Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2006 12:18:48 +0100
From: mozzie@zalau.ro
Subject: Suzie #17

This is the story of a girl's sexual awakening and her experiences and
those of her friends. How her curiousity and self-doubt bring her to
explore new heights in pleasure. The story will develop to show instances
of masturbation, M/F, M/F/F, F/F, M/M - if any of this is likely to cause
you offence, please do not read on ....

Only minutes before, Liam's tongue had caused the seething oily cauldron
inside me to boil, spilling its load in hot flushes of liquid coursing down
my love tube, coating his tongue from which I had drunk like a thing
possessed.

Although my sex had had a break while Liam had started to power his smooth
teenage rod inside his own sister, I was still very much suffering those
delicious aftershocks of the series of orgasms that had quivered through my
body. The slightest thing could cause a spasm to wrack my mound and a small
squirt of hot milky fluid to gush out. Sometimes it seemed to happen just
by itself. Liam's tonguing had reduced me to a state where I simply
couldn't go off the boil, it was mind blowing, I hoped it would never end.

I grabbed Liam's straining shaft as it stood upright between us, still
slick with Chloe's love juices. His dick rose powerfully at my touch, Lord
I just love that feeling. His erection pulsed hard against my hand as I
lowered it to where I could lick its length a little easier.

My tongue lapped his ball sack, before snaking its way up the long
underside. I traced the thick swollen pipe running up the underneath of his
rod, licking Chloe's sticky goo from its entire length. My tongue slid up a
little, then shot back down to lick the last part again, making sure that
not one molecule of Chloe's delicious juice was lost. Once I was sure that
the underside was cleaned, I repeated the exercise with one side and then
the other, slowly making my way around the boy's swollen manhood.

I hadn't really thought of what effect my prolonged and protracted licking
would be having on Liam. The poor boy had endured an age of licking me out,
feasting his eyes on what his sister and I had to offer, but simply
couldn't have at that time. He had finally started to shaft his sister but
I had stopped that. He must have been frustrated to bursting at that
time. I simply hadn't considered this when I had started to clean his
iron-hard erection with my tongue. All I had wanted was to savour every bit
of his sister's fluids.

Liam's hand had lowered to rest on my mound. His touch had caused another
gush of my white-hot fluid to spurt from my aching sex. My vagina lips
twitched and quivered on their own. His hand just stayed their motionless.

Had I been a little more with it I would have realised what was happening
to this gorgeous naked teenage boy knelt up in front of me. I was too sex
crazed, too orgasm wracked, to really notice.

Liam put one hand on my head. I was about to move my mouth over the swollen
glans. His touch made me strain my eyes to take in his face.

His head was thrown back; his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open. Chloe
had moved sort of half sat up on a pillow alongside me. Chloe started to
ask, "Is he ..." she never finished her question.

My tongue was moving again underneath his penis. I actually felt the thick
wad of boy cum rush up that swollen tube under the tip of my tongue. The
first jet slapped just to the side of my nose. Liam gagged, his buttocks
pinched in tight and his hips thrust forward. A second powerful ribbon of
thick white cum spattered into my hair. The next spewed out a long strand
from my forehead to my cheek.

The deluge took me aback; as I instinctively moved back to protect my eyes
the remnants of his orgasm snaked out across my breasts in two or three
dying squirts.

Liam collapsed back to the bed; his knees still bend underneath
him. Another mini-orgasm ripped through my sex in sympathy with Liam's
climax. Chloe had half turned towards me and was staring wide eyed, "Wow,"
was all she could say, then she asked, "Is that OK to taste?"

She didn't in fact wait for an answer, leaning forward to lick her
brother's wilting erection. Possibly she thought she could get another
squirt out of the boy, but he was spent. She licked a few drops from his
stomach and glans, his thick rubbery tube lolling to one side as his
sister's tongues pushed it around his firm flat stomach.

Chloe abandoned her efforts to taste that salty cream directly from her
brother; she turned to me. I was still half propped up, slightly dazed from
my unexpected sperm shower. Chloe lapped the long thick strand of warm boy
cum from the side of my nose. Her tongue devoured every small trace of the
white ribbon, before moving on to the next spatter.

As her lips passed mine, I stole a kiss. Chloe paused just a moment, just
long enough for our lips to meet positively before her yearnings for Liam's
juice made her break the kiss to feast.

Again and again her lips brushed past mine, sometimes our tongues met and
then Chloe was back to licking the white goo from my naked body with long
slow hard brushes of her tongue.

