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Mark M Lichterman

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Books by Mark M Lichterman
By Mark M Lichterman
Posted: Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Last edited: Wednesday, December 05, 2012
This short story is rated "R" by the Author.
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Sitting up, free of all restraint, Elsa’s breasts hung slopingly over her stomach and when, with his gentle urging, she laid back, her breasts fell to the sides of her chest where the small areolae showed in black relief against the snowy whiteness.

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Laying the crook of his arm on Elsa’s hip, and the palm of his hand onto her back, applying gentle pressure, now, moving his mouth hard against hers, tongues explored deeper… Now, easing Elsa onto her back, laying his bare chest onto her, each feeling the heat of the other’s body… Now, tongues darting from mouth to mouth, moving her hands to his back, Oh, Jesus! Her resolve gone, Elsa pressed the tips of her fingers into his flesh as, lifting his chest, blindly pushing buttons through button holes… Holding the sides of both breasts within the palms of his hands, Mitchell kissed the hard points of one, then the other nipple over the slick material of her brassiere, as—knowing he was doing it, arching her back upward, helping him, as—reaching behind her back, fumbling for just a moment, one after the other, he opened the two clasps that held the elastic and rayon apparatus…



  U.S.C.G. Rockaway Life Boat Station 

Rockaway, New York

Summer 1953

Elsa Three: Fornication 

“Wait, Mitchie,” using both hands, lifting his face to the level of her eyes, “Let me take it off. I don’t want to go home too wrinkled.”

“Yeah…” Good idea. Breathing heavily, moving back, “Take it off.”

Sitting up, shrugging the blouse off her shoulders, holding it by the inner tab, taking her time, giving herself time to catch her breath, and as a tease, Elsa laid her blouse neatly on the far side of the blanket. Now, pulling her arms through the hanging straps, taking her brassiere off, she laid it on top of the blouse.

If she had been stalling, Mitchell didn’t notice, because he hadn’t taken his eyes off her moonlit, iridescent white breasts.

Sitting up, free of all restraint, Elsa’s breasts hung slopingly over her stomach and when, with his gentle urging, she laid back, her breasts fell to the sides of her chest where the small areolae showed in black relief against the snowy whiteness.

To Mitchell Lipensky, though, regardless of how they truly looked, all breasts were beautiful. To him, the saying “More than a handful is a waste,” must have been thought of by a small-busted woman, because, to Mitchell, the larger they were the more beautiful the were, and, “Oh, God, Elsa,” he said once again, “you are so beautiful!” As lifting one from beneath, feeling the silky, soft texture and cool weight, kissing it, rubbing the hardened circle of flesh over his lips, closing his mouth over it… Feeling her moving against his thigh, putting his hand into the juncture of her crotch, rubbing the rise of her mound with a sensual, circular motion…

“Oh, Jesus!” Opening her thighs, Elsa arched her hips upward.

Her thighs spread, he felt the fissure of, and the heat generated by her vulva… Now, moving two fingers onto the moist depression, rubbing a moment, before she had a chance to object—if she would object—Mitchell moved his hand from outside Elsa’s slacks to inside Elsa’s slacks, to beneath her panties, and… Mmmm! his finger immediately sliding through the minute, slithery lips…

Never before feeling a boy’s finger actually enter her vagina, Elsa tensed a moment then, “Mmmm!” enjoying, truly enjoying the sensation, relaxing, spreading her thighs even wider, Yeah, I want to hold him, she thought. But also, still having a diminishing modicum of fear, remembering how easily it had always been to cause Wayne to ejaculate, quite often almost immediately, rationalizing, If I make him come, he’ll stop! Also rationalizing, Elsa also thought, Then I won’t have to make the—impossible—decision to stop. Taking hold of him, feeling the heat, she massaged the hardness over his jeans…

But knowing just how fast he could ejaculate, determined that this time he was going to only one way, only in one place, “Elsa,” he whispered, “take your slacks off!”

Wanting to… Oh, Jesus, Lord! Wanting to!

Waiting… Waiting for her to move, when she didn’t—remembering that night on his father’s boat with Sally—“Should I take mine off first?”

Without thinking, without hesitation, “Yes!” But Elsa wasn’t sure if this was meant as a stall, or if she wanted to see Mitchell nude but, really, rather she thought, Oh, yeah, she did want to see Mitchell nude.

