Sunday, August 01, 2004
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Saturday, July 31, 2004
Free Soft Core Porn Sex story
Two for OneMy relationship with Michiko lasted 2 years. Two years that were full of surprises- not least our first date- a threesome with her and one of her closest friends. That was just the beginning, this story documents the events occurring during a trip to Hawaii with Michiko and her friend Noriko. Things began to get interesting one night when the three of us were at a night-spot not far from our hotel. We danced for a while then found a place to sit. Michiko and I were talking when I noticed that Noriko seemed preoccupied with something. I followed her gaze and found myself looking at a group of black guys dancing near the front of the dance floor. A couple of them had lost their shirts and the disco lights reflected off the black skin, highlighting their muscular physique. I looked back at Noriko who was still watching intently then I nudged Michiko and, with a nod of my head, let her know what Noriko was up to. She smiled at me and I winked back at her. I leaned across to Noriko and said "See something you like?""Mmm." Noriko said dreamily. She looked across at us and didn't seem surprised to find both of us looking at her. There was an excited gleam in her eyes. She leaned forward and said "I wanna be fucked by a black guy." She was really serious too and I could tell she was feeling hot. We talked about it for a while and I found myself more than a little turned on by the thought of little Noriko being fucked by one of those guys. She was really serious and begged us to go back out on to the dance floor with her. Of course, Michiko and I were only too happy to oblige. I knew I suggested that Michiko take Noriko to the bathroom to "freshen up". They went, and I sat there and waited, my cock growing slowly in anticipation. After about 10 minutes they came back giggling. Noriko looked ready and so we got back out on the dance floor and found a position near the black guys. We started to move with the music but none of us had their mind on dancing. The dance floor was quite crowded and we slowly got closer to the black guys. Noriko was dancing with her back to the guys' circle. Michiko and I pretended to be pushed so that Noriko was jammed between the two black guys dancing behind her. It interrupted their dance, but it gave Noriko her chance. Michiko and I retreated a little and we watched to see what would happen. Noriko spoke with the guys and we watched her giggle and shake her head. The black guys seemed to be standing very close to her and one of them very casually had his hand on her lower back. Noriko allowed it to remain where it was and continued talking with them. After a while they began dancing again with Noriko between them. The two black guys were so close we could barely see Noriko at all as she dance between them. Every so often she turned to one of them and moved up against him, smiling as his hands moved over her body. The music changed and with the change, we saw Noriko make her way into the middle of the circle. She danced there, surrounded by a ring of black men. Her movements became more suggestive, tempting them. One of the men joined her inside the ring and started dancing with her. They danced closely, their bodies pressed together, his hands cupped her ass and held her against him. A chant of "Brad, Brad, Brad.." went up from the surrounding circle. Brad's and Noriko's faces were pressed together, we knew his tongue was deep inside her. His hands were moving all over her and suddenly a roar went up as he had her top off. Unphased, she backed away from him a little, reached behind herself and unclipped her bra. Her small breasts came free and she allowed her bra to fall away. The ring of blacks was more quiet now, their eyes locked on Noriko's chest. Noriko moved back to Brad guided his hand to her left breast and leant back for all the guys to see. One of the other black guys broke from the ring and got behind her so she was sandwiched between him and Brad. He pressed his body against her and managed to get his hand onto her free breast. Several other guys followed him and suddenly Noriko disappeared in a sea of black. I'm sure she would have been fucked by all of them right there on the dance floor, however the party was broken up by one of the security guards. He made her put her bra back on and kindly asked her and Brad to leave.Michiko and I stayed at the club for a while. I was imagining Noriko back at the hotel with Brad and I knew Michiko was thinking about it too. There was something irresistible about the thought of Noriko spread-eagled below that black stud, screaming as he humped her. Michiko and I pressed closer on the dance floor, I knew she could feel my excitement and she ground her pelvis against mine. "Lets go" I said.We arrived at the hotel and tried to enter our room quietly. Obviously it wasn't quietly enough because as we took our shoes off and walked into the living area we heard Noriko calling out to Michiko. Michiko looked at me and held her finger to her lips. She walked across to the bedroom and slipped around the half-open door. I heard a muffled cry and quickly followed made my way to the bedroom door. I peered around he door and found myself watching Noriko spread-eagled underneath Brad who was plowing into her with an enormous cock. He was like a black demon poised over his prey, invading her, and she looked so pale and helpless beneath him. I was suddenly aware of Michiko only inches away. She didn't even notice me as she watched her friend being fucked. She was completely immobile, her eyes glued to the scene in front of her, watching as that great, black rod buried itself inside her best friend only to reappear again seconds later to repeat the assault.Brad looked over at Michiko, I saw his eyes meet hers then drop down her body- he smiled appreciably. He bent back down to Noriko, kissed her then whispered something to her. In response, Noriko called Michiko over to her. Her eyes still fixed on the sight before her, Michiko moved slowly to the bed as Brad raised his torso a little and slowed his rhythm. He was still humping Noriko