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Subject: {ASSM} Town and Country
Date: Tue, 29 Jul 2003 15:10:02 -0400
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Does any one have the other parts of this story? I found it several years
ago, but last the first chapters. I cant remeber if there was anything
after this or not. Thanks.
Town and Country: Day Three (a.m.)
Author: Jasper May 18 2000 Town and Country: Day Three (a.m.) By Jasper
[Author's note: This is a continuation of a story titled "Town and
Country." The first part, subtitled "Day One," covers the first day of a
four-day visit. The second part,"Day Two" covers the next day. This part
covers the morning hours of the third day, and will make more sense if the
first two parts are read first.]
Brian jerked awake, feeling a small, sharp pain on his right leg.
Disoriented, he sat up. It was dark, though moonlight bathed the
unfamiliar room through the open window. The night was hot, wherever the
hell this was. He was laying somewhere on a sweat-soaked sheet, the top
sheet rumpled at the foot of the bed. And it was quiet. Nothing is ever
this quiet. Has to be a dream.
He laid back down, but then another pain stabbed the bottom of his left
foot and something went skittering across the floor.
"Ow!" was his irritated and confused response.
"Psst." That came from the window. He shook his head to clear it.
Somebody's hanging off his window ledge 11 stories above Columbus Avenue?
Christopher Lee is outside his window? He's seen this kind of movie a
dozen times. Open the window, you're as good as dead, drained and left to
become . . . .
"Brian," came the voice from the window.
"Huh . . . what?" Drowsily, he struggled up on one elbow.
"Brian. Wake up!"
Everything fell into place with this latest sampling of the voice.
Visiting relatives in rural Nebraska, his mom's sister, her husband, his
daughter by a previous marriage, his step-cousin's suggestion they play
with sex without crossing the line. "Kit?"
"Yeah. Wake up, and come here!"
He swung his legs off the side of the bed and was on his feet before he
was awake enough to realize that everything hurt. His skin burned. His
leg muscles were tight. His arms felt like they had been ripped from their
sockets. He teetered toward the window, but then . . . .
"Owwww, shit!"
"What's wrong?"
"Shit, shit, shit!" He sat heavily on a trunk at the end of the bed and
grabbed at his foot, the same one that still stung from the pebble.
"Banged my fucking toe on . . . what is this fucking thing?"
"It's a trunk for quilts," Kit said, unsuccessfully suppressing a
giggle.
"What's so fucking funny?" he demanded.
"What happened to your philosophical opposition to such crude language?
You seem to be sinking to the level of us common rabble."
"Oh, yeah." He rubbed his toe and peered at her silhouette. "Usually
you have to be awake to philosophize." He stood and closed the last few
feet to the window. She was smiling at him through the screen, her feet
obviously on the ground; no fangs. "You want in?"
"No," she said. "You come out"
He glanced down at himself. Nothing but white briefs. At least they
were clean. Through the screen he could see she had a bulky brown bathrobe
wrapped around her and tied closed with a cloth belt.
"I'll get dressed," he said.
"Don't bother. Unlatch the screen!"
Don't bother? He thought about the implications of that as he slipped
the hook from the eyebolt and pushed the screen out. She held it up while
he sat on the sill and swung his legs out.
"What time is it?"
"After two."
"Where we going?"
"My room."
Her room. At two a.m. In his underwear. Thinking about that
distracted him from the dull pain that shot through his legs and upper body
as he landed on the grass under his window. But not too distracted, as Kim
lowered the screen, to realize that he had an adjustment problem in his
shorts that was becoming more apparent with each step. He decided not to
make the adjustment. That made the problem worse. She was ahead of him
and hadn't looked back since she set out to lead him around the side of the
house. Her house slippers crunched the gravel once they stepped off the
grass to approach a small side porch, but he barely felt the stones against
his bare feet as he thought about the moment when she would turn and look
down. He could point the thing down, kind of trap it between his legs.
But he left it pointing straight out. And he wondered what she had on
under the frumpy bathrobe.
She went up the steps first and stopped to peek in the door glass. She
quietly turned the handle and pushed the door open.
"C'mon," she whispered and went in. The door opened into the hallway of
what his uncle had said was an addition he'd put on himself several years
before. Kit's room was the first door. The rest along the hall he
understood to be storage and utility rooms. The other bedrooms, including
his own, were in the old part of the big farmhouse.
"What if somebody comes to check on you?" Brian asked as Kit pushed her
bedroom door open.
"They won't. Anyway, Dad's a better farmer than carpenter." She
gestured down the hallway. "The floor boards squeak something terrible
down by the laundry room. We'd hear anybody coming in plenty of time for
you to duck under the bed."
"Oh." The word "bed" strengthened his tent support. Then he was aware
that she hadn't moved into the room, but was staring down at the bulge in
his underwear. He looked down as well. The shorts were poked out enough
that the elastic along the leg holes was pulled away from his crotch,
allowing just a peek of hair along the sides of his balls.. When he looked
back up, she was grinning at him with a cat-who-just-ate-the-canary grin.
"Mmm," was all she said. And then she was inside. He followed.
Her room surprised him. He hadn't been sure what he expected by way of
wall adornment. Every teenager he knew, himself included, had pictures of
something, usually covering every inch of wall space. He'd seen Patty's
room once. She was into Snoopy and Big Bird posters and pictures of cute
kittens and puppies with syrupy poems. Guys he knew went for music or
sports themes. In his efforts to be different, he'd adapted a motif of
pre-20th century authors. Dominating the space over his bed was the huge
brooding visage of Lord Byron. His pride was hurt, though, when a friend
had termed it all "so goth."
Kit's room had no posters, no taped-up magazine pages, and scarcely any
photographs at all other than a couple of framed family shots on her
dresser. Her dad. Her dad and stepmom. A pretty woman he assumed to be
her mother. One was the picture of him and his parents from a couple of
years ago, when he was still shorter than his dad.
But there was none of that on her walls. Instead they were covered by
one sprawling montage of leaves. Shellacked leaves of every imaginable
color and shape glued on like wallpaper. And not just glued on randomly,
but arranged in a swirling, complicated ebb and flow of texture and color,
dense and dark in places, light and spaced out in others, fading one color
into another in places, the colors and differing shapes all mixed up and
tumbling over one another in others. It made him think of the huge
splatter canvases by Jackson Pollack at the Museum of Modern Art. You look
at it one way and it seems like the paint was just flung on the canvas or
wall, but even before you look more closely to see the intricate detailing
and technique, you get a feeling that it all made sense, had a purpose. If
it all had been flung here, it was a god who did the flinging, so it meant
something. But the meaning could only be felt. In this case, the medium
was leaves on a wall and the artist was a goddess.
"Wow!" he finally managed to say. He felt her close to him, but the
image on the wall kept his attention.
"Just something I got into last fall and winter," she explained. "I
used to spend most of my free time hanging around with Kim. She's a couple
of years older, but we pretty much grew up together. She lived just down
the road before she got her own place in town. Then she lost her cherry at
her senior prom and she hasn't stopped fucking since. She still detassels
to stay in touch with the girls, but she started working nights at a
stripper bar in Fremont and spends a lot of time with guys, so I needed
something to do after school and had this weird idea."
"It's amazing!"
"You like it?"
"Oh, yeah."
She tugged at his elbow and pointed at a desk across the room. "That's
what keeps me busy these days."
Between him and the desk was a wilderness of cast-off clothes and
crumpled paper and plastic bags and, who could know what else. The bed in
the middle of the room was a tangled mess. All around it the floor was a
major pit. He didn't see cockroaches and rats swarming over it, so he
supposed it was at least a sanitary mass.
Now this was more typical, though he'd thought for boys. Patty's room
had been neat as a pin, and that was the only girl's room he'd been in.
That had been only a brief peak when he'd asked to see her room. He'd had
the sense she figured she'd get immediately pregnant if a boy entered her
room. Way ironic, in retrospect.
On Kit's desk a computer screen glowed blue. A sleeping maroon and
orange cat on the screen was unaware of a scampering green mouse. Kit did
a practiced roll across her bed and onto her feet on the other side, too
quickly for Brian to see what she had on under the robe. The thought of
the robe made him aware again that he was in his underwear and the tent was
holding up well.
"Dammit, Janet, where are we?" he said.
She turned and stared blankly.
"You know. 'Rocky Horror'? Brad running around in his white Fruit of
the Looms trying not to get buggered by Tim Curry, and Susan Sarandon
running around in bra and panties. I'm dressed the part, but you'd need
bra and panties instead of this, preferably white."
"No idea what you're talking about," she said. "And no bra," she added,
lingering over the word. "No panties either," her expression ever so
wide-eyed and innocent. "White or otherwise, but . . . ." Another pause,
but a now a small sign of nervousness. A deep breath. "Will this do
instead?" Too slowly to be anything but an intentional tease, she fumbled
with the belt, all the while looking steadily at him. The knot finally
undone, she let the ends dangle and gripped the edges of the robe at waist
level.
His eyes were on her hands. They started to pull the robe open, then
hesitated. He watched, not breathing. Time passed, but the hands didn't
move. She didn't seem to be breathing either. Then she took another deep
breath and whipped the robe open, letting it slide off her arms to join the
tangled mess on the floor.
He'd been expecting bra and panties. When she disclaimed that, he'd
figured on some sort of lingerie, probably not something from a Victoria's
Secret catalog, but maybe Sears. The suspense had been about sheer versus
opaque and modest versus revealing. White, black, or even red.
What he saw was nothing. Not a stitch. Entirely naked, except for the
slippers. She must have had that same thought while standing still letting
him gawk at her, because she stepped out of the slippers and resumed her
pose. The slight movement made her breasts move a little side to side.
Once they'd stilled, he found his eyes drawn back to hers. They were full
of excitement, full of life and adventure. Full of something else that
kept his attention right there on her eyes. She gazed back.
Then she must have realized that her purpose in tossing off her clothes
wasn't being fulfilled. She closed her eyes, releasing his for other use.
Still, he lingered on her face, her quirky beauty. This was a face he was
sure he could never tire of seeing. But he caught her suggestion and let
his eyes drift downward.
Now, for the first time, he was gazing at her bare breasts. All
afternoon, he'd been comparing the sizes and shapes of girls' breasts,
clothed and unclothed. Comparing them with the others on the detasseling
crew, comparing them with his former girlfriend's large breasts, and
comparing them to all he'd seen in videotape movies he and his friends used
to watch secretly in Lennie Rudowski's living room when his mom was at
work. That's what guys did, what his friends did. They'd whoop over the
big ones and sneer about the small ones, they'd argue about whether the
tits on the screen were bigger or riper than the ones in the last scene or
some other movie, and they'd holler out suggestions to the male actors
about sucking and biting and tittie fucking the objects of their attention.
He, characteristically, would put on his air of ironic detachment,
commenting on the "handsome genetic endowment" of this one or wondering
aloud how that one must have "anti-grav lifts in with her implants." But
then he, as he imagined the others surely did, would hustle home after the
movie and call up those images while he spurted into the crusty towel he
kept hidden under his bed.
There had been something different about the comparisons he had been
making that afternoon in the cornfield. Just over the few hours on the
job, he got a sense of the personality of each of the girls. So when he
received his "birthday presents," he wasn't just seeing bare breasts, he
was seeing girls taking a chance and having fun showing themselves off, the
fact that he was a stranger making it both more risky and safer. So he
noticed differences in size and shape, but the differences hadn't mattered
all that much to him. What mattered was what he imagined must have gone on
in their heads before they had agreed to expose themselves, what they were
feeling while doing it.
That came to mind now as he beheld Kit's breasts because he noticed
something about them that surprised him with how powerfully it affected
him. Her breasts were very noticeably different in size, the left larger.
He had to wonder if Kit had thought about that before she'd shucked off her
bathrobe, thought about whether he would notice, what he might think. She
must have had that thought, but she did it anyway. He knew how sensitive
girls were about their bodies and about comparisons with others. He knew
he had his own apprehensions about how he looked compared with other guys,
what girls think about how tall he was, how stringy and unmuscled he was.
So he wanted to tell Kit that the sight of her unbalanced breasts, and her
willingness to display them to him, turned him on more than anything else.
The boobs in the movies were as uniform and perfect as they could be, but
also unreal. This was real, his cousin standing nude in front of him in
her bedroom at 2:30 in the morning somewhere in rural Nebraska. This was
most definitely real, and he most definitely wanted her. He wanted to tell
her that, and a lot more, but he kept his mouth shut and looked.
His eyes moved down over her body, coming to rest on the puff of brown
hair between her legs. He had seen this before, of course, peeking out
when she had pulled her shorts aside, just as he had seen Patty's bare
breasts with her bra pulled up. But it was entirely different seeing, in
real life, an unbroken line of flesh from the hairline to the toenails. He
had seen just that when Kim had strode up to him, but that was different
too. He had an idea Kim had shown her body a lot of times to a lot of
guys, but for Kit, he was pretty sure, this was a first, so it was the real
first for him, the one that counted.
He wanted this moment to last, so he kept quiet and watched, studying
and memorizing every inch of his cousin's anatomy, storing it for the
future, because his excitement was tinged with awareness that in another
two days he would be gone and she would stay. So this was their moment.
But what was this moment? What did she have in mind? The next move was up
to her.
"Your turn, Brad." Her words startled him. Her eyes were open again,
watching him.
"Who?" he asked with the very small corner of his brain not devoted to
ogling her.
