Miss North Carolina

Enjoying the company of Miss North Carolina was a singularly unique and pleasant part of my life, let me tell you.

Let's call her Suzanne. How we met and hit it off was as unexpected as anything in the brief, whirlwind affair that was the Miss North Carolina experience.

It started at the bar in a Fayetteville nightclub, and I was reciting poetry to her.

Reciting poetry.

I wasn't drunk, either. I'm telling you; she was

that

beautiful. So knock-down, drag-out beautiful that she inspired me to actually recite fucking poetry, for crying out loud.

When Suzanne had to make a pit stop in the ladies room another woman came up to me and asked if I was with that incredibly beautiful creature, and that if I was I needed to take her home right away and fuck her brains out, because she was in the ladies room telling her girlfriend, "Omigawd! Omigawd! He's so beautiful! He's so wonderful! He's so fantastic! I WANT HIM TO TAKE ME AND RIP MY CLOTHES OFF AND LET HIM HAVE HIS WAY WITH ME IN EVERY WAY IMAGINABLE!"

I meditated on this information and concluded that it meant I was obviously making a good impression on the young lady. But I digress...

First of all, let me say again for the ten millionth time, Suzanne was BEAUTIFUL. I mean, we're talking a national-level beauty queen here, right?

Silky smooth blonde hair like spun gold, the clearest complexion like a china doll, her sweet, sweet smile revealed a line of straight teeth that shined like a line of pearls, and eyes of the clearest cornflower blue. Her sleeveless minidress displayed a perfect pair of shoulders that looked like they were molded by Michelangelo out of Plaster of Paris, that in turn curved toward her perfectly proportioned breasts. I don't know her bra size; all of her was so beautiful I didn't have to work to keep my eyes off of her tits. I was even fascinated by the curved line of her jaw, her delicate neck.

Of course her waist was narrow, her belly flat and hard and her legs a study of rounded thighs, perfectly shaped calves and narrow ankles. And from what I could see of her ass, perched upon that barstool; ah, what an ass!

The girl was beautiful enough to make a guy cum in his shorts with just a smile. I'm telling you, Suzanne even had the women in the place drooling after her.

When Suzanne opened her mouth and started to talk she had the most beautiful voice, as clear as a bell with the sexiest Southern accent and all the cute little sayings and nuances that those Southern girls come off with. Sayings like, "Wah, you tahk moah shit than a gol tooth allagatah."

Why, you talk more shit than a gold-toothed alligator.

English translation: you're witty and well-spoken."

She was as perfect as a rose and as fresh as a spring morning in the mountains, but what really made Suzanne's beauty so utterly remarkable was the study of contrasts her personality offered. My first glimpse into the darker side of Suzanne's persona was right after we got to her place. We were having a glass of wine, a sort of an icebreaker, she was smiling at me that super sexy perfectly beautiful smile of hers over her glass, when she asked, "You know how-a get a dawg a-stop humping yo-ah leg?"

"I dunno, how?" I asked. It seemed like a weird enough opener, but nothing compared to the answer.

"Wah, you pick him up and suck his dick!"

We both laughed. Little did I know at that moment that Suzanne was laying a big-time hint on me as to her fondness for delivering a certain technique to which I happen to be very partial.

But I digress...

After the nightclub I took her for a spin in my car. I had a Ford Explorer in those days, the two-door sport model, back when the whole SUV concept was still new and unique. It was very plush and comfortable and as we enjoyed the bright neon lights whizzing past Suzanne leaned towards me and casually placed her hand on my forearm.

I took her to a popular Thai bar/restaurant that featured karaoke and dancing. My intent was double-edged; I wanted to show Suzanne another side of Fayetteville - the Asian sub-culture that I was a charter member of, and I also wanted to show this magnificent creature off to my Oriental friends.

When we got back in the car Suzanne said, "I want to show you mah place."

Suzanne had this neat condo down in the old, traditional part of town, the part of town the city council was trying to renovate. The place was two stories up above an old corner store that had been turned into an art gallery. It was wedge-shaped, with high ceilings and huge windows overlooking the gaslights and the cobblestones of the street that had been turned into a pedestrian mall.