My face was soon clean. Chloe followed the strands down, the very tip of
her tongue flicking the odd drop from my shoulder. The mass on my breast
had started to slide its long way down in a wide stream, splitting to
circle my nipple before rejoining one shallow smear on the other side of
the hard bud island.

Chloe's rasping tongue roving around my breast and lapping over my nipple,
sent another orgasm trembling through my soul. I squirmed at her touch
before a spasm smashed through my body. I half collapsed, falling sideways
into Chloe's legs.

Chloe licked and lapped the last of the long strands of Liam's cum from my
trembling flesh. Her tongue searched lower and lower until, hesitatingly,
she ran her tongue around my freshly shaved mound.

My mind half-registered Chloe's shaved mound, just a few inches up her
thigh from where my head lay. I had a vague thought that I could lick Chloe
out while she serviced me but that idea was just about blown from my
mind. Chloe clamped her mouth over my mound and sucked in hard, at the same
time her tongue stabbed inside my dripping slit.

I spent the last of my conscious moments that night bucking and squirming
at the end of Chloe's tongue. Finally exhaustion overcame me. I can't
remember much after trying to trap Chloe's head between my thighs,
desperate to prolong the ecstasy of her mouth.

I woke up to Chloe poking me in the ribs. Glaring sunlight smashed into my
brain and I raised my hand instinctively to protect my eyes. "Hey girl."
Chloe said, "It's time you were up, my rents are back y'know."

Chloe was already dressed in her usual gothic robe. Liam was nowhere to be
seen. I felt awful, dirty. Despite Chloe's attempts to lustfully clean me
up, hardened strands of Liam's cum matted my hair and crusted my face and
breasts. I needed a shower badly and Chloe knew this, shoving me
none-too-gently towards her shower.

It was rather an anti-climax, if you pardon the pun. I had thought that my
most prolonged orgy yet, it was all-night after all, would somehow have
ended more tenderly. Instead I was ushered out of the door, with my hair
still damp from shower, as Chloe battled to preserve her secret life from
her parents.

I was still half-asleep after the bus ride home. A few pleasantries with my
mum about having a 'nice time' at my sleepover and I crashed for the rest
of the day in my room.

That evening I faced an awkward heart-to-heart with the folks, both of
them, don't you just hate it when they gang up on you. It was guilt I could
tell. They thought that we were drifting apart as a family and maybe I
should come with them on their holiday. Apparently I had been so distant
lately, so wrapped up in my own world.

Dad was making the correct noises but I could tell he still wanted a second
honeymoon with mum without the child in tow. After a long talk about
growing up but not having to grow apart, Dad came up with an excellent
suggestion.

We would take a short break as a family over the weekend, then the planned
second honeymoon could take place if all was well. It seemed a great idea
and Dad sprung at the telephone to get any last minute deals that were on
offer.

Dad returned a few minutes later withy something like, "Get your passports
we're going to ..." I thought it was going to be somewhere like Spain, you
could have floored me when he announced it was Thailand! The family break
was going to be thousands of miles away in Thailand.

I don't think Dad actually knew where Thailand was when he had taken the
bargain flight. We were due to spend a whole day and a night in a plane,
before we even arrived then we could spend just three days there before
having to endure another long haul flight back. I reckoned that the rents
would just about have time to get over the jet lag before they set off to
France. The prospect of a week, albeit a shortened week, somewhere exotic
would be great. I even had a moment to hope that my parents wouldn't spoil
their second honeymoon by exhausting themselves with all this
globetrotting.

A moment of panic ensued as we dashed around the house finding holiday
essentials and packing a short-stay bag each. Mum dropped into her worry
routine, but dad didn't really give her a moment to think. The cancellation
bargain meant that the very next afternoon we were on a plane trundling
down the runway bound for the wonders of ancient Thailand.

I had telephoned Chloe to let her know. She thanked me for the sleepover
and said that Liam was absolutely hooked on me. When she had heard that I
was heading for Thailand she was like so jealous. Apparently it is the
centre of mystic beliefs and just what an up and coming Goth wannabe like
me needed.

We staggered off the aeroplane, dehydrated and dog-tired, ready for a few
hours sleep in the hotel before the noise and confusion of a different
country woke me.

We spent the day working our way around the city, looking at the temples
and buying gifts for everyone at home. We sampled the local foods at a
really dusty market; Dad jokingly said it was probably dog only to have the
man on the stall start nodding and barking at him.