"I don't know who," she said, bolding her arms under her breasts and
relaxing her stance to take the weight on one leg. The effect was to raise
her nipples an inch or two higher and change the shape of her breasts
slightly to turn from circles to sideways ovals. Impossibly, Brian's cock
swelled even more. "You said you're Brad, or somebody."
"Brad?" It finally got through. "Oh! Brad. Sure. 'Rocky Horror
Picture Show,' still running in New York, but out on video. Brad and Janet
running around in their underwear."
"Didn't see it," she shrugged. Even with the support of arms
underneath, her breasts quivered with the shrug. "And, I'm not in
underwear."
"No," he said, making no attempt not to obviously ogle her. "You sure
aren't."
"You, on the other hand, are," she said with a pouty glance at the
seriously distorted fabric around his midsection. "Not a bit fair,"
Without a thought, he ripped his shorts down, stepped out of one leg,
and kicked them across the room. She turned briefly to see them land on
her keyboard, then turned back and stared long at his body, raking her eyes
up and down. His cock was slanting upward and pulsating with each
heartbeat. He held his breath, waiting for what she would do next. He
leaned forward, just a little, ready to move to her, take hold of her, deal
with whatever happened next, should she make any move toward him. Instead,
she gestured at the bed.
"Lay down," she said. Without taking his eyes off her, he moved toward
the bed, felt it against his leg, and rolled onto his back. Every nerve
was alive and ready.
"You know how I said I have sex all the time?" she asked.
He nodded, but said nothing. His focus was on watching for any sign of
her movement toward the bed. He finally expelled his breath when instead
she turned and sat at the computer, giving him only the quickest glimpse of
her ass. Had this ass been on a two-dimensional woman in a porn flick, he
might have thought it too athletic rather than rounded, but this was Kit's
ass and all he could think about it was to speculate how it would feel.
"This is the place it happens," she said. "You do much of it?"
"What?"
"You know. Cybersex."
He knew he had no valid reason for disappointment. She had clearly said
the very thing he had been expecting since she woke him simply was not
going to happen. That was out of the question from the start. Still, he
had to fight to keep his dismay from showing when it became obvious her
train of thought didn't lead to her impaling herself on what just then was
in the process of drooping. He assumed what he hoped would come off as a
jaunty way of lying naked on a bed, linking his fingers behind his head and
resting an ankle across an uplifted knee in a way calculated to block her
view of the literal sign of let down he couldn't otherwise hide.
"You mean where you and somebody else talk dirty and get yourself off
through email or something?"
"Yeah, but more so in a private chat room or with ICQ."
"Naw," he said breezily. "Never have." He grinned at the irony of going
from trying to hide his erection earlier in the visit to hiding the fact
that he no longer had an erection now.
She looked surprised. "I thought everybody does it. Guys anyway. And
some girls, like me."
"I don't have internet access at home and you don't get much chance to
jerk off in the school computer lab."
"No shit? No internet?"
"My parents have it in their room, on their computer, but they think
they're protecting me or something. So I don't have a phone line in my
room where my computer is."
"What about friends?"
"Oh, we browse the web, look at pictures, read stories. But it just
doesn't seem like something you do with the guys to whip out your wanger in
another guy's room while you're on line."
"Could give the wrong impression."
"Really."
"Look's like we're more even than I thought," she said.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you're way ahead of me with actual body contact, you and Patty."
"You haven't done any of that?"
"There was a guy, a class down, I did some kissing with. But guys
around here have the idea that if you let them do anything else, and I mean
anything, you're theirs. One of the girls on the crew--not one with a
birthday present, one you probably didn't notice much--she was on a movie
date with a guy nobody thought was fast or anything. Anyway, she let him
cup her boob in the theater. Taking her home he pulled over and jumped
her. Wouldn't stop when she told him. She still won't call it rape, cause
she thinks it was her fault. But that was it. After that any guy asking
her out made it pretty clear he expected the same, so she hasn't dated
since. It's like the guys got together and set the rules. Let them take
one step over some line, and you're their fuck toy."
"So you've stayed away from the line?"
"Way away."
"Aren't you worried about me?"
"No. For one, you haven't touched me yet, and when I touched you, you
just let me. And we've already worked out the rules for if and when I do
let you touch me. We still got a deal?"
"Of course."
"And the whole thing about Patty shows you can be trusted to stop when
you're asked to stop."
"I could have been making it all up."
"I don't think so. Anyway, any guy around here would have been all over
me by now."
"Don't think I don't want to."
"That's what I mean."
Somewhere about the word "trusted," he felt himself stirring again. He
dropped his raised leg so she could see his cock rise while he kept the
link between their eyes. He wasn't sure why, but this was the most
stimulating thing that had happened so far, her talking about trusting him.
He wanted to share the effect with her. Her eyes tilted downward. Beside
their breathing, the only thing moving in the room was his cock lifting off
its resting place on his leg and resuming its pose at full attention. When
it stopped, she looked back into his eyes.
"Now what?" he asked.
She didn't respond right away, but after a bit came back from wherever
her mind had been.
"I'd assumed you'd done cybersex, so the plan was to take both of us one
step further with that. But you're a cybersex virgin, so this is going to
be a big leap for you. Me too, but more for you."
"What are you talking about?"
"A cybersex threesome."
"Say what?"
"You and me on this side and Ravenwing in Oregon."
"Who?"
"Ravenwing. That's her net name. I've told her your story about Patty,
what you've told me, anyway. And . . ."
"You told that to a stranger?" he protested.
"She's not a stranger to me. We tell each other everything, like Kim
and me. Anyway, she doesn't know who you are. Doesn't even know who I
really am, just a farmgirl in Eastern Nebraska."
"Nnnn," he grumbled, then shrugged. "Okay, Ravenwing, huh? What's your
net name?"
She looked away quickly. "I don't want to say."
"Ah, come on."
"No, really. It's not just it being stupid. It's all the stupid stuff
I've done on the net. I don't want you going back and running searches for
my name and seeing some of that."
"Okay. So, anyway, she talks dirty and we talk dirty back? Like, 'I'm
sliding my hand up your skirt. I'm pulling your zipper down with my teeth.
Suck me! Fuck me!' That sort of thing?"
"Usually, but not this time."
"Oh yeah, with three we have to innovate, huh? So she does herself in
Oregon and we do each other here, since we only have the one keyboard?"
"Slow down, there. I might trust you, but I don't trust me enough to be
touching each other here, like, uh, this," she said, looking down at her
nudity.
"Oh? You might rape me?"
"Might."
"Me kicking and screaming the entire time, of course."
"I should hope so."
"But if I'm hard enough for you to . . . ."
"Enough," she cut him off. "Rav is waiting. I was chatting with her
before I came after you and said to get back in the room in half an hour."
Kit turned and punched at the key board for a few moments. "Yeah, there
she is. 'Hi, Rav,'" she read as she typed. "Rav says hi."
"Uh, hi, Ravenwing."
She typed, watched the screen.
"'Yeah, he's naked,'" she read her own message. "'Me, too.'" She typed
some more, read, typed, without translating, then said, "She says she's
naked and spent the downtime getting off over the story so far. She
multiorgasmic." Kit typed and peered. "Three times so far, but she says
she's just getting warmed up. Wants the rest of the story."
"So what we're doing is . . . ."
"You're picking up where you left off last night, I type it in as you
talk. I'm pretty good, but I'll tell you if you're going too fast."
"So I just talk?"
"And rub yourself too."
"But . . . ."
"I did it for you."
He shut up and tentatively put a hand on his dick. He would have to be
careful about this, or he would be making a mess not long into the story.
"I suppose she's going to be frigging herself while she reads," Brian
said, "but what about you?"
"What about me?"
"How are you going to type and join in this little orgy at the same
time?"
"I guess I can't."
"No, no, no. You said it's a threesome. Look, you take care of the
typing. I'll take care of the frigging--fingers only. I swear."
"But . . . ."
"No buts. You get carried away and attack me, well, I'm just gonna
hafta setcha down and give ya a spankin', lil girl." He hoped that came off
vaguely like John Wayne.
She looked skeptical.
"Hey," he said. "Fair is fair. You couldn't hardly keep your hands out
of my shorts yesterday. My turn."
"All right. Get over here."
He rolled across the bed and laid along the edge, where he could just
reach around her in the chair, after she scooted back a little. He took
hold of his dick with his left hand, and before moving his right into the
agreed position, ran it over her breast and down her flat belly before
probing into her pubic hair.
"Oh, my god!" she gasped. Knowing better than to dive straight in, he
twirled his fingers through her hair along the fringes of the triangle.
"Aren't you going to tell Ravenwing what's happening over here?"
She typed, then read the message appearing on the screen. "'Oh, my
god!' she says."
"Does she know I'm a perfect gentleman?"
"She knows. Now, get on with the story."
"Where was I?" he asked. He figured it would be easier to think if he
didn't have to worry about coordinating his two hands, so he held his left
hand still around the base of his cock and concentrated on his right hand.
"You just got Patty off the first time, doing what you're doing now, I
suppose, except with her panties in the way."
"Yeah, right. Anyway . . . ." He was finding the sight of her bare back
and the glimpse of the top of her butt cheeks through the chair back
entirely too arousing for present purposes, so he closed his eyes and
thought back to those nights in Patty's back room. Back to Manhattan, with
the traffic sounds through the closed window and the light from the
unwatched TV flickering on the ample heaving breasts, sweater and bra up
around the neck, jeans unzipped, her back arching, her whole body straining
through the silent orgasm.
"The next date," he began, "she was all shy again. Like she was ashamed
of getting off the last time. She wouldn't let me touch anything. I tried
for awhile, but nothing doing. So I sat back and watched the stupid
movie."
Kit's fingers were flying on the keys. Then she stopped. "Rav asks
what the movie was.
"Huh?" Brian opened his eyes. With her arms stretched out for the
keyboard, he could see the side of one breast under her arm. He reached up
and pulled the nipple before sliding downward again. She moaned.
"The movie," she persisted.
"Oh. 'The Black Cat,' I think. Boris Karloff."
She typed that in. Read the screen.
"She says that takes some of the edge off."
"Boris Karloff?"
"Yeah." She glanced over her left shoulder at his still hand. "Looks
like thinking about Boris could help your effort."
"What effort?" he asked.
"The trying-not-to-come-yet effort."
"Oh, uh, I suppose so."
She twisted to look at him over her right shoulder. "Have you been a
good boy?"
"I'm being naughty now." He reached up and around to give a quick tug at
her other nipple, then went back to tracing the outline of her pubic
triangle.
"Very naughty. But I'm asking if you've followed orders."
"And not . . . ."
" . . . . beat off," she finished for him.
"I was going to say 'engage in self-love,' but no, I was too exhausted
from castrating corn to think about anything but sleep."
"Good. You must be ready to burst."
"Thanks to you, I just might blow a hole through the roof."
"Just aim that thing away from me. How would I explain this one at the
emergency room?"
"Playing with a fire hose?"
"Guys are so full of themselves," she huffed with mock disgust. She
turned back to the monitor. "Oh, oh. Rav is impatient." She resumed
typing. "I'm telling her we had a fire alarm go off, but you're back on
task now."
"OK." He closed his eyes again. "It's the next date and she's scrunched
over at the far end of the couch. I'm sitting on my side with my arms
folded, watching the movie. Then, it was like something clicked in her
head, like a light bulb flicking on. Cold and dark, and then bright and
warm, just like that.
"So she turned to me, kind of half kneeling on the couch, and she pulled
up her sweater around her neck, then she pulled up her bra.
"Oh!," he interrupted himself. "Did you tell Ravenwing she has huge
tits? Patty's, I mean."
"You said you'd exaggerated that," Kit said over her shoulder as she
kept typing.
"I did, some, but tell Rav they were humongous."
"You're the author." She mouthed "gargantuan" as she typed.
"So," he went on, "she exposed her tits the size of the Times Square New
Years ball. Had one hand holding that stuff up and reached down with the
other and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans."
"What'd you do?"
"The gentlemanly thing. I grabbed hold of one breast and put my other
hand down her pants."
"Over the panties?"
"Of course. I knew the rules of the game. Except this was different.
She was more . . . ."
"Aggressive?"
"Yeah. After awhile she reached behind my neck and it was like she was
pulling my face down toward her chest."
"So you sucked her tits?"
"Not right away.
"Oh!" he interrupted himself again. "Be sure to tell Rav they were like
two weather balloons."
"Oh, go fuck yourself!"
He grinned and pumped his cock a couple of times. "I am."
"Yeah," she said, watching over her left shoulder. "You are." She
turned back to the keyboard. "But you declined the invitation?"
"Only at first," he continued. "I was back on my thing of being pissed
about her controlling it all, how it was always about her. She'd spent
months holding me off and only slowly let me touch her this far. Now she'd
had one orgasm and she was demanding I do something else and telling me
just how and where. So the same as I said the other night about picking up
on her cue to rub her crotch, I resisted."
"How?"
"I took my hands back and pulled back away from her breasts. She'd had
me just an inch or so away. She looked at me like I was crazy. I didn't
say anything. She never wanted to talk about any of this. So I showed her
what I wanted."
"Showed her," Kit repeated, typing.
"I took hold of her hand and moved it toward my crotch. She let me for
part of the way, but then it's like, what am I up to, and she froze.
Couldn't budge her."
"What'd you do?"
"Gave up. Let go of her hand and slumped back on the couch. I'd had my
shoes off, so I slipped a foot into one like getting ready to go. Then I
froze. She was looking down at my crotch now. And her hand was moving.
