Published

By Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One – Hef in the 21^st Century

My name is Steve Nickerson, but everyone calls me Nick. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I’m the publisher of the number one magazine in America – "Panty Boy."

It was a big day when we passed up "TV Guide" as number one. And even though Harold Ramis’ character in Ghostbusters said 18 years ago that "Print is dead," it appears that we’ve helped it crawl from its grave.

"Panty Boy" is every man in America’s dirty little secret. The $10.95 glossy little gem that he buys in a neighborhood far from where he lives or works, takes home and hides between the box spring and the mattress, waits until his wife goes grocery shopping, then takes out and strokes off to so many debilitating, multiple orgasms that he can hardly help his life partner carry in the grocery bags from the garage. This, of course, is the same man who makes faggot jokes at work and votes Republican every chance he gets.

But men can only change how they act. Not how they feel. And what they feel when they see a pretty sissy has always been the same – pure lust.

Our little journal reaches into every man’s pants and strokes him to a messy conclusion.

It’s like the newspapers in New York. If you survey people about which newspaper they read, about 80% will say the New York Times. But if you look at the circulation, the Daily News outsells the Times by about two to one.

Except for me and twelve lobbying groups who are in Congress every day trying to get the First Amendment repealed so they can burn my magazine, presses, headquarters, home and body, no one in America admits to reading "Panty Boy." Yet, it sells millions of copies twice each month.

There’s nothing illegal about "Panty Boy." Everyone in it is at least 18-years-old. OK, not much older, but that’s what my "ghost" readers want. And it has a lot of things that give it some redeeming social value. At least as much as those women’s magazines that trumpet, "Six places your man wants you to touch him" or "Ten ways your man should be giving you pleasure." And those things are sold right in grocery stores by the checkouts. Where kids can see them!

I don’t think we’ll ever be sold in grocery stores, but I don’t think we would want to be. We’re doing quite well on newsstands and through other dealers.

Each issue has at least two four-color photo pictorials, just like my idol, Hugh Hefner always called them. Like Hef, one is always a tasteful, well, not that tasteful, set of about 20 photos of a lovely young creampuff in various stages of undress. He’s always wearing stockings and a garter belt and very high heels. He always shows the reader his pretty bottom and little pink hole. And he always strokes his little sissy cock to a nice cum, usually all over his stockings and garter belt. Tasteful. I don’t seem how anyone could complain about that. The pictures are highest quality and the panty boys are America’s finest. I know, because I always, ahem, interview them thoroughly before they appear in the magazine. I told you, Hef is my idol.

The other "pictorial" may get people who aren’t our loyal readers just the teeniest bit annoyed. It’s kind of a high-quality, photographic depiction of a sweet, young (18+) girly boy being loved, anally and orally, usually by a very nice, sweet, older man with a very large cock. You never see the man’s face, but I’ll let you in on a "Panty Boy" secret. It’s me.

I believe a publisher needs to put a lot of himself into his magazine and, believe me, a lot of me has gone into the sissy boys in my pictorials.

I must admit. Publishing a magazine is a lot of work, but my job has a lot of rewards.

Meeting all those sweet young sissies, for example. They come to my offices full of hopes and dreams. They want the Jerry Springer-like fame of having appeared on our pages. Sometimes, just as the photo shoot is about to begin, they get cold feet. I stroke their pretty little prickies and tell them, "Candi, sweetie, consider this. Two weeks from today, eight million men across America will be stroking their hot, heavy pricks as they look at your pictures and dream of having you in their beds. They’ll be cumming hard, in big, thick ropes, dreaming of your pretty face, killer legs and delicious bottom. Willing to do anything just to kiss your sweet sissy lips as they wiggle their fingers in your tiny hole. You drive men wild, Honey! They want to kiss your balls and lick your prick until you squeal and cum all over their faces. Do the math, Candi. Eight million men cumming just once looking at your pictures, probably more like ten times, but let’s say once. If the average man produces one-quarter cup of cum for each orgasm, that’s 125,000 GALLONS of cum being spilled by American men for you. If they all came just once. Are you that unpatriotic that you would deny America’s men that pleasure at a time of national crisis? I don’t think so."