It was a genuinely nice break. I saw things and sights that I wouldn't have
missed for the world. I spent the whole time as 'quality time' with mum and
dad, reassuring them that there was nothing wrong as us as a family. Mum
relaxed and Dad seemed relieved. It was a good call on his part.

Mum planned the last night of the all-too-short break with the tour
guide. We had to pack up all of our luggage as we would be going directly
to the airport at the end of the trip. A coach collected us quite late in
afternoon and drove us high up into the mountains. A woman towards the back
of the coach threw up as the front of the coach overhung the tight twists
of the mountain road. The driver took the bends at what appeared to be
breakneck speed; I hoped that was a sign of familiarity with the route and
not some sort of death wish.

The smell of vomit meant that, as soon as the door opened, everyone filed
out of the coach in double-quick time. We were at a monastery. It was quite
a shame that this ancient place of worship was now really a tourist
trap. There was even a gift shop!

Orange robed monks greeted us, their hands clasped together as they bowed
constantly. Broken English and broad smiles ushered us to the first of many
guided tours.

By late in the evening, everyone appreciated the monk's way of life. The
simplicity and peace of their lifestyle was something that you could make a
fortune with if you could bottle it. Many people suggested that they could
take holidays at the monastery before gradually realising that the
monastery would quickly become yet another frantic resort.

We had a meal with the monks. It was as simple as I had thought it would
be; some sort of bread along with a lot of rice, beans all coated with
thick gravy of some description. I only realised that we would be staying
overnight at the monastery and not some posh hotel when no one seemed to be
making a move to the coach. I felt a little strange in not minding that mum
hadn't mentioned this but it simply seemed the correct way to end not only
this excursion but also the whole holiday.

A gong sounded and we stood respectfully quiet while the monks spent a
moment praying. There was a gentle flurry of activity as the monks
separated the young from the old. I was ushered into a small party of seven
youngsters.  The older group was split into men and women. The men were
ushered away by ever smiling monks. A smile and an outstretched hand met
any protests. The monks gently led the men away to their rooms.

The women were lead away by the tour guide, apparently the monks held the
women in little regard. It was the job of the tour guide to take the women
to their beds for the night. The poor guide met with a barrage of
resistance, she simply didn't have the presence that the monks had had.

Some of the women, my mother amongst them, went quietly. They accepted it
was just for the one night and it was all part of the experience. Some
returned to the courtyard in a futile attempt to be reunited with their
long-departed husbands and children, then refused to move out of the
courtyard until their demands were met. The tour guide battled strongly
pointing out that they had booked the trip knowing that the sleeping
arrangements were separate to respect the monk's wishes. After a while the
argument ended; the mutineers were lead off.

I had thought that we would end up in a dormitory. Instead we were in a
wing of a huge building full of little rooms. I could see now why monk's
bedrooms were called 'cells'. The whole wing seemed to be filled with young
monks, some as young as maybe six years. It seemed that the monks took no
heed about the different sexes until they thought of you as an adult; at
which stage you were herded apart, I guess in case you desecrated their
holy place with carnal lust. I guess it never occurred to them that people
so young would be in any way sexually active until you were maybe
twenty-one.

I was lead into a small room. It had plain brick walls and a small
high-level window. A simple wooden bed was on one side and a small table on
the other. There was an empty wooden shelf above the table. The doorway was
a simple brick arch opening; there was no door. A plain brown curtain was
held to one side by a rope loop over a hook screwed into the wall.

An elderly monk was ordering younger monks about at the far end of the
corridor. The place was a heaving mass of fast moving orange robes as the
devotees went about what was, to them, their nighttime routine.

A young monk arrived carrying my bag and what I thought was a pillow. He
smiled and bowed before lowered my bag with infinite care to the floor
under the table. Without saying a word he took two sheets from inside the
pillowcase and made the bed up with a practiced ease. Within minutes a
crisp white sheet covered the mattress. A second white sheet was folded
neatly down over a grey wool blanket. The pillowcase slipped over a striped
pillow and was plumped neatly at the top of the bed. As primitive as it
looked, it was actually quite inviting in its simplicity. I simply felt
that I was going to get a good relaxing night's sleep.

The young monk stepped back from the bed to check his work. Satisfied with
the bed, he marshalled me outside with his outstretched hand. He led me
quickly to a curtain-covered arch just a few doorways away. He pulled the
curtain to one side to reveal a very narrow room containing a white
pristine toilet with a single toilet roll resting neatly on the cistern. OK
so he had showed me where the toilet was.