Very slowly, she reached out until she was almost touching the bulge.
"I couldn't hardly breath. She stopped right there. Almost ready to
touch it. Just a couple of inches away.
"Then she cupped a breast with the other hand and lifted it, like
offering it to me. I leaned over and sucked as much of it as I could into
my mouth. Way too big to fit--like those anhydrous ammonia tanks on the
way to the cornfield."
"Oh, stop already."
He grinned. "Need me to spell 'anhydrous?'"
"Already sent it. What next?"
"I was way past making any points. I sucked hard on her nipple and
pulled on the other one. I put my other hand in her pants, over the
panties of course, and stuffed two fingers up into her as far as the
panties would stretch."
He paused in the narration, but not in the stroking of himself and Kit.
His left hand was moving faster on his shaft, his eyes squeezed tight, his
left hand plunging into Kit's wet depths and sliding up over her clit in
the same rhythm, but much lighter. He was back in that room with Patty,
sucking her, feeling her, rubbing her. He could hear her pant, feel her
writhe. Then feel her hand.
"What?" Kit insisted. The panting was hers. Brian was only dimly aware
the typing had stopped. "What did she do?"
"She touched me."
"Where?"
"Here," he arched his back to show he was referring to his cock. She
wouldn't have known that, except she had stopped typing and was gazing over
her shoulder at him pumping away.
"Here?" she asked. She clasped her left hand over his and matched his
rhythm.
"Yeah."
"Say it!" Her right fingers intertwined with his in stroking her clit,
except her touch was much firmer. "Say what she did!"
"She grabbed my cock and squeezed," he gasped.
"And you?" She gasped with the same urgency.
"I . . . ." He opened his eyes and saw Kit's hand over his, both a blur
on his cock, her eyes cast down studying this action. He couldn't see
around to where they both were working on her pussy, but he could see the
resulting crazy bounce of her right breast as she bounced in the chair.
She twisted even more until she was looking in his eyes. That did it.
"I came!" he grunted, then shot a stream straight into the air. It
arched and splatted against his stomach. Kit's eyes widened, then she too
exploded. This time she held nothing back. She let loose a series of
gasping yelps as she bucked forward in the chair against his groping
fingers. She had pulled away her right hand as she felt him pull away his
left, leaving each to finish getting the other off. Her yelps turned into
a prolonged strained scream, his grunts matched his spurts, diminishing as
he went on. His sperm was all over his torso and thighs, and on her hand.
And a single dribble was running down her back. She ended with a shudder
and burst of breath.
"Oh, yeah," she gasped and sank back against the chair, hand still on
his cock.
All he could do was suck in air as he relaxed back into the mattress.
"Is that better than wetting your pants?" she asked.
It took a moment for him to catch the reference about him leaving
backroom dates after with a book or bag over his soaked crotch. "Oh, yeah.
And the company's better."
They gazed in each other's eyes for a long time, then Brian remembered
what they had been doing.
"You have some catching up to do," he gestured at the screen.
Kit giggled and bent to wipe her hand on a stray towel on the floor
before she resumed typing. Brian watched the tiny juggle of her breasts as
she did. Even right after coming, everything about her was arousing.
Eventually she stopped. She looked at the screen. A new line appeared.
Kit typed, and read as she did, "How am I supposed to know?"
"Know what?" he asked.
She looked at his cum-splattered body, at his face, back at the screen.
"She wants to know what you taste like."
"Oh."
Another look at the screen, where more lines appeared, back at his
deflating cock. She shrugged. "Only one way to find out."
She twirled out of her chair and straddled his feet, so his toes were
pressed against her pussy, then ducked her head for his midsection. He
thought she was aiming for his cock, but instead she slurped up a puddle
from his right thigh, just inches from his groin. His cock twitched. She
sat back and moved her mouth as if considering the bouquet of a wine. She
spun back into the chair and typed a few words he couldn't see.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well, what?"
"What's it taste like?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out." She stuck her tongue out.
He considered her smug smirk. Thought he should do something about it.
Only one thing he could do, it seemed.
He dabbed a finger in the puddle in his belly button. Held it up.
Considered it. Looked at Kit. She held a finger up, imitating his pose,
parted her lips, ran her tongue slowly all the way around, then stuck the
finger in up to the second knuckle, and made noisy show of popping it out.
Then she held out her palm in a "your turn" gesture, but with a look
showing she was sure he wouldn't do it. He eyed the glob on his finger
again.
He had absolutely no desire to taste his own cum. No curiosity about it
at all. He didn't understand why women ate the stuff, or gay guys. He's
just as soon drink his own piss, all things being equal.
But things weren't equal. He looked back at Kit, looked her up and down
slowly, making no effort to hide the fact that he was eying every visible
part of her naked skin. He lingered on her breasts and watched them rise
and fall. He wasn't sure of the limits of her game, this idea of hers.
They're cousins, so they can't fuck, was the idea. Despite the "step" part
of the relationship, they were still family and that would risk . . .
well, all sorts of bad things. But the flip side was they both knew they
couldn't fuck, so they were free to kick back and play around with most
everything else.
Where exactly were the limits? He was suddenly aware of how little they
had gone beyond what he'd already done with Patty. That relationship had
had the potential to go all the way, intercourse, marriage, love, in
whatever order those things might happen, before it had ended, and this one
could include none of those. But this one was somehow far more real, more
necessary. Where else would this go? Would he end up disappointed because
it has to eventually reach the no-go line? Probably, but he had to find
the limit. She had just tasted his cum and was teasing him about it.
He'd been staring at her breasts while he thought through the situation.
Although he'd just come, he was feeling himself rise again. She was
probably watching his cock fill and stand at attention, and the idea of her
watching him recover sent an extra rush of heat through his loins.
He looked up, but her eyes were on his, probably had been all along.
They even more alive than before. Adventure, desire,
anticipation--whatever she was feeling, the reflection of it in her eyes
filled him with a feeling he hadn't begun to think he could feel.
Oh, hell! Ball's in his court. He poked the dripping finger in his
mouth and sucked it clean.
She jerked with surprise as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
He smiled at that. It was good not always to be the one having to react.
"How's it taste?" she asked.
"You know," was his only reply.
She opened her mouth, but his "end of subject" look closed it again.
Brian was rigid again and ready for anything else Kit might have in
mind. But, just as she had been doing for two days, she surprised him
again.
"Time for bed," she announced. She stood and grabbed her robe from the
heap. She tossed him a towel that had been crumpled under it. As she
wrapped the robe around herself, she added, "separately."
"Oh." He wiped himself off and caught the underwear she tossed his way.
Back in his room, Brian was still too aroused to go back to sleep.
Except for the bed, dresser with lamp, and chest he's banged into an hour
or so before, the room was a storeroom for various equipment and supplies
he could identify. He thought about an off-hand remark Kit made after he
pulled on his shorts and before she kissed him at her bedroom door. She
was tired, she explained, because she hadn't been to bed yet.
What was that about? She'd worked all day, since before dawn, and
hadn't slept by the time she'd awakened him after two in the morning. She
had been on the internet. Was she busy having cybersex until the wee hours
and only fetched him because she wanted something closer to the real thing,
for a change? He wasn't sure if he should be offended or flattered.
As he laid in the dark, he couldn't stop himself from replaying the
scene that had just happened. The robe dropping, the rubbing, the typing,
plunging into her, her hand stroking him, coming, her coming, tasting, the
parting kiss.
Did she bring herself off while chatting with Ravenwing before coming to
get him, or had she saved that for him? And what's this whole Ravenwing
thing? It felt weird to have a stranger know his deepest secrets.
Whatever. Didn't hardly matter. He was here for only two more days and
would be flying home the morning of the fifth day. This was what it was,
and only that. And Kit was calling the shots.
He groped about on the floor for the bath towel he'd used earlier,
pulled down his shorts, fixed Kit's image in his mind, and began jerking
off. He'd followed her instructions by waiting, but she'd played out her
plan. Now he had his own urgent needs to take care of.
Brian awoke with a painful hardon. Painful because he hadn't pissed
after jerking off before he went to sleep. That happened sometimes when he
didn't clear out the tubing. It was hard because he'd been having his new
"fucking Kit" dream. The variation this time had her splayed over her
computer while he pumped into her from behind, and as she typed a
thrust-by- thrust account to someone off on the net somewhere. It was the
incredible glow from the monitor that awoke him before he reached the point
of filling her.
That would be the sun coming through the open window, he realized as he
blinked. It was bright, but left only shallow shadows outside, in contrast
to his awakening the previous dark morning. By further contrast, he was
alone this time. Obviously, they'd spared him helping with the morning
chores because of how beat he'd been at the end of the day of detasseling.
And only Kit knew the added reason he needed to sleep late.
He sat up. Big mistake. A whole lot more ached than just his dick.
Every muscle was stiff and sore, but his arms especially felt like lead.
Despite the already obvious heat of the day, he decided on a hot bath to
loosen things up. Another mistake. Although the hot water loosened his
muscles, it made his reddened skin burn. When he pulled his clothes on
afterward, he was already drenched in sweat by the time he eased his way to
the kitchen.
The coffee pot was cold, but half full. He microwaved a cup. Desperate
times, he thought. The hot liquid revived him. Too bad they don't have
espresso.
As he sat at the kitchen table, he became aware of a rhythmic, but
irregular, slapping sound. Familiar. But before he could think about it,
he heard the grandfather clock in the living room go through its four
quarters cycle and then the hour bongs. He'd left his watch on the dresser
and the microwave clock was blinking. He counted.
After 12, the gonging stopped.
The clock stopped bonging, but the irregular slapping sound from outside
continued. So many sounds had made no sense out here in the country until
Brian had seen their sources. Strangely shaped farm machinery clanking or
grinding. A windmill squeaking. The koosh, koosh of milk squirting into a
metal bucket. All the animal sounds, not just the ones coming from their
throats that any city kid picks up from Sesame Street, but also the ones
blasting out from the far ends and the unexpectedly varied sounds they make
just moving around on different surfaces. Clomping on hard dirt,
clattering on gravel, slurping in mud. One that had him going for awhile
in the barn the previous morning had turned out to be a cow's tail whapping
against one of those big milk containers, sounding like a drummer laying
down a slow jazz beat with brush on cymbal.
But this sound was more familiar. He might have been sitting in his
friend Drew's kitchen across the littered parking lot from the public
school playground. It wasn't concrete and brick reflecting this sound, but
it was a city sound. Basketball. Dribbling and the occasional rattle of
the ball hitting a loose backboard and rim.
Brian took his coffee mug with him out the back door of the kitchen,
letting the screen whump shut behind, across the small porch, and down the
steps onto the gravel. He followed the sound around an equipment shed and
found Kit putting a fake on an invisible defender and driving to the
basket, her shoes sliding on the hard-packed dirt. How she dribbled on
that rutted surface, he couldn't fathom, but she kept control as she sped
toward the basket on the right side of the unmarked lane. But instead of
just laying the ball against the backboard, a square hunk of wood,
obviously homemade, mounted on rusty metal brackets jutting from the roof
of the shed, she abruptly pivoted, as if just missing a collision with a
defender blocking her route, then darted across the middle of the key and,
with her left hand, flipped the ball up in a scooping motion, under the
phantom defender's flailing arm, with just enough spin to climb over the
lip of the rim and settle into the net.
"Very nice!" Brian called out as Kit caught the ball before it hit the
especially rough surface right under the basket. "You play in school?"
"Class D state champs last year," she said without a hint of bragging.
She faked a shot, then drilled the ball at him. Though it came in low and
fast from a short range, he handled it easily and in a single move flicked
the ball from his fingers at the top of a long fade-away jump shot. It
rippled the net some 25 feet away.
"Hmph," she grunted, eyeing him while the ball caromed off a rut to roll
back his way. "Guess I won't challenge you to a game of strip Four
Horses."
"You mean HORSE?"
"Same thing, but you go to four instead of five."
He bent to pick up the ball. "You could probably take me with
lefthanded shots, from what I just saw."
"I'm lefthanded, so no advantage."
"We could play anyway," he suggested brightly. He sent another jump
shot arching toward the basket, but this time trying to bank it in. The
unexpected amount of give in the shaky backboard, though, sent the ball
into the near side of the rim, and it bounced away across the farmyard.
She let it go.
"Maybe later," she said. "I was about to get you up anyway. Mom made
sandwiches for a picnic and swim down at the river."
"The six of us?"
"No. They've got something going. Just us and Kim."
"Kim?"
"Yeah, she's meeting us there."
Brian felt his cock stir at the memory of the very shapely and very
naked Kim emerging from the corn the previous afternoon, followed by the
tug of war between the two girls over his shorts. He'd been a scant moment
from his first blow job when Kit had warned her off with a tall tale that
the older girl had swallowed instead of anything he might have fed her.
"Don't worry," Kit said.
"Worry? About what?"
"About Kim going after the family jewels again. I explained everything
and she's cool with it."
"What'd you explain?"
"Oh, that we're a couple of sickoid pervert cousins trying to drive each
other crazy horny, but we can't go all the way, and it'd ruin the fun--my
fun, anyway--if she jumped your bones."
"I thought you were keeping that under wraps. That's why you fed her
that whopper about my religion."
"Wasn't she magnificent?" Kit crowed. "She spotted that line of
bullshit from the first word and followed my lead beautifully."
"I thought I was the one following your lead, and she was the one going
for the line."
"Well, you both deserve Oscars. She picked up I was warning her off,
but no way was she letting me off without the real story later."
