Case of The Missing Pussy  

electricbob3 61M
172 posts
12/15/2005 12:07 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Case of The Missing Pussy


I heard her heels on the stairs and recognized her clickity-clack and was almost up into the recessed ceiling tiles when she caught me by the leg.
"Where you going Mr. Shit? Were you wanting to leap outta the ceiling and onto my unsuspecting sensual body to ravish me brutally and completely? Please answer yes!"
I hated the way she seem to purposely mispronounce my given name. It was 'che-it', not shit, and I searched for a smart-ass reply but came up with; " I was actually testing a new spy camera and had to make some adjustments in the ceiling, but what has that got to do with you being here in my office once again?"
" I've lost my pussy Shit and I need you to find it!" As her words registered I easily scanned her
femme profile while pretending to read the American Line on todays' races. she seemed oblivious of my eyeballing and it was fairly certain to me that I wouldn't have much trouble locating her pussy.
" If you've finished ogling me Shit I would appreciate it if you'd return to the here and now so we can discuss my case"
" I wasn't ogling you Ms. I was merely checking your outfit over for clues and stray threads."
We sat down and she told me the whole story behind her missing pussy and I was, unexpectantly, finding myself taken by the way her lucious lips moved as she formed words, and the beautiful tauntness of her neck as she became upset or intent on parts of the tale. Then, without so much as a " may I fuck you?", or " nice weather we're having eh?", I reached across my desk, pulled her towards me and planted a deep passionate kiss right on her ear-she'd turned her mouth away just in time.
But apparently the kiss on the ear had a uncontrollable effect because in seconds we were semi-naked, her spread eagle on my desk, my notes on todays races stuck to the bottom of her hot ass, and my head between her thighs, tongue lickin' and dipping as she spurted her orgasms all over my face and last clean neck-tie. The Dame was a 'spurter' and I'd known it from the first time she'd entered my office 3 weeks earlier. I told her so as we shared a between sex
cigarette.
" I'm not a spurter Shit! I was pissin' because you got so carried away that you didn't hear me yelling at you that I had to go pee!!!"
Just like a woman. Afraid to admit their sexual needs or turn-ons and so I let it slide. I did notice that my tie had a strong ammonia smell but that was probably just my imagination.
She spent the night and the next day I found her pussy, a kitten by the name of KitKat, at a club down on West Ave. ran by a bunch of English Bulldogs who took in unsuspecting strays and photographed them to be placed on velvet tapisries, framed and hung in the homes of perverts the world over and later sold at flea markets. It was Elvis's fate too, I think they still have him locked in that club somewhere but I've never considered rescuing him, not and take a chance on him playin' Vegas again.
Of course, ya gotta check out FlyAways version too if ya want the whole story!!!

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