I nodded my understanding but doubted if I would use anything where a six
year old could barge in without any warning. My concern must have
pre-empted his routine because he next showed me how a rope placed across
the doorway warned people not to open the curtain.

The next doorway down held an equally narrow, but tiled, room containing a
washbasin and a shower. There was no shower screen or curtain; it seemed
that the water simply went wherever it did and all flowed down a small hole
in the far end of the floor tiles. The monk made a dramatic burring noise
and self-hugging routine while pointing at the huge showerhead. Clearly the
monastery was used to people complaining that there was no hot water, so he
was warning me in advance.

I nodded my understanding and he smiled in delight at being understood. I
was going to explain that, at home, I spend a lot of time understanding the
sign language and gestures of dozens of foreign foster brothers.

We walked back the short distance to my room. The corridor was spookily
quiet; most of the doorways had curtains dropped across them. The wing was
clearly settling down for the night in a well-disciplined routine. It
seemed some of the older boy monks took on a duty to escort the staying
overnight visitors until they were settled.

A young monk appeared behind me. He smiled a broad smile and bowed towards
me. This young boy was only maybe eight; he turned and bowed at the older
boy who was guiding me and handed over a large bundle to him before bowing
once more to me and scurrying off to his bed.

In some places along the corridor, pads were being unrolled outside doors;
sheets, blankets and pillows were quickly transforming these pads into
makeshift beds. My guide discretely dropped the bundle to one side of my
own doorway and ushered me inside.

The tour guide appeared in the doorway, all bright and bouncy. I said how
genuinely surprised I was at how relaxed I was especially at how the
unusual settings simply seemed so 'right'. The guide nodded and explained
that most people had similar feelings but I had to remember that what, for
me, was a one-night stay was for these guys a way of life.

I mentioned the guys sleeping in the corridors and the guide looked a
little sheepish. It seems that the youngest monks slept in dormitories. The
older boys were eventually given their own individual rooms. It seemed that
they took it turns to relinquish their rooms to any tourist kids that
needed to stay over; this made them have to sleep outside in the corridor
for the night. The guide tried to gloss over my guilt at depriving the boy
of his room - simple as it was, it was his room - by saying that the monks
regarded helping other people and making sacrifices actually helped them in
their quest for spiritual enlightenment. She ended the awkward subject by
asking if I needed a lamp for my room; the barely adequate electric
lighting was only in the corridor was switched off as soon as she had
completed her rounds. I thought it might be a good idea and told her
so. She spoke a few foreign words to the young monk who had been stood
attentively nearby throughout; he bowed slightly and jogged off down the
corridor. Her job done, the guide left.

I unpacked a few things onto the bed and decided to risk the toilet curtain
before the whole place was plunged into blackness. I need not have worried;
a small oil lamp was burning on a holder just above the toilet. I made sure
that the rope was hooked across the other side of the curtain and sat there
with my eyes glued to the curtain; ready to call out at the slightest sign
that anyone was going to move it. Nothing bad happened, I felt slightly
silly worrying about anything in such a calm place.

When I returned to my room. The young monk was stood patiently beside my
doorway with a small lamp in his hand. He handed it to me and showed me how
to turn a little wheel that made the flame brighter if I needed it. I
smiled my thanks and took the lamp. With the lamp firmly on the table, I
dropped the curtain across the doorway and settled down for the night.

It was hot. The cool sheets were really welcome against my skin. It was too
hot for my nightdress; I had just stripped to my panties and stepped into
bed. For a moment I lay there, I knew it was still early maybe 10pm, but it
seemed right to be settling down in this place at that time. There was no
TV, no books, nothing to occupy my time until I fell asleep.  It wasn't
long before boredom made my mind wander. I didn't think that these monks
had sex. They certainly separated the men and women quickly enough when it
came to bed. There were no nuns that much was for sure. I couldn't think
they were all gay. I tried to imagine all the masturbation that must take
place in that place every night. It was kind of gross when I thought about
the older monks, but I could cope with the younger monks frantically
wanking. As my mind wandered it occurred to me that maybe these monks
didn't wank, some sort of religious thing. I wondered if Liam was wanking
each night thinking of me; I hoped he was.

I dwelt on the thought of Liam. The vixen in me thought to defile the
sanctity of the monastery with some female hormones. My hand started to
smooth over my breasts and my other hand slid slowly down inside my panties
and over my still-hairless mound.