"I was surprised she came off so clueless, after how she was before
that. Before she hadn't seemed a bit stupid."
"Not hardly."
"Why didn't she go to college?"
"Her dad talked her into thinking she'd never make it. That bullshit
she bought, so she never applied for any scholarships or even took the ACT.
The ass just didn't want to put up any cash, not even living expenses with
tuition covered. Anyway, it gives her an excuse to stick around and screw
her regular stable of studs."
While they talked, they made their way back to the house and entered the
kitchen. Kit was careful to ease the screen shut quietly rather than let
it slam. She took a bag from the refrigerator.
"We going now?" Brian asked.
"Sure. Kim'll probably be waiting."
"Okay. I'll get my swimsuit."
"Oh, what you're wearing now will do."
She led him back to the shed, but this time they entered and pulled two
bicycles from behind a pile of big metal things that seemed to Brian to
have no discernible purpose.
"Uh, Cuz," Brian began when he saw the bikes.
"Yeah, Cuz?"
"I can't ride a bicycle."
"You're kidding."
"No, really."
"Don't worry," she said. "You never forget."
"Maybe, but I never learned."
"Come on," she protested. "Everybody learns."
"Not me," he said. "Never been on one. We live in an apartment in
Manhattan. Mom's always said there was no point in getting me a bike
because it's not safe to ride to the park, and she wouldn't want me in the
park by myself when I was little, and anyway there's no place to store
one."
That left Kit speechless for the first time in the three days of Brian's
visit. Finally she pushed one of the bikes toward him.
"Guess it's time to learn, huh?" She shut down his protest with a
that-settles-that look. "It's our only way there. They took the Toyota
and the pickup, and I'm not authorized on the rental car."
"Where'd they go?"
"My mom and your dad headed west in the car and my dad and your mom went
east in the truck. Who knows what they're up to."
They were outside with the bikes when she said this, and Brian was too
busy figuring out how to make the thing go to think about their parents.
Kit had glided forward and swung her leg over the seat in a smooth move and
was circling him. He wasn't about to try that, so he awkwardly straddled
the bar and tried to push off with one foot and start peddling with the
other. He had seen people do this. How hard could it be? He pushed off
slowly, thinking that speed kills.
He wobbled and tipped and caught himself and wobbled some more and fell
off twice before he let Kit convince him he would do better by starting
faster. He amazed himself by having some kind of sense of balance even
before they reached the end of the farm lane. Then he felt his wheels
slide as he hit the gravel on the county road too fast and nearly wiped
out. But he caught himself with a luckily planted foot and righted himself
in the new direction.
"Quick learner," Kit called out.
At the moment he was too busy balancing to risk a response. But aways
down the road he'd achieved enough confidence to divert some attention to
conversation. "Where do you get an entry form for the Tour de France?" he
asked brightly.
"What?" Kit called from behind. He'd been speaking away from her, so he
crooked his neck to look back her way, but the twist sent him into a
wobble. Rather than brace for the crash, he determinedly gripped the
handles and brought the infernal machine back into line.
"You're getting it now," Kit said as she pulled up beside him.
Despite the compliment, he'd regained his feeling of idiocy. "You must
think I've been raised in a closet," he said, keeping his head pointed
tensely ahead.
"Why?"
"Not knowing how to ride a bike."
"Oh, different place, different ways." She surged ahead and gestured.
"We turn here."
They had been riding on a open flat stretch alongside bean fields and
corn fields with just enough gravel under his tires to give Brian steering
problems. Now they turned onto a rutted dirt road that wound up a wooded
ridge. In moments, they were enveloped by trees and tall weeds growing
right out to the narrow road, and in places into it. After struggling to
keep up his speed enough on the upgrade to avoid falling over, and
struggling to keep his tires out of the ruts, Brian was relieved to come to
the top of the ridge and look down on a clearing along a river bank.
"This is it!" Kit called over her shoulder.
To one side loomed decaying wooden posts jutting from the earth along
the bank and from the water part way across the four or five hundred yard
expanse of the river. Obviously this was the remnants of an old wooden
bridge, but the floor was entirely gone and in many places the supports
were gone as well. Across the river more of the old bridge's ruins were
visible, but he could see no other signs of human presence, just trees and
water.
The trail opened into a weedy clearing that sloped into a gravelly beach
of sorts. Although the weeds stood tall around the edge of the clearing,
they were sparse and pressed down through its center. Brian guessed that a
fair number of tires and feet had created and maintained the bare spot.
Along one side was a sadly rusted boat of a car, maybe a Duster, but the
name plates were long since gone and he figured it was abandoned. He also
noted the scattering of beer and pop cans and bottles, along with food
wrappers of various types.
"This is party central on weekend nights," Kit explained. "But we won't
be bothered during a weekday." She swung her leg off her bike and set it
down. Brian decided not to try to copy the move, and instead slowed to a
stop and put both feet down before swinging one leg off.
They had come to a stop alongside a large raggedy quilt laid out for a
picnic in the shade of the one tree in the clearing, but no one was in
sight. Kit gestured at the rusted heap.
"That's her car," she said. "She's not in the water." She looked
around, then called out, "Kim."
A rustling from the tall weeds behind them answered her. They turned to
see Kim emerge into the clearing.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "Potty run." She was wearing a tight halter
top with a low V-neck and shorts so high her ass cheeks showed on the
underside. As far as he could tell, her sandals seemed to be her only
other attire. The jounciness under the halter top seemed to preclude a
bra, and panties surely would be showing under the shorts. Now what did
Kit have planned? Brian wondered.
By all appearances other than Kim's attire, all that seemed to be in the
works was a picnic. Kit emptied the sandwiches from her backpack and sat
cross-legged on the quilt. Brian sat and watched out of the corner of his
eye as Kim sat down, but her position, with knees together and to one side,
gave him no more information about what else she might or might not be
wearing. He kept an eye on both girls, not sure what to expect after the
cavorting in the corn. But all that seemed to be developing was a pleasant
lunch in a shady spot. The girls talked about people and events that meant
nothing to him, so his mind drifted to the events of the past two days and
anticipation of what the next two might bring.
While they ate and the girls talked, Brian found himself gazing at Kit's
face and paying little attention to the girls' bodies. Something about the
way his step-cousin's eyebrows danced and arched when she talked, even when
she listened, captivated him. But that was just a small part of the show.
He watched her blue eyes narrow and widen and sparkle, as if capable of
carrying on her side of the conversation without need for words. Then
there was the twitch in one corner of her mouth before her lips would
spread in a toothy smile. And the curl of her nose, the flair of her
nostrils, the crinkling in her forehead in various combinations to help in
expressing various things. Brian studied all of this with a growing
understanding that he was going to have a lot of trouble looking at this
face the morning after next and then stuffing himself into the rental car
and vanishing from her life. The thought already had him feeling empty and
lost.
Then he realized he had been so busy watching Kit that he hadn't heard
anything she'd said. A few words finally penetrated the fog and clicked
into coherence. Kit was giving Kim a nutshell summary of his own story
about his long and only technically successful efforts to get into Patty's
pants. He opened his mouth to cut her off, but shut it again. If some
bodiless cybergirl across the internet knew all his most private details,
why not this girl who had bared herself to him in another way? Anyway,
events were flowing, and he was learning to let them.
Once Kit brought the story up to the point where he had left off early
that morning, during the chatroom session, she went on into a description
of what she and Brian had done while he'd told the story and she'd relayed
it to her cyberfriend. When she got to the part about the taste tests, he
wanted to creep into the weeds and hide. At least, he thought, that was
the end of the story and the conversation would move to something else.
But Kim obviously was hooked by the last part. "Really?" she asked.
"He tasted his own cum?"
"Really," Kit said.
Brian was too busy studying a crack in his shoe rubber to know if either
girl was looking at him.
"Wow," Kim went on, "I've never seen a guy do that?"
"Taste himself?" Kit asked. Was that a giggle? This was entirely too
much to bear, but Brian just stayed hunkered down and picked at the crack
with a fingernail.
"Yeah," Kim said. "They expect you to suck and swallow, but then they
don't even want to kiss you cause they might smell themselves on your
breath."
"Well, Brian is not your typical guy."
"I see that," Kim said. "What's he taste like?"
"Oh, I suppose like salty buttermilk, sort of."
That was enough of that. Brian looked back and forth between the
grinning girls. "I am not sitting here listening to a discussion of the
flavor of my semen," he said with as much aplomb as he could muster. "This
just isn't happening."
"Okay," Kim said. "We won't mention you at all." She turned to Kit.
"They all taste different, you know. Not at first. It was all just cum
the first few times. You get so involved in just taking a guy's stuff you
don't think about the fine points. But then it's like you can tell them
apart, just by the taste. I mean, most guys I could ID blindfolded after
sucking them off."
Brian was too stunned to look away. He realized he must look like he'd
just seen a pig flying or a cabbie being polite, but he couldn't help but
stare, even when she turned back to look at him.
"I fuck a lot of guys," Kim went on. "A lot. Boys, old men, everything
in between. A lot of, you know, married men and guys living with someone.
Any guy looks halfway like a fun fuck or like he could really use a good
one for a change, I'll fuck him."
"Oh," was all Brian could think of to say. A strangled sound from the
other end of the quilt told him that Kit was surprised at the turn in the
conversation as well, although he figured she wasn't hearing anything she
didn't already know.
"Everybody knows it," Kim continued, shifting into a cross-legged
position. Despite himself, Brian looked down. Definitely no panties. He
managed to look back up when Kim spoke again. "I'm the county slut. I
have no problem with that. I was a good girl like they wanted, then it was
like, woh-oh, didn't know what I was missing. One taste of the wild side
and no looking back. The old bags can look down their noses all they want.
I don't care. I'm fucking their husbands."
The flash in her eyes suggested maybe she did care, but Brian let it go.
"So," Kim said, leaning toward Brian, the flash hardening into a
challenge, "how does it feel having lunch with the county slut?"
"Oh, I don't know," he said. "I have ants crawling up my derriere, but
that's all I feel out of the ordinary." He bowed his head slightly and
continued with what he hoped sounded like Ashley Wilkes. "I am, however,
honored to share the afternoon with two such charming and delightful
ladies." By way of flourish, he tipped forward and lifted Kim's hand to his
mouth. Just brushing the knuckles with his lips, he added, "Most honored."
Kim shot an exaggerated pleading look at Kit. "You sure I can't have
him?"
"Positive."
Kim seemed to have another thought and turned back to Brian. "Just so
you don't get the wrong idea, I want to tell you something else."
"Okay."
"Middle of last year I had a thing going with two of the county
commissioners."
"Both at the same time," Kit added.
"Yeah, they'd tell their wives the weekly commission meeting ran to 4,
except it'd get out at 2 and they'd meet me up in the courthouse bell
tower."
"They had a mattress and a box of rubbers stashed up there," Kit said.
"I may be a slut," Kim said, "but I'm not suicidal. I have guys I'll
fuck bare, but those two had been around."
"You met both of them at the same time?" Brian asked.
"Yeah."
"And do it, uh . . . ."
"With both at the same time? Sometimes. Usually they'd take turns, but
sometimes I'd, you know, take one in the cunt and one in the mouth.
Usually I like that, but these two had rhythm problems, so it could get to
hurting."
"This is more than I really need to know," Brian said, although he'd
long since shifted position to try to hide his undeniable erection.
"Wait," Kit said, "she's just getting to her point."
"Anyway, the election was coming up and they got worried about me."
"You were their Donna Rice," he interjected.
"Their what?"
"Brian's the kind of guy who pays attention in history class," Kit
offered.
"Sorry," Brian said. "Go on."
"Anyway, they offered me two hundred bucks to keep quiet." Kim stopped
and searched his eyes, waited for his reaction. Kit started to speak, but
Kim waved her quiet. Brian had been surprised by the mention of money, and
now saw where the story was going. And saw the test.
"Look," he said. "I've known you for about 24 hours. Kit says you work
as a stripper, and you must get paid for that." When she nodded, but said
nothing, he went on. "But that's not getting paid for sex. And, well,
like I said, I've only just met you, but I can't imagine you'd take money
for sex or take hush money."
"Why not?" Kim persisted. "Why shouldn't I be raking in the cash for
stroking all these cocks?"
Brian shrugged and spread his hands, palms up. "Just not you, far as
I've seen."
Kim seemed satisfied, even pleased. Definitely pleased. "Damn
straight," she said. "I told them I'm a slut, not a whore."
"She threw the money in their faces and never touched the mongrel
bastards again," Kit added.
Suddenly Brian looked away, face reddening.
"What's wrong?" The question came from Kit, but Brian forced himself to
look at Kim.
"You must think I'm pretty, I don't know . . . naive, I suppose. You
know, after that pathetic story about . . . ." He gave up on words and just
watched for her reaction.
"I think the whole thing's sweet," Kim replied. "You and Patty. You
and Kit. Look, everybody's different. Moves at different rates, does
what's right for them. I get bored fucking the same guy twice in a row.
That's me. But I can spot romance when I see it. I mist over when I see
two old farts waiting in a check-out line holding hands, everything saggy
and baggy, but still in love. You have to do things your own way." She
reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.
"Uh, hey! Yoohoo! Remember me?" Kit was waving her hands and bouncing
on her crossed legs.
"Are you really, really sure I can't fuck him?" Kim pleaded.
"Doubly really sure," Kit confirmed.
"Fine." Kim dropped his hand and reached down for the last Twinkie. It
disappeared into her mouth in two big bites, then she took her time licking
the chocolate from her fingers. Brian couldn't help but wonder if any guys
ever tasted like chocolate. He suppressed the urge to ask.
