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Tell Me A Story, Desdmona
illustration by garv

Cherry Blossom

By Desdmona

This story contains sexually explicit scenes.

Cherry checked her messages. Baxter had called. Would tonight finally be the night? Cherry wasn’t holding her breath. She also had ten other calls. She didn’t mind. She liked having the money.

She played them back one at a time and put them in the order she would answer them. It wouldn’t be in the order they called. She had a system Mama taught her years ago when Cherry was growing up on the Ranch. You answered your johns’ calls in the order you would see them that night.

She learned a lot of things growing up in a bordello that most girls didn’t learn until they were much older, and some unlucky Magdalenes never learned them at all. Cherry knew before she was ten that a nooner was sex in the afternoon. And by twelve she could explain that bagpiping was a man fucking your armpit, and knee-tremblin’ was when you had sex standing up. Cherry didn’t regret any of it. In fact, she felt sorry for girls who were so naïve that they didn’t know the first thing about parking the pink Cadillac or auditioning your finger puppets. Cherry was lucky her mama was such a good teacher.

Do-gooders would show up every now and then trying to take Cherry away, but Mama had connections. Judge Fister was a Friday night regular, and he knew just where the hand of the law had to be laid to keep Cherry home where she belonged.

Cherry listened to Richard Burns’ message begging for another chance. Dick had come to Cherry on pins and needles after he’d been with a boulevard boy who’d shared more than just a dose of cock snot. Cherry ignored his message; Mama always said: some men weren’t worth pleasing. And a man with stock in the blue-light clinic was one of them.

Growing up on the Ranch, Cherry learned everything there was to know about pleasing a man, although she didn’t put her learning to practice right away. The Ranch had one unbreakable rule: girls under sixteen were never allowed to socialize with the clients. Cherry could watch and learn, and she could ask any question she could think of, but at night she had to stay in the back room.

In the back room was where Cherry practiced brushin’ her beaver. On many occasions she took the mirror and just stared at her pussy, begging it to grow hair so she would be grown-up. She knew every crevice and fold of her own privates. Mama always told her: you got to know what’s what so when the time came, you can use it. Mama also told her that she could practice by picking up small objects with her pussy. When she could pick up a dime with her little cunt lips, she was ready.

Cherry would sit for hours and squeeze her shag bag tight, all the while watching in the mirror to see what it looked like. She would stick her finger in and squeeze her dew-flaps around it, gauging how tight she felt. She was always careful not to push in too far because she knew she had to save her treasure for her first client. Her favorite part was when she would get all gooey, and she could feel her sex button get all tingly. She would touch it again and again and watch it get bigger. And then, finally, while she was touching her flowerpot with sticky fingers, that special joy Mama always talked about would shoot through her. And when she held her finger perfectly still, she watched in the mirror how her sex button danced up and down – again and again – and her love juice would drip right out of her pussy. Mama always said: it ain’t over til the well runs dry.

For her sixteenth birthday, the house threw a big bash of a party. Cherry was excited. This was to be her “coming out.” The night was carefully planned. Cherry would hide inside her birthday cake, and when the party got going strong, she would come bursting out, and all the men would get to bid for her, with the highest bidder getting Cherry for the night. Every birdie in the house got to choose one man for the party.

Cherry’s mama took great care in choosing her outfit. Of course it had to be white because Cherry was still virginal. Mama had been saving an outfit for this occasion for a long time. It was made of see-through silk, as delicate as a butterfly wing, and it draped over Cherry like a milky confection. Cherry’s full-grown tits were round and firm under it. Her auburn pussy hair glistened between her legs. Mama had told her the best way to make pussy hair soft and shiny was to use hair conditioner on it every day. Cherry did it religiously.

As planned, once she popped up from the cake, the men got to verify the merchandise was as advertised. Each got to put his finger up inside her to feel for the evidence of Cherry’s virginity. Mama had told Cherry this was the time to use those squeezing skills she’d been practicing. Mama said that if she squeezed tight enough, every man there would bid his middle leg to open Cherry’s treasure chest. As usual, Mama was right. The men were ushered in one at a time. And when he slipped his finger inside, Cherry looked at him coyly and squeezed tight. By the time the bids took place, every man was chomping at the bit to get a crack at Cherry. And Cherry’s love hole was greased up with excitement.