That gets them. Not the patriotism part. That’s just so they can pretend they’re doing a good deed. What gets them is the sheer volume of men who will be adoring their image to a cummy climax. It’s very persuasive. And so am I.

 

Chapter Two – Darla

I guess you’re wondering what a day in the publishing business is like. Well, it’s no stroll in the park. Let me tell you about how last Monday went for me.

I woke about six and looked down to see Darla, my lovely companion for the weekend, sucking my big cock. She’s so sweet. You may remember Darla from "Panty Boy," January 16, 2002. She was the feature "girl’ in the "Bedtime is Playtime for Darla" pictorial. She wore that pretty black peignoir set with black babydoll nightie and lingerie, which she stripped off a little at a time. I’m guessing that the centerfold she did, the one where she’s on her back, wearing only seamed black stockings and a ruffled garter belt, is posted where men all over the world can look at it and dehydrate themselves several times daily. I’m sure you remember it. Darla is looking at the camera with her delicious, bedroom eyes and cum is shown in flight from her peehole. The sissies never really cum as much as us real men, but men just love to see sticky goo leap from their teeny weenies. Her balls are in the picture too and I’ve had thousands of anonymous emails from men telling me how they would love to spend a day just sucking those scrumptious spheres.

I know the captions are a little hokey, but men seem to like them. The caption on the centerfold I just described was, "I cum every time I think of you. Kisses, Darla." In that same pictorial, there’s a great shot of Darla on her back; her tummy is splashed by a little puddle of her cum and her little pink cockhead is drooling goo. The caption is, "I’m so messy. Would you clean me up with your kisses?" And another picture where she’s on her tummy and her pretty bottomhole is winking at the camera. The viewer can see her balls and cock peeking out from beyond. Darla is looking back at the camera, smiling and saying, "I’m lonely for you, Daddy."

I think we provide a real service for America, don’t you?

Darla was providing a lovely service for me that morning. Darla’s mother had dropped her off on Friday afternoon and the little doll and I had been fucking ever since. Except when I took her out Saturday night to show her off and let men drool. And Mass on Sunday, of course.

Darla’s mom is so stagestruck. She came to me thinking Darla would have has a career in movies or something. I told her mom that America doesn’t appear to be ready for that yet. It turned out that I was wrong, but I recommended that Darla find herself a rich Daddy who will give her anything she wants in exchange for the occasional cuddle.

Darla has become an excellent lover.

Her mother brought her to me around Thanksgiving of last year. She wanted Darla in "Panty Boy," no matter what.

I asked Darla about her life, but her mother kept answering my questions. So Biff, my security assistant, gave mom a tour while I interviewed Darla alone. By the way, Biff reported that Darla’s mother was quite the good piece of ass.

"How long have you been a panty boy, sweetie?" I asked the blushing little angel. She was all en femme, showing off her lovely legs in tan stockings, a short miniskirt, and five-inch sandals that showed her lovely red toesies. Her make-up was tasteful and she had done an excellent job with her eyes and lips in particular. Like most panty boys, she left her hair in a boy’s style, with a sweet ribbon and pink barrettes.

"All my life, sir," she answered sweetly. "I was hiding it from Mommy until I was in high school, but when she found out, she encouraged me. I’ve been dressing full time for two years now, since I was 16."

We take great pains to verify that all our models are at least 18. I was getting very aroused just talking to this beauty. "Do you have girlfriends, Sweetheart?"

She blushed again. "Sometimes. Girls like me. But I prefer men."

And she batted her eyes at me. I was quite aroused when I asked, "How much do you like men?"

She smiled, "Oh, I love them. I love stroking their cocks and putting their big, hard erections in my mouth. I love when men shake and grunt and cum in my mouth. And I especially love when men lick and eat my bottom, then put their big cocks into my ‘dirty.’ Oh, I’m sorry. Was that the wrong answer?"

