Smells Like Teen Spurts

11. Milk and Honey

For a few days after all the girls were active again, Dipper started to worry that he might not survive to get his dose of serum. Except for the few hours when the girls were all away, it seemed to him that he spent the whole time ejaculating. On Thursday, he begged for a little more time between beddings, and the girls agreed that he had been a trouper and deserved some down time.

“Okay, man,” Wendy said, lying on her stomach while Pacifica and Tambry licked cum from her buttocks and back—she liked face-to-face, but doggy-style was an occasional diversion for her, while it was the opposite with Pacifica. “Here’s the deal. We won’t try to get you horny again until it just happens. But once your dick is hard and we start to smell those pheromones, we’ll come and wait for you to take us.”

And that sort of worked, for that next day at least. Wendy took a bottle of the protein drink in with her, Dipper finished his work on the editing business and emailed all of it back to Marc Rysner down in California, and then at eleven in the morning, he napped. Only to have erotic dreams.

His phone woke him at half-past noon. “Uh, Dipper Pines here,” he said, staggering up a long crooked stairway of grogginess back to being fully awake.

“Hi, Bettany here!” the voice on the phone chirped. “Marc and I love the work you’ve done on these stories. Hey, if we get you a dozen more, can you edit and return them by Monday morning?”

“About the same length as the ones I sent you?” he asked.

“Uh, let’s see . . . actually, as a group these are a little bit shorter. Longest one on a pdf file would be . . . nine pages. These are what we call stub pages, they’ll open out later into bigger subsections of the encyclopedia section.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Dipper said. “Send them on.”

“Marc says to tell you to check your bank account on March 5. Your first paycheck’s being e-deposited that morning. Oh, we’ve taken out your federal and Oregon state income taxes, so the net amount is gonna be just about $2,000. Marc says to tell you that you’re exempt from California income tax next year because you don’t live here.”

“Thanks,” Dipper said, feeling just a little let down. While going to college in California and working part time, he had faced income tax for the first time. Anyway, Oregon’s bite was a little smaller.

Huh. Two thousand net. Pacifica would spend that much on a new jacket and not blink an eye. He hadn’t asked Wendy how much she was earning, but it was bound to be several times his small income. And Tambry was certainly in a higher bracket. But as long as they didn’t object, he didn’t feel too terrible.

Hey . . . it was past noon, and he didn’t have a hard-on. And maybe if he concentrated, he could hold off for a few more hours. He checked his computer, downloaded the new articles, and began reading the first one, about alleged cases of spontaneous teleportation. The author was pretty skeptical and pointed out that most of the historical cases were questionable and not at all easily verified.

Dipper made a few notes, suggesting some rewording where the author got sort of tangled in syntax, and then added a longish postscript to Marc suggesting two or three other cases of supposed teleportation, adding sources as he remembered them. He would up with, “I’d give you page citations for these, but I’m sort of confined right now, nothing serious but a bit contagious. By Monday I’ll be able to check some references on these.” He sent that article back.

It was close to one-thirty. His phone rang again. “Wendy!” he said. “How are you?”

“Not gonna make it to five o’clock,” she groaned. “Listen, I need to drive up to Rangely Hill to see how a crew’s finished up a job there. I can haul by for thirty minutes. Can we do it?”

“A quickie?” he asked. Uh-oh. His dick had been lying in wait for that. He stood up from his chair, unlatched his belt, and pushed his jeans down. “I’m ready already,” he said.

She lowered her voice: “In, blowjob, quick shower and mouthwash, and I’m out again. You don’t mind?”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Make sure the front door’s unlocked. We’ll do it in the living room!”

It took her just about ten minutes to make the drive. He heard the Jeep door slam, opened the door, and she was in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know we were gonna try to give you more time, but—”

“You want to go to bed?”

“No!” She stepped back and ripped off her clothes, nearly literally. She grabbed a cushion from the sofa, tossed it on the floor, and asked him, “You want to stand or sit?”

“Uh, stand?”

Immediately she dropped to her knees and grabbed his stiff cock with both hands. “Mm!” She interrupted her first enveloping kiss. “Hey, man, if we spill or splash, would you mind cleaning up?”

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Mmph!” She started to suck him passionately. She still couldn’t deep-throat him unless she were lying on her back, chin down, making her throat more of a hundred-and-eighty degree angle rather than a ninety-degree one, but as Dipper had already told her, the important part of his dick was the head, where almost all the sensitive nerves were. She paid loving attention to this, urgently sucking and licking.

They’d worked out a signal system—when Dipper was about to cum, he’d put his hands on her head, never pulling her in or trying to force himself uncomfortably deep, but just alerting her. He did, felt her tense, then redouble her sucking until his dick surged and spasmed and she eagerly swallowed.

She was good to begin with, and she’d become an expert. She didn’t spill anything important, just a little dribble that fell on her tits, and as soon as she had cleaned him, she jumped up, wiped the drops from her breasts with a finger, and swallowed them. “Oh, fuck,” she said. “You need to eat me out so I can cum, Dip. Come on, bathroom, ‘cause I know I’m gonna squirt!”

