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                                  Casual/ritorn
                                          Ritornello
                      I watched Arnet suck her thick milkshake through a straw, she
               puckered like a fish.  Prickly's makes the best, thickest shakes this
                  side of Screw City and the best, but from my perspective, it was
                  better to watch a girl suck the phallic straw.  Arnet stopped to
                   gasp for air and looked up.   Her forest-green eyes stared me
                                               down.
                                         "You like?" she asked.
                                                "I like."
                     She smiled.  Arnet had a beautiful mouth.  She had the classic
                 D-smile.  Her lower lips were much fuller and more round than her
                 thinner upper lip, so when she smiles, you see a cute crescent of
                 ivory teeth.  Beautiful like sunshine, she was.  Quickly tucking a
                  strand of coppery hair behind her delicate ear, she went back to
                 attempting to inhale solid with her chest heaving and bellowing: 
                    soft breasts, round and full.  If not for her bustier, they
                   probably would have been a bit top heavy.  But with, she was a
                                               bomb.
                      I teased, "You know where I'd like that cute mouth of yours."
                          My girl asked innocently, licking her lips, "Where?"
                                             "On my prick."
                      "Oh really?"  she responded with an arched eyebrow even as I
                    felt her hands on my crotch that was fully erect.  Arnet ran
                  her hand up and down the zipper seam and simply smiled.  "I know
                                where I'd rather have Little John."
                       It was my turn now.  "And where would you like Little John,
                                              Smiles?"
                       Arnet leaned closer and conspiratorially whispered, "Up my
                                               ass."
                        Grinning back, I said, "How badly do you want it, Heads?"
                     Smiling, she bared her teeth, closed her eyes, and flicked her
                            tongue suggestively across her front teeth.
                        Curious, I pushed at her tongue with my index finger and
                               almost lost it when she snapped at it.
                        "Hmm...I should think twice before I put my dong there."
                        "Yup, you better."  The mop of her short, red hair danced
                seductively as she tossed her head back with a wicked giggle.  "But
                   I really want it someplace else other than my kisser, my Jo."
                       "All the way up, pussy cat." I sang, more a statement than
                                             question.
                      "All the way up, like a little white pup.  In and out, like a
                       spawning trout.  No KY lube, I'm an all natural girl."
                      "I've noticed."  I reached out for her jeans and dug my hands
                between her ass and chair.  She had already wetted her jeans.  "My,
                            my, can't hold your milkshake, pretty girl?"
                         "Not with you around I can't.  You make me wet like the
                                             Pacific."
                      I could not help but laugh to myself and shake my head.  She
                had a way with words, and that was the least of her oral abilities. 
                  She bounced up-and-down a bit and ground her hips to let me prod
                             her ass and cunt through her tight Levis.
                    "Oh mommie!" Arnet repeated loudly as we both ignored the stares
                 and fingers-points of other patrons in Prickly's.  I loved to see
                 her lusty.  The flush on her cheeks really complements her hair.  
                       Arnet was a cool chick.  She kept her eyes open, those big,
                  green cat-eyes before, during, and after sex.  Most girls closed
                them when they fuck or kiss, Arnet always kept them wide open.  "So
                 I can see stars," she would say to me with her tiny voice.  I tell
                 you, she's a sassy one.  She has a "zing" about her that makes you
                             want to molest her in excruciating detail.
                         "Jojo, can you finish this?" she asked, offering me the
                                             milkshake.
                                        "Sure, my holey virgin."
                      It was my turn to suck on cement.  I sucked until my head was
                    spinning and black and white speckles danced around Arnet's
                          watching eyes, only to get a dribble of vanilla.
                      "Jo, would you like to smother that on my breasts and see me
                  shiver and hear me squeal?  I know you want to.  You always like
                    that kind of stuff.  I'll let you do it if you ream me from
                                              behind?"
                       "Arnie, I'll ream your cute ass any time you want.  As for
                   smearing this stuff on you, I'd rather pour it down your sex."
                                    Her eyes lit up.  "You wouldn't!"
                                          "I would." I chided.
                     I loved that look of fear in her eyes with the hint of mockery
                  and teasing.  For me, it was the most sexually arousing thing a
                 woman can do.  Innocence, yet tainted with the weakness to need to
                 submit herself completely to her own lusty soul.  Then, to top it
                  all off, Arnet blushed and lowered her lashes.  "But...but...it
                                  would be...so, so, disgusting!"