Be honest. What would you have done next?

I said, "Sweetie, I think you’re "Panty Boy" material. Let me see your body."

She immediately shimmied out of her skirt, slip and blouse. Then she teasingly removed her bra. Like all the panty boys in my magazines, she had no titties. Only puffy little nipples that begged for kisses. Then, she locked eyes with me and eased down her panties.

She had a scrumptious little cock that was frightfully erect in my presence. Her balls invited licking and sucking. A nice glob of her sissy sperm had formed at her peehole.

I wanted to take her somewhere and spend the next year making love to her.

But my duty was to the magazine and the American men who read it and make our country strong.

I said, "That’s far enough, Sweetheart. Come over to where I’m sitting, please."

She walked over in the sissiest manner possible, her erect cock flopping against her tummy as her balls swung from side to side.

I was very stiff as I considered how much I loved my job.

Darla stood in front of me, her cock even with my lips. Without preamble, I kissed her lovely doodle. She purred with pleasure. I smiled at her, then held her soft bottom globes in my hands and began to hungrily kiss, suck and lick her angelic privates.

Darla squealed with total sissiness as I consumed her cock with mouth and tongue. Her pricklet was small, but it was leaking profusely and the tasty cream was a delight to my senses.

Sensing she was about to spurt, I left her cock and drew back, smiling at her.

Darla whimpered with need. I know. It was mean to tease.

Then I proceeded to do what every man who has bought our magazine and wanked himself to madness dreaming about. I kissed her sissy balls. She liked that very much. I tickled the entrance to her anus with one fingertip. She squealed. Then I took Darla’s darling balls between my lips, kissing, then sucking them as I ran my tongue over their glorious pinkness

I knew that my tactics held the danger of a face full of sissy cream. But a publisher must face danger and accept what it engenders.

Darla’s sweet little sissy cock spurted and covered my face with her precious goo. She screamed like a little girl, then begged me to kiss her and fuck her hard.

Well, I won’t tell you everything, but it was certainly a thorough interview.

That was about eight months ago. I’m sure you’ve heard about the sensation that Darla’s first pictorial caused. That issue sold about 2 million more copies than usual and the issue with her second pictorial, the one where I fucked her in four positions and she smiled so prettily despite a face full of my cum, that issue sold 4 million more copies than our usual press run.

I was afraid that Darla would get a big head, but she’s still sweet as sugar and is in my bed with me every weekend. She knows that the mainstream movie deal she signed was largely due to my efforts. It still surprises me that she got a deal, though. I didn’t think America was ready for a "Panty Boy" movie star, but even a movie producer can smell a trend.

 

Chapter Three – The Daily Grind

Getting back to telling you about my Monday. I like Mondays. That’s when I interview the new talent.

I love Darla. Don’t get me wrong. But I’m always wondering what lies around the next corner, you know? I mean Darla’s an eleven out of a possible ten. But I just know there are twelves I haven’t met yet. Call me optimistic.

That morning, after Darla got my heart started, I got myself together and dressed. Darla had a busy day ahead of her, because I had lined her up to meet three or four obscenely rich, married, middle-aged men who wanted to be Darla’s "daddy." The lucky winner (or winners if Darla wanted to live life dangerously) would pay enough to keep Darla in high style for the rest of her life and the lives of three or four generations of her descendants. All she would have to do would be to make her "daddy" happy two or three times a week. And Darla had a real talent for that.

Just a little service I provide to the sweeties who grace our pages. And I occasionally get a small "finders fee" from the grateful daddies. Just to cover expenses, you know.

I kissed Darla and wished her luck. She kissed me back and I had to restrain myself from further fun for that moment. But duty called.

When I arrived at "Panty Boy" world headquarters in downtown Fromage, Wisconsin, my assistant Annie was insisting that I review and select the cover for our next issue. Annie is a genetic girl, one of several on our staff, and a great assistant. Guys are always saying how GGs get hormonal and distracted and stuff, but at "Panty Boy," we on the male staff are attacked daily by our hormones, which demand that we set work aside and take every sissy who walks in the door on a three-hour tour. A three-hour tour.