So that night, Cherry not only blossomed into womanhood, but she kept all the money that was bid for her. She was truly sweet sixteen!

Cherry rustled through her messages again. She would call Baxter first. If he were asking for an appointment, then she knew he would be first on the list. She and Baxter had never actually had sex. Maybe that was why she liked seeing him. Oh, not because she didn’t want to have sex with him, but because it was such a challenge trying to finally bag him.

Baxter wasn’t a fucker – he was a talker. A storyteller, in fact. He would call Cherry and have her meet him at a posh hotel. He’d have an outfit for her to wear. The outfit always depended on the story he would be relaying for the night. Cherry would dress up and Baxter would sit in a chair and read out loud, reading pages and pages of his stories printed neatly on white paper.

They’d been meeting like this for over two years. Baxter was a regular except during an eight-month period when Baxter claimed his source had run dry. And then suddenly, right before Thanksgiving, she got his call and he said they were back in business. That had been a year ago.

Cherry paged him. The return call came back almost immediately.

“Cherry? Damn I’m so glad you called. I’ve got a surprise for you. Meet me tonight at ten o’clock at the Hyatt.”

Cherry didn’t hesitate before telling him, “OK.” Baxter was her champagne trick. He always paid well. Besides, Cherry liked him.

“Oh, and Cherry? Plan on staying the whole night.”

“You know that’ll cost ya, Baxter.”

“It’ll be worth it tonight. I have to go now, I’ll see you tonight, Cherry Blossom.”

Cherry hung up the phone. She liked it when Baxter called her Cherry Blossom. She didn’t tell many johns that Cherry was her real name, and she added the Blossom on the morning after her sixteenth birthday. But she’d told Baxter the whole story. He had asked. Apparently, Baxter liked hearing sex stories as much as he liked reading them.

When Cherry told him how Will B.Licht bid for her seven years ago, he wanted to know all the details.

She told him how Will was the first to call her Cherry Blossom. He called her that as he bent over her with her legs propped up on his shoulders. He said nothing was as sweet as looking at a cherry blossom right before you ate it. And then his mouth covered her pussy and he sucked at the natural juice that bubbled from her. His tongue poked between her oily folds and pushed right up inside her. Cherry thought this was so much better than anything she had done on her own. He sucked on her love button and rubbed his chin up and down her virginal snicket.

When Will climbed up on to Cherry, his face was sopping wet and Cherry could smell the familiar scent of her own goo. And as Will pushed his thickheaded cock into Cherry, she licked his face and giggled at the thought of tasting Cherry juice.

She giggled right before she yelped in pain. Will stopped, but only briefly. Cherry focused on what her mama had told her: the best things in life come after a little pain. Will continued to pump into Cherry, and before she knew it, she could feel that special joy shooting through her.

After telling Baxter about Will, Baxter wanted to know about the others. So over the last two years, Cherry had told him about most of the tricks she could remember. Occasionally, Baxter would rub himself while she talked, but only through his clothes, and he never once creamed his beef.

Though Baxter never finished his part of the job, he liked Cherry to glaze her donut while he read sex stories to her. Some of the stories were so hot that Cherry could cum two or three times during the telling. Sometimes the story would be about a man and a woman. Sometimes it would be about two women or more, or a gang-bang. There were some about mind control, and some about slavery, and others about teenagers. Occasionally there would be a story that would fizzle out before the end, and those were the times Baxter would ask Cherry about her clients.

Cherry remembered one time when Baxter nearly went too far rubbing himself. She was telling him about Otis Natch. Otis always insisted on being the last trick of the night. Otis was a real sniffer – he always instructed Cherry not to wash before meeting him. He would wrap the crotch of her panties over his nose while he fucked her, and he would take the panties with him when he left.

Baxter seemed to like that. Cherry never saw him so red-faced. There were tiny wet stains on the front of his pants. But Baxter still stopped before finishing the job.

