Page 10 of My Date With A Rubber Duckie

“Hmm, and how did you end up at the toy store? Did you break in there?”

“I did, but it was on misinformation.” Feeling bad for thinking that the sweet old man was a criminal, I quickly explain how my cousin set me up. In response, she tells me how her cousin once trapped her in the school locker room by stealing her clothes—unoriginal, but still horrifying.

I see a glimpse again of the brightshining woman I came to adore earlier tonight as she slowly opens back up, talking more and more while the bath water grows cold. We swap stories until the bubbles are gone and our fingers are wrinkled, and then I lift her out of the tub and wrap her in a towel.

“Sorry, I only have the one.” She shifts uncomfortably on her feet.

“Not a problem, bubble.” I smile, relishing the thought of sharing. Why is that so appealing to me?

Slowly, I unwrap the towel I just put around her, and use the plush terrycloth to dry her neck, her back, rubbing it up and down her arms, her breasts, her belly. With a tap on the insides of her thighs, I get her to spread so I can run the towel up and down her legs. On my knees, I blow on her sex, watching the droplets fall from her curls. She leans back and grips the bathroom counter.

I rise back up, drying the spots where her wet hair has dripped, then wrapping the towel around her head and massaging the cloth along her scalp, eliciting a moan.

Once her hair is reasonably dry, I give myself a quick pat down, wrap the towel around my waist, take her hand, and lead her back to bed.

“I don’t think I got this pussy dry enough.” I guide her to lie back on the top of her comforter and spread her legs. Then I blow cool breaths up the inside of one leg and then the other. She squirms and writhes, but I grip her hips and hold her steady while I blow dry the apex of her thighs with my breath.

“That won’t get me dry,” she gasps, which just makes me smile.

“Maybe I should give up then,” I tease. “Maybe I should make you wetter instead?”

She nods, and I dive in, licking up her center.

“Fuck, you taste good.” Like that bubblegum bubble bath she uses mixed with something tart and all her. I lap her up, slow and steady. She bucks and tries to thrust, attempting to grind herself against my face, silently communicating exactly how much she’s liking this.

Some men would take that as a signal to speed up or increase the pressure, but I know better. If I fell into that trap, I’d stop giving her what’s feeling so good and ruin it all. So, I pin her down and keep up the even pace.

She stifles a moan with her arm.

I stop just long enough to say, “None of that. Let it out, bubble. Let it all out for your Duckie. I want to hear every gasp.”

When I go back to eating her out, she complies beautifully. A gasp. A moan. A grunt. A groan. Little noises that grow into big noises until she’s jabbering nonsense about how she never wants me to stop and how she’s never had it this good. She curses like a sailor. And I love every word that tumbles from her lips.

“That’s it. Tell me how good I make you feel. Gush all over your Duckie’s face.”

“Yes, Duckie, yes!” Her legs fling out. Her body shakes. “Y-y-y-yessss!”

She squirts! Fucking squirts like a squeezed rubber duck! A flood bursts all over my face faster than I can lick it up.Her pleasure splashes over me, the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. Fuck, I'm a lucky duck.

I know it’s too soon, but I think I might be falling in love with my sweet little bursting bubble.

7

My very best friend

Anita

My Duckie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking like I just gave him a present by letting him eat me out. I suddenly realize, for all we’ve shared today, I still don’t know his name.

“Who are you?”

He chuckles. “That good, huh?”

“No, I mean, what’s your name?”

“Oh.” He sits up. “Oh, I should have told you that right away. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I liked you calling me Duckie.” There’s a blush along his neck and ears. “But my real name is Drake.”

“Drake,” I try itout. “I like it. It's not too far off from Duckie, actually. But I agree, I like calling you my Duckie better.” My hand clamps over my mouth. “Oh shit, that wasn’t what I meant. I mean, you’re notmyDuckie.”

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