Crandon’s Wild Tales

CRANDON’S WILD TALES

I am having a speck of trouble preparing myself for the party I am supposed to attend with Kati tomorrow night. I have not made up my mind on what I will wear; I am nervous. Whom do we get to invite with us? Crandon? Plain no! I don’t want to tempt bad reputation another time. I’ve had enough public embarrassment thanks to him. There is no other baboon to fuck him at Alicia’s—is there?

I am afraid I will look Barbie weird. There must be a magical way to do this. I can doll myself up like brown-hair Barbie and look commonplace, but first-class. I am not convinced still.

Four o’clock has hit when I get back from Pinker Spinner. I find Crandon seated in our living room, watching TV quietly. I grin at him and head on to award him a peck on his forehead. He splits his lips and moans out in satisfaction. “I will be back,” I notify him. “I must make a cup of tea for each one of us, chocolate.”

Crandon’s is chocolate dark fur which clothes him from head to toe. He is beyond question irresistible and a genius too. I adopted him in Africa. It must have been in Kenya. The first time I laid my eyes on him, he struck me with such fascination I had never felt before.

Crandon knows how to use the toilet and furthermore flush his shit; he knows how to make Chinese tea and fry eggs and smear butter on slices of bread. He can sweep the living room using a vacuum cleaner; he can place 2 kilograms of laundry inside the washing machine; he can play the guitar and dance naked; I often take him out for shopping and picnics. His favorite clothes are baggy jeans and football-supporting shirts.

It is gradually getting cold but fast darkening when we set off to play football at my backyard. I like this place. It is calm and soundless—almost like we don’t stay in a deafening town dubbed ‘Sin City.’ Every time I am here, I don’t refuse to ogle Mother Nature, clad in her most beautiful attire. There are squealing birds, squawking frogs, squeaking crickets, hopping grasshoppers, mewling cats.

To be frank, I am not in the mood to play football. I am forcing myself to do this—for Crandon’s sake. He enjoys this sport like nothing else. I can’t stand to let him down.

In the meantime, I am the goalkeeper. This post suits Crandon, not me! When he is lying on the ground, he moves at a snail’s pace, hardly able to pull himself. If you should see him diving at a flying ball—you will assuredly pass out.

I am idly lightening up when he kicks the ball at me. I don’t expect him to score. Playing this role doesn’t suit him. He will fail seriously.

I am not expecting it. Out of nowhere, he boots the ball with such might I don’t even believe a baboon would possess. I watch in horror as the ball wings like lightning. Too late, I realize I have belittled his efforts. He is going to score this time. I rush speedily after the jetting ball, launching my feet into the air. Happily enough, my hands brush the ball—but sadly miss to grab hold of it. Someone knocks my back from behind, pushing me down to land on my hands and feet. Who could this be? Noël?

I hurriedly pick myself up and wrathfully turn back. Goodness! He is the most attractive guy I have seen. His looks are too captivating. Already, I am falling under his invincible love spell. What……..is………his………name?

He carries the ball proudly; in the end he launches it at me, telling me, “I believe I have saved your doomed ass, Mia.”

How does he know my name? I don’t have his in mind? Possibly I met him somewhere, some time back, then let slip from memory everything that happened. Is someone terribly handsome as him worth forgetting? I don’t think so.

“Kindly make yourself known to me,” I beg him—can you envisage that?

“I am Elian Dunes; a good friend of your brother, Noël.”

I wasn’t expecting to hear that. The gentleman is dressed up exceedingly fine. His handsome black suit faultlessly matches with his glassy, pointed shoes. The way he smiles at me pierces into my heart. I am supposing that I have bumped into an Archangel.

“How can I help you, Elian?”

“Don’t you think you are being rude with me, Mia? Are you not supposed to invite me in for a glass of juice? For your own information, this is not my first time being here. I have dropped by more than once when in Noël’s company. Your baboon here too knows me. Don’t you, Crandon?”

He knows Crandon? Who is this guy seriously?

“I am sorry, Mister Whatever-Your-Name-Is. I don’t invite strangers I don’t recognize into my house.”