So Annie showed me three choices of a cover for the August 16, 2002 issue, which will feature the lovely Tina. Sweet Tina, and believe me, I have sampled that sweetness, is 18 years and two months old. She is blonde, heartbreakingly beautiful and eager to please. And the camera adores her.

Like my idol Hef’s bunny, which is on every cover, we at "Panty Boy" have an ongoing symbol – pink panties. Our logo, "Panty Boy" in upper and lower case lettering, Helvetica typeface, has a pair of pink panties draped on the upper left corner of the "P." And in every issue, that month’s cover "girl," is shown in a head-to-toe shot, wearing only pink panties and sexy, open-toed pink mules with five-inch stiletto heels.

In my three choices for that issue, Tina is wearing full, lovely make-up suitable for a formal evening of dancing or fucking. Her hair is in a boyish style with pink barrettes and the cutest pink ribbon. Her finger- and toenails are buffed and painted hot pink. And her smile is nuclear. I was stiff just looking at her in two dimensions. Then I remembered that on the following Thursday, Tina and I were scheduled to shoot a pictorial for a future issue. I’ll jump ahead a little and tell you that it took us about three hours to shoot those lovely pictures, but the up side was that I got to unload my hot balljuice over several landmarks of Tina’s incredible body.

In one of the cover pictures, Tina is naughtily reaching into the front of her panties to touch her little doodle. In another, she is cupping the skimpy flesh around her right nipple in invitation of the reader’s kisses. In the third she is turned around, looking over her shoulder, offering her pantied bottom for the reader’s approval.

They were all spectacular, but I had to pick one. I chose the third shot, because an implied promise of anal delights would probably appeal to a reader or two.

That grueling task over, I approved the "articles" for that issue. There was a short piece on a new sports car, which, like Hef, I included so that the purchaser of Panty Boy could reassure himself that he wasn’t a complete pervert, since he had interests beyond porking panty boys. Even if he didn’t.

There was a pretty good piece on "Ten Ways to Bring Your Panty Boy to Ecstasy," which made the reader figure that actually meeting one of the dolls who graced our pages was not only possible, but the reader would know what to do with the little sweetie on their "date."

Another feature that is almost as popular as our pictorials has been our Panty Boy art pages. Most of this section is done by an outstanding artist named Teri, who is the creator of all those Spermco comics with TG themes. For the issue I was reviewing, Teri told a story in four incredible line drawings. She titled it, "In at Lunch" and it depicts a busy executive meeting his pretty panty boy for some lunchtime shenanigans. In the first drawing, the executive has just entered a hotel room. He is wearing an expensive suit and tie, has dropped his briefcase and is passionately kissing his panty boy. The executive is a large, handsome, muscular man and the panty boy is petite and very beautiful. The panty boy is very feminine and in full make-up, lingerie and five-inch stiletto sandals. As she kisses her man, we note that she has omitted her panties and her little pricklet is fiercely erect.

In the next drawing, the executive is naked and the panty boy has stripped to her stockings and heels. The panty boy is on her knees, tongue-worshipping the executive’s huge cock and balls. The executive’s cock is cumming big, hot globs of sperm into the sissy’s face.

In the next, the panty boy is on her back on the bed and her man has mounted her. Her legs are up and back and the man is fucking her pretty bottom with his huge, cumming cock. Cum is drooling in thick gobs from her bottom. Her face is a mask of intense, erotic pleasure.

In the last, the couple is lying side by side on the bed, kissing. The man has just stroked the panty boy to a delicious emission, every detail of which can be seen in the beautifully rendered drawing.

It’s no wonder men love our publication, eh? Who wouldn’t like to spend his lunch hour like that? And maybe the rest of his life.