                              I had to keep myself from laughing, "Really?"
                        "Yes, I'm not a slut you know.  I'm a respectable girl."
                        "Think of it...all that cold goo down your crack and deep
                                            inside you."
                        Arnet pursed her lips and swallowed hard, her eyes never
                            blinking or leaving my gaze. "Please don't."
                                              "Oh, I will."
                              "You promised me you were going to be nice."
                      What a babe.  She loved this kind of play.  "Not only will I
                   fill you up with it, I'm going to drink it out with this straw
                 here."  I lifted the straw and let a long string of the malt fall
                                  suggestively back into the cup.
                       "Oh!"  Her mouth "O"-ed in anticipation.  Shyly, meeting my
                        gaze once again, she pleaded, "Jo, do you love me?"
                         Silent, I gave her the shadow of doubt, then responded
                                           coolly, "No."
                       "But I want you to love me.  I'll do what you tell me, Jo. 
                  Anything."  Her eyes were actually brimming with tears, further
                 titillating my sexual want.  She knows how to turn a guy on, this
                                    fig of red-hot chili pepper.
                       "Then I'll love you when you bend over and scream for me."
                       "Oh, then that's fine.  Jo, can we go to your house now?  I
                want you to love me and I want to show you how much.  I love you so
                            much.  And, I got an itch, I'm gonna bitch."
                             That's my silly filly spouting poetry again.  
                               "Jo, you can bring the milkshake along..."
                      Arnet was about to cry as the power went out of her favorite
                       after I switched off the buzzing bugger in mid-stride. 
                   She had my penis up her ass, my fingers in her mouth, and her
                 joy-toy up her love-socket--not bad for a teenage nymphet.  "Jo!"
                she complained, pulling my sopping fingers from her drooling mouth.
                       I flicked the switch again and the hummer cam back to life.
                Smiling impishly, Arnet craned her neck around and kissed me on the
                                      nose.  "You're so cool."
                     I wished.  So, we got back to our heavy breathing and pumping. 
                     The milkshake had been most satisfying, with a touch of honey,
                 no less.  Arnet panted and screamed through the whole session, but
                she refused to be tied down.

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  She was always a willing jolie-fille. 
                 She just bucked and screamed playfully as I slurped, with a straw,
                   the warmed viscous liquid that leaked out in tiny rivulets and
                  seeped between the two cute cheeks of her butt.  Great ass.  Two
                tiny handfuls of tender-tight flesh that quivers with every thrust,
                  and she especially enjoyed having her two lobes pulled apart and
                   stretched to open the outer skin of her pucker.  Deliriously,
                she would always cry, "Wider, wider!"  I am often afraid of pulling
              my fragile Arnet in two!  Regardless, she insists, and so I do, and she
                                      comes harder than ever.
                      Arnet.  She was too much.  By the time I ejaculated deep into
                  her bowels, she already had two or three orgasms.  When I became
                  exhausted and could not push anymore, she happily jumped off and
                     continued to pound her  into herself.  By the looks of her
                 furious masturbation with her hard, vigorous plunges, it must have
                            hurt!  But it satisfied her all the more.  
                         She could not have been more beautiful except in those
                   moments of total carnal and savage sensuality; her short hair
                clung to her wet face like a wet towel and her lush, sparkling eyes 
                 stared back at me with an insane expression mixed between horror, 
              ecstasy, and utter sensation.  And her mouth, Jesus!  Lips parted, her 
              teeth gritted with a ferocious clench as if she would bite through her 
                                             own teeth.
                      Gripping savagely the handle of her motorized dick, she would
                   mechanically impale herself until she could no longer hold her
                electric lover and pass out onto the bed (or she sometimes stumbles
                onto the floor) with the humming buzzer still flopping away like an
                angry fish.  She would stare at the ceiling and see stars no doubt. 
                    Then, regaining her senses, she would say breathlessly, "Jo,
                                              again."
                      She liked her usual pounding with an intermission for snacks
                 followed by a second barrage of brutal sex--brutal in the respect
                 that she liked to be rammed hard.  I fuck her hard, but she screws
                  harder.  Always wet like a dog's nose, she is always prompt and
                  ready for sex in every which way.  "Limit" is not a word in her
                 vocabulary.  Then again, I don't think "satisfaction" is, either.
