This is a print version of story The Wet Patch (continued) by bobsmart from

The Wet Patch (continued)

Sally was one of those girls who knew instinctively what a boy wanted. She knew that she didn't have to go to the bathroom to wash her pussy before going to bed with a guy - with him left desperately wanking for five minutes in the bedroom, in anticipation of the sex to come. She knew that her natural scent was all part of the art of sexual arousal: part of nature's long-established plan to get the male penis hard and erect and the population growing.

She wasn't one of these girls that needed telling not to wash all trace of their womanly smell away from their pussies. That a man doesn't necessarily want to have a completely deodorised pussy in bed with him. That a man's saliva, gently applied with a loving tongue, is far better than all that feminine wash, or whatever the stuff is called. And that the changing scent of a pussy as it first prepares for penetration in one of the joys of sex. In fact, I remember having sex with a girl at the tennis club once, and she was so embarrassed by the fact that she was sweaty after her game that she didn't want me to go down her at all. I had to reassure her that it didn't matter - it really didn't....

Sally knew better. And Sally's smell was one of the best: the flow of her juices so strong that you had to swallow it down as it ran from her like water from a slow running tap. And as I gained confidence with her, I would study and savour her opening for longer and longer each time we did it - touching it, measuring it, licking it, pushing her thickening inner lips apart with my nose, using the bridge of my nose to get her clitoris swollen.

It was wonderful to savour the changing smell of her pussy. From the slightly salty taste of sweat and pussy juice mixed together as her knickers were first removed, to that milder smell and taste as her fresh juices started to flow in expectation of a cock entering her. And then back again once we'd been fucking for several minutes, and I would go down on her again to lick at her to prepare her for her first orgasm. Her secretions now thicker - like whipped cream.

I was slowly learning, thanks to Sally, how to get that wet patch on the sheets to the size of a dinner plate. The kind of wet patch I'd always envied. The kind I'd seen in Sally's bed during the Christmas vacation, and the kind I'd seen as a student when working in the hotels on the coast during the summer vac. There was one particular couple I remember, who used to check-in every Saturday at 11 pm - and who I'd hear fucking all night - well usually until about 5 am - and their sheets would be covered in her secretions in the morning.

But, of course, nothing that good with a girl is going to last forever. I soon discovered that it wasn't just my cock that was getting inside her vagina. Why, I wonder, should I have ever thought differently? When we went to bed on the third occasion, I couldn't help noticing that there were other stains left on her sheets. On a Saturday night, I started to notice that the stains were still fresh and not yet dry, and she would try to cover them up with a towel or one of her t-shirts. And I soon discovered her sexual routine was twice a week with me; twice a week with her other boyfriend; and once a week with a guy who ran a clothes shop down town.


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