was going to join me at our year's 10th anniversary reunion, it turned out that she hadn't, either. In fact, that was the first thing she said - "hey, maybe you'll see the grape-boy again. You'd better get some practice in."

I laughed. "No, I'm too old for learning new tricks." Besides, since that night, I'd actually seen the kind of films that obviously inspired grape-boy's imagination, the showgirls whose quims could send a ping-pong ball ricocheting against the far wall, and I really didn't find it that attractive a trick. "I'll just stick with what I know I'm good at." It was only in the back of my mind that a little voice was wondering whether Lisa had a point....

I saw him as soon as I walked into the gymnasium. Lisa had cried off from coming along ... too many old ghosts attended her years of Higher Education... so I flew in alone, only to hook up with a gaggle of old acquaintances at the airport luggage claim. We shared a couple of cabs to our hotels downtown, dutifully filling one another in on everything we'd done in the last ten years, and slipping in the gossip we'd heard about other people.

There was some juicy stuff there as well - the prim and proper Little Miss who wore her virginity like an Easter bonnet, was now onto her third husband. The know-it-all weasel that dropped out in our second year was now a rising star in mid-western politics. And that guy I saw on a VH-1 oldies show a few years ago, who I thought looked vaguely familiar, was indeed the same one who once dyed his hair three colors and insisted he was the new Boy George. He never quite got that far,

Click here to read the rest of this story (286 more lines)

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version for easy saving or printing

ESmail: Click here to send a private message to Chrissie Bentley (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)

Authors appreciate feedback! Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!

Profile for Chrissie Bentley, incl. 77 stories Email: chrissiebentley@yahoo.com Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email Recommend stories for further reading

Give your opinion about this story: select here 1 (terrible) 2 .. 3 .. 4 .. 5 (reasonable) 6 .. 7 .. 8 .. 9 .. 10 (excellent)

Send feedback to this author: Your name: Your message to Chrissie Bentley:     (You are not logged in, so you can't send private messages) Public: post this message in the public feedback below