"Well," Kim announced, climbing to her feet. "Lunch is over." She
crossed her hands at her waist and took hold of the bottom of her halter
top. "Time for a swim." With that she yanked the top over her head and
sent in fluttering to the ground in one smooth move. Her boobs jiggled
while she bent to yank her shorts all the way down.
"Uh, is that how you do it at the stripper bar?" Brian asked.
"Not hardly," she said as she stepped out of her sandals. "There I'm
trying to make guys horny. Here I'm just going for a swim." She looked at
Kit. "Well?" Brian turned to look as well.
In the bright sunlight, Kit wasn't looking quite as comfortable about
shedding her clothes as she had been that morning, even though it was
obvious by now that she had set up the picnic for just this purpose.
Perhaps that thought forced her to her feet. She took a breath and
repeated her friend's motions with the same sense of haste, except she had
the extra steps of also removing the bikini that had been under her T-shirt
and shorts and her moves were more tentative and fumbling.
Then there were two naked girls standing close enough for him to make
out individual pores on their breasts.
"Well?" Kit said to Brian.
"Uh." He looked around. "You sure nobody's . . . I mean, don't boats
come down that river? It's right there, and . . . ."
"Let's get him!" Kim cried and threw herself on Brian. In his surprise,
he let himself be bowled over on his back. Before he could react, he found
himself pinned down, with Kim astride his chest and holding his arms to the
ground. Her shaved pussy was inches from his face in one direction and her
lush boobs dangled inches from it in another.
"Get his pants!" Kim called over her shoulder. He could have tossed her
off easily, but he was content to thrash about weakly, just enough to keep
her boobs jiggling. Brian couldn't see Kit move, but he felt hands
grasping his waistband. He included in his struggling movements enough of
an upward arch of his hips to make the depantsing an easy one-tug process.
That she took the underwear along with the shorts was obvious from the feel
of his fully engorged cock slapping back against his belly once it was
freed of constraint.
"Got 'em," Kit confirmed.
"Now his shirt!" Kim instructed. She slid down his torso to take her
weight off his upper body. He was startled out of his play-act resistance
when he felt his cock head pressed against . . . something down there.
The crack of her ass? Her pussy lips? He couldn't tell, but he was frozen
by the thought that the slightest movement would push him into her. One
more wriggle backward on her part or one upward thrust on his. Maybe the
position was all wrong, maybe it's harder than that to gain entry. He
couldn't know, but the idea that the loss of his virginity was only a
slight motion away sent all of his concentration down to his crotch.
Then she did move down farther. Was she trying to make him pop into
her? He was too focused on the pressure against his cock to look at her
face for a clue to her intentions. But then his cock sprang downward to
lay flat between his thighs, where she trapped it under her crotch.
Brian was suddenly aware of Kit kneeling next to his shoulder. "Are you
. . .," she began. "Is he . . . . You're not . . . ."
"No," Kim said. "But if my asshole was lubed up, he'd have slid right
in." She leaned back, releasing his arms. "Now get his shirt while he's
being a good boy!" Brian sat up as much as he could to allow Kit to pull
his shirt over his head and arms.
Kit tossed his shirt with the other clothes. "What was with the fight?"
she asked. "You were eager enough to get naked this morning."
"More fun this way." He grinned and thrust upward, making Kim's breasts
bounce.
"Boys and their toys," was Kit's response. But Kim leaned forward until
her breasts were pressed against his lower ribs. She looked up into his
eyes.
"Do you want to fuck me, Brian?" Her voice was low and husky. She
ground her groin against his.
"We could fuck right now, Brian," she went on. She reached between her
legs and took hold of his cock. He felt its head rubbing against something
smooth and wet.
"Kim!" Kit barked, but the older girl ignored it.
"I know you want to fuck me," Kim continued. "I want to fuck you,
Brian. Do you want to do it right now, right here?" She kept up the motion
between their legs, but did not take him into her.
Brian sucked in air and held it. All he had to do was say yes, just nod
his head, and he would be inside her. He would be fucking a girl. No
resistance, no games, no courtship, no romance. Just an easy fuck. And a
fast one, he knew from the way the pressure was mounting. One word and he
could release it inside her, inside a girl.
He said one word. He said, "No." And he gently pushed her up away from
him, guiding her to a kneeling position beside him. He unfolded her
fingers from his cock, and finally released the breath. "I'm sorry," he
said, "but, no."
"You are a catch," Kim said to him. Then she looked at Kit. "You sure
you don't want to fuck him?"
"Of course I want to fuck him," Kit replied. She was beaming. She
reached down and stroked his cheek. "But we can't. That's over the line."
Kim sat back, cross-legged. On the other side, Kit assumed the same
position. Brian turned his head from side to side, looking at the shaved
pussy in one direction and the fuzzy mound in the other, the larger evenly
rounded breasts one way and the uneven, but, because of who they were
attached to, more exciting pair the other way. Nothing about the situation
relieved any of the pressure in his groin.
"Where is the line?" Kim asked suddenly, her eyes on Kit's.
"Huh?"
"The line. Where is it? Fucking is over the line. But you've kissed
him. And you've gotten yourself off in front of him. And you've jerked
him off, right?"
"Well, yeah."
"And his fingers were in you when he got you off?"
"A little."
"You even ate his cum."
"Tasted it."
"Whatever," Kim said. She idly reached out to stroke the inside of
Brian's nearest thigh. Kit mirrored the gesture. This was worse than
direct contact. Brian bore down to stop the welling up from going over the
top. But he left their hands where they were.
"So that's all this side of the line?" Kim asked.
"I guess so," Kit said.
"The line is at fucking?"
"That's what we've been saying from the start," Kit affirmed.
Kim began rolling Brian's balls between her thumb and forefinger. Kit's
hand drifted onto his shaft. He gritted his teeth. No, that wouldn't be
enough. He grabbed both of their wrists and pushed their hands back into
their own laps. Not a moment too soon. But when he pulled his own hands
away, Kim grabbed the one on her side and pushed his fingertips against her
pussy and with her other hand spread the labia so he could push a finger
into her. On his other side, after a pause while watching the activity in
Kim's lap, Kit duplicated the motions, and Brian had to split his attention
between probing the shaved wet pussy on his left and the furry wet pussy on
his right. The owners of both responded with moans and writhing.
Then Kim jerked his hand away. "Oh, god, hold that thought," she said,
breathing hard. Kit did not mimic her friend this time, and didn't seem to
notice the change. Her eyes were closed and she kept both of her hands
lightly on back of his hand. Kim reached over and gently pulled his hand
away. Kit's eyes flew open.
"What? Why'd you . . . ."
"We were talking about lines," Kim said. "You already blew by this one.
We know where you won't go. Seems there's a good bit between here and
there, and he's only here another day and a half."
It took a moment for Kit's eyes to refocus. "What are you getting at?"
she asked.
Brian was interested in that question as well. Kit's answer was pretty
clear to the question, Where is the line? But it seemed to him that a
better question, without so easy an answer, was, Why is there a line? He'd
already heard Kit's explanation. By fucking, they risk an emotional
attachment that could hurt the family, even though they were step-cousins
and it was a step-family. Say you go ahead and fuck, first time for both.
What happens? Like a duckling with the first creature it sees, you fall in
love. Love makes you do extreme things, like needing to be together,
living together, maybe marrying. And it would be hard to hide from the
parents that the girl sharing your one-bedroom apartment or walking down
the aisle is your cousin. With fireworks during the ceremony rather than
after.
That made sense. But had she drawn the line in the wrong place? Hadn't
that attachment already formed far short of any line between his prick and
her pussy? Hadn't he spent the last two and a half days coming to
understand that he would probably spend the rest of his life searching for
a girl just like Kit, once he and his parents left this place? And
probably never finding her?
Maybe she hadn't crossed the real line, maybe she wouldn't feel anything
like he already felt and would be able to wave goodbye and get on with her
life. Maybe for her it would take a melding of flesh to cause a melding of
souls. You'd think so to listen to her. But he'd already crossed the line
that counted. He wasn't about to tell her that, but he'd crossed it.
Now they were talking about her line. For him, a joining of their
bodies could do no more damage. But he would not cross any line she didn't
want crossed. So it was a necessary question. Where is this thing going?
"I think you're full of shit about this line thing," Kim said. "But
that's your call."
"I'm glad you think so," Kit said with a touch of sarcasm.
Kim ignored her. "Left to yourselves, I figure you two would be fucking
like rabbits inside the next hour."
"Now you're full of . . . ."
"He'd be the perfect gentleman," Kim persisted, "but you'd get so
cranked up and horny you'd jump his bones and beg him. You were about
there a minute ago just from some finger action." She looked at Brian.
"Would you fuck her if she begged?"
"It's her call," he said promptly. Then to himself: No begging
required.
"I am not a rabbit," Kit protested. But her expression showed she
agreed with her friend. "So, what are you saying?"
"You need a chaperone," Kim said. "You're dead set on pushing this
thing to the edge, so I suppose you need somebody to show you the way and
be there to catch you before you fall over."
"You?" Brian asked.
"Me," Kim affirmed. "Your friendly tour guide."
"Uh, that's a mixed metaphor," Kit said.
"A what?"
"Are you a chaperone or a tour guide?"
"Are you a virgin or a slut?" Kim shot back.
"Can't I be both?" Kit smiled as sweet and innocent a smile as Brian had
ever seen.
Kim laughed. "Why not? You don't have to fuck to be sex-crazed."
"Is that what I am?"
"Seems so," Kim said. "You have been for ages, but totally gone since
he got here."
"You see?" Kit asked Brian. "You're the cause of it."
"Well," Brian said slowly, "there's the cybersex stuff and cruising the
sex sites, all that. That predates me."
"And then there's what you do with garden produce," Kim added sweetly.
"Don't even go there, girlfriend!" Kit cautioned, but with a smile.
"So, where do we go from here? Lead the way!"
"Well," Kim said. "You've had an appetizer. I'd say it's time for the
main course. Unless, of course, you figure cocksucking is over the line."
Kit hesitated. Brian held his breath, waiting for the answer.
"No," Kit said. "Fucking is the line, and that isn't fucking. Right,
Brian?"
He felt himself welling up again. Everything, it was obvious, except
that one thing, was permitted. Everything, except one, was there for the
taking. No strain, no struggle, no negotiation. Just that thought put him
right at the edge. But it would not do to be spewing all over just from
the first brush of her lips, like he had gone off from a single squeeze by
Patty. He had to stall.
Then Kit shifted her weight to her knees. He knew what the next
movement would be.
"Uh, right," he said. "But I really need a swim." With that, he kicked
his legs up into a backward roll that took his long, naked body onto his
feet. He whirled and ran for the river, his dick bouncing wildly, but at
least not emitting anything more than the usual early trickle. Only when
the water closed over his feet did her remember he was still wearing socks
and sneakers. As the girls headed for the water, he removed these last
soggy articles and tossed them on the bank.
Brian's main concern was giving himself a chance to cool off so he
wouldn't cut short Kit's fellatio lesson. But the look in the girls' eyes
as they splashed toward him told him it would be a short rest. He turned
and headed for deeper water, but they dove forward and tackled him. He
came up spluttering and looking for revenge. Kim found herself tossed out
into the river first, followed shortly by Kit splashing beside her. They
circled and came at him underwater from opposite sides.
Soon the three were a slippery tangle of arms and legs, boobs and asses,
pussies and a sole prick rubbing against whatever it could find at every
chance. Quickly the dunking contest became an all-out pawfest. His hands
were all over them and theirs all over him and, he noted, all over one
another.
With somebody's tit in his mouth (he couldn't see whose because he had
his eyes shut against the water splashing against his face), somebody's
hand pumping his cock, somebody's pussy (probably Kim's because of the
smooth feel) quivering against his thrusting fingers, somebody's tongue
probing his ear, somebody's ass cupped in his other hand, and somebody's
finger poking at his clenched asshole, Brian was at the verge of coming
once again.
He gave brief thought to shucking them off and heading for deep
water--if there was any such thing in this river--so he could keep pushing
back his orgasm. Then he realized he had accomplished the purpose behind
that when he rolled off the quilt. With a surprising degree of clear
thinking, given the barrage of stimuli he was enduring, he calculated that
letting go now would help out later.
So he stepped up the intensity of his attack on the girl flesh within
his reach and opened himself more to the feelings their efforts were
arousing in him. He sucked the nipple in his mouth like a baby sucking for
milk, but mixed in tongue swirls and light nips, just as he had seen on
videos. He settled into a firm rhythm with his fingers in the smooth pussy
and set up a different pattern of circling the nub at the top of the slit
with his thumb. The hand on his cock was joined by another tugging lightly
at his balls. The fingertip at the opening of his anus coaxed it open
enough to slide a little bit in.
That did it. That was a line he hadn't even thought about crossing. He
tensed, then started shooting. Stream after stream of milky liquid joined
the river water, some floating to the surface. The pussy around his
fingers reacted to his unrestrained grunts by pulsing and clenching. A low
moan near his ear mounted and burst out in a series of gasping high shrieks
that pierced through him. The hips attached to the pussy around his
fingers bucked forward in time with the shrieks and his ass flared as the
hand on his butt seemed determined to close in a fist with the imbedded
finger trying to close as well. He clenched against the pain, recalling
Kim had longish fingernails while Kit's were clipped or gnawed short, but
the burst of agony before the offending hand relaxed seemed to boost rather
than stop his surging.