He frowns at me. He is getting mad, I can easily tell. I can’t help the situation regardless. The truth that he is good-looking doesn’t give me one good reason I should pin faith on him. After he winks at Crandon, I watch Crandon drift from me on his hands and feet. He proceeds to take his stand next to the charismatic guy. I was not expecting that. Crandon probably knows him. Yet I don’t.

“Would you mind if I joined your game? Just for a while; I am aware that Crandon enjoys football like no other activity.” There is this gleam brightening up in Elian’s eyes; I can’t explain it. My heart deep down wants me to trust him; my mind is against that.

“I am sorry. You can’t play with us.”

He lifts his hands and surrenders. “Fine; I am not going to force you into doing anything you don’t want to.”

“Leave us now. Crandon and I are about to go inside and have dinner. It is better you go than to have us leave you out here alone.”

“Thank you, Mia, anyway. Do tell Noël I dropped by. I appreciate everything.”

What is there to be grateful about? I was quite rude to him. Yet he presses on he is in my debt? Is something faulty inside that chap’s head? He freaks me out as being psycho or something fiendish.

It is high time we bath. I stand in the shower, undressed. Crandon is straightened besides me, waiting for me to hold the tap and switch it open. A stream of cool water crashes on us. I shudder. He trembles too, firmly holding on to my waist. “Don’t worry, chocolate,” I comfort him. “I will now loose hot water.” That has him grinning cheerfully.

Every time I take my clothes off, Crandon slaps my ass with his hand. His is an exciting habit of squeezing my ass and then chuckling loudly to himself. I have never taught him to do these things. One time, I discovered him playing a tutorial porn video on Noël’s laptop. Honestly, this blew the shit out of me. Crandon was masturbating after the guy in that video!

I have become exhausted of coming across Playboy magazines littered in his bedroom before setting them on fire. He generally steals them from Noël’s room, at times storing them inside his closet. On occasion, he hides them underneath his mattress. I always see white cum soaking his clothes, chiefly the vestments gathered in our laundry basket.

I know. He is addicted to masturbation. He does it fine, I must admit nonetheless.

Crandon’s penis looks appetizing. It is huge and attractively-shaped, with narrow green veins manifest on it. The other time he had me suck it like bitches do. I swallowed it entirely into my broadened mouth. Then he spilled semen out instantaneously. Yes. He comes quickly unlike any man I have had sex with. No sooner I had stuck his dick into my mouth, the instant he climaxed and spilled sugared cum.

One time, I made a cup of tea strictly from his cum. It was sweeter than honey or anything. Two days later, I got diseased; something alike to flu. I had a runny nose and sore eyes and a burning headache. It was lost to feeling a day after. Still, I have never quitted grabbing his cock and sucking everything he lets out.

“Don’t tell me you have tasted baboon cum?” Kati questioned the other day we were lazing outside Wendy’s. Even as she glared at me, I could read she was envious of me undertaking that.

“I have, girl. It tasted wonderful. You must give it a try too.”

“What? You are sick in the head, Mia. There is no way I am going to do that.”

Crandon has a crush on BDSM sex: Bondage, Discipline, Sadism; Machismo. I found these words penned careless-manner on some graph inside his room. Underneath this was: Can we please try it, Mia?

Yes. Crandon can pick a pen and put in writing what he is having in mind. All the time, his handwriting is messed up and sloppy.

In response, I inscribed down: We shall make an effort at it, Crandon. It won’t be soon, I promise.

That’s right. He can read. I tutored him how to do that. What he cannot do is spell words and letters.

I am not looking forward to anything when Crandon tweaks my nipples using both hands. I gaze down at him. His fur is damp from the water pouring; his eyes are merry. I know what he exactly wants. Sex! I will spoil him with precisely that.

I shut my eyes. He keeps on pulling and twisting my nipples. This is not paining. He is working everything wonderfully I can even start to imagine myself having sex with a genuine man. His performance defeats that of most men honestly.

