The Perfect American Couple

"So it's all your fault, the way I see it," she teased. She responded to the shocked expression on my face by saying, "Ever since that night in my kitchen when you talked about guys begging to kiss my ass, I've been sort of dreaming about that, you know? Mostly with you."

"I guess I didn't mean for you to take it so literally," I said. "I was just trying to make you feel better by making you see that you are attractive and that you would undoubtedly find a new boyfriend if and when you wanted to."

"I don't really believe it was just that," she said. "Not after you told me in your car that you really do want to kiss my ass and that you would beg to do it. No, I know better than that. You meant it literally. And I'm convinced you’re a closet, what was the word they used -- I read it in a magazine somewhere -- submissive.

"It basically means you want to be my slave," she asserted confidently.

The bad news is she was absolutely on the money, and I hadn't even realized it. She seemed to know me better than I did. "And that appeals to you..." I lead her, for lack of anything else to say in this very tense moment.

"The truth is, nothing has ever turned me on more."

I was sitting next to her through the entire exchange. I turned to look at her, and she turned to meet my eyes. We just sat there like that for what seemed like forever. Finally, I said, "OK, I'll tell you what a guy says to a girl when he's trying to convince her she should let him kiss her ass. It's sort of like kissing her ass figuratively so she'll let him kiss her ass literally."

She waited. We held each other's eyes.

"OK, first he has to get down on his knees and bow to her, telling her she is the sweetest sight his eyes have ever seen." She flushed slightly. "Then he kisses each of her feet tenderly and intently, and tells her that her place is to be a goddess. And as a goddess, she deserves nothing less than the unfailing worship of her subjects."

"You mean slaves," she cut in.

"OK, slaves." She flushed again. "Then he begs her to consider letting him be her slave, please, please. He begs, 'please let me be your slave and worship the ground you walk on. Let me lick the bottoms of your feet. Let me kiss your sweet ass. I promise I'll do a good job. I'll kiss each precious cheek with the utmost respect you deserve. Please let me bury my face in your delicious ass."

I noticed that her eyes had widened and she became more and more enrapt with each word I said. There was a slight glint of sweat on her brow, and she had arched her back, causing her chest to thrust outward, and her ass to push down into the porch step, like she was trying to push her ass into an imaginary face.

She said, "Are you sure you'd want to do that? It's one thing to kiss me on the cheek, it's another thing entirely to 'bury your face'! What about the smell?" You could tell she loved to talk about this. When she said the words they seemed to drip with juicy explicitness. "Do you think you'd like the smell of my ass?" she asked, with an air of feigned innocence.

"I have no question I would." I said, "I'm sure once I smelled it once, I'd crave it all the time."

She laughed sweetly, and said, "Hold on a second..." She twisted at the waist, turning her shoulders back toward the door to the kitchen. I didn't know what the hell she was doing. It looked like she was trying to look back into the house. Then she turned back around. She lifted a hand to my face.

"Here," she said, and extended two fingers toward my nose. I almost fell off the porch. The end of her fingers had a hot moist earthy anal smell, coupled with the slightest fragrance of pussy juice. It was the uniquely intoxicating scent cocktail that could only come from a woman's body. The smell reminded me of the dirty underwear of girlfriends past. I realized she had stuck her hand down her pants and stroked her little asshole for me so that I might sample her sweetness. "What do you think of that?"

I inhaled deeply and drew in her heavenly feminine scents.

"Tell me, what do you think it would taste like," she said, still holding her gloriously dirtied fingers to my face. “You think you’d like it? Would you like to lick my ass? Be my little ass licker?” In spite of the brazenness of her words, she appeared to be blushing, as though embarrassed at the untimely uncovering of a closely guarded personal secret.

I had a feeling however that she wasn’t the only one blushing. Partially because I couldn’t take it any more and partially because I didn’t want her to notice my reaction to her obscene questions, I grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. She wiggled a finger in between my lips. I sucked gently on the tip. I only found myself wanting to get a stronger version of that far-too-subtle taste into my mouth.

"Maybe I’ll taste like honey, or maybe more like chocolate and fudge," she giggled, "depending on how recently I showered..." I loved that delightful care-free, don't-give-a-fuck laugh. It was sweet and mischievousness with just a touch of taunting in it, and I just loved it. It made me want to bow beneath this lovely goddess, who was young enough to be my daughter. It occurred to me that there was no way I could be one of her school teachers. How do you guide and discipline someone, when all you can think about doing is kneeling down, putting them on a pedestal, and degrading yourself for them in any way they'll let you? All she'd have to do is turn around and wiggle that wonderful ass in my face, and she'd have me on my knees worshipping her in a second.

"I'm sure if you're clean, there'll be nothing but sweetness there," I distractedly responded, trying to deflect the conversation from the dangerous waters we had begun to tread. But she was not easily dissuaded.

"Well," she responded, "I might not always be clean, you know. And that's something a slave's just got to deal with, don't you think?" And then I saw her twist back toward the house again. This time I clearly saw her take her hand and squeeze it down the back waistband of her shorts. She pulled the hand back out after a moment, and reintroduced the fingers to my grateful nose. The scent was sharply stronger, and more anal. The moisture of her finger indicated she had buried it to the second knuckle. The scent indicated that it clearly had been in her ass...

"I mean," she continued, "what if I've just gone to the bathroom, right? What, I can't have my ass kissed — or licked — just because of that!? I think not. I say whatever you smell or taste down there is your problem, not mine. Besides, I think you should like it anyway. It came out of me after all."

Her tone dripped with the arrogance of youth. I felt strangely helpless next to her at that moment. She waved the fingers under my nose for a second and then put one of them to my lips. I immediately opened my mouth and sucked it in.

"What if," she continued as I sucked that sweet taste off of her finger, " a goddess didn't want to be so nice to her slave. I mean I think a good slave has got to worship her even then, right? No matter what; no matter how she treats him - if he's a true slave. Wouldn't you want to be my true slave?"

"Well, what would a goddess who wants to be "not so nice" to her slaves do to her slaves to not be so nice?" I asked, pulling her now clean fingers from my mouth. "Make him lick her ass after taking a shit?!" I said trying to be funny, and laughed nervously. She let out a hearty laugh too, and briefly I was reminded of that conversation in the kitchen. I shot a look into the house, but there was no activity. "I guess she might conveniently forget to wipe," I added knowing that I was fanning the flames I’d just tried early to put a damper on.