He returned the favor she had given him, folding up towels and kneeling on them while she leaned against the wall and spread her legs. He put two fingers inside her pussy and as she tilted her hips forward, he licked and polished her clit, which now remained in a permanent stage of semi-erection. It had become a firm little berry, and he pursed his lips around it and sucked while his fingers moved in and out and wriggled, finding and teasing her G-spot.

“Yes!” she yelped, her whole body shivering from the pleasure as she gushed. Most of it fell on Dipper’s chest and the towel, but some splashed the floor. “Whoo, that was what I needed,” she murmured. She moved, Dipper used the towel on himself and the tile floor, and she turned on the shower. “Man, Dipper, I’m so sorry I can’t stay. I’d love to cuddle and kiss for like an hour, but I gotta get out to that job. Shower with me?”

“Better not,” he said. “You’d just get my scent back on you. But next week you and me and Pacifica’s hot tub have a date!”

“Can’t hardly wait.” She did up her hair and donned the ridiculously large shower cap she had to use and stepped into the shower stall. Dipper went back to the living room and inspected, but found no random splashes of cum. He put the cushion back on the sofa.

When he returned to the shower, Wendy was drying. “Do me a favor,” she said. “Bring me a glass  or cup from the kitchen. Gotta milk these babies!”

He brought her a measuring cup, and, leaning over as he held it for her, she pulled and squeezed her swollen nipples until seven ounces filled the cup. “Damn,” she said, smiling as she patted her tits with a face-towel, “That gave me about six more as I was doing it! Man, you’re getting hard again already.”

“I can’t help it when you look like that and when you do stuff like that,” he said. “I’ll jerk off after you leave.”

“Remember to save it!” she said. “Pacifica and Tambry will come home hungry for cum!”

“I’ll do it in another cup,” he said. They had the formula down—one part cum, two parts mildly saline water. The girls could drink it straight or mix it with milk or protein drink. Sometimes they even mixed it with each other’s milk. That seemed to give them a kind of buzz, like good champagne, as well as priming their orgasms.

Kinky.

He didn’t dare touch Wendy’s clothes, not now that another boner was coming on, but he watched her dress. She blew him a kiss. “Don’t forget,” she said, “tonight Tambry wants you to fuck her ass. I can’t wait to see that!”

“I’m a little nervous myself,” he said. “Drive carefully.”

“I will now,” Wendy said. “Cum a lot for us!”

Wendy had poured her milk into a pint bottle with a W in permanent marker on the side. One with a P, nearly full, and one with a T, only a few ounces because they had shared that on their breakfast cereal that morning, stood on the same shelf.

With his hard-on nearly as large as when Wendy had knelt in front of him, Dipper held a glass, stood by the sofa with one knee resting on it, and started to masturbate. Ever since Wendy—and the other girls, tell the truth—masturbating had been a little more difficult for him.

But in his mind he pictured Wendy lying back, fingering her pussy and her tits, smiling at him and urging him on: “Do it for me, Dipper!”

And his enthusiasm built, and milking himself with four fingers and his thumb on top, he squirted into the glass. His cum was still pearl-white, but thicker than it had been before his encounter with the plant. When he was sure he wasn’t dribbling any longer, he wiped himself with a tissue and then went to the kitchen, mixed up the saline, and stirred it all together. If they girls had been there, Tambry, like a toddler watching Mom make a cake, would have called out, “I get to lick the spoon!”

And Pacifica would say, “You take the spoon, I’ll take his cock!”

Good times. Good times.

With his urges satisfied, Dipper worked for another three hours, finishing two more of the articles, one of them very simple to edit, since it was just an effort to categorize varieties of small (one meter and shorter) hominids alleged to live in the United States. He filled out the one-line description of gnomes (.5 meter or shorter, always male) with some details (bearded, wear distinctive red pointed hats, blue shirts, overalls, brown shoes; usually male, but some females have been seen in Oregon). He also indicated the reliability of the anecdotal evidence on a scale of 0 to 5, with zero being absolutely false to five, which meant “verified.” The gnomes got a four, the Alabama Leprechaun a one.

He sent those in, checked the clock and then got a snack ready—some trail mix high in protein count, four glasses for milk (they’d need to buy more in a day), crackers and cheese.

Pacifica and Tambry got home a little past five, and Wendy hauled in about five minutes after that. Considerately, the first two girls waited for Wendy, but they did down glassfuls of Dipper’s diluted cum, mixed with Wendy’s milk.

It jacked them way up.

Dipper opened the door for Wendy, who immediately kissed him. “Who’s in the bathroom?”

“Pacifica and Tambry,” Dipper said.

“Oh, did you already--?”

“Uh, no,” Dipper said. “Pacifica’s giving Tambry an enema.”

“Oh, good!” Wendy said. “I’ve been curious about how this is going to go!”

And, soon enough, she saw.