Then the three of them relaxed and floated apart, disentangling as they
did.
"Wow!" Brian said.
"Wow!" Kim agreed.
"What about me?" Kit asked. She looked at Brian with an overblown pout.
"You stopped doing me as soon as I got you off, and I had a little to go
yet."
"Sorry," he said, "but I don't think that was me. It was kind of too
smooth where I . . . ."
"My bad," Kim broke in. "He was doing me and I was doing you, but he
kind of got me distracted."
"You--" Kit began, then stopped, staring at Kim. After a moment, she
raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms under her breasts. "Anyway, the
question stands. Are you two going to take a nap, or it is my turn?"
Brian began to move toward her, but Kim interrupted.
"No problem," she said. "We'll just do Brian's lesson before yours."
The older girl moved behind the younger one. "Lay back!" she ordered.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm just going to support you. Lay back and float!"
Kit laid back, resting her head on Kim's shoulder. She craned her neck
to bring her mouth almost to Kim's and closed her eyes. Kim stretched to
close the gap and brought their lips together. The kiss lasted only
several seconds and there seemed to Brian to be no tongues involved, but
when Kim drew away Kit let out a relaxed sigh and kept her eyes closed.
"Mmm," Kit murmured, "first time we've done that."
"After playing with your pussy, it seemed inside the line," Kim said.
"No, that's a new line crossed, but not THE line."
"So, you okay with that?"
"Oh, yeah. Way okay."
"By definition," Brian broke in, "the line is between Kit and me only,
it seems."
"By a couple of definitions," Kim added.
"Something to think about," Kit said. "Now what?"
They were about waist deep in a still part of the river near a stand of
bridge timber. Kim was apparently kneeling, with only her head out of the
water. Her support under Kit's back kept the upper part of the floating
girl's body above the water. The water lapped at her pussy.
Kim looked at Brian. "Get between her legs and support her hips!"
He knelt in the muck and cupped his cousin's ass cheeks. Without
awaiting further instruction, he pushed her hips up enough to lift her
crotch out of the water and buried his face in the tangle of hair. Very
softly he kissed the slightly parted and reddened pussy lips.
"Good boy," he heard Kim say. "Quick learner." Brian looked along Kit's
body, past her stomach, between her parted breasts heaving in time with her
quickening breaths, to see her turn her head again and crane her neck to
reach Kim's mouth. Again the girls locked in a kiss, this time with
tongues involved and this time with more apparent passion than curiosity.
While he watched this, Brian's tongue tip traced the ridges of Kit's labia.
He thought about how Kit was writhing from both his tongue probing her
pussy at this end and Kim's tongue probing her mouth at the other. Did it
matter that she was kissing another girl? Did it matter that she was
kissing anybody else? He felt just enough of a rush of jealousy to
consider it and shoo it back out of his head. This whole thing was about
exploration and pleasure. Certainly it had nothing to do with ownership.
He had been caught up in her urgent need to break down walls, cross lines,
and what excited him the most about it was seeing how excited she was when
she took another step. He was thrilled to be part of it, but he didn't
feel he had to be her only partner on the journey. The sight of Kit's
mouth working against Kim's, the sounds she was making, the change in her
breathing, the bucking against his tongue, all these made him begin to
swell up again.
Brian refocused on the task at hand. Kim obviously was too involved to
give him the guidance she had intended, so he was left to his own devices
to figure out what to do. He had thought the pubic hair in his mouth,
against his tongue, would be a turn off, but it was so exciting just to be
where he was, doing what he was doing, that the hair, the slightly musky
smell, and even the stench of the river all were part of the erotic
experience. He remembered how he had liked for Patty to touch him in other
places before she reached in his pants to grasp his cock. The anticipation
of when that would finally happen would be enough to set him up for an
instant orgasm as soon as she finally did, at first anyway. Later he could
hold out through much more stimuli, but it was always true that the first
touch of the penis was so much more exciting after prolonged attention
elsewhere.
From this dates with Patty and his close attention to videos and
articles in men's magazines his friends had stashed, Brian knew the clit
was the key, and he knew pretty much just where it was, though having to
stay outside of Patty's panties had impeded his education somewhat. He
knew some were prominent and some pretty much hidden away no matter what
the stimulus. But it was somewhere up there at the top of the smooth
groove above the opening.
So he licked around the flaps enclosing her vagina, and licked the
inside of the rim, and probed as deeply into the hole as his tongue could
reach. He couldn't describe the taste of the fluid that coated his tongue.
Different from his own. Different from anything he'd tasted. It tasted
like pussy, was the best he could figure.
Then he traced the crease between thigh and crotch on one side, then the
other. He probed inside again, but this time lapped slowly upward along
the hair-free groove, almost to the top, almost to the tiny nub he could
see between the fold of skin there. Then he stopped. The water splashed
against her sides as she writhed in his grip. Her ass muscles clenched as
she pressed her mound up toward his mouth, but he had moved lower, kissing
her inner thighs just to the side of her pussy. One side, the other, back
to the first, but closer in. Then a sudden move to that silken channel and
a long slow lick almost all the way up.
"You are a lying bastard." Kim's voice broke his concentration. He
looked up. The kiss had stopped. Kit's head was tilted back on her
friend's shoulder and low moans were issuing from her open mouth. Her
breasts were heaving more erratically. Brian figured she was very close to
coming. He grinned up at Kim, saw from her smile that she was in tune with
his strategy. Stall a little to keep up the suspense.
"How's that?" he asked.
"You've munched cunt before."
He ran his tongue in a wide circle around and away from Kit's clit
before raising his head to answer. She arched her back again. A louder,
longer moan. But she relaxed back when he didn't press on.
"Sex ed class," he explained as straight-faced as he could manage.
"Bullshit!"
"Really. Taught by my friend Lennie with his amazing supply of
audiovisual materials. I was a very attentive student."
"Hmph," she said with mock disgust. "The guys I fuck have shelves full
of that stuff, but I wouldn't give any of them more than about a C+ for
pussy licking."
"Well, I always try to take pride in my work."
"I can see that."
Kit offered her opinion on the way the conversation was going by
reaching up to pull Kim's mouth back to her own, apparently to shut her up,
and by waggling her pussy insistently in Brian's face. He grinned and went
back to work.
What else could he do to keep her on edge without pushing her over? He
needed another tool. He shifted her weight so he was supporting her with
one hand as he moved the other around front. It was awkward, but he
managed to slide two fingers into her depths while keeping good tongue
contact with the rest of the area. The hand position put his thumb in the
crack between her ass cheeks. He remembered the feel of a
finger--Kim's--probing at his anus earlier. So while he pumped his fingers
in and out, picking up speed slowly, he felt about with his thumb for
anything that felt like another hole. Another line to cross, perhaps, but
still not the line Kit insists is the one that counts.
Kit responded to the penetration with more moaning and writhing. A
glance up showed Kim's hands on her friends breasts, slowly rolling the
nipples between thumbs and forefingers. Kit's breathing was becoming more
abrupt and ragged. Her hips were moving more insistently. Brian had made
Patty come enough times to know when orgasm was near, and what he had seen
of Kit's responses so far were close enough to that pattern. She was about
to blow, no matter what else he did, maybe from Kim's efforts alone.
He hadn't found an entry point for his thumb, so he just pressed it flat
against the puckery spot he had found. He sped up the finger thrusts.
Then, after pulling his mouth completely away, he suddenly closed it over
the now prominent nub and flicked lightly at it with the tip of his tongue,
a technique from one of Lennie's magazines.
He was disappointed that it didn't work. It did draw more moans and
more writhing about from her, but she didn't come as he'd expected. So
much for his awesome knowledge of female sexual response. He kept at the
flickery motion.
Then Kim spoke, her lips near Kit's, but loud enough for Brian to hear.
"You have a man between your legs, Kittie Sue," Kim said in a voice like
the ones in the phone sex ads at the end of porn tapes. "A man's between
your legs, licking you and fucking you with his fingers. Fucking you,
Kittie. Now he's going to make you come."
Brian looked up along Kit's body. Kim caught his eye and mouthed what
looked like, "Suck it!" She pursed her lips and made an exaggerated gesture
of sucking. He stopped flicking and started sucking, managing to form some
kind of seal despite the pubic hair. As he sucked, he twiddled the nub
with his tongue tip, giving more pressure than the flicking.
This worked. Kit's head arched back and her hips thrust up and froze.
For a long moment she didn't move, didn't breathe.
"You're coming, Kittie," Kim whispered loudly. "Let it go!"
With that, Kit began bucking wildly against his mouth. He tried to move
along with her and managed to keep the seal and keep his tongue lapping at
the nub. As she bucked, he thrust his fingers faster and deeper. Kit's
flailing and bucking nearly sent Kim off balance under the water, but she
held up her end while Brian worked on his. The thrashing was spraying
water all over him, but he thought the sudden oozing of moisture against
his chin was too warm and slick to be river water. She shuddered and she
launched into an escalating series of throaty gasps that turned into drawn
out guttural bellows. It seemed he was clamped onto a wild animal in its
death throes, and she was clamped onto him, as her fingers dug into the
back of his head and pressed his face even harder against her.
Then, suddenly, she arched up one last time, rigid and silent,
straining. Then she sagged back, limp and wheezing for air. Satisfied that
it was over, Brian drew his mouth away and gently pulled out his fingers.
"Jesus," Kim said in awe. "Is that what she did this morning?"
"More restrained then."
"Still," Kim said, "you'd think she'd have blasted the whole house out
of bed."
"I thought so at the time."
"Will you two shut the fuck up?" Kit gasped, still coming down. "That
was the best thing ever happened to me, and you're making fun."
Brian's response was to kiss her clit again, but she jerked and pushed
his head away.
"No, no, no," she said. "Awful tender right now. Give me a few
minutes."
Brian eased her down and took her into his arms. She reached out to
pull Kim into the hug as well, and the three of them clung together without
a word. All was still. Silent. He was aware at first only of the sound
and motion of their breathing. The water stilled until there were only
tiny ripples from the slow current flowing around them. As they held one
another, he began to sense more around them, but in terms of textures more
than shapes and sounds. The smooth flow of the water, the oozing muck of
the river bottom around his knees, farther away the graininess of the
gravelly beach, the varied textures of the foliage, the tall grass, the
trees, the perfect flat blueness of the sky, and right there the electric
silken feel of the skin pressing against his on both sides.
He clung to them both, but his mouth was against Kit's and his tongue
played with hers. An urge to say something welled up, something he had to
say, but something he knew was wrong, wrong for the moment, wrong for the
situation, and wrong for their lives. He pushed the words back down and
held on, with his arms and his lips, to all he could have.
Finally, Kim broke the embrace and floated away. Brian barely noticed
and merely held Kit all the more closely. He wondered how much she could
taste herself on his lips, smell herself. Did she think it as wonderful a
flavor as he did?
From somewhere outside the cozy universe of him and Kit, Brian heard Kim
speak. Only when he felt a nudge did he disentangle his lips from Kit's.
"Huh?"
"I asked, where's that fit with your story?"
"What we just did?"
"Yeah. You never did anything like that with Patty?"
"Not even close," he said. "Always just fingers and always over
panties, below the waist anyway." While speaking with Kim, he moved behind
Kit and put his fingers to work gently rolling her nipples. She was
floating up enough that when he pulled her back against his chest, he found
his cock poking between her ass cheeks and thighs. She pressed her legs
together and tightened her buns, and the pressure on his cock nearly set
him off. When she released the pressure, perhaps to reposition for another
squeeze, he moved his hips backward out of range. She giggled and tried to
squirm back against him, but he kept out of range and diverted her
attention by pulling on her nipples.
"And you just kept doing that same stuff?" Kim asked.
"Yeah. We were getting each other off, as much as two or three times a
week, so that was enough, I suppose. Seemed enough for her, and I was
figured anything else was up to her."
"How come you never fucked," Kim pressed.
"That was her line."
"Too."
Brian kissed the back of Kit's neck. "Yeah, too. But different
reason."
"What?"
"She figured she was a virgin as long as I didn't get inside her. She
said that was important, staying a virgin until marriage."
"What about the fingers?"
"Didn't count. Just fingers, and not even bare fingers."
"Sheesh!"
"I'd pushed her that far, but it didn't feel right to keep pushing.
Past that, I figured it was her call."
"Of course, it's her call. But what a fine line!"
"Like I said, it was her line and I went with it. I'm courteous, if
nothing else. I also come to the door when I pick up a date, instead of
standing out on the sidewalk yelling, like a couple guys do when they come
after this girl near Lennie's."
"Shit, my dates just lay on their horns at the curb. Every goddamned
one of them."
"So tell them no knock, no nooky!"
Kim laughed. "Yeah, I like that."
Brian began to nibble on Kit's earlobe, but soon felt Kim wedging
herself between them. "Come on!" she ordered, nudging them apart and
toward shore. "There's another line to cross."
Brian had been hard again since well before Kit's orgasm. Riding with
her through that had pushed him well along toward the edge again, despite
his earlier feeding of the fish. So when he found himself back on the
quilt, again flat on his back with his cock pointed skyward, he seemed in
scarcely any better shape for holding out than when he'd made his escape to
the water. But that obviously wasn't a move he could repeat. The girls
were crouched on either side of his hips, peering at his pulsing prick like
two entomologists scrutinizing a new breed of caterpillar.
Kim hadn't had to say what line she had in mind. It was the same one
she had been guiding Kit toward before he'd made his dash for the river.