Cherry looked at the other messages. Mama had called. Mama still lived at the ranch and was still satisfying many a southern man. Cherry knew that Mama held out with hope that Judge Fister would finally ask her hand in marriage, as the Judge’s wife had died four years ago. Mama had confided to Cherry that no other man had touched her as deeply as the Judge had.

Every week since Cherry had moved to Illinois, Mama called, and she and Cherry swapped stories about the differences between southern and northern men. The biggest difference they could come up with was the men from the south paid better. Mama said apparently the men from the south preferred having pussy to having money. Cherry told her mama that it was only the northern pastries that didn’t get paid as well. When it came to prime southern pussy the pay was better. Cherry had no problem getting big bucks from her tricks.

Cherry decided she would call Mama later. The only other message she would answer was from Harry Asgood. The others could wait. She liked to stay on Harry’s good side. He tended to get a little scary when he was crossed. Harry was a major butt-plunger. He mostly wanted Cherry to insert a dildo in his ass, and then he paraded around the room while she watched. He strutted like a peacock, and she told him how sexy he was and how hot it made her. Most of the time they wouldn’t actually fuck, because Harry usually spilled his love custard as soon as Cherry described how good his asshole looked all filled with cock. Occasionally he blamed her and got angry, but he never hit her, and he always called again.

But when Cherry called, Harry didn’t answer. Which was just as well. Now she could get ready for her evening with Baxter.

She liked getting ready for an all-nighter. It meant she didn’t have to think about easy in-and-out clothes. And it saved on cab fare. As Mama always said: the only good reason to dip into the pot was when you were hungry for honey.

Baxter was waiting for her outside the Hyatt. He always did that. He said it seemed less confusing if they walked in together. The real reason was he wanted to check out her appearance before going in. He always looked her up and down, made her turn around, and then smiled in approval.

Cherry didn’t need Baxter’s grin to know she looked good. She could go by the stares of men whenever she went out. But it was still nice knowing that Baxter approved.

He led her into the lobby. It was opulent as always. The furnishings were very modern and very black and white. Cherry with her auburn hair and her slinky red dress added a splash of color to the newspaper-like décor. Baxter hurried her to the elevator; he seemed anxious to get to their room. This wasn’t a normal Baxter trait, but Cherry was good at going with the flow and accepting the wobbles that came along.

Baxter opened the door to their room and shoved Cherry inside. The room was dimly lit with candles. Room service had already set up a table. Silver sparkled against the white linens. A single, full-bloomed rose sat cleanly in a vase between the plates.

“What’s all this, Baxter? This is a bit elegant for us, isn’t it?” Cherry turned to look at him. He was dressed in his usual khaki pants, plaid shirt, and tennis shoes. His shoulder-length hair was tousled. He had a couple of day’s growth of beard and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose. Yes Baxter was what you would call a geek or (in earlier years) a nerd. The only thing missing was the pocket protector.

But he had a great sense of humor, dreamy brown eyes behind his glasses, and a bulge in his khakis that could tempt a saint. Mama always said: a man could wear whatever he wanted on the outside, but it was the one-eyed trouser snake that determined his real worth.

“It’s an anniversary celebration, Cherry.” Baxter was positively bubbly.

“An anniversary? But Baxter, how on earth would we have an anniversary?”

“Oh, it isn’t ours exactly.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You will Cherry Blossom, you will. But for now check the box.”

Cherry followed Baxter’s eyes to the dress box on the bed. This was not unexpected. He always brought an outfit or costume for Cherry to wear. She lifted the lid and fumbled through layers of tissue paper before reaching the bottom of the box. It was empty.

“This box is empty, Baxter.”

“Yes I know. I thought it symbolic that for tonight’s outfit, you will wear nothing at all. As I plan to do.”

Baxter didn’t look at Cherry when he kicked off his shoes, or unbuttoned his shirt, or unzipped his pants, or slipped off his socks, or even when he slipped off his all-cotton briefs. He didn’t look at her when he poured champagne into two glasses.

But he did look at her when he turned to walk towards her. And her eyes fixated on his semi-erect cock.