We always get great articles from freelancers because we pay well. We’ve gotten an excellent reader response from "Sissy Cum: Tasty and Good for You," "How a Panty Boy Wants her Man to Suck her Balls," which was a favorite of mine, and "What Attracts Panty Boys to Their Men." Some of the articles are very stimulating, such as the interview with May 1, 2001 "Panty Boy" covergirl Susie, who spoke about how much she loves to suck nice men’s cocks and describes some of her favorite blowjobs (both those she’s given and received) in exquisite detail. Some of our readers actually read that article, I imagine.

After I approved the "articles," I asked Annie who was interviewing that day.

"I think you’ll like some of them, Nick," she said. "Especially the first one. She’s heartbreakingly pretty, today is her 18^th birthday, and her mother is forcing her to be a panty boy."

Resistance!?!? I was going to get reluctance and maybe even resistance from a candidate? Now that was exciting.

"Oh, and one other thing, Nick. She has a fat, seven-inch cock."

<Gulp> I had heard that there were panty boys with big Johnsons, but this would be my first. I was tingling with excitement.

Annie noticed and smiled. "So, should I bring in Emily and her mother, Helen?"

"Yes, please."

 

Chapter Four -- Emily

I saw Emily’s mother before I saw Emily. Mom was tall, beautiful and dressed very sexily. Not my taste when I had a waiting room and life full of the world’s prettiest panty boys, but my security assistant Biff seemed to score with the moms all the time.

Mom was pulling the arm of the first "twelve" (out of a possible ten) who had ever entered my lair. She was tall and slim and beautifully turned out, with long, silky, black-stockinged legs, naturally blonde hair and a face that men would go to war over. And she was crying and resisting.

One of the reasons I pay my platoon of lawyers is to insist that they get full written consent for photographing each panty boy and for me having a variety of sexual relations with them. Emily wouldn’t be in my office if all those I’s hadn’t been dotted. But she was obviously not pleased.

Her mom said, "Emily, get in here, now! You know that you’re prettier than any girl you’ve ever met in your life. And you know you get a permanent erection whenever you put panties on. Now let’s meet the nice man and let you fulfill your destiny."

Emily just whimpered, rubbed her gorgeous eyes, and sneaked wet peeks at me through her tears.

Then she said, "But, Mama, I’m not gay!"

"Of course you’re not, Honey. You’re a panty boy. A girl in every way that matters. Men go wild when they see you. They have all your life. They circle our house like wolves, but you deny them, and yourself, the pleasures that only you could give so well. Letting yourself be a man-loving panty boy is the best thing for you, trust me."

Emily didn’t look as if she trusted anyone at that moment, but she sat in the chair I offered her. Biff appeared magically and offered a tour to Emily’s mom. Biff was lucky that day. He fucked all the moms, but most weren’t as dishy as that one.

Emily’s mom seemed to like the idea of some slap and tickle with Biff. They left Emily and me alone.

Emily was quivering and whimpering. Oh, goodness. My cock was almost ripping through my pants.

I disarmed her a bit by saying, "Happy birthday, Emily."

She stopped crying for a moment and looked me in the eyes. "Thank you," she said.

"You’re welcome. Are you still in high school?"

She stared at me for a moment, then said, "Yes, I’m a senior." Then she began to sob uncontrollably again.

I got up and walked over to her. I pulled her to her high-heeled feet and hugged her. I patted her back and asked, "What’s the matter, Baby?"

"I’ll be humiliated. Everyone in my school will know I was in Panty Boy. I can never go back to school or anywhere as a boy again. Everyone will hate me. Or worse, want to put their big things in me. My life is ruined."

I hugged and rocked her as she ranted. Then I let her cry it out for a while before I said, "But a new, better part of your life will be beginning."

She stopped whimpering and considered that. Then Emily asked, "How?"

I stood back from her and offered her a seat again. "You’re the most beautiful panty boy I’ve ever seen."

Her face got red when I said that, but I saw the hint of a smile.

"There are legions of men out there who would do anything for you. You have no idea what power you have."