slowly and as he pressed into her deep, I saw a brief grimace cross her face. Noriko's eyes opened and she reached out her hand to Michiko. Michiko took her hand and allowed Noriko to pull her toward the bed until she was standing directly in front of them. She looked down at Noriko, a look of pleasure on her face. Her hand brushed Noriko's cheek and followed the curve of her neck down to her chest.. A squeal escaped Noriko as the Brad pushed into her again. Michiko turned to look at him. They held each other's gaze for what seemed like forever then Michiko looked back at Noriko. Noriko was slowly removing Michiko's top. Michiko didn't resist as her top fell to the floor. She looked back at Brad and I watched her hands unclipped her bra. She allowed her bra to drop to the floor and stood before him, offering her body to him. I watched her lean into him, her knee found the edge of the bed, his black hand appeared on her back and drew her towards him. Another knee on the bed, their bodies were close, their faces were closer, and suddenly their lips were touching. I was rock hard as I stood in that doorway and watched that black man and his two women. His shaft buried inside one lying motionless beneath him, his tongue buried inside the second, straining up towards him, giving herself to him. Michiko was kneeling on the bed, her knees were just by Noriko's naked chest, and Noriko's hand gently caressed her thigh. Oblivious to all but Brad, I watched as her arm snaked around his neck holding his face to hers, encouraging him to drive his tongue deeper into her. His movements inside Noriko seemed to stop. I saw Noriko's hand slide up onto Michiko's ass, her other hand found the clasp on her black skirt and undid it. Michiko's skirt dropped down to her knees and I could see Noriko's hand on her ass. Noriko hooked her hands around Michiko's panties and eased them down. They joined her skirt at her knees leaving Michiko's ass exposed. Noriko allowed her hand to follow the line of Michiko's ass and thigh where it was joined by Brad's big black hand. The site of Michiko's ass, covered by that black hand, that stamp of ownership, nearly made me cum right there. Michiko let out a little groan of pleasure as she felt his hand there and ground her pelvis toward him. Brad seemed to have forgotten that his dick was still buried inside Noriko. He tried to twist toward Michiko, but finding himself anchored to Noriko he rocked back on his haunches, pulling himself out of her before swiveling toward Michiko. As he turned, I had my first opportunity to see just how big his cock really was. It must have been 9 or 10 inches, jutting out there below him. I felt myself wince a little as the head of that great, black beast came into contact with Michiko's left thigh. She looked down as she felt it touch her. It was the first time she had seen it's true size. She wrapped her hand around its shaft, her fingers barely touching, and looked back up at him smiling. "Fuck me" she said.Brad swung Michiko around until she was lying on her back next to Noriko, who wriggled away to give him room. He pulled her skirt and panties away and positioned himself between her legs. I held my breath as she lay before him, her eyes locked on his, her legs, slightly bent at the knees, with him between them. He moved forward, his huge shaft in his left hand. Michiko's hand went to his butt as the head of his penis crept forwards between her thighs. I could see her trembling in anticipation as she felt the black shaft brushing against her pale skin. I was mesmerized as he paused, poised above her. Mesmerized by the sheer size of the black weapon sticking out toward its prey. The head of that black monster rested on her labia- and suddenly it seemed so easy. There was no rush, no reason for urgency, no resistance. Brad leaned forward and they kissed again. As their kiss became stronger I saw his body tense a little as he pushed inside her. I watched the black shaft slowly disappear inside her. I saw her hands on his butt, gripping him, coaxing him in deeper. Slowly, slowly he drove inside her. I couldn't believe it was inside her, it seemed almost impossible, the diameter of the remaining shaft just seemed to big to enter her. But it WAS possible. 6 inches or more of him was already inside her and I found that even then I was able to see less and less of his great shaft. To see her below him, welcoming him, was almost more than I could take. Without looking away I removed my pants. My own rock hard penis sprung out. I touched it absent-mindedly as I watched Brad bottom out inside Michiko. She let out a grunt as the last of his ebony rod entered her. As if that was the signal he was waiting for, he began humping her. He was almost machine-like as he pulled back and then ploughed back into her. She lay beneath him, her hands still on his ass, moaning each time his body came to rest on hers. I walked around behind the bed to get a better view when I saw Noriko crouching beside the bed, her eyes glue to the scene.Noriko had crawled to the side of the bed and was kneeling on the floor watching her new lover fuck her best friend. I saw her there and walked around the bed until I stood behind her. She didn't even notice me. I reached down and felt my throbbing member as I looked down at her. Her black hair lay across her cream coloured skin, and she looked so innocent and beautiful. Knowing that Brad had been inside her only increased my desire to fuck her. I knelt beside her and reached around for her breast. She looked at me in surprise, her mouth slightly open, and I kissed her. She squealed a little but didn't resist as I gripped her breast more tightly and pushed my tongue down her throat. I reached for her hand and guided it to where my penis jutted out from between my legs. I felt her hand tighten around it as I moved behind her quickly. She parted her legs and I moved in closer and let my cock slip between her legs. I held her pelvis tightly with one hand and used the other to guide my penis inside her. I almost came as it touched the warm skin of her opening, and I quickly thrust inside her. There was very little resistance, I guessed the result of Brad's earlier work, and so I started fucking her. I drove myself against her hard, feeling myself ready to explode each time I slammed into her butt. I looked up to the bed to see Brad's huge black pole appear from inside Michiko and hang above her in all of its glory. Shining with her juices, its head still inside her, it was all that I needed- I felt myself cumming inside Noriko. I leaned forward on her back as I watched Brad continue his pounding and I felt my own cock convulse inside Noriko.Brad seemed to have incredible stamina. He was still going as my deflated member slipped out of Noriko. After I released her, Noriko crawled back onto the bed. She leaned forward and kissed Michiko on the lips then turned toward Brad. She brought his hand to her breast and she strained up to him as he rocked back and forth on Michiko. As she knelt there, I could see my cum running down the inside of her left thigh. She kissed him and suddenly his rhythm gave way to several intense, spasmodic jerks. He leaned into her and kissed her as he emptied himself into Michiko. After he was spent, he pulled himself away from Noriko who smiled down at Michiko and gave her a peck on the lips. Brad then stretched out upon Michiko. He was still inside her, allowing every last bit of his black seed to run inside her. She lay beneath him, one hand draped around his shoulder, the other resting on his black ass. Noriko curled up close to them and they lay there together. I sat there by the edge of the bed for a long time, watching that black man and those two Japanese women. Correspondence welcomeblack4renee
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Thursday, July 29, 2004
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Monday, July 26, 2004
Free Soft Core Porn Sex story
This one got written because (1) I was feeling a bit guilty about not having submitted a Christmas story to the contest, (2) I've been thinking about doing a "rich kids" story, and (3) I was reminiscing about a semi-similar incident from college, involving an attic and a dormer window. Enjoy!
=========================================================================
A Missy Christmas
by Michael K. Smith
Holiday get-togethers are a pretty big deal in my family, especially
for July Fourth and Christmas. Smaller subgroups within the family
celebrate Thanksgiving and whatnot together, but twice a year everybody
makes a major effort to convocate.
For instance, Aunt Marie made advance plans for her whole family
to go to Europe last July for some big special art museum thing, but Uncle
Grant refused to hear of it because it would have meant missing the
Fourth. So everyone troops off to Great-Uncle Edwin's twenty-room
"summer cottage" in the Berkshires for a week every Independence Day,
and every Christmas we all foregather at Grandfather Travis McIver's big
old Victorian house in Dutchess County.
When I say "everyone," I'm talking about a contingent of adults,
adolescents, and toddlers sufficient to occupy a small nation. I go to
school with a couple of my cousins at St. Osbert's, of course, and we see
some of these people more or less regularly at one country club or sports
day or another, but putting all of them together at one time in one place,
even a large, sprawling place, is always an interesting experiment in the
chemistry of genetics and the physics of personality. And I've been going
to these things twice a year for as long as I can remember.
My cousins are mostly an okay bunch, if you discount the usual
adolescent neuroses. My first cousin George -- who, like me, is a McIver
and a senior at St. Ozzie's -- is actually a few months younger than I am,
but rather more daring. I learned how to smoke from him the summer we
were both fourteen. His older sister, Cecily, caught us and ratted us out to
both her mother and mine, and we caught all kinds of hell about it
because, of course, my mother believed her over our protests of innocence.
See, Cecily's named after my mother because her mother and
mine are sisters, in addition to her father and mine being brothers. Plus,
Aunt Christine, who is father's sister -- one of them, anyway -- married
Uncle Gerald, who is my mother's first cousin. It gets complicated. (At
least no one is named after my father, which is probably just as well;
"Randolph" is a pretty dorky name.) I think the idea is to keep all the
money circulating tightly within the tribe forever.
As you can imagine, we've had a lot of advantages -- especially my
generation -- but you shouldn't get the idea we're all a bunch of rich snobs
and ne'er-do-wells. My great-grandfather, Grandfather Travis's father, who
built the place in Dutchess County, was originally a gentleman farmer who
did very well in the market back in the '20s and then somehow managed to
get completely out of Wall Street shortly before The Crash. Then he
invested in all the right technology companies just before World War II.
Grandfather Travis, when he got his turn, knew what "semiconductor"
meant about forty-eight hours after it was invented, and the family
fortunes just kept growing.
But Grandfather and his father were/are strong Presbyterian types
and they wanted the next generation to have to work for what they would,
in time, inherit. My father and his siblings all received good educations
but they were expected to labor for their bread afterward, and they did.
Earlier last year, on my eighteenth birthday, my grandfather and my father
sat me down and told me there was a trust fund waiting for me, but that I
wouldn't get my hands on it until I was thirty. And even then, it had
various restrictions to keep me from excessive frittering.
I started drawing a generous monthly allowance that very day,
however, which was entirely mine to do with as I pleased. I could bury it
in a hole in the ground, or invest it and learn how to manage it, or blow it
all on candy -- it was all up to me. (My grandfather loves that parable
about the talents of silver.)
I knew this milestone was coming, of course, having learned the
details long ago from my older cousins. At first I was thrilled, but by
Christmas I was beginning to be aware of the responsibilities it involved.
Nobody was going to tell me how to spend my income, but nobody would