Cherry took the champagne and begrudgingly lifted her eyes from his groin. Cherry had been looking at dicks for some years. She’d seen just about every shape and size imaginable. She’d seen the clipped ones and the unclipped ones. She’d seen blue-veined cocks and black cocks and ruby red cocks. So Baxter’s cock wasn’t out of the ordinary, but there was still something about it. Maybe because she had been wondering about it for so long. Or maybe it was because underneath all those geek clothes, Baxter hid a great body. It didn’t matter the reason, she decided. The fact was, Cherry wanted that love torpedo inside her.

Cherry let the straps of her red dress fall easily over her shoulders and slipped her arms through them. The material, weighted by shimmering sequins, fell to the floor. She was naked underneath. She wore no hosiery and just her red high heels remained. She bent to remove them when Baxter stopped her.

“Leave those on, Cherry. I like you red on top and red on bottom. Mmm! Cherry, I see you’re red right in the middle too.”

Cherry didn’t blush when Baxter stared at her perfectly groomed muff. Instead she stood straight up and spread her legs wide. Mama always said: if a man’s wanting a look-see, make sure he gets the full view.

“Do you like what you see, Baxter?”

“Cherry, I think you have diamonds glittering in your bush, the way it shimmers in the light”

“Want to go prospecting, Baxter?”

Baxter growled and grabbed Cherry’s hand to pull her up next to him. Their bodies collided in a heated thud. His mouth searched her neck for the dip at her throat. Cherry felt dizzy as his tongue dug into the skin above her pulse. She was lightheaded and woozy and fell forward against him when he tongued harder and then latched on with his wide-opened mouth.

He led her to the bed, never releasing her. She knew his sucking would leave a mark, but she didn’t care. Mama always said: wear your passion smudges with pride. Cherry wasn’t thinking of pride just then, she only cared how horny it made her.

When the back of her legs hit the bed and she fell backwards, Baxter finally let go. His mouth hung open as he exhaled deeply. Cherry shimmied backwards as Baxter climbed up between her legs.

“I’ve waited a long time for this Cherry.”

“So have I, Baxter. Remind me. Why did we wait so long?”

“I wanted the timing to be perfect, Cherry. And now it is.” Baxter ran his hands along her thighs until they met, forming a triangular frame around her pussy. He pressed his hands down, forcing her mound to bulge up between the finger frame. Her love pearl winked as her cunt lips opened.

“What makes the timing perfect now, Baxter?”

“The anniversary celebration of course.” Baxter eased down and blew softly against her opened charms. Cherry’s honey seeped from her slit.

“What celebration Baxter?”

He lifted his legs onto the bed and grabbed his cock. He rubbed the shiny head up and down her lubricated slit. He teased her cunt and he teased her asshole, over and over. Never entering either completely, just slippery little jabs at their entrances. Cherry lifted her hips, encouraging him to thrust in, but he refused. He deliberately continued to tease, first using circular motions around each hole, and then dick slapping them, causing each to pucker greedily.

Cherry slipped her hand between them and began to rub. She rubbed herself and she rubbed him. Her hands were wet and she rubbed up her belly, spreading their juices all over her.

Baxter groaned and then finally guided his penis into Cherry Blossom. He pushed. She pushed back. He drove deep, up to his nuts and guts.

“The A...,” he pulled out.

“S...,” he pushed back in.

“S...,” he pulled out.

“M!” He shoved in and his penis erupted, spray-painting her vaginal walls with passion juice.

Cherry rocked up into him, smashing her clitty against him, and popped her cookies. Baxter gave a few paradise strokes and then collapsed onto her. Cherry breathed at his neck. Leftover heat raised the mercury of their skin, and Baxter rolled off to cool down. Seconds ticked by, and their breathing returned to normal.

“What the hell is ASSM?” Cherry Blossom asked.

Laughter grumbled up and out of Baxter as he tried to answer. “ASSM is where I get all the stories. And today is November 10. It’s the one year anniversary since the reopening of the newsgroup.”

“That’s the anniversary celebration?”

“Well, part of it. The other part is I don’t have to just read stories anymore.”

“And why not?

“Because, thanks to you and the stories you’ve told me, now I can write them!”

Cherry thought for a second, wondering how she felt about Baxter writing her stories. But she only had to think for a second.

“Well Mama always said: if someone is going to write about you, make sure his flesh pen is well-dipped!”

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