For someone who was used to being powerless, that was a welcome observation. "I’m powerful?" she asked.

"Awesomely so, Sweetheart. Now look, I interview pretty panty boys all the time, so it takes a lot to affect me, but look what you’ve done to me." I pulled my zipper down and extracted my huge, stiff, dripping cock.

That was a risk, but it paid off.

Emily gasped, and blushed. She turned away, then made little sneaky peeks at my package.

Goodness she was beautiful. And innocent!

I decided to appeal to her ego. "Sweetheart, I believe that the issues that feature your pictures will be the most popular magazine issues ever published. You would be therefore recognized as one of the prettiest people in the world."

I had her attention.

"Men will be paying their hard-earned $10.95 to look at your pictures and stroke their cocks. Dreaming about making love to you."

And I began to stroke my own cock. Emily shifted in her seat, but watched my hand rub my dripping glans.

"They’ll leave the world of trouble and woe and, for a few moments, enter a world of beauty and love and pleasure."

I stroked my cock and I was getting closer to a cummy conclusion..

"They’ll dream of you loving them, making them happy. They’ll adore you. Worship you as their goddess of love. They’ll think, if only Emily were with me right now. If only I were looking into her beautiful eyes, as I’m looking into yours right now, Sweetie. If only it were Emily’s hand touching my cock, bringing me pleasure."

Emily was quite affected by my words and actions, but I was still not certain what she would do when I added, "Would you bring me the pleasure that no man deserves, Emily? The pleasure that only the prettiest panty boy in the world can bring a man?"

She hesitated for an instant, then cautiously replaced my hand on my cock with hers.

Am I good, or what?

She appeared surprised by its heat and removed her hand for a moment. Then she set about pleasing me.

Emily obviously knew how to stroke a cock, although I was certain that mine was her first beyond her own. I shuddered with pleasure, which seemed to please her greatly.

As she stroked me, I continued to praise her beauty and her skill at pleasing a man until she began to rub my goo all over my cockhead with her thumb. That did it for Nick. I began to quiver and spurt my manly cream into the air. Emily actually giggled once as she watched it erupt.

One big barrier knocked down, thank you.

I assaulted the second one when I sat, drew her to my lap, and began to thank her and kiss her for taking me to heaven.

She appeared uncomfortable at first, but when the earth didn’t open up and plunge her downward for her sins, she began to kiss me back.

I’m a good kisser. Emily seemed to agree. The naughty little scamp actually gave me her tongue.

Oh, how I wanted to fuck her. But the publisher in me took over.

I broke the kiss and said, "I have to see your body, Emily. If you want to be in "Panty Boy" and have millions of men cumming buckets in your honor."

She didn’t seem to want to stop kissing me, but she stood and removed her blouse, skirt, slip and bra. Her nipples were perfection themselves. Forget the magazine. I was running off to an island with Emily and three cases of Viagra.

She stood before me in only her black stockings, garter belt, pink panties and very high pumps. She looked worried about my approval. Rather than tell her she was fantastic, I illustrated it, by displaying a newly invigorated Woodrow.

I saw what Annie meant about sweet Emily. Her pink panties were bulging more than any sissy who had graced my office.

"You can lose the panties now, Honey," I said in my best casting-couch manner.

She seemed to be timid about displaying her package to me. I guessed that she had seen some of our issues and knew she was different.

When the panties slid off, I beheld a wondrous sight. An incongruous sight. A man-sized set of balls below a whopper of a prick. Set off by an incredibly feminine person’s soft, delicious body.

Thank goodness for my instincts. I went over to my desk and buzzed Annie. "Code Five, Annie," I said.

"Right on it, Nick," she said.

We had never had a Code Five before, but we had certainly trained for it.

Unfortunately, it was scaring Emily. Her dripping cock even drooped slightly. "What’s happening, Mr. Nickerson? Is the building on fire?"

