Ilene The BeginningInstallment 1 Her slender young fingers confidently encircled his throbbing little penis. With ever-so-smooth gliding strokes accomplished out of both instinct and practice she brought his member to as great a size as it had ever been. Sensing her amusement at playing with his exceptionally thin shaft of manhood, the small Korean-American boy tried to bluff his way through the sudden wave of insecurity he felt. "Kid, you're just not good enough to make me cum! It takes more than you've got," declared the trembling high school senior, unconvincingly. But his sweaty emotional state belied his bold proclamation, and the fourteen-year-old girl knew it. He groped at her thin, soft, white thighs while struggling to position himself for insertion, but futilely. Ilene was bringing him to that familiar precipice to that final ecstatic moment where the biggest and most powerful man in the world must succumb. As he made one last desperate effort to mount her, Ilene simply pressed her moist lips against his while slightly altering the speed and position of her moving fingers. Then, in a few weak spasms of submission, it was over. The warm, creamy jism shot from his little prick, spattering about the car's upholstery, and he was reduced to a defeated heap of quivering jelly, totally overwhelmed by a little high school Freshman. She smiled, gave him a gentle hug and whispered, "Maybe next time, little boy," as she breezed out the door. Why is it always this way?, Ilene Butrynelle asked herself while walking along the cold, dark, sidewalk. I'd like to fuck them and I've always tried to let myself do it, but. . . there's something there. . . something hazy that I can't quite remember. To most of Ilene's friends, beating-off boys was little more than a raunchy party game. Originally a new activity that they began playing in middle school, it was now just something to laugh about when drunk or stoned. But for some girls it was also a fast, safe way to cool off a date who had become too excited and was pressuring for a back seat lay: It made saying no easy; it immediately ended the hassle. To a few other "women" (happily, a very small group), by quickly and mechanically jacking-off their dates they made the feminist statement, "I'm in charge here, mister. Any sex we have will be on my terms!" But for yet a third group of less secure girls it was a risky prelude to unwanted intercourse. Unable to control their own mounting emotions while they whacked on their partners' cocks, the hand jobs usually turned into full-fledged screwing as the ladies became so stimulated themselves that their hot and eager partners jumped at the opportunity: going "all the way" became the inevitable outcome of these extended petting sessions. For Ilene, the reasons were far more complex, and what was just a passing game to her friends soon turned into a life-long obsession for her. Growing up as she did with two older step-brothers, this little girl of mixed Japanese ancestry had often questioned her own femininity while secretly watching them masturbate. The larger cock was especially intriguing to her: could he keep from coming longer than his smaller brother? Would they let me play with their pricks? I wonder what they feel like? These questions were quickly answered, and before long she was playing "race" with both of them. "Whoever comes first loses the race," she chirped, while stroking both staffs into a frenzy of groans, pants, and shortly, submission. Ilene laughed and giggled when the Brothers Grim, laying on the bedroom floor spent and humiliated by this incredible experience, commanded her to leave. This had occurred when Ilene was twelve. And she loved it. From that time on, while her brothers treated her with embarrassed avoidance (ashamed of being so helpless at the hands of their kid half-sister) Ilene came not to understand but to accept and appreciate her personal sexuality. And her own unique ability. She learned quickly. And the fact that she could make boys ejaculate, almost at will, gave her the most exciting feeling she would ever experience. To Ilene, watching a boy cum and experiencing her own orgasm were one in the same. Strangely, although she never craved sexual intercourse herself, the bigger and stronger and better looking that the hunk of man she worked-over was, the more stimulating and erotic it became for her when he lost it; especially if he'd made a macho issue out of his ability to "control himself" by holding off. Before long, a wimpy little kid became no challenge at all. In fact, with most high school boys (even the big football jocks) it soon became a "no contest" game for her. Oh, they'd all try to keep their loads in check, but her coyness her subtle "you-don't-stand-a-chance" grin as she deftly took charge soon made even the most sexually experienced boy unable to resist her requirement: he must come. Later, as she drifted away from boys and concentrated her attentions on men, her own enjoyment reached new peaks as she grew to appreciate more and more this enormous power she possessed. No one was immune; no one could avoid ejaculating. Ilene's control over their orgasms was total. Grown men really weren't much different from growing boys, she soon found out. When alone with her for the first time as she beat on their pricks, many men would talk a good defense such as "I don't play games little girl," or "When you get tired of that jack-off kid stuff I'm gonna fuck your