Recalling the thrill, once he’d overcome his shyness and stood fully nude in front of Sally, and the look on her face, the word “Yes” now caused Mitchell to stand, and standing between her outstretched thighs…. Watching Elsa, seeing her face as best he could in the moonlight, unhurriedly pushing the steel buttons through the buttonholes from the top down…

As each button was pushed through its hole, the level of Elsa’s expectancy—and his excitement—jumped another notch, and…

When the bottom button was pushed through, he hesitated, then, still watching her face, allowed the jeans to slip off his hips, and…

As his jeans dropped, his black pubic hair, scrotum, and the, also, seemingly iridescent flesh of his penis clearly visible, Jesus Christ! Unaware that he was not wearing underpants, his extended penis springing into view startled Elsa, then, seeing a completely nude boy—man!—for the first time in her life, Elsa’s excitement level jumped to the end of her circuitry as…

Yes, of course she had seen Wayne’s penis, but only through his open fly. She’d touched it, and even held his scrotum in the palm of her hand, but always in the semi-darkness of his father’s Mercury. But not like this! No! Never like this.

…Looking at, actually studying Mitchell’s—in her very limited, erroneous estimation—huge, jutting penis, Elsa haltingly reached forward, touched, and closed her cool hand around the warm shaft, as, with her other hand, lifting it from beneath the scrota, holding it, feeling its weight within the palm of her hand, her fingers finding and gently kneading the ovals of his testicles…

Staring, unaware that she was nervously blinking her eyes, nor that her tongue was darting between and around her lips and, He’s—meaning the entire picture—so beautiful, she thought, Christ, holding Mitchell, I want him in me! Lost in her desire, squeezing the shaft, hard, so hard that…


Squeezing so deliciously hard that a drop of glistening semen forced its way through the urethra.

“Ummm!” When Elsa’s nervously cool hand had taken hold of Mitchell’s penis, her touch had sent a jolt of heat through him and… Arching his pelvis forward, he had watched her face as she had studied him, and held his breath as she’d kneaded his testicles, and when she had squeezed his penis he’d tightened his groin and sphincter against ejaculation. Now, not at all sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold off, “Elsa, Baby,” his voice thick with passion, “please take your slacks off.”

Yeah! But lifting her buttocks, she somehow had enough presence of mind to know that this was her last line of resistance… So did not take hold of the elastic band of her panties, and pulled only her slacks off.

Looking forward, Oh, yes, to seeing Elsa fully nude, too, but not, in the least, discouraged because she had left her panties on, dropping to his knees, “Lay back,” he said softly, and…

As if in a trance—or maybe resigned to do what she no longer had the power to stop—lying back, she closed her eyes.

Widening her knees, positioning himself between, and leaning forward, putting his weight on his outstretched arms, sensuously, slowly, Mitchell kissed Elsa’s closed eyes, her mouth, her chin, her neck… He trailed his tongue slowly over, and between her breasts… He licked one, then the other nipple… He kissed the depression of her “inny” navel… And lowered her panties to beneath her hips, below her knees and off one foot…

Salvatore Diamond! Louise Ann! He hadn’t thought about them in years, and the scene in the air well, when he was seven, vividly coming to mind reminded Mitchell that he was in the exact same position that Salvatore and Louis Ann were those, oh, so many years ago, and powerless to stop, not that he wanted to stop…

Lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, Elsa felt the balmy air upon her nude body, and the soft touch of his kisses, and the sensual feel of his tongue as it traced down… down, and…

Lowering his head further, pausing a moment at the not unpleasant salt-tang odor, and the surprisingly soft, damp mat of Elsa’s pubic hair, parting the small, puffy folds of her labia…

“Oh, Jesus!” she said aloud as she felt, and realized what he was doing, for this was mystical stuff, spoken only in whispers, only between the absolute very best of friends, girlfriend to girlfriend, and, “Ummmm!” Elsa kicked her panties off to somewhere in the sand, and grabbing Mitchell by the hair, pushing his mouth harder onto her, gyrating her pelvis in urgent rhythm with her hands, and Mitchell’s head…

Ecstatically lost within the literal sea of Elsa’s vagina, knowing where his mouth was, and his tongue was, feeling Elsa’s passion, becoming a part of, not only his, but Elsa’s passion, also allowing the motion of his head to go with the urging of her hands—and the pulling of his hair—his chin sliding into and out of her capaciously open, thoroughly saturated portal, the bridge of his nose rubbing up and down, over and around Elsa’s now hypertrophied clitoris, her fluid flooding his mouth and nostrils, finding it becoming near impossible to breathe, but—not wanting to move from the sight and smell and taste of this place that he’d dreamt of being, all of his life, so it seemed, and—not wanting to pull from Elsa’s hands and possibly keep her from orgasm, but, at that moment not sure if he was going to drown or ejaculate, turning his head minutely to the left, drawing air through the corner of his mouth, he turned back to the task—task? Ah, yes, it’s a hard job but someone has to do it—he turned back to the task at hand, as…

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Reader Reviews for "BECOMING106:Elsa/sexual3"

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Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Excellent story, Mark; well done!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Texas, Karen Lynn. :D
Reviewed by Annabel Sheila
You have a way with words, my friend.....this is steamy.....
Reviewed by Laura Fall
Fabulous story as they all always are dear friend and Might I add sure found out after reading through all these stories that Breast Mitchie likes best. Great write your friend Laura

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