Many thanks to neuroparenthetical, who edited this story.

Mid-afternoon, I was walking with my new girlfriend toward her place. She lived in a ten-story tower on the mountainside. I'd always liked that part of town -- maybe because I wasn't there often, or maybe because it felt like a world apart. It was working-class and a bit rough around the edges, but the upside was the quiet: the narrow, winding streets climbing the slope simply didn't allow for much traffic.

Most residents lived in apartment blocks similar to hers: clustered together but not packed the way they were along the riverside. Between the buildings lay basketball courts and children's playgrounds, all of it wrapped in the deep green of the forest spilling down from above.

She was tall and slender-framed. Her cropped dark-blonde hair suited her round face.

Also, she was one of those, though you couldn't tell -- not unless you pissed her off, in which case she made sure you found out.

That day, like most days, she wore a short, strappy dress paired with platform heels and a tiny sequined handbag. The dress hung loosely on her, barely long enough to skim that cheeky little rear of hers, and cut so low that her cleavage seemed always on the verge of slipping into view.

I liked her. I liked her a lot. I liked her fashion sense.

Apparently, so did everyone else. The shows of appreciation were always louder in such a rowdy, city-limits neighborhood, and that afternoon was no exception. As we climbed the steep alley toward her building, the usual chorus of shouts, whistles, cheers, and half-hearted boos followed us up the hill.

Keeping one's thoughts to oneself simply isn't a concept that thrives in the tougher parts of town -- but then again, that's part of what made living in the upper town interesting.

The sun was high in the sky, casting sharp shadows from the trees that lined the street. I trailed behind her, taking in the sight of her as she moved. Cheerful as always, she would dart ahead, then spin with a laugh and come back, talking and joking the whole way, putting on a little show for anyone watching. Her dress fluttered around her like a flag on a mast, held in place by mere threads. From behind, her rear was in full view; "upskirting" was polite fiction, as there was little in the way of a skirt. The upper front of her body was exposed to all sides; the top of her dress sagged and slid to one side and even if one were to search for an angle from which neither of her breasts were visible, I don't think they'd find any. Don't ask me why anyone would.

***

Several young men were playing basketball on the court in front of the building, none appearing older than twenty. When they spotted her, they paused, cheering and whistling.

"Yo, Mamma, I want to suck your cock," one of them shouted.

"Come on up," she called back.

Her reply was met by the obligatory reply: much laughter and jeering.

"Do they do that all the time?" I asked as we climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, where she lived. The elevator was out of service, "for repairs," a situation that hadn't changed in years.

"Don't they?" she said with an unperturbed laugh.

Now, my girl was special. You wouldn't have found many like her. No, it wasn't just the dick. "You like that, don't you, slut?"

"A couple of them are really cute."

I couldn't guess who she had in mind, but some of the boys outside were cute enough.

What I hadn't expected was that half an hour later, a couple of them really did show up at her door -- and she let them in.

She'd long since replaced her dress with a small camisole top. She had nothing else on except her heels from earlier... and a springy erection. It was easy to miss the latter, however; for even though she was hairless after a permanent removal, her penis was no longer than my thumb, and barely thicker. What she lacked in size, however, she made up for in stiffness. It's basic hydrostatics. The smaller the tire, the higher the pressure -- and the higher the pressure, the stiffer the tire becomes. Hers was as hard as wood.

"What's he doing here?" the taller, bulkier one asked, nodding toward me.

"He's my boyfriend," she said.

They froze, unsure what to do next.

The one who had spoken frowned, clearly unhappy. "Does he fuck you?"

"What are you, slow? Didn't I just say he's my boyfriend?"

"But I mean-"

"Fuck me in the ass?" she said, cutting him off. "Yes, he does. All day, all night."

"Wow!" the other one cried in genuine amazement. "That's so cool, dude."

"We thought you will be alone," the first one said.

"Well, I'm not, and if I told him to leave, he doesn't do what I say."