brains out." But in the end, it just didn't happen that way. No man had ever altered the inevitable when Ilene decided to beat him off. Many protested, some cursed, but at her discretion, they all came. Actually, Ilene was so seductively compelling it was seldom that she even had to completely undress; simply unbuttoning her blouse was enough. Her dates became so intensely aroused when she began jacking them off that most of them would loose it almost immediately. And those few men who could hold off longer than the others were quickly disposed of when she drew their sweaty hands to her hard, caramel-colored nipples while simultaneously giving them a tender kiss. By using her lips, breasts, and fingers, her partners' urges to ejaculate became unbearable, and even the strongest-willed men were rendered helpless. Why? Why can I do this and only this? I'm not a nut case and I know I'd like to screw someone, someday. Maybe the next time. Yes. For sure the next time. I'll let him spread my thighs and push it in and... and I'll try not to finish him off by hand. Really, I will. Ilene wasn't an exceptionally beautiful girl; too short and too thin she thought rather plain. And her breasts were entirely too small. But her body was very well proportioned and she did present a neat package with great legs and a tight little ass. That, she thought, along with flowing black hair so characteristic of many Eurasian females certainly added to the mystique. But there was something else, too. Her attitude, she eventually realized, was the key to her irresistibility. With subtle, graceful movements in perfect concert with body language that screamed, "I want to please you!" Ilene Butrynelle drew a great deal of male attention. So much in fact that she always had the luxury of choosing from a hoard of suitors. And most of the time she didn't go after the most handsome or the richest or the strongest or the funniest: She chose her men according to her desires at the moment. If she happened to be in the mood for horseback riding, she'd simply snap her fingers at the cowboy in the crowd. If a seedy bar and cheap whiskey was on her mind, a burly `cyclist or skid-row bum would quickly oblige. Few knew what would happen at date's end since Ilene seldom went out with the same man twice, but whatever their hopes and plans might have been, she would change them. A curious psychological twist to Ilene's preferred scenario sometimes occurred. Infrequently, her date would only want a hand job. On those rare occasions she would oblige, but without passion. Her thrill came from giving them what she wanted, over their objections, and only when it was less than they wanted. The more they resisted her the more aroused and satisfied she became when she finally overwhelmed them by the stroking of her little hand. Ilene's ninth grade math teacher, a huge, powerful immigrant of Polish stock named Moormanski, made the mistake of inviting her to his office one day after school to discuss her poor performance on a test. Leaning over his desk as if to see the errant paper, Ilene caught his eyes when her three-buttons-undone blouse exposed golden nipples and small white breasts to full view. The moment he swallowed hard she knew that he was hers. Silently walking to his side and pressing herself close, her nimble fingers deftly slid under his belt. Without ever taking her eyes away from his she whispered, "Please, Mr. Moormanski, let me make you feel good." It happened quickly. Belt, trousers, and shorts fell to his ankles as she began to jack him off, and despite his attempts to regain composure and take control, this huge man was at her mercy. Ilene was relentless in her demand for his total submission. Her frequent tiny squeals, deep breaths, and murmurs that he not resist made the outcome certain; she would win, and he knew it. Stroking his massive member with just two slim fingers ever so light to the touch, yet with increasing speed to match his mounting intensity Ilene beamed with glory when he gasped and jerked at that frenzied, decisive moment. And then it ended. With a dozen mighty bursts his semen gushed to the floor and he lay silent. She kissed him lightly on the forehead, ran her fingernails lightly along his wet, spent shaft, and slipped quietly out the door. Her A in math was assured. God, what an opportunity I missed. Moormanski must be an expert fucker and I blew it again. But I couldn't stop myself. When I saw him trying to hold off I just went wild with the thought that I might not be able to control... control? Is it that simple? Maybe, but I think there's a lot more. Shit, it's still hazy, but I can't stop thinking about mommy and Aunt Bea. Auntie's in control but mommy isn't. From the pimply-faced boy next door (in the back seat of daddy's car) to the muscle-bound weight lifting coach (in the weeds next to the gym), Ilene pursued a full and satisfying life for herself. As she grew into womanhood her tastes didn't change; they intensified, bringing her even greater pleasures with every new conquest. But one small dark spot loomed ahead in Ilene's future: college. She'd heard stories about the sexual prowess of university men and wondered if her game would see her through that foreboding time just a few months away. What challenges would she encounter and how would she handle them? She shivered as she gazed out her bedroom window, but then smiled, just a little, as she rubbed cold cream over her slender white fingers. |