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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