From the moment we went left the nightclub there was this weird dichotomy going on, a sort of denial; like, we're only just friends, we're only having a late night visit to her place. The whole "I-never-fuck-on-the-first-date" thing. I went along with this charade because I really didn't think for a minute that I was going into this woman's apartment at one in the morning and not leaving without a shot of leg.

Her enthusiastic tour of the place led us to her bedroom.

It was dark, the only light coming in was from the gaslights down in the street; her bed was the size of an aircraft carrier. As we stood side by side looking at it I decided now was a good time to take Suzanne in my arms and start undressing her. I had the hem of her minidress up and my hand down to her panties in no time flat; Suzanne unbuttoned my shirt as I gently massaged her asscheeks. She pulled my shirt back and off my shoulders, then undid my trousers and let them fall to the floor. We stood there kissing for a little while because it was pleasant to take our time. She softly stroked my rod as I gently caressed her sweet, tight ass.

When we finally got into bed Suzanne wanted to play Little-Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes all over again. You know, still with the I'm-not-the-kind-of-girl-who-fucks-on-the-first-date routine. At this stage in the game I figured this HAD to some kind of an act, some kind of last ditch effort to convince me that she really was a good girl, not some kind of slut that hops into bed with a guy at the earliest opportunity, that she was only going this far with me because I was someone special. Never mind the fact that we were in bed and practically naked; in the weird logic that runs through women's minds that was beside the point, right?

I decided to go along with it; I'd encountered this kind of denial before. The girl needed some kind of pretext to get started, is all. Some kind of excuse to abandon herself to the passion of the moment and let herself go.

I decided to focus on Suzanne's lips, which were full and soft and looked like they'd been sculpted by an Italian Renaissance master. I gently kissed her, the softest open-mouthed kiss. We let our tongues play little love games while our hands traveled over each other's bodies, barely touching each other in a tantalizing sort of way. As it later turned out this was a good starting move.

I gently moved my hand twice over her entire length, softly tickling, teasing and tantalizing Suzanne's body. I finally placed my hand on her panties, on her

mon

du Venus

, and found silky smoothness; under her dainty white panties she was perfectly hairless, as bald as the proverbial billiard ball. I traced my fingers along the start of her cleft.

Suzanne legs were clamped tight together; a few strokes up and down her pussy mound opened them, however, allowing me to stroke her pussylips through her panties. I teased her, cupped her sex in the palm of my hand, then moved my palm upwards so that I could lay a finger along the length of her seam. I made no attempt to slip my fingers into her panties, to penetrate. I simply felt her heat and continued to tease her.

Then I took her hand and placed it on my now erect penis. "Play with my cock," I whispered, saying the forbidden word. Our kisses became deeper and more meaningful as Suzanne gently tugged on my cock, while I continued to rub her wet pussy right through her panties.

After awhile I lifted her hand off my tool and placed it on right on her sopping wet panties.

"Play with yourself for me," I whispered.

Suzanne slipped her hand into her panties and started moving her middle finger over her clit in circular motions. Despite her earlier coyness, once she got going there was nothing shy about blonde Suzanne; in seconds flat she was writhing around on her back, masturbating furiously.

I moved my head down and started sucking on Suzanne's nipples, and discreetly moved my hand under the crotch of her panties to stroke her wet pussylips, while right above my hand her fingers continued to diddle her clit. I slipped a couple of fingers into her and in seconds flat she moaning, arching her back and squirting clam juice all over my hand. "Oh! Oh! OOOHHHHHHHHH!" she cried.

I felt the inner muscles of her cunt tighten like a band of iron about my two fingers as she peaked. When her moment finally passed I withdrew my fingers, removed my hand from under her panties. I moved my hand back on top of her panty-clad pussy to cup and hold her hot, throbbing box while Suzanne threw her arms about my neck and cried tears of sheer joy onto my chest. When she regained some semblance of control she moved up and softly kissed me.

"Thank you. I needed that."

We embraced for awhile, then lay back, side by side in the dark. Suzanne pulled her wet panties off and tossed them aside, and now we were totally naked, together in bed, side by side.

We had a sort of a conversation as she told me how hard her job was, the long hours, attending meetings and looking after a myriad of details, and how she never gets a chance to be alone, how she never gets to meet a guy and have a private life.

At this point we were not yet lovers. That is, not completely. We still had yet to fully consummate our love.

"How about you?" she asked.