Within a few minutes my nipples were stiff points on the top of my swollen
breasts but, even as my lower hand rubbed my clit, I simply didn't feel
right having a full-fledged orgasm in this place. I was in two minds; the
mind that was fixed on Liam couldn't see why I shouldn't, the other mind
sought for reasons why I shouldn't. Eventually I reasoned that I risked
discovery if I was to gasp out or make the small room reek of my sex
juices.

I half giggled imagining my naive young monk guard dashing in to rescue me
if I gasped out in ecstasy; raising the alarm when he found me breaking
some thousand year old law or something. The vixen in me, the tease,
started to think.

The young monk must have been maybe fifteen. They all had their heads
shaved and, for some reason, that made it difficult for me to judge their
ages with any confidence. He wasn't really cute, but he wasn't butt ugly if
you know what I mean. Cruelly I wanted to tease this innocence; more out of
frustration of not feeling able to pleasure myself in this place than
boredom.

I softly called out. Immediately the more considerate side of me hoped that
he hadn't heard. There was a gentle sound of rustling outside the
curtain. Then the curtain sort of lifted slightly and dropped, apparently
that's how you knock on a cloth. The monk poked his head around the
curtain. I pointed at the lamp as if I couldn't work out how to turn it
down. He hesitated and stepped inside the room.

I pointed at the lamp and shrugged, like I couldn't work out how to dim the
light. I was all too aware that, as I shrugged, the sheet fell away
revealing my breasts. The boy turned to the table to attend to the lamp but
his head was unnaturally bowed. He was trying his best to get an eyeful of
my naked breasts from under those always-lowered eyelashes. His job done,
he turned and bowed. His eyes flicked once again over my body and he left
the room. The tease in me was happy for a while.

There was a rustling on the other side of the curtain as the boy monk
settled back into his bed in the corridor. I tiptoed over to the curtain
and listened. I had half-imagined that I would hear sounds of frantic
wanking but there was nothing. These boys must be made of stone!

I went back to bed but couldn't settle; the tease in me simply wouldn't
sleep.

In the corner of the room was a beetle of some sort. It was no big deal. At
home I would have either ignored it or squashed it. One of the talks on the
monastery had told us that all living things were sacred here, so I guess
finding a crushed beetle in a guest's room would cause some sort of uproar.

I hatched another plan. I got back up and turned the lamp flame a little
higher. I stole out past the curtain and into the dark of the
corridor. There was just the moonlight filtering through the high level
windows that allowed me to make anything out.

My monk guide was fast asleep outside, his robes neatly folded at the foot
of the bed. One bare arm lay outside the blanket. I shook him gently by the
shoulder and he woke. It was as if he woke a second time when he realised
that he had a near naked girl stooping over him.

He used one of his arms to prop himself into a sitting position, the sheet
sliding down his bare chest. I pointed into the room, trying to make it
clear that something in there was making me panic. I started to pull on his
hand.

He slid out of his bed. I had hoped that he would be naked, but he
wasn't. I am not sure what you would call what he wore. It was a strip of
the same bright orange cloth that his robes were made of. I guess the strip
was about eight inches wide and was wrapped around his hips somehow. A
couple of folds of the material went between his legs and folded back over
the waist bit. This created a sort of saggy front pouch and a wide piece
covering his butt.

A second young monk arrived, dressed in the same orange 'underwear'. It
seemed that my panic had woken him as well and he had come down from
outside his room to help.

I went into the room and pointed at the beetle. The boys looked at the
beetle and then smiled at me. With great care the first boy scooped the
beetle up and gently placed it outside the doorway. Their rescue mission
done, they made to leave.

Desperate to make them wait, I needed to ask them a question. There was
nothing else in the room to ask a question about, the only thing I hadn't
seen before was their orange cloth garments so I asked about that. The
second boy understood a little English and pointed out the various folds of
the cloth on his friend, turning the boy around as he did so.

Naturally I was more interested in the contents of the cloth, rather than
how it was folded. Despite my best efforts neither boy appeared to be
aroused at all, both crotches showed an outline of a small curved tube
lolling sideways over a smooth bulge of the boys' scrotums.

For the second time in my life I realised that the mere sight of my body
was not always enough to turn a boy on. Some boys held beliefs or had an
upbringing that allowed them to contain themselves. Suddenly I had a great
deal of respect for these young boys.

This holiday had proven to be a spiritual lesson that I would never
forget. At that moment, in that time of complete contentment, I could never
have guessed what was going to happen in the rest of my holiday.

To be continued ...