I smiled. "No, Honey. You’re the only one who’s on fire. And call me Nick. A Code Five is when we have someone in here who is so sweet and beautiful and innocent that we want to capture that innocence on film immediately. You’re the fist Code Five we’ve ever had."

Emily once again liked being special. But she was confused.

"We’re going to shoot your pictorials right now, Emily. Both of them."

Emily smiled. Then she realized what "both of them" meant. I was going to fuck her and have it all on film. Oh, I was praying that the reluctance and fear I was seeing on her face would show up in the photos. We would have to kill three more forests to print all the issues it would sell.

Annie sent all the other applicants and their mothers home to much grumbling. My photographer, Mr. Andre, always had a room ready for a Code Five. My make-up/wardrobe girl, Julie, swung into action.

I love it when a plan comes together.

I escorted a trembling, nearly naked Emily to Julie, who was very sweet to "Panty Boy’s" newest star. She dressed her in a marvelous pink set of lingerie and was as surprised as I to see what Emily was packing.

Andre was all set when a nervous, but insanely beautiful Emily emerged for her brush with immortality.

I beamed with love for Emily and pride for what I do.

I was an artist in a way. But unlike most artists, I created something people actually liked.

Andre relaxed Emily a bit with his engaging manner, then he shot about 500 pictures of her. Andre and I talked her through posings that would be remembered as historic in our industry. The outtakes alone would probably bring millions from some sultan or other. Emily was scared and fretting, which made the shoot ten times more erotic. She was completely humiliated to fondle her huge prick in front of us and I thought she would faint with embarrassment after she spurted enough cum to drown a raccoon. Andre caught every nuance. The 20 pictures that I would finally select for the first pictorial, I vowed to send to the Smithsonian. Those pictures would be at least as worthy as what happened at Kitty Hawk in 1903.

After the shoot, I had Emily sit in my lap as I kissed her and told her we had just landed on the publishing moon together.

She was sniffling a bit, but she adored the praise. As we talked, I told her I would help her clean up. I said that the sweet juice of love that her body had produced could not be wasted. I asked her to stand, then licked her cummy tummy clean. And cummy pubic hairs. She squirmed a little, but her tremors were laced with pleasure.

I said, "Two more places to clean." Then I licked her balls, swabbing the first photo shoot’s messy residue. She squealed, revealing her true sissiness and was fiercely erect when I took her "messy" cockhead between my lips and swirled my tongue around it.

She reacted like the perfect angel she is. She screamed, then blasted spurt after spurt of sticky sissy cream into my delighted mouth. She came and came, gasping, panting and grunting. Flinging her head back, then pulling it forward and locking eyes with me as I sucked the last scrumptious drops of her divine ejaculate.

I hugged and kissed her and sent her off for some fluids and a costume change and make-up touch-up.

I was wildly excited as I drank a quart of water and took two Viagra, just in case.

I was going to fuck the most delicious panty boy ever born! And take her virginity! On a Monday! Really changes your mind about the day, doesn’t it?

About an hour later, my Viagra had kicked in and my shy beauty had emerged from her tune-up.

Oh.

I had to restrain myself just from cumming at the sight of her. She was wearing six-inch-heeled, strappy sandals over tan, seamed stockings that covered perfect red toenails and were held up by a lacy white garter belt. She was wearing regulation pink panties and a white training bra. Her face was almost too beautiful to look at! I had to remember to give Julie a raise. That eye make-up! Those lips!

Emily had looked in the mirror and was just starting to get an idea about the possibilities life offered her.

She saw me, naked and rampant, and she blushed. But I think she also knew that she could have told me to run around the block three times naked before I could fuck her and I would have eagerly agreed. Fortunately, I think at that point she was as curious about a good fucking as I was randy for one.

The big advantage of the Code Five is that the panty boy doesn’t have time to get an "attitude" or consult with her lawyer or agent. Or worse, her mother.

I told the new love of my life to ignore Andre and just enjoy what we were doing. The lights in the studio were hot, but so were we. We kissed. I held her body next to mine. Her perfume assaulted my libido. Ohhhhhhh.