Very shortly Kit's lips were going to close over his shaft, and he was
afraid she would be having dessert far too soon for anyone's liking,
especially his.
So he turned to a trick he'd developed by necessity in the blue glow of
Patty's TV when he hadn't wanted their evenings of exploration, and her
explorations inside his unbuttoned jeans especially, to end too soon in a
sticky mess. It was his only hope now: the filmography of Christopher Lee.
The progression from light to heavy petting and the weeks of sticky
messes had coincided with a Christopher Lee film festival on Channel 11,
the station they always had on for cover noise but that they all but
ignored. Still, he'd picked up enough details about the movies early on
for the basics to stick with him, and later on it had been a dire necessity
to focus on the flickering screen rather than on Patty's hand moving inside
his pants but over his undershorts.
That gaunt visage and deep British accent had quelled a surging in his
loins many times. It was all he had now as Kim took hold of his cock and
began to explain to Kit the process of giving head.
"On most guys," Kim was saying, "the sensitive spot is right through
here." She pressed the shaft against his abdomen and sketched a circle just
below the head with a fingertip. Brian jerked in response, not just his
cock, but his whole body. This was going to be a challenge.
Horror of Dracula, he thought. The best of them, with Peter Cushing as
Professor Van Helsing. And Lee as the Count, stalking the women, entering
Lucy's bedroom . . . . No! Better steer away from that thought. The
stake. Think about Van Helsing and the stake! Or was that the one where
Van Helsing ripped down the curtains as the sun rose? Shit! He'd have to
do better than that. Kim was waggling his cock toward Kit's face.
"Start with that little drop there on the end," Kim said. "Go on.
You've tasted it before."
Kit leaned forward and licked up the drop.
What was the sequel? Damn it! The one with Lee rising from ashes when
the servant mixes in blood from a fresh kill. Dracula, Prince of Darkness!
Yeah. And swallowed by the moat water at the end when the ice breaks. No,
forget the swallowed part. Icy cold water. He could use some to dunk his
dick in.
"You really like this stuff?" Kit asked after considering the taste.
"Not at first, but now it tastes like sex. Part of the whole thing.
You like to suck cock? You like the taste of cum."
The Curse of Frankenstein. As the monster, of course. Not as classic
as Karloff, of course, but creepier.
"It's kind of weird," Kit said, running a finger tip the length of the
tender underside. Kim drew back and Kit took the organ in both hands,
holding it, moving it around, studying it, playing with it. "You take a
part of somebody's body inside of yours, and he squirts something in you.
If you're fucking, it's still weird, but it's natural. But when it's your
mouth, that just seems icky."
"You want me to do it?" Kim asked. "Poor baby's expecting a blow job
and I'd be . . . ."
"No, no," Kit said. "I want to do it."
Then there was Fu Manchu. Droopy mustache. Taped back eyes to get the
phony slant. Goofy fingernails. Weird makeup. A precursor to Tim Curry's
Dr. Frankenfurter in Rocky Horror. Hey, this was working! Christopher
Lee comes through again.
"Anyway," Kit went on, "I've read a lot of stories on the web about
sucking guys off and swallowing and guys filling their mouths so much it
leaks out, and licking a guy clean after he comes in her cunt, so you're
getting some of yourself too."
Or maybe not working. Think! Hound of the Baskervilles, with Basil
Rathbone as Holmes and the doddering old guy as Dr. Watson. The hound out
baying on the moor. Lee as Sir Henry Baskerville.
"Does that stuff turn you off?" Kim asked.
"At first," Kit said. "Like the gang bangs and circle jerks and
cheating wives going home covered with cum and their husbands sucking it
out of their cunts."
"Ew!" Kim made a face.
"Yeah, and licking assholes. But reading all that stuff made sucking
cock seem normal."
"It is normal."
"I've gone way past that," Kit said. She was rolling him between her
palms. "I do cybersex and my partner says he's coming in my mouth, and I
almost feel it."
"So, what you think?" Kim asked. "You want to try to swallow? I mean,
first time out, and all.?
Think, think!. What else? The Mummy. Lee lurching about in bandages.
"I'll try," Kit said.
Oh, god! Holmes. Lee as Holmes in another movie. Which one? Shit.
She's going to swallow. Sherlock Holmes. Holmes' brother too, in a
different flick.
"All right!" Kim gently brushed Kit's cheek with the back of her hand.
"So go for it. You won't get a chance if you keep that up."
No shit, Sherlock! Did the fucker ever play Moriarty?
Kit slowly lowered her head. Brian expected to feel the lips encircle
just the head and gradually take in more and more. No, don't even thing
about it! What the fuck else? Fu Manchu. No, did that already. Still,
he did enough Fu Manchu movies to gag a dragon.
Suddenly his whole cock disappeared from sight as she buried her nose in
his pubic hair. Just as suddenly it appeared again. She sat back gagging
and coughing.
"Easy," Kim counseled. "Take it slow!"
When Kit regained control, she explained, "I've read so much on how to
deep throat, I gave it a try. There are whole web sites with nothing but
instructions on sucking guys off."
"Maybe so, and there are books on doing gymnastics, but that won't let
you do a double back flip first time down the mat. Just play with it.
Have fun."
Kit nodded and lowered her head toward his crotch again. This time she
took in only the head and a little more. She closed her lips and pulled
back off with a slurping sound.
Sequels. Dracula. What else? Prince . . . no, got that. Count
Dracula, and Dracula Has Risen from the Grave. Taste the Blood of Dracula.
Scars of Dracula. Lame titles. Worst title? Dracula 1972, or something
like that.
He jerked and dug his fingers into Kit's hair. She had raked her teeth
along the sides. It hadn't hurt, but it felt like she was about to bite it
off.
"A little nibble, Brian?" Kim asked. Then to Kit, "Think fudgecicle or
tootsie roll pop, not hot dog."
Kit raised up a little. "Sorry."
"No, not tootsie pop," Kim reconsidered. "I've seen you chomp into
those after hardly a lick."
"Everybody bites," Kit said.
"I don't," Brian said.
"You're lying," Kit said.
"It's true," he said. "I suck it down to the core before nibbling on
the chocolate."
"That's superhuman," Kim exclaimed. "Nobody has that kind of patience."
"I've always done it that way."
"Shit, no wonder you're so good at pussy licking," Kim said. "You ought
to try cocksucking. More like tootsie pops."
"Uh, I'll pass." He'd been appreciating the break in the action to let
the pressure ease, but this sudden turn in the conversation threatened to
deflate things entirely. He reached up to stroke Kit's cheek, then hooked
his fingers behind her neck, pulling her gently toward his cock again. "If
you promise not to bite, you can practice patience all you want."
"I'll try," Kit said, then engulfed him again.
This time she kept her teeth sheathed with her lips. Little by little,
she took him deeper inside, slowly sliding up and down, her nose drawing
nearer his pubic hair with each stroke. At first he felt himself butting
against something, her throat probably. But she must have been relaxing
and opening more each time. He'd read about how this works too, and she
seemed to be figuring it out. He felt himself go deeper into the tight
space.
Jesus! What else did that blood sucker do? Vampir. And a bit in The
Magic Christian. Oh, yeah! Rasputin. The prick that wouldn't die.
There's an image.
"That's great!" Kim said. "It took me weeks to get that far down.
Brian, shit! Your cousin's a natural-born cocksucker."
Yeah, the prick that wouldn't fucking die. Shoot him, stab him, drown
him, deep-throat him, and he kept coming back for more. Now, that's
stamina. Focus on that. Yeah, I'm Rasputin.
"Now try using your tongue when you come up," Kim directed, "and kind of
swirl it around just under the head. They love that."
Kit added this new element to the rhythm, so on the downstroke the bulb
would be squeezed tight and then on the upstroke there would be the burst
of pleasure as her tongue swirled around exactly the most sensitive spot he
had. He struggled for movie titles, tried to ignore what she was doing to
him. By now he'd closed his eyes tight because just the sight of his cock
sliding in and out of her mouth was about enough to make him blow, vampires
and unkillable pricks notwithstanding.
The pleasure was exquisite. Not all the times he'd jerked off, not all
the times Patty had brought him off in his shorts, not even the help Kit
had given him when he had made like a fountain early that morning--nothing
had ever felt this good. His fingers dug harder into her scalp. If it
hurt, she didn't show it, just kept up that amazing rhythm. He had surely
held out long enough for pride, but now he just wanted this to go on and
on. What else did Lee do? In the 70s or 80s, all those silly-ass . . . .
Then Kim whispered something in Kit's ear. He could hear the voice, but
not the suggestion. But immediately he felt fingers slide up his inner
thigh and begin to softly knead his balls.
God fucking damn it! The man did a couple of hundred movies. What the
fuck else?
He felt the surge building low and hot.
What else?
"Wicker Man," he shouted out loud. "Island of pagans," he gasped.
"Ritual sacrifice. Burnt alive." Oh, yes, this was working. The feeling
was like nothing ever before, but it just sat there. So good. That
clueless cop poking around and the islanders acting dumb. The idiot
lyrics. A musical about pagan sacrifice with schlocky folk music. Oh, this
felt good, teetering, but not too far.
Then he realized his mistake. That one was on videotape, not broadcast
TV. The pagans fucking on the commons by moonlight, schoolgirls dancing
nude in a garden.
And Brit Ekland. Her lame song and inept dance when she was trying to
seduce the cop through the walls. But totally nude. Bare-assed naked.
Swinging those scrumptious tits. Stroking herself. Humping the wall.
Brian forced his eyes open to escape the movie image, only to see his
cock disappearing all the way into Kit's mouth, her nose vanishing into his
pubic hair, and, alongside, Kim pulling on her own nipple and thrusting her
fingers in her cunt.
That was it. He'd never before made much sound when he came, because it
usually happened secretly in his room with a parent or two down the hall or
just a thin wall away from Patty's parents. But now a roar burst out as
the first of his white lava began to blast upward.
Some chivalrous instinct caused him to forcefully pull her head off of
him, so the first burst glanced off her cheek. But she determinedly
engulfed him again and sucked down his juice until finally he stopped
twitching.
As he sank back and Kit finally took one last slurp, he became dimly
aware of Kim's gasping and squealing as she finished herself off. Kit
slithered up Brian's body until her mouth was almost against his.
"Want another taste?" she asked in a low sexy voice.
He replied by turning her head and darting his tongue out to lick a
string of white off her cheek and ear. Then he pressed his lips against
hers and probed her mouth. She had swallowed what she had taken in, but
his own taste was very strong. He still couldn't say he liked the taste,
or even that he was comfortable with the idea of tasting himself. But he
definitely liked the effect on Kit, and Kim's praise on the point had
warmed him. Kit's lips were both urgent and deliberate against his. They
seemed to be melting together in something that was bound to far outlast
the contact between their lips or their bodies.
"Aw, shit!" Kim burst out. "You sure I can't have him? No guy's ever
done that. This one's a keeper."
Kit stirred, but Brian held her against him, continued to explore what
it was that passed between them. There was the texture of her lips, the
smell, the taste, but beyond that he felt flowing between them something
else. He let it flow on his part, and could feel the same coming from her.
"Jeez!" Kim continued. "And pulling you off. First guy I sucked off
held me down so I had to swallow, even though I was about barfing on him.
Good thing you did that, Brian. You'd have blown her brains out with that
first shot."
Brian was all but oblivious to the prattle. He held Kit and told her
with everything but words that he loved her. He was sure she was picking
up the same message from her. Kim gave up and just watched. Finally, Kit
drew away, looked deep into his eyes, smiled broadly, and rolled off of him
into a sitting position.
Brian propped himself up on his elbows. He looked at one nude girl on
one side and at the other nude girl on the other. Kit had a shiny streak
of his semen in her hair and was absently letting her hand drift toward her
pussy. Kim's shaved pussy was red and still spread from her own orgasms.
His own exhausted cock lay sideways on his thigh, a final string dripping
from the end, puddling there. It was such a delightful sight, he laughed.
"If our parents could only see us now!" he chortled.
Kit's smile froze, then drained from her face with much of the color.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. They flitted about to take in the scene.
Suddenly she reached to snatch up her shorts and tugged them on. She
scrambled to her feet and pulled on her t-shirt. She started away, then
turned and gathered her bikini. Brian was too stunned to speak. Obviously
Kim was as well.
Kit started away again, but stopped. Without turning, she said tensely,
"You think I'm some hick slut." Brian's mouth dropped open. He dug for
anything to say, to explain, but he didn't know what he's said to bring
this on. "Some horny whore." With that, she started forward again, running
this time until she reached her bike.
Kim rose to her knees. "Kit!" she called after her friend.
"I'm not like them," Kit spat over her shoulder as she pushed off. "I'm
not like you. This shouldn't have happened."
Then she was gone up the path and vanished with it into the trees.
Brian stared after her. What had he said? Their parents. Of course
they'd be shocked to shit by all this. But Kit knew that from the time on
the porch when she turned her back to their parents through the window and
fingered herself.
He was startled by a sharp pain in his shoulder. Kim had slugged him.
She gave him a shove, toppling him off his elbow perch.
"Go after her!" she hissed. "Catch her!"
Brian scrambled to his feet and started for his bicycle.
"With your clothes on," she clarified.
"Oh!" He pulled on his shorts and shoes as fast as he could and stuffed
the shirt in a pocket.
"What's going on?" he asked as he picked up the bike.
"She must have crossed a line and just realized it."
"The . . . oral stuff?"
"Another line," she said. "Get going!" She gestured at the picnic
debris. "I'll get this shit."
Kit's head start and Brian's lack of bicycling skills proved too much.
It wasn't until he had peddled most of the way that he remembered Kim had a
car back at the river. They surely would have caught Kit with that. Kim
must have been as surprised as him to have forgotten that as well.
Brian managed to find the right roads back, but as he came in sight of
the farm, he saw Kit at the wheel of her family's Toyota, turning onto the
county road and roaring off the other way.
"Shit!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
Fortunately, Aunt Jen didn't connect the dots. All she knew was Kit
went into town on undisclosed errands that might last through supper, his
dad was taking a nap, and his mom and uncle were still out doing something
or other. And, she observed before he made it past the kitchen, though
Brian probably could stand to clean up after his bike ride, he might as
well give her a hand digging some weeds out of the garden now so he would
have to wash off the grime just the once.
Under the circumstances, he preferred digging to waiting and wondering,
and scarcely heard his aunt's chatter as she picked lettuce and tomatoes.
He kept digging when she went in to start supper. He kept replaying events
in his mind, getting a good idea of what had driven her off, and taking out
on the weeds what he knew he deserved himself for saying something so
stupid.
So he took only scant notice when his aunt came out on the back porch,
across the farm yard from his hands-and-knees position in the garden. He
gave slightly more notice to his dad coming quietly out the kitchen door
behind her, and actually devoted a few seconds to wondering if he'd really
seen his dad embrace his sister-in-law from behind and cup one hand on a
breast while the other was sliding south before she twisted away with a
head jerk in Brian's direction. Any further thought on that, though,
turned immediately into recalling the feel of Kit's breast as he lay on her
bed that morning and the way she tensed and moaned as he'd slid his hand
from there to the patch between her legs. He was more in her room in the
monitor's glow just then than in the garden in the dimming sunlight, but
then the Kit in his daydream leapt up and, as this incarnation of his
cousin had been doing since he'd started digging weeds, gave him a hurt
look of disappointment and shame, and vanished even as she said through
gritted teeth, "You think I'm a slut."
"No," he said aloud to the void she left, as he had each time through
the cycle since his aunt had left him alone. "I don't. I'm sorry." There
was, of course, no answer.
It couldn't have been much later that his mom and uncle drove up. His
uncle wrapped one of his big arms around her as they walked from the truck
to the porch. He unwrapped her when Aunt Jen came out and again gestured
his way.
They're all hitting it off fine, he thought bitterly, and I'm fucking
things up. By this time all he recalled from the earlier encounter on the
porch was a friendly embrace between in-laws. That's where we should have
left it, his mind raced on, friendship between cousins.
His mother waved him in and sent him to clean up. Kit didn't return for
supper. The four parents were acting like school kids, cracking jokes and
making digs at one another. When his dad told what must have been some
sort of dirty joke, from what Brian gathered from the reaction, Brian's
aunt wailed that she couldn't believe he said that, and his mom set to
tickling him as punishment. Aunt Jen came around the table to join in the
tickling and tip the giggling victim off his chair while Uncle Ron
guffawed. Brian was too distracted with his own thoughts to have heard the
joke in the first place, so he just stared. His dad finally pushed his
attackers away to arm's length and protested between gasps for air that the
boy didn't get it anyway.
He was still recovering when the phone rang and Uncle Ron went to
answer. He reported that Kit was helping a friend with a problem and would
be back late. He looked at Brian, so Brian came back with some brief
comment and figured he'd managed to keep all trace of disappointment out of
his tone because his parents went back to their bantering and barely
noticed when he excused himself as being tired and ready for bed.
As he sat on the bed in his undershorts, he feared Kit's stricken
expression and disappointed protest would haunt him all night, but as soon
as his head hit the pillow, he was gone.
The dream again. The new dream he surely would take back to New York.
The fucking Kit dream. Except this time he was fucking her, but he also
wasn't fucking her. It made perfect sense.
He was on his back on sweat-soaked sheets thrusting up into her as she
writhed her naked body against his, plunging down on his cock to meet each
thrust, but she was also sitting on the edge of the bed fully clothed and
looking down at him.
The Kit he was fucking moaned and gasped and screamed for him to fuck
her, fuck her, fuck her hard. The one he wasn't sat quietly beside his
still form and seemed to be studying his still face, one hand over her
mouth in a thoughtful pose, the other somewhere he couldn't see.
Then the Kit riding his cock did something with her pussy. Tightened
it, like a hand on a bat handle, just squeezing and holding on. So now he
was thrusting up into the tight cunt of the Kit who was gasping and
writhing and teetering on the edge of coming in a loud messy splash, and he
was lying perfectly still, breathing in the rhythm of sleep, feeling the
fingertips of the squeezing cunt distractedly stroke his cock's throbbing
underside, and waiting to see what the motionless watching owner of those
fingers, the thrashing moaning owner of that cunt would do next.
Then the pressure eased. The Kit fucking him kept fucking him, kept
sliding her satiny smooth tunnel along his thrusting pole with a lightness
that made it seem like fucking the air itself, but she pushed herself
upright and turned her head to watch the quiet Kit finish drawing her hand
away from his stiff but motionless penis and stand beside the bed. She
fucked him and watched the one not fucking him hesitate. She fucked him
and watched the other start to turn, start to walk toward the door. She
fucked him and watched her turn back and watched her grip the bottom of her
t-shirt and watched her pause again for the length of only a few of his
urgent thrusts up into the one watching the one pulling the shirt over her
head then throwing it to the floor and bending to pull down shorts and then
standing naked and uncertain beside the bed on which he was plunging up
into her as she watched and waited with him to see what she would do.
He moaned and thrust and clutched the bouncing breasts and waited
silently with only the slightest rising and falling of his chest. He had
spent the entire visit waiting, eager to hear what she would say next, what
she would do next, wondering what she thought, how she thought, what she
felt, whether she felt anything for him or was she really just doing what
she said she was doing, playing with sex, playing with him, crossing some
lines but not others. He fucked her and waited for her.
Finally the Kit he wasn't already fucking took a deep breath, causing
her breasts to rise, then fall when the breath flowed out in a shuddering
sigh. And this Kit hesitated no more. This Kit, this real Kit, the only
Kit still in the room, ever in the room, put a knee on the bed and swung
the other knee over his hips and put a hand on his chest and reached the
other between her legs and took hold of his cock again and looked
searchingly into his open alert eyes and found . . . what? His answer had
been there for her to see all along.
He opened his mouth to say something, any of the things he had been
saying to her shadow all afternoon since she had left, all evening. But
she pursed her lips for a soft shooshing sound. She must have found what
she sought in his eyes, certainly must have found it in herself already,
because her next move was to move the tip of his cock against her mound,
just as Kim had done, but now finding the opening and putting him between
the parted lips, just as the clock far off in the house bonged.
"The hell with lines," she whispered, then slid slowly all the way down
until her pubic hair crushed against his. Not until just before the
twelfth bong did she again raise her hips the few inches needed to complete
the first cycle of . . . what? The motions were the same as in the
fucking Kit dreams, the same as the motions in the old fucking Patty
dreams, the same as all the couples in the porn movies. But Brian's
instinctive thought that he was, for the first time, fucking a girl clanged
wrongly. As the last bong faded, he found the right words for it, the
words that fit the feeling. He and Kit were making love. And this was no
dream.
Reality exploded and so did Brian's cock. Kit had just slowly drawn
herself up his throbbing shaft, and just enough moonlight came through the
open window to give visual proof that he was indeed an ex-virgin.
Really. No dream this. After three days of teasing each other, after
three days of going beyond teasing but still stopping short of going all
the way (though not much short), after three days of his step-cousin's
careful explanations of why they couldn't cross that last line without
disrupting both of their families just when they had come back together
after a decade, after three days of falling hopelessly in love with this
quirky, fascinating, frustrating girl despite the ready availability of her
generally naked, horny, and willing friend, after the three most intense
days of him life, Brian now snapped into full awareness. She was really
here. She was really straddling him. He really was inside her. This
object of his forbidden desire had awakened him at the stroke of midnight
and replaced the dreamgirl with the real thing.
And when the reality hit, so did his orgasm. Kit had eased herself up
until just the tip of his cock remained between her labial lips when he
moaned, as much from despair as pleasure, and instinctively thrust up all
of the way into her as the first surge coursed through his loins. There
was no time to distract himself with movie trivia or baseball statistics.
There wasn't even time to think about holding back, not that he could have.
There was only time to feel the maddening mix of wild exhilaration about
finally going all the way and frustration about the trip ending almost as
soon as it had started.
He grabbed her hips and pushed her down to meet his pulsing upthrusts
and pulled her up to give him room to draw out and ram up again and again,
sheerly by instinct, as he arched up into her as deeply as he could go to
spurt the last few times. Then he sagged back, the burst of pleasure
instantly gone, driven away by despair over his miserable performance.
How long had he dreamed of this moment? Studied for it? Practiced for
it with his ex- girlfriend, doing everything with her but this final act
that had just flitted past almost before he could realize it was no dream?
How many times had he run the whole sequence through his head, imagining
how it would be, rehearsing mentally the things he would say and do, the
ways he would make it as memorable for the girl as for him? And how often
during the last few days had he pictured doing what he just did with this
particular girl whose cunt was still engulfing his miserable excuse for a
cock?
Cock, hell! It was a wee-wee, good for nothing but pissing. He'd
watched plenty of cocks doing their duty--videotaped cocks, anyway. Huge
slabs of meat pumping away for hours, it seemed, in every possible hole or
between comparably huge boobs, and driving women into constant writhing
frenzies. Of course, he knew it wouldn't be exactly like that. Those were
the movies and he was living a real life. But how could real life be so
dismally embarrassing?
Then her body was against his and her lips on his and her hands
alongside his face, tangling in his hair as her tongue probed to find his
and touch tips before she drew back enough to speak.
"That was fantastic!" she gushed.
His disappointment in himself quickly turned to surprise over her ironic
slam. She was a lot of things, but cruel hadn't seemed one of them.
"Don't . . . I'm sorry . . . I couldn't . . ."
"Sorry?"
"Yeah, I mean, shit! What the hell am I going to do for an encore to
that miserable performance? Go to sleep and snore? The first time
shouldn't . . . ."
Her fingertips against his lips stopped him short. "I mean it," she
said, and he could tell from her voice that she did. "I loved it, I mean,
you couldn't hold back, couldn't help yourself. That was so hot."
"You mean it?"
"Fucking right I mean it. What a trip! Don't you think it's kind of
flattering for a girl to take a guy from fast asleep to blowing his top in
a minute flat. I mean, you open your eyes and see you got your thing in me
and, kablooie!"
She was so obviously telling the truth that he felt ashamed to have read
her wrong. And her enthusiasm was so great, he found his disappointment
swept away and replaced with pride.
"It was that rush of seeing it was you and realizing it was real," he
explained. "I mean, I've like wanted that since I saw you, right from
then." He realized he was babbling, but couldn't stop himself. "No,
'wanted' isn't right. 'Needed' is the word. I needed you and then, whoa,
I had you, and, ka-blam!"
"Yeah," she said. "Me too. It was like, I'm so nervous, or you would
have set me off right then too. Except," a hint of trouble tinged her
voice, "our parents are just down the hall, and . . . .."
"I'm sorry for what I said," he cut her off. "This afternoon, I mean."
"What'd you say?"
"You know, something about our parents."
"You didn't say anything wrong," she said. "It just hit me wrong. My
bad."
"But what . . . ."
"Don't go there," she said softly. "Better things to do."
"Okay. Don't tell me why you left. But can you say why you came back,
why . . . this?"
"I tracked down Kim at work --"
"The stripper bar?"
"Yeah. The manager tried to hire me."
"I'd be a regular customer," he grinned. "But what'd Kim say?"
"She said to look at you and do what I had to do. Not what I want, or
what I should, but what I can't help doing."
"Don't think, just feel?"
"Something like that."
"So --"
"So I watched you sleeping for, I don't know, a quarter hour or so."
"Do I snore?"
"Not tonight."
"And --"
"And you'd think a guy would wake up when a girl starts jerking him
off."
"How long --"
"A good five minutes."
"That's where the dream came from."
"You were saying my name."
"You were on top, just like --"
"-- I really did."
"So what made you decide?"
"No deciding to it," she said. "I had no choice. I just did it."
"That's the way the moment was structured," he said. Her blank look
told him she'd missed the reference. This had been one of his ways of
keeping a separate identity from the common herd: specializing in obscure
literary, film and musical trivia. Usually it was a kick to see a line,
like this one from Vonnegut, whiz over someone's head. But this time it
wasn't fun. He wanted to connect with this girl in every way he could.
Being peculiar, even brilliantly peculiar, might just not be the way to do
it. He was considering an alternative response when she proved him wrong.
"So it goes," she whispered back. Then she made further speech
impossible.
It was a probing kiss that lasted until he felt himself stir down below.
How long that took, he had no good idea, because he was too lost in the
moment to count how many moments came and went. With no hurry or
distractions, in the dark of the earliest part of the new day, he had time
to feel the texture of her lips, to slowly explore the shape of her face
with his fingertips, to smell her and taste her and feel her and hear her
reaction to his touch. It was when she moaned as he massaged her scalp
that he felt himself coming back to life. Then he realized he was still
inside of her, and swelled rapidly.
The development obviously didn't escape Kit's attention. Still lying
against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck now, she raised
her hips slowly and lowered them again, starting a drawn-out rhythm that
brought him back to full mast. He m