I try to breathe calmly. I cannot. He is tweaking faster. His other hand switches to my vagina. I can feel it work its way silently—waking up sweet emotions I didn’t know were present in me. Oh Crandon! He is amazingly trained at this. He thrusts his finger deeper this time. I am close to losing consciousness.

“Yes, Crandon; keep the performance up. You are so good, darling.” I cheer him up, unclosing my eyes and looking about. I don’t know what I will do if Noël gets back home and finds us like this. Up till now, he is not aware that Crandon and I screw each other. Kati knows. I am positive she won’t open her mouth. I am looking after her dirtiest secret; one that can surely break her happiness for the rest of her life. She won’t betray me.

Crandon has me wheel round. I give him my back and bend downwards. He wants to lick my ass. Before he works this out, he punches a finger into my pussy and pushes in deeper. Yes……yes……..exactly like that, my sweet dear Crandon. He is more than impressive.

I like how his tongue brushes my vagina. He starts slowly at fast, hurrying up as he goes on. Pleasure is everywhere inside me—from my head to my ass to my pussy to my belly. I can feel the sweetness spreading to every part of my body. While his tongue laps faster, he pokes two more fingers in and I get wet straight away.

I am about to let go my pussy cum; speedily, it flows down my legs, soaking my thighs. With his tongue, Crandon goes after it, mopping my skin clean. I love this. He is such a good pet. I will keep him for as long as fate can tolerate.

“Good job, Crandon—good boy,” I mumble while gasping out.

He uplifts my leg, placing himself in a position where he is able to lick me better and more easily. I open my mouth as though I am about to cry. I only manage to squeal. Yes. I had intentions to weep at the top of my voice. I am not going to do that in any case. I don’t want to draw my neighbor’s attention. They can be annoyingly snoopy.

I can’t think straight. The pleasure is too immense for me to handle. Crandon’s tongue laps rapidly into my tight pussy, leaving me astound and breathless. I am afraid this will hurt in some way. It doesn’t to my surprise. He exercises great care I don’t expect from a sound human male.

He pushes me further down so that my pussy yawns widely open. I shut my eyes for a split second. I can’t understand what is exactly happening to me. His fingers jab into me hurriedly until I am no longer able to keep myself from hitting another orgasm.

He has me bow down on the floor and then braces his dick with his hand. As he strokes it nicely, snow-colored cum shoots out and hits my legs. He makes it his obligation to lick up the cum, cleaning my legs as a result.

“Excellent, Crandon,” I praise him for his accomplishment. “Please do it again.”

Cum flies out and scatters down my legs. He bends over and licks it. He has left me out of breath. I prefer to fuck him than a self-centered human man. With him, I orgasm many times than I can keep count of. Yes—even throughout short encounters which don’t last longer than ten minutes; he fucks better than those selfish boyfriends I have made out with in the past.

At last, he places his dick into my cunt. I breathe out slowly, seeking to manage the overpowering sweetness he is furnishing me with. Watchfully, he pulls out his dick—then lays it inside again. I don’t want to move. I might ruin things. I stay still, letting him stick his cock into me and then draw it out. Is he aware that he is killing me with enjoyment? He definitely is!

At long last, he has begun slamming in and out of me. He starts slowly at first, speeding up as time slips by. I can’t breathe. The pleasure is around me yet again. We both pant, louder and faster, until I finally scream. Damn me! How dare I do that? Promptly, he places his hand on my mouth and hushes me. He howls out in rage. He has every right to do that. Noël might show up from wherever he is, and discover us like this. If he does, this will be the end of us—I swear.

“I am sorry, Crandon. I didn’t mean to scream,” I express my regret with a saddened face.

He keeps on fucking and smashing harder. His drops of sweat trickle on my back. I toss my hand behind me so I can clasp his balls and caress them softly. He likes it; he groans out in delight. Yes……yes…..we must keep this up.

Before we collapse on the floor, soaking our heads with the crashing water, I hold on to the wall and spin my eyes. I am exhausted. I must take a nap. Crandon is spent too. He grins joyously at me, and I smile back.

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