I lifted her bra and licked and sucked her nipples. Emily was totally surprised at the erotic fury that the activity threw her into.

Andre is a genius. He captured Emily’s surprise, her erotic excitement, and her rapture as she spurted helplessly, just from having her nipples sucked. He also captured each glop of cum as it fled her pretty balls and emerged from her stiff monster

Andre also got my furious, oral assault on her privates as I licked up her cum, then laid her on her tummy, her bottom raised by three fluffy pillows, and I began to tongue her virgin bottomhole.

Her squeals were superior to Mozart on his best day as I happily ate her delicious "dirty place." Andre was running back and forth, capturing her expressions of sweet agony and my masterful tonguework as I ate from the buffet of love.

The sweet panty boy was almost in an erotic trance when she came hard, blowing her hot seed into the pillows and drenching them. I would have to send the pillows to the Smithsonian as well.

Then Andre captured her facial expression, which displayed the erotic entanglement of fear and raw lust, as I rose to my knees and presented the wet tip of my cock to her sopping, well-eaten hole.

I rubbed my peehole around the wrinkly perimeter of her anus, enjoying the whimpers they engendered from my rare, sweet goddess of beauty. Then I pushed the nut of my prick past her surrendered defenses. She gasped. Then shuddered through yet another violent cum.

I waited, allowing her to savor her cum and await her total deflowering. When Emily’s tremors eased, I pushed my entire big boy into her tight, though elastic place.

Emily screamed! From sexual heat, I believed. I confirmed that when she muttered, "Fuck me, Nick!" in a barely audible voice and pushed her perfect bottom back for a full portion of cock.

I vaguely remember hoping Andre was getting all of it, but all I could see or feel was Emily. I reached around her hips to tickle her balls with my left hand and her cock with my right. She was whimpering and wiggling and begging for more cock. I gave her all she could handle. I fucked her for 23 minutes, during which Andre shot 14 rolls of film. Then I told her I was almost there and stroked her lovely cockhead with a purpose. The little angel had left earthly existence and was occupying a plane where there was nothing except her bottom and my cock. I felt the big, point-of-no-return tingle, felt Emily quiver and gush her sticky goo on my hand, then felt a sledgehammer hit my balls and blow the cum out. Seven sticky spurts deluged Emily’s bowels. She cried out after each one, assuring me that she had felt each one intensely. Then we collapsed.

I lay on top of her, covering her with my manly body, and kissed her neck and cheeks. After a few minutes, my cock slipped out of her bottom. She had one more big surprise for me that session.

My cock was covered with poopy bits. I know, because Andre got a crystal-clear shot of it. He also got perfect shots of Emily licking it clean of poop and cum, then sucking and licking me until I made another huge load of cum, this time all over her classic face.

Good gravy!

Afterward, we lay there kissing. Andre left to develop the film. Or so he said. I really think he went to whack off. Or, even better, to dally with one of the former "Panty-Boy-of-the-Half-Month" lovelies who hung around our world headquarters when their "daddies" didn’t request their affections.

I lay on my back and held the prettiest panty boy I had ever seen in my loving arms.

"Tell me again about all the men who will be stroking themselves as they dream of me," Emily said.

I did so. I also told her that I was going to do something I had never done. Emily’s solo pictorial would be published in consecutive issues, rather than one issue. The pictorial of us loving each other would be spread over three additional issues. So instead of two issues, Emily would get five. I was that sure that the pictures would be the best set of ball-drainers we had ever photographed.

She almost expired from joy. And sucked my cock in gratitude. Until it was hard enough for….well, you know.

Emily and I have been inseparable since then. More than a whole week! When she starts getting 20,000 emails a day from sexually desperate men, she may develop an attitude and think she doesn’t need me any more. Or she may stay with me forever.

When you’re Nick Nickerson, you don’t worry about things like that because the waiting room is full every Monday. And the next panty boy may be even better than the one who just left.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Gingerfred Man. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.