I told her about my work, how I love what I do, the challenges my work presents and the adventures I experience, and ultimately how I liked keeping my life simple.

Then Suzanne told me about two abusive relationships she'd been through, one several years ago with a live-in boyfriend, another more recently with a married guy she'd hooked up with who was total slime. As she continued, it turned out the guy was her agent, during her year as Miss North Carolina.

Suzanne started telling me about the nature of the abuse. "He never hit me, he didn't want to leave any kind of mark on me. He was totally dedicated to marketing me, to my image as a professional beauty queen. Instead he humiliated me, verbally. And there was... ...more..."

Before I could catch myself I asked, "More?"

"Psychological torture..." Suzanne whispered furtively.

Things were complicated, she told me. It continued after she'd completed her reign as a beauty queen. She was finally able to get away from him, after a couple of years of his abuse. She was only now getting past the recovery stage of this event.

The conversation was at a difficult point, especially when I considered the fact that I'd just had her masturbate for me, a sort of a mild kinkiness. I decided the best way to get us past this sticky subject was to kiss her. At this point I still hadn't gotten my rocks off and I was really ready and raring to go, but there was still this strange "never-fuck-on-the-first-date" dichotomy going down.

I wanted to show Suzanne my very real physical need, so I took her hand off my shoulder and moved it down, placed it on my rock solid cock. Suzanne gasped, looked down in the semi-darkness at the hot, hard cock she held in her hand. Her soft fingers felt so good on my raging hard-on. At this stage my balls were in such a state of turmoil I would have settled for a handjob.

Then Suzanne said, "Why don't you come over here and lay on top of me?"

I moved on top of her, held my arms around her and we kissed. Suzanne's legs were apart and the blunt end of my cock was poking right on her wet pussylips. I moved my hips, pulled my cock up and away from there so that it lay flat between our bellies, and began moving my hips up and down to rub her swollen clitoris with the underside of my hard cock.

This had the predictable effect; Suzanne began writhing and moaning and her pussy started dripping all over again. I could feel her love juices all over my cock and balls as I rubbed my shaft up and down her groove.

"Do you have something to put on?" she whispered.

"Yeah," I grunted. I reached down to where my trousers lay on the floor and retrieved a condom. "Here," I said, handing her the packet. I leaned back to display my fully erect penis. "Put it on for me."

Suzanne seemed to like this latest twist. She studied the little packet for a moment then used her teeth to rip it open. The inconvenience of having to use a condom was almost made up for by the feeling of her dainty fingertips rolling it over the head of my rock-solid cock and down the length of my shaft. I could tell she was trembling with anticipation; her pussy was practically dripping.

I got on my knees between Suzanne's legs and began rubbing the head of my rubber-ensheathed cock up and down her wet slit, to get some lubrication on it. Her labia parted automatically and I slid the head of my cock in. She was wet enough that my entire length slid in easily. Suzanne put her arms about my neck. We gently kissed, long and slow, as we became lovers.

Beyond the physical joy and pleasure of our lovemaking there was a more complete sensation to it all, a special kind of sharing, an element of complete trust that was beautiful to be a part of.

I'm happy to say the relationship progressed beyond a simple one-night stand.

* * *

She had me back over the next night for Round Two. This time there was some food involved, a tasty chicken salad and some wine. We were still getting to know one another, that tentative stage of the relationship where everything is fun and new and exciting as the two of you get to know one another.

I asked her what kind of music she liked; as it turned out we both liked similar music, the stuff of the Seventies. I didn't quite understand her at first when she said, "Enneh thang bah journeh." Anything by Journey.

We both had a thing for health and fitness and living right. When I asked her how far she ran every day she said, "Fahv malls."

Suzanne was building up an art collection of which she was very proud, and she went around the large room indicating pieces hanging on the wall with a sweep of her hand. "Dew yew lahk it?" she'd ask in that killer accent of hers.

My eyes were transfixed on that tight ass of her, bouncing around beneath her short, short miniskirt and I kept saying, "Sure do. Uh huh. Sure do."

We ended up in bed, of course.

I was holding her gently, kissing her softly and taking my time with it. I was in bed with a living work of art, after all, and was in no rush to get it over with. Little did I know, Suzanne was the one with the agenda that night.