Still, the young man remained unconvinced. "I don't like this," he finally said. "I'm out of here." He turned toward the door, then realized his buddy wasn't following suit. "Juan, let's go."

"I dunno, man," Juan said.

"Juan," the man said with renewed urgency, "let's go, bro."

"I stay. You go. I catch up with you later."

"Suit yourself," the nameless boy muttered, and with a shrug, he vanished from sight -- an intentional sharp turn right after crossing the threshold.

Just like that, there were only the three of us.

She didn't seem in any hurry to move on to the next act. Instead, she ran her fingers through her cropped hair, glancing at him as if unsure what to do with him.

"Well," she said at last, "you better get down on your knees, 'cause I'm not climbing on any chair."

Young man Juan, who for all the intervening time did not stop grinning like an idiot while looking at her pocket piece, complied at once. She walked in front of him and pressed herself on his face, holding her small dick against her abdomen with just the tip of one finger. I could only guess what transpired between the two of them, especially since, for most of the time he remained in the flat, she had her back turned toward me.

"Yeah, baby," she heaved with pleasure after some minutes. "Lick my balls. Lick Mamma's balls."

Juan must have done a great job, too, for her moaning only intensified. No doubt, it was not his first rodeo. I was pretty sure he liked it, too -- quite possibly even more than she did. To his credit he did try to gratify himself beyond what she was serving him.

My girl kept thrusting her front in his face, gyrating her hips as she went. She mostly had her arms in the air, and hadn't forced herself onto him past that -- but that was about to change.

"Oh, baby," she said. "Baby, I want you to suck mamma's cock. Tell me you want to suck mamma's cock."

And he would have told her, but for her balls in his mouth.

"Oh, baby," she said, "tell me, tell me. Tell me how you want to suck my dick."

She never actually gave him the chance, though. All at once she stuck her tooth-pick -- erm, penis -- in his mouth. She shook her ass and started moving her arm. My best guess was that she was pushing her dick from side to side over his tongue -- and that she was still only using a single finger to do it. That was her. She completely owned having a small, hairless little penis.

"Oh, baby," she said, "have you been crying?"

I reckon that after that much ball-munching, tears had indeed flowed over his face. What I can say is that, real or not, she wiped them from the corners of his eyes. Then the real face abuse started, albeit slowly: small thrusts, mock slaps with the tips of her fingers, nose pulls.

For a while, she was just happy to fuck his mouth, hand on her hip and slightly crouched. Her other hand went through her hair, over her neck and breasts, and caressed her side. She pinched her nipples and felt up her own butt.

After a while the motions of her lower body became wider, the thrusts deeper, the pressing of his face on her groin harder. She pranced, and her butt shook, and with it her thighs. She thrust forward, and then, changing posture, she thrust upwards. She stopped to plop her dick out of his mouth, inspect his hole, and spit in it. Then she bent forward, keeping her fringe over her head with one hand. She slapped his face with that very little-boy stick of hers, no matter how clumsy and awkward it was. She was going to get her own face cock-slapped that very afternoon, only with a real man's cock, but right that moment I was content with just watching the shaking of her cute butt, how it flattened when her hips stopped in his face, and how it sprang back into shape as she pulled back.

"Oh, you're. Such a. Naughty. Boy." She said it with feigned affectation, nearly every word marked by a thrust.

I didn't know about him, but it was very true for her. Watching her abusing poor Juan only made my resolve even harder, if you take my meaning. As soon as he left I was going to pay her performance back to her with interest.

"Mamma is coming, baby," she said. "Mamma is coming so bad. Oh. Baby. Fuck."

'Mamma' took her time coming, to be sure. Fingers locked in his hair, she shook and pressed his face harder against her abdomen, bending over him and rising up again. Real or show, her orgasm kept coming in waves, and only slowly did they ebb to a halt.

"Oh, baby," she said, "you made mamma come. You're such a bad boy."

Finally able to speak, Juan did not know what to say.

"Did you like it, baby?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good, baby. Now go outside and play ball with the boys, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"What do you say?"

"Thank you, Ma'am."