                      So two and a half hours and four convulsive mountings later,
                  Arnet graciously granted me rest.  Tonight, our snack was cheese
                   and crackers with some red wine.  She munched away contentedly
                 sitting with her legs crossed and humming to herself on the corner
                     of the bed facing me.  Silent, I could only watch her with
                open-mouth awe.  Venus could not have created a finer woman as this
                    wisp of a girl, or, I should say, this whirlwind of lust.  
                      Deftly stealing my plate, Arnet finished my share for she was
                      ever hungry, understandable considering her metabolism. 
                 Wiping the crumbs from her hands and licking her lips, she turned
                            a pleading eye to me and said, "Jo, again."
                      This time, she sat up on her knees with her tits jutting out
                  and over and looked at me even as she was fitting her toy up her
                ass.  The redhead never so much as grimaced as the long shaft poked
                through her sphincter, but smiled instead.  Flipping on the switch,
                she seductively beckoned me closer with a curled finger and a wink.
                        At the moment in time, I was limp.  I would have loved to
                  pride myself for having an ever present hard-on for my mistress,
                but enough was enough.  My shriveled manhood hung in despair despite
                               the onslaught that was about to occur.
                     Biology is a funny thing.  Though physically, I was exhausted,
                 the libido still exerts a certain commanding control of the body. 
                   After a couple blissful teases of Arnet's tongue, Little John
                 slowly picked himself back up from the ground, battle scarred and
                     fatigued, and made his customary greeting and flourish to
                                        Mademoiselle Arnet.
                      I am amazed that Arnet does not just dehydrate and shrivel up
                 considering the amount of saliva and cum she exudes.  Granted, it
                   is a preposterous notion, but to a guy who's ready to die of a
                 massive coronary, any excuse is a good one.  Arnet, gentle little
                   Arnet simply keeps on coming, literally.  Her mouth and tongue
                  worked furiously and dexterously to bring me to rigid attention;
                        meanwhile, the distinct strumming of her  became the
                 guiding tune to our passion.  As soon as I was stiff enough, Arnet
                grabbed my butt and pulled until my whole cock was driving down her
                           snug throat.  Incredible.  Simply incredible.
                        The throbbing only got worse until I finally came.  I did
                not squirt much of anything...outta ammo.  It's like firing blanks: 
                       you get the recoil, but you don't shoot anything. The
                   important part is that the euphoria is the same, that reeling,
                 pounding, tender sensation that floods through your body when "it
                happens."  I could only say one word, "AAHHHRRRGGG!" before falling
                  flat on my face with a smile as wide as my face.  I saw stars. 
                  Look there! Little Dipper and Big Dipper.  Not that I would know
                   the difference between the two at the moment, but I felt good,
                                            really good!
                        And again, sensing man's only weakness, the inability to
                   propagate perpetual sexual intercourse, Arnet started fucking
                   herself again, pumping her large, white device and vigorously
                 thrusting her butt at least a foot off the bed into the air while
                     yelling in staccato beats, "This little piggy, this little
                                            piggy..."  
                      "Went to the market..."  I finished for her, too spent to do
                 anything else.  It was the least I could do for my lovely Lolita. 
                When they say women have better endurance than men, I believe in it
                 reverently.  I have always considered myself to be in good shape;
                    I run three- and four-minute miles but Arnet puts Ironmen to
                                               shame.
                      Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  Savage cry of utter satiation.  Silence.  
                                            "Jo, again."
                      Four in the morning and cute, baby-faced Arnet was too tired
                to continue. Curled in a ball beside me, she slept noisily, talking
                     to herself.   Heaven be merciful.  I had long fallen in a
                 trance-state of stupor.  It is at times like these when a man must
          seriously consider these long, arduous relationship:  True, women like Arnet do
                 not exist, so I must be dreaming.  But my throbbing body tells me
                  otherwise.  True, dying while having sex is an honorable way to
                   die (but your friends might snicker, unaware of what you went
                 through).  True, back surgery costs a lot of money though you can
                    boast to your doctor, "Well, at least my girlfriend got good
                 mileage out of it."  However, there is one important factor that I
                must interject, the single most important thing that makes me laugh
                  at the fears, worries, and anxieties of this dangerous job, and
                 that is that I love Arnet, and because of this the ecstasy is all
                                            the sweeter.
                                                   jc
                        (& thanks to anton for his invaluable editorial comments)
                           C welcome.  Hey, lambaste me and I'll still be me.
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