She moved her hand down to stroke my solid rod as our tongues tentatively explored one another's mouths. At one point I lay back and thrust my hips upward, which had the effect of pointing my hard cock right at Suzanne. The girl didn't miss a beat; she rolled over and swallowed my boner deep into her wet mouth.

We didn't even get to straight up fucking that night.

* * *

As far as the bedroom department goes, well, every girl's got something she likes, a signature thing, some little kink that gets her off. Some girls prefer to get it doggy style, some girls talk dirty while they do it, some girls want to play Daddy's Little Girl and give you the Big Eyes and lots of baby-talk while you fuck them.

Miss North Carolina was a cocksucker; her thing was giving head. Suzanne was one of those girls who gets off so much giving head that she would actually cum while sucking on my pole. She would never let up, the whole time she was sucking my dick she'd be fingerfucking herself and playing with her tits.

She called it "sweet kisses". She'd smile her incredible smile and say in that amazing Southern accent of hers, "Do you want me to give you sweet kisses?" Then she would go down on me and never even came up for air. She'd moan, "Mmmmm... ...mmmmm... ...mmmm!" as she swallowed my rod. She'd just keep on sucking my cock, deep. And when I inevitably came in her mouth she had no compunction against swallowing as much of it as possible.

Like I said, Suzanne was a cocksucker. I'm sorry - did I say cocksucker? What I meant to say was cock

swallower

.

It got to the point where all I had to do was put my fingers her lips, then point to the head of my cock and she'd be on it. There was one memorable afternoon when Suzanne sat on the edge of her bed and sucked my cock as I stood in front of her. I mean, she was really taking it deep into her mouth and playing with her tits all the while, cupping them and holding them and pinching her nipples as the head of my cock prodded the back of her throat.

I had my fingers entwined in Suzanne's long blonde hair; she didn't seem to mind as I ever so gently pushed the back of her head up and down to help her keep the right rhythm on my cock. I'll never forget it; Carly Simon was singing

You're So Vain

on the stereo and Suzanne was going "...nnnggaah... ...mmmphhh... ...ggrggl..." as I literally fucked her mouth. I'm telling you, the girl was

talented

.

"...nnnggaah..." she'd moan, "...nnnggaah..." then in the background,

You walked in... ...to the party...

"...nnnggaah..." ...

like you were walking onto a yacht...

"...nnnggaah... ...nnnggaah..."

I looked down at my pretty Suzanne, regarded her lips wrapped around the base of my manroot, and the term "cock holster" came to mind. When I finally unloaded gallons into her mouth, cum and saliva dripped down her chin and puddled up on the rounded tops of her breasts.

* * *

It was some time after our second night together, maybe it was our third or fourth night, when Suzanne went into detail about the abuse her agent had put her through.

"...he would humiliate me... ...sexually..." she said, burying her head on my chest at the shameful memory. "He made me... ...do things... ...for him, and in front of others. It was his way of keeping me under his control."

"You don't have to talk about it," I said.

"No, I want to," Suzanne continued. "I want to talk about it with someone."

It didn't seem odd that the someone she chose to confess her deepest darkest secrets to was me. I seem to have a sort of Father Confessor effect on women.

"It pleasured him to use me as a sex slave. To all the public I was this shining goddess on a pedestal, Miss North Carolina; but to him and his show business friends, I was some kind of slut/whore/bitch, to be used for their perverted pleasure and amusement.

"He would make me wear the most humiliating outfits, you know; stockings and heels, latex bras, very little else. He'd put me on a leash, then parade me in front of his guests."

Personally I found the mental image of Miss North Carolina in stockings and heels and nothing else but a leash quite fetching, but I didn't say a word. I didn't want to ruin a good thing by letting her think I was some kind of sick weirdo.

"He'd subject me to the most humiliating treatment. He'd make me masturbate... ...openly... ...in front of them, then he'd make me get on my knees and suck them all off, one by one.

"I accepted my role as a sex slave, totally accepted it. I would do it willingly. When he ordered me to I'd get down on my knees in front of a total stranger, in front of a roomful of strangers, and shamelessly suck cock without a hint of protest. And when he wasn't around, I would tell myself that I was a slut and a whore and that my role in life was to suck cock, miles of cock. I lived for nothing but to suck, whenever and wherever as he wanted me to.