From Cherry to Savannah—a Risqué Collection of Pocket Pussies

Ah, let me tell you about my collection of beauties. I speak of my secret cache of artificial vaginas—pocket pussies, if you will. Yes, I have quite a few, each one serving a specific purpose and satisfying a particular need of mine. I know many people may feel that this is an odd hobby. I say no. Is it strange for the butterfly fancier to collect butterflies? Would it raise eyebrows for a stamp enthusiast to collect stamps? Well, no more unusual for me, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of cunts, to accumulate replicas of the object of my desire, that special, wonderful, mysterious organ possessed by members of the fairer sex.

I would like to be able to tell you the unique story behind each and every one of my darlings, but alas, those tales could fill the pages of a novel. Therefore, I will simply choose a few of my favorites. Now, please don’t misunderstand—I prefer nothing more than the company of a living, breathing woman, but it is a fact of life that there are periods when we humans have to rely on our own resources in terms of sexual pleasure.

First, there was Cherry—sweet, unassuming little Cherry. She came to me at a time in my life when I was young, lonely, and completely inexperienced, having never touched the tender flesh of womanhood. Indeed, I had pored over medical books and adult magazines, studying the female anatomy, but I was desperate for some firsthand knowledge. Then, while doing some of my nightly research, I saw an ad for Cherry in the back of one of my magazines.

She arrived several weeks later in a plain brown wrapper. Ripping open the packaging, I beheld my purchase: simple, maybe even a bit crude, but curious and enticing nonetheless. Pasted-on black hair surrounded a hole in a flesh-colored lump of pliable latex, leading to a long tube filled with small, flexible protrusions called “sensi-nubs.” A little silver vibrating unit could be inserted into a slot in the back. True, Cherry didn’t look that much like the real thing, but I could use my imagination.

Kneeling on the bed, I greased my erect cock with lubricant and positioned my knob at the beckoning hole before me. It took a few thrusts, but eventually I popped in, gliding into that tight glove of latex stimulators. My cock had never been encased in anything other than my hand before, and the feeling was simply divine. Turning on the vibrating unit, I felt currents of electric ecstasy pulse right through my cock into my whole body. I began to rock slowly, gently, moving easily inside Cherry.

The pungent smell of latex I imagined to be the musky odor of a woman’s cunt infiltrated my nasal passages. I envisioned Cherry to be a small but full-figured girl, with long jet-black hair to match the coarse black hairs around her tight pussy, her plump ass staring at me invitingly as I pumped into her doggie-style. I saw her breasts as large with big pink nipples, and I found my hands reaching forth to grasp those imaginary globes. No, she wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she was dynamic and energetic and without pretension—and she loved to fuck.

With that fantasy playing in my mind, I ejaculated like never before, sending thick ropes of semen into little Cherry. I was completely blown away—it all seemed so real. I felt as if I’d actually been with a woman! Cherry was my first, and I still play with her quite often, for she takes me back to a time of my innocent youth.

Some years later, after my pocket-pussy collection began to expand and I had actually lost my virginity, I met Gloria. Yes, she was a real person, and we began dating quite seriously. She was an intelligent and attractive redhead, with a tall, slim body and a delicate little flower of a cunt. I would spend endless hours licking and probing the pale pink folds of her adorable pussy, reveling in the tiny gasping noises she would emit as I brought her to climax. But there was one problem, and that was that Gloria, having some overwhelming anxiety about becoming pregnant, would not allow my cock to penetrate her pussy.

As much as I enjoyed the sex that we did have, I truly missed the act of copulation—of being able to hold a woman close while inserting my most special part into hers. Finally we decided she would wear one of my strap-on pocket pussies.

I chose Flame for her to wear, because of the red pussy hair, of course. Flame is a slightly more expensive model than Cherry, but rather smooth and flat. And as she is a strap-on model, she is somewhat oddly shaped and wide, with straps running across her front. But her channel is nice and tight, and that red pubic hair turns me on to no end.

The night Gloria and I consummated our affair, I prepared a romantic dinner and lit candles all about the room. After dinner, we undressed each other and tenderly touched and kissed. Gloria dropped to her knees and slipped my rigid member into her mouth, running her tongue up and down the shaft and circling the head. When I felt my semen gathering in my balls, I presented Gloria with Flame.

She strapped the toy on over her own naked pussy, the latex tube positioned between her thighs. Then she lay back on the bed, spreading her legs wide for me. I positioned myself over her and, after wetting my cock with her sweet juices, slipped into her pseudo-cunt. Holding Gloria tight, her small breasts pressing into my chest, I began to thrust. Moving one hand down, I managed to position it so that I could play with Gloria’s tiny pink bud as I pumped. She let out little gasps of pleasure, her breath catching in her throat as my body rocked against hers. We came together, crying out our song of rapture.

Using Flame in our sex games became a regular event for Gloria and me. We broke up several months later, but I take out Flame whenever I long to remember Gloria and the sweet taste and texture of her glorious cunt.

And who do I save to tell you about last but Savannah, my heavenly angel. I refer here both to the goddess of adult films who guided me and my stiff shaft through many a sleepless night, and to the amazing replica of her pussy that takes a place of honor in my closet of cunts.

She cost me a pretty penny, but was worth every red cent. For this pocket pussy was made from an actual mold of Savannah’s beautiful cunt, completely detailed down to each delicate fold of labia. And the pubic hair, well, it is like pure corn silk, soft and blonde, so close to the real thing that it is almost jarring.

My first night with my Savannah pussy was like magic. I popped in my favorite Savannah movie and arranged myself on my bed. As I watched the blonde temptress on the screen spreading her lips wide to be licked, I bent and began to lick up and down and around my model, vividly imagining the exact flavor her pussy juices would possess.

When I saw Savannah mount the man on the screen and lower her downy pussy onto his shaft, I knew the time had come. Having lubed up my cock, I took my replica in my hands and lay back on the bed, aligning the slit in the latex with my cockhead. Watching Savannah’s luscious ass rotating on the TV, I pushed the pocket pussy down, longing to feel the soft walls around me. It was then that I realized the most delicious aspect of my new friend—it came with a simulated hymen fully intact! As I broke through that thin membrane, I groaned aloud, envisioning my cock sinking into the virgin folds of Savannah’s cunt, boldly going where no man had ever gone before!

I worked the vaginal sleeve up and down my pulsating cock, the wispy blonde hairs tickling my balls on each downstroke. I could almost hear Savannah begging me to give it all to her, to pack her pussy with my copious seed. With that, I erupted, sending viscous cords of semen deep into my pocket pussy, imagining Savannah crying out in orgasm and then collapsing atop me, her body damp with sweat, her flushed cheek resting softly on my chest.

I hope I have provided you with a satisfactory overview of my ever-expanding collection of lovelies. Mine is a hobby that I strongly recommend to other connoisseurs of cunts.

—Mr. Walter O., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania