Sardines

by Lubrican

Chapter : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Chapter Two

This is hard to explain, at least to a guy, because I don't think guys allow themselves to have the kind of relationship some of us girls had back then. We weren't lesbians, meaning we didn't have an exclusive attraction to other girls. We weren't even bisexual, really. If you'd have asked any of us if we planned a life that included both male and female sexual partners on a routine basis, we'd have looked at you like you were crazy. Well ... actually ... we'd have probably gone "Ewwww" and called you some kind of name.

But somehow, kissing one of the other girls in the group was all right. Our friendship was on a different plane than other kinds of friendship. And the strangest part of all is that each girl in that group had a preference as to which other girl she would kiss if the occasion ever came up. What I mean is that the normal social rules against same sex affection were suspended in our group, even if we didn't actually see it that way at the time.

It's so hard to explain.

So when I was challenged to kiss Chrissy, whom I loved above all other women, and make it look like we were lesbians ... well ... the only problem we had was that we got embarrassed by how emotional it ended up being.

It wasn't the first time we had kissed. She was my primary test dummy when I was learning how to kiss, and I was hers. We hadn't done anything else, but I'm fairly sure now that it was only because we hadn't actually thought about the possibility of trying other things. And I know that some of the other girls felt that way about each other too.

Anyway, when Chrissy and I finished kissing each other, we were both flushed and panting. I saw her nipples pushing bumps in her jammies and I didn't even have to look at mine to know they were rock hard ... again. They had been rock hard only half an hour before, as Mr. C. squeezed and pulled at them while he fingerfucked me nearly to oblivion.

In other words, at that moment in my life, I loved Chrissy and Mr. C. more than any other human beings on the face of the earth.

And yes, I know it was hormones. I know it was puppy love. I know I was a stupid teenager.

But it felt real to me then.

As always, after the sleepover, Mr. C. paid no special attention to me at all, other than the regular special attention he showed me as Chrissy's best friend. And the amazing thing is that it wasn't awkward or strange to be around him. We had this secret, and the power of being able to keep that secret just between us made me feel like the rest of the world was blind and stupid, and I was smart and powerful.

That kiss Chrissy and I had shared, however, did not fall in the same category. First of all, it wasn't a secret and we didn't have to pretend it hadn't happened. And second ... well ... it had felt wonderful.

We didn't go all lesbo, but we were much closer after that, and twice, after dates that were not at all satisfying, we made out and then masturbated in front of each other.

And then, for my seventeenth birthday, Chrissy said she wanted to do something special for me. She wouldn't tell me what, but she was like what my dad used to say - a cat on a hot tin roof. As the date got closer and closer she got more and more freaked out, until I told her whatever it was wasn't worth going crazy for. I thought she was having a hard time saving up enough money to get whatever it was, or that something she had ordered online hadn't come in the mail yet, and she was worried it wasn't going to be there in time.

And then my birthday was there. It came on a Saturday. My parents let me sleep in, and then took me out to lunch. I had already told them I didn't want a party, so they gave me my presents - a beautiful watch and a gift certificate to Dillards - and that was it.

I got to Chrissy's around three in the afternoon.

Mr. C. wasn't there. I knew that because his car was gone. He didn't work every Saturday, but as the owner of the business he said he liked to be in touch with what was going on, so sometimes he went in and worked with his employees on whatever they were doing. Chrissy was in her room. She looked like she was sick or something.

"I'm here," I said, and waited.

"Happy birthday," she said, listlessly. "I can't do it."

"Can't do what?"

"I can't give you your special gift."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll hate me and never want to see me again," she said. "It was stupid to even think of it."

"What was it?" I asked. Based on her attitude, "it" was already past tense.

"I can't tell you that!" she moaned. "It would be as bad as giving it to you."

"You mean you have it?" Suddenly "it" wasn't past tense any more.

"It wasn't something I have. It was something I was going to do." She clapped both hands over her face.

If you're a woman, you know the deal. One friend can worm almost anything out of the other friend, even if that friend really doesn't want to tell. If you're a man you've probably watched it happen. It took me twenty minutes of whining, leaning on her, bullying her and just pleading to get it out of her.

She had wanted to go down on me for my birthday.

Remember how I told you I felt after I kissed Chrissy in front of the girls and her father? At that moment I had loved them more than anybody else.

Nothing had changed.

I still loved them more than anybody else.

And because of that I wasn't grossed out or disgusted. In fact, I felt remarkably like I felt when a sleepover at Chrissy's was coming up, and I knew I was going to hide in the dark with Mr. C. again.

Chrissy was crying, because she thought there was something wrong with her for wanting to do that. I think she loved me the same way I loved her, but she just wasn't comfortable with it the way I was.

I don't want you to misunderstand this, because it was an incredibly important moment in my life. We were not lesbians. I still assumed I'd find a guy some day who wasn't a complete jerk, and we'd get married. I wanted to have babies some day - the normal way. And Chrissy was the same. I knew she was looking for a boyfriend. We had already projected that, when we got to college, the guys would be more mature, and we'd finally find that special guy who could give us what we were missing in high school.

But we loved each other too, with a deep, life-long and abiding love. Isn't that the kind of love successful marriages are made on?

And it killed me that she was crying. And what she had thought of was so sweet.

So I comforted her ... and kissed her ... and the next thing I knew we were naked on her bed, writhing around, sliding our bodies against each other and ...

Suffice it to say I got my pussy sucked for my birthday.

And Chrissy got hers sucked for my birthday too.

In fact, we spent all afternoon at it, and only stopped when we heard the garage door go up, and had to scramble to find our own clothes and get them on, and wash our faces and stop laughing hysterically, before Mr. C. came in and yelled that he was home.

By the time of Chrissy's next sleepover, she and I had made love four times. We didn't treat it like some new game that was fun to play. That was for special occasions, or for when one of us was really down and needed to be loved to be brought back up.

But all that made no difference whatsoever in how I felt as I went to her house for the sleepover. I was excited, jittery, almost spastic as I anticipated what Mr. C. would do to me on this night. Every time I had gotten a year older, he had turned it up a notch. I had had his thick, long finger in me, and now I couldn't help but wonder if something else he had that could get thick and long might replace his finger.

And then disaster struck.

The girls didn't want to play sardines.

They thought they were too old for that.

It was a kids' game.

I now know that all of them except Suzie had lost their virginity by then. And Chrissy, of course. I knew she was still a virgin because we almost always went out on dates together. And she'd have told me if some guy got to her. And maybe it was that fact that dulled the thrill of hiding in the dark with Mr. C. The girls no longer fantasized about what it would be like to have a man make them into women, because they already knew what it was like.

I tried. I talked about tradition, and fun, and being scared. But it didn't do any good. They didn't want to play games. They wanted to talk about boys, and college, and plans, and restrictive parents. I though I would explode.

I said I'd be back and let them think I was going to get something to eat or drink. But I went to Mr. C.'s bedroom instead.

And he wasn't there.

I had a moment of almost heart attack, but then I found him in the den, watching a historical show on some caves someplace that were full of ancient documents. When he saw me he muted the program. He just stared at me.

"They don't want to play sardines this time," I said. My voice no doubt sounded tragic.

"I see," he said, his voice neutral. "Well ... it's not strange to leave childish things behind, eventually."

"But I want to play sardines!" I moaned, like a ten year old.

"That's not what you want," he said, his voice low.

The ten year old in me vanished. The adult was there, and she was ready to negotiate.

"You want to fuck me," I said, so low that only he could hear it.

He stared at me for a long time. So long I got nervous.

"I know you do!" I insisted.

He looked tired, suddenly.

"I want to make love with you," he said. "There's a difference."

"I want to do what we've been doing!" I said, impatient.

"What we've been doing is in the 'fucking' area. I want to do so much more than that," he said.

"I do too!" I moaned.

"You're not ready," he said.

"Oh I am soooo ready!" I said.

"What you're ready for is for me to get you off," he said. "I understand that. When you can understand what I'm talking about ... then I'll make love with you."

My body started vibrating when he spoke the words "get you off." My pussy tingled, and my nipples crinkled and needed to be squeezed.

"I do understand. That's why I want you so bad right now," I argued.

"You don't understand," he insisted. I started to argue and he held up his hand so stop me. "Remember the last sleepover, when they dared you to kiss Chrissy and make it look like you were lesbians?"

I blinked. I remembered that kiss all the time ... especially when Chrissy was doing it again just before she stuck her tongue in my pussy. I nodded.

"When you feel about me like you felt about Chrissy after that kiss that night ... then you'll understand what I want for us."

I stood there, thinking about how I felt about Chrissy. It seemed like I loved her for a million reasons, all of which competed to be number one on the list. And sex wasn't at the top. It was easily in view, but it wasn't at the top. Then I thought about Mr. C. He was this big, fuzzy ball of feel-good, who I liked to be around, and loved to be touched by. And I realized that sex was at the top of my Mr. C. list.

"So what have we been doing?" I asked.

"Having fun," he said.

I didn't get mad. And I didn't feel used. I had fun with my friends all the time. It was something we tried to do.

"Are we going to have more fun?" I asked.

"I sure hope so," he said, smiling.

"Do you love me?" I asked. I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up.

He stared at me for ten or fifteen seconds and then pointed to the couch, which was separated from the chair he was sitting in by an end table. "Sit down."

I did and he moved to sit on the edge of his chair. He leaned toward me.

"At your age almost everything is ruled by hormones. It's a little like being bipolar. Everything is either way up, and great, or way down, and terrible. That will begin to change radically in the next year or two, and you'll begin to think about things, instead of just reacting to them. I have done things to you over the years, and you reacted by letting me. But it was still a reaction, rather than a choice."

"I chose to come back every time," I said.

"That's true," he said. "And you understood, somehow, that what we were doing was metered ... just for special times."

I nodded.

"And that's why I continued to have fun with you," he said. "I saw you weren't taking it too seriously, and that was good."

I nodded again.

"Now right now you're chock full of hormones. If I told you I loved you, and wanted you in the bedroom in five minutes, you'd be there. Am I right?"

I nodded yet again. I didn't even have to think about it. And don't wince like that. I was seventeen. And I was chock full of hormones.

"But the thing is, Mal, that while I want you in the worst possible way, I want you to decide you want me, rather than your hormones driving you to it. In other words, I'm not looking for a woman to have fun with. I want something much deeper and more important than that."

I knew I was going to puke. "So you don't love me?" I sounded like a ten year old again.

"I love you like a daughter," he said in that voice adults use to comfort hurt children. "I could love you the way you want me to, but only after you've grown enough emotionally to understand more about what that kind of love means."

I felt better immediately. Being loved like he loved Chrissy was no small thing. And he held the carrot of some other kind of mysterious love out there.

"Okay," I said. "On one condition."

"What's that?" he asked, smiling that little smile that made me want to crawl all over him naked.

"I want to have some fun tonight."

He didn't bat an eye, which made me want to crawl all over him naked.

"I thought they didn't want to play sardines."

"They don't."

"Then how are we going to arrange for you to have ... fun?"

"That's your problem," I said, standing up. "You're the one who got me addicted to this stuff. You're the one who's going to have to figure out a way to give me my fix." I smiled at him, using a special smile that all girls practice in the mirror for hours, to perfect. It's a catty look ... that look that says "Gotcha!"

I went back to Chrissy's room, where Valerie Hooper was describing in detail what Jerry Colwell's penis and balls looked like. Chrissy shot me a look when I came in. It was odd, because it started as a frown, but then relaxed almost immediately. Then she ignored me.

We didn't realize it at the time, but we were women inside girls' bodies, trying to break out like a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis. An example of that was when we ordered pizza and three of the girls went to let the delivery boy in. He was a little older than us, but that didn't matter. By the time we were seventeen, the Minnie Mouse jammies had been put away and we wore things that we thought looked grown up. That meant showing off skin. Suzie, Debby and Megan were wearing the skimpiest outfits, and so naturally they were the ones who went to get the pizzas ... and show off in front of the poor delivery guy. Megan's top was too loose and she kept popping out of it. Not on purpose, but you know what I mean.

It was that kind of night.

So we were all running on adrenalin that night, and stayed up until three in the morning. Sleepovers were always done on Friday nights, so that we could all crash as long as we wanted to the next morning. And Mr. C., having as much experience with sleepovers as we girls did, knew the deal.

Which is why he waited until we had all crashed, before he came and got me. He could have let me sleep. There wouldn't have been anything I could do about it but frown and mope and glare at him the next day.

When somebody got tired and wanted to sleep in Chrissy's house, they just went and found an empty bedroom. Sleeping two to a bed was routine, and Linda and I had ended up in a bed together. It was like a dream. He woke me up by tickling my breast, and put a finger over my lips. He took that finger off my lips and crooked it at me, backing away in the semi-darkness.

I got up. Linda slept like a log and didn't make a sound.

He was insane. He grabbed me as soon as I left the room, just like the first time he'd grabbed me, with a hand over my mouth and an arm around my waist. This time, though, his hand was on my right breast. I stiffened, but then relaxed. He was in control, just like always. He could have done anything he wanted to. If he'd taken me to his bed and stripped me I'd have laid on the bed and spread my legs eagerly.

But this was a sleepover, and everything that had ever happened had happened in some dark, usually small room, hiding from the others. And that's exactly what he did this time too.

He took me to the garage, where it had all started. He didn't say a word. There was one of those table lamps that had a tiny bulb in it, sitting on the work bench off to one side. The work bench was cleared off, and had a towel draped over the surface.

My top was silk, and had spaghetti straps on it. The cloth went straight across my chest, and didn't show any cleavage at all. There were boyshort panties that matched it underneath. He stood me in front of the work bench and raised my arms. I held them there as he pulled my top slowly up, revealing my panties, and then my abdomen, and finally my breasts. I felt the wet come into my pussy. He was going to see me for the first time. I was so into it that when he got the top off my head, I kept my arms straight up and he had to pull them down to get it off of me. He had even thought of what he was going to do with my jammies. There was a stool next to him that he laid the top on.

His hands came out and started in my arm pits, sliding down my sides as he stared at my breasts. I started shaking, but I wasn't cold. I felt hot all over. He touched my breasts so gently, just brushing the nipples he had always squeezed and pulled at.

His hands smoothed down my sides again and hooked my panties, pulling them down over my hips. I moved my left foot six inches to my left automatically. It was just instinct. He slid the panties down and I lifted each foot until I was naked.

I was naked in front of Mr. C.

It was glorious!

I had never felt as powerful as I felt in those few seconds with his hot eyes on my body. I knew he was in charge, but I still felt powerful.

He bent over suddenly and sucked in a nipple.

This I had felt before ... from this man's daughter's lips. And yet it was all different somehow. I still can't describe it, but his lips felt different, and the way he sucked felt different. When Chrissy did it I wanted it to go on forever. When Mr. C. did it ... I wanted to be fucked.

I made a sound in my throat and he stood. His hands went back to my waist and he lifted me like I weighed nothing, sitting my butt on the towel on the work bench.

Then he gripped my knees, spread them apart to expose my pussy ... and he ate me.

That's the only way I can describe it. He ate my pussy. Chrissy licked me and teased me and stroked me with her tongue and lips. Mr. C. chewed and sucked and nibbled and rubbed. He ate me. I could feel my pussy producing gobs of juice, and I could hear him slurping and swallowing that juice. It was the most sexual thing that had ever happened to me.

Chrissy and I played with each other. We gave each other orgasms. We massaged each other. Mr. C. made me want to have a baby, right then and there, in the garage, no waiting, no gestation, nothing except having a hugely swollen belly for a few minutes and then squirting out the baby he had made in me. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel his cock in my pussy. I know it sounds silly, and I know I was full of hormones, but that's what was going through my mind as he took me over the top. I had to cover my mouth with both hands to keep from waking up the whole house.

I fell back against some pillows he had stacked up there for that very purpose and he stood up, a wild look in his eyes. He was wearing gym shorts and he shoved them down almost violently, exposing a weaving, bobbing, stiff snake that captured my eyes like a snake captures a bird's eyes.

"Don't move!" he rasped.

Then he masturbated in front of me, looking at my body. I kept my knees apart, just for him. I don't even know what my pussy looked like, because I never took my eyes off of his cock. His hand covered the knob and then there it was, shiny and swollen looking, before it disappeared into his fist again. It was amazing. He was going so fast! It looked like it had to hurt, but then I remembered how fast I strummed my clitty sometimes when I was rubbing off, and knew it felt good to him like what I did felt to me.

"Oh Mal," he gasped suddenly and his hips jutted forward. A long stream of white jetted from the tip of his cock and my eyes followed it to where it landed in a line that went from my right thigh up past my pussy and onto my right hip. I felt the heat of it instantly, and then another line landed to one side of that. I looked back at his cock, and saw little, smaller squirts leap out of it to fall to the floor of the garage.

I realized I was holding my breath, and had been for a long time, because I suddenly had to gasp or pass out.

Then I sat there, while he stood there, still holding his cock, and all we did was pant.

This time was different.

He had a towel that he wiped his cum off of me with. He gave me back my jammies, and I put them on again while he pulled up his shorts. He left everything there - the towel and pillows and such - but he turned off the little light and led me into the kitchen.

He poured us each a glass of chocolate milk and we sat at the table and drank it together.

When mine was finished I put the glass down and licked my lips.

"You have to fuck me some day," I said softly.

"We'll see," he said.

"You can make love to me all you want to after that," I said. "But you have to be the man who gets my cherry."

"We'll see," he said again.

"I mean it," I said.

"I know you do."

"I love you." It sounded odd coming from my lips. It felt odd saying it.

"I know," he said.

But he didn't say he loved me back.

It didn't matter.

He wouldn't say it, but I knew he loved me. And I knew I loved him, whether it was the "right" kind of love or not.

Of course the fact that he wasn't dating gave me a lot of confidence. If he had been, I know I would have been a basket case, but I didn't even think about it back then. We had this secret, and I knew the rules. Well, at least up until the spring sleepover of our senior year. It would be the last one at her house, probably the last we'd ever have, considering that after the next summer we'd all be off in college somewhere. Chrissy and I had both applied to State, which was only two hours away from where we lived. I hadn't declared a major yet, because I had no ghost of an idea of what I wanted to do with my life.

So as the school year passed, and the time for that sleepover drew near, I was filled with both anticipation and dread. Anticipation made me antsy to find out what we'd do this time. But there was dread because I didn't know if he would ever touch me again after that. I had told him he'd get my virginity, and I had meant it. But there wasn't anything I could do if he refused to take it. There just wasn't.

And I knew, on a conscious level, that he was making decisions based on what he thought would be best for me. I knew he wanted me. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. But he thought I was too young and refused to take something I could never offer another man. It was sweet, except I wanted to beat some sense into his head. I wanted him naked, on top of me, pinning me to the bed, while he fucked me senseless. Then he could teach me how to make love or whatever it was he was talking about. I was horny and from my vantage point there was only one cure I was interested in.

The prom committee announced the theme for prom, which was all about the sea shore. It was supposed to represent us leaving the safety of land and heading off out into the unknown, a metaphor for our coming graduation. Chrissy was in the running for queen, so of course she had her pick of dates. John Dill, the kicker on the football team, asked me to go and I accepted. I'd never been out with him. He was very tall and quiet. I was a little surprised that he asked me, because the week before, he had won the game by kicking a field goal with only seconds on the clock. He probably could have gotten a prettier girl than me.

But all of that paled to insignificance as the week of the last sleepover got there. I spent the whole week at Chrissy's house. I was around him all the time. I talked to him, and asked him questions and everything. It was just like it had always been. Even if I wore something slinky he didn't flirt with me or anything. I was just Mal, and he was just Mr. C.

There were twelve girls at that last sleepover. I think we were a little nostalgic, because they were acting they were thirteen again, instead of seventeen and eighteen. Well, with the exception of the outfits. Some of them were downright pornographic. Of them all, only two girls wore robes when Mr. C. was around, and they were girls who had never been to one of the sleepovers before. The rest of us couldn't have cared less if Mr. C. saw us. His behavior had always been so impeccable that he had a reputation for being a gentleman who could be trusted implicitly. He had never responded to being teased, even, so the girls were used to being careless around him. Of course I thought about it differently, but I was unique in that area. And that fact was precious to me. Some of them might have been better looking than me, or had bigger boobs than me, but I was Mr. C.'s secret lover. They were nothing, compared to me.

Cheryl had brought two movies with her , one of which she said we all just had to watch. We all went down to the den, where there was a big plasma TV. The movie turned out to be porn. Within minutes most of the girls were glued to the screen, looking at closeups of cocks. But I had seen a real one ... one that was right there in the house ... and one I might possibly get my hands on that night some time. If only I could figure a way to get away from them, and get him alone.

It was something in the movie that gave me the idea. There was a sex scene in a big whirlpool tub. While "the" sleepover happened at her house only twice a year, I probably slept in her bed at least once a week. She slept in my bed just as often and we both kept clothes at each other's house. And one of the things I had there was a bikini from last summer. I leaned over and whispered into Chrissy's ear that I was going to go soak in the hot tub, outside. The weather was still cool, but I knew Mr. C. had filled the tub because he liked to sit in it when it was early spring and late into the winter. She nodded and I left.

He was in his bedroom when I stepped in, wearing the bikini.

"Is it okay if I use the hot tub?" I asked innocently. "The girls are all watching a porn video and I'm not much interested in it."

He looked at me and blinked. "Want some company?"

"I guess so," I said, carelessly. "Since the girls will probably be tied up with that for a while, it might get lonely out there."

I was in the hot tub when he came out, bare chested and dressed in actual swimming trunks. He got in and I didn't waste any time. I scooted over next to him, kissed him thoroughly, and stuck my hand in his trunks. He let me, but he broke the kiss.

"This could be very dangerous," he said softly.

"Not for at least fifteen minutes," I said. "Maybe half an hour, if we're lucky."

"They won't miss you?"

"Like I said, they're all staring at big cocks on the TV screen. I'd rather feel the real thing. And I told Chrissy I was going to be in the hot tub because I wasn't interested in the porn."

"So Chrissy knows you're here."

I nodded and squeezed his cock. It felt squishy and soft and interesting.

"We'll still have to be careful," he said.

I stood up and sat down on his lap, leaving my hand in his trunks. I spread my legs and lay my head back on his shoulder.

"Make me cum," I whispered.

His hand snaked into my bottoms and that lovely thick finger of his hooked into me again. He couldn't vibrate it the exact same way with me on his lap, but he still managed to make it delicious. Within a few minutes I felt the streaks of zinging pleasure and moaned through an orgasm. His dick had gotten hard in my hand, and when I caught my breath again I let go of it, turned around and crouched in the water. He was wearing baggies, so I slid my hand up inside the loose leg to find his cock again. His legs were open and his head was back as I started stroking him. When I had watched him do it, I hadn't realized that the skin along the shaft was loose, and would slide as much as three inches either direction. So while my hand stayed in contact with the same skin, I was still able to move my hand up and down so effortlessly that I stopped worrying completely about hurting him, or rubbing him raw or anything like that.

His suit kept me from having complete freedom, though, and I pulled my hand out so I could grab his trunks and pull them down. Once his genitals weren't covered any more, I used both hands to explore and feel his ball sack while I stroked him slowly. I had no idea how to bring him off. I didn't think I could do it as fast as he'd done it in the garage, but it was so much fun to play with. Then I got an idea.

"I want to see it," I whispered.

He looked over at the French doors that led into the dining room from the patio, where we were. The lights in that room were off, and off in the rooms beyond that too. If anybody turned them on we'd have some warning. So he slid up, pushing with his arms, until his butt was perched on the edge of the tub, and his stiff, jutting cock was exposed. I got my first good look at it then. It was much whiter than I expected. I don't know why, but I thought it would be dark, or tanned or something. There was what looked for all the world like a turtle neck collar around the tip. That shiny knob was in there somewhere, but it was covered up at the moment. I reached for the shaft and did what I had been doing under water. Presto, the crown appeared, pink and hard looking and shiny. The little hole in the tip changed into a slit as my little finger crushed his pubes.

My idea had been to see what it felt like in my mouth. I knew girls did that. At least half of the girls watching porn in Mr. C.'s den had done it, if you believed them. I had heard the process described in detail a dozen times. And now I wanted to find out what was true, and what was not.

I pushed back, exposing the knob again, leaned forward, and closed my lips around the part right behind the flaring hood of the head. I sucked, trying to figure out what to do with my tongue. Finally I just pushed it against that little hole.

"Oh fuck," he sighed. I felt tingles shoot to my pussy. I had made him happy. I could hear it in his voice.

I sucked some more, and then tried moving my lips along the shaft. I let go with my hand and tried to make the skin move with my lips, the way I had moved it with my hand. That worked a little bit, but my lips eventually slid so far that the tip of his dong was poking the back of my throat, right where it makes you gag. I pulled back and realized my mouth was full of saliva. I kept going, and felt the skin cover the head. As my lips pulled off the tip I swallowed and then pushed my lips against his foreskin, pushing it back behind the crown.

This was fun! It felt good. He tasted good. I loved the noises he was making. I was very glad I had decided to do that.

I especially liked making that loose foreskin move back and forth with my lips, and I did that for a while, flicking the tip of his cock with my tongue. He was groaning constantly while I did it.

I had no warning at all. Suddenly my mouth was bathed in warm, slippery goo that tasted faintly of salt and was slightly bitter. The realization that he was shooting off in my mouth shocked me. I swallowed on pure instinct, and pulled off the tip to close my mouth and swallow again, to clear my mouth. Another shot leapt from that little hole and struck me right between the eyes, making me close them. While that was happening my brain caught up with what I had experienced.

The girls were divided on whether to spit or swallow. Linda, Marnie and Suzie all claimed swallowing was the thing to do. Valerie said she had puked the first time it had happened to her, and she decided never to do it again. Rhonda and Tina said they spit because the taste was nasty.

My brain decided that, while this wasn't my favorite beverage of all time, it was his nectar, and that made it precious to me.

So I opened my mouth and, by Braille, found the tip and sucked on it until he was finished. I felt his hand splashing water over my eyebrows and wiping his spunk off so I could open my eyes. When I did, and looked up at him, his dick was still in my mouth. It was softening, but I liked sucking it so I kept on.

"Girl, you are in a world of trouble," he said softly.

I finally gave him his penis back and moved away from him washing my face further.

"What are you going to do? Spank me?"

"I've been having a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you already," he said. "After that ... " He sighed, reached for his trunks and slid down into the water as he pulled them back on. "Let me just ask you not to tease me from now on, okay?"

"Why?" I asked innocently. "Do you think you might lose control?"

"You're not eighteen yet, Mal," he said softly.

"I will be in three months," I reminded him.

"It's going to be a long three months," he sighed.

We heard them before the lights went on. Giggling girls flooded out of the French doors onto the patio. By the time they could see us I was on the opposite side of the tub from him. Both of us had our arms stretched out along the rim of the tub.

"Not fair!" yelled Linda. "Nobody told us to bring suits."

Marnie leaned toward me. "You are wearing a suit ... right, Mal?"

"Of course I'm wearing a suit," I said smugly. "I'm not a slut like you."

Marnie ignored me, knowing I was just teasing and turned to Mr. C.

"How freaked out would you get if we wanted to get in?"

He blinked. "In your jammies?"

She shook her head twice. "Naked."

"Not while I'm in here," he said, standing up.

"Awwww, come on," whined Valerie. "We won't do anything. I promise. Right girls?"

There was a chorus of excited promises. Mixed in there somewhere was an "Ewwww" from Chrissy.

"I know what you were just watching," said Mr. C. "And I know that it would be a mistake of Biblical proportions for me to stay here, while you ladies frolic naked in my hot tub. I am older and wiser than you. Heed my decision."

They were stripping off their already scanty sleepwear as he climbed out of the tub. Since I had just taken the starch out of his rod, he had no trouble making a dignified retreat into the house.

The tub wasn't big enough for twelve girls. And I didn't feel like being naked with women at that particular moment. So I got out to make room. As I padded inside, I looked over my shoulder to see the last two, Jenny and Suzie, trying to cram themselves into the hot tub, which sprouted naked girls like a glass full of uncooked spaghetti. They were shrieking and laughing so loud I expected the neighbors to complain.

I went to the guest bathroom, where I knew there were towels, and dried off. Then I put on my jammies again, and went and found Mr. C. in his bathroom, taking a shower. When he got out and saw me standing there, waiting, he jumped, unprepared for something so bold.

But all I did was kiss him thoroughly again, tell him I loved him, and then left him alone.

I didn't tease him. At least I didn't think I did. But about a week after the sleepover I stayed the night. When I got up in the morning (Chrissy always slept in when she could) I went to the kitchen and was pouring a bowl of cereal when I felt a hand grip my right butt cheek and squeeze.

"Morning, beautiful," he said.

"Morning, handsome," I said back.

He got himself something to eat and we sat down and ate together. He asked me about the prom and I told him about John. He asked me what color my dress was and I told him. It was just simple stuff.

But I'm pretty sure him asking me what color my prom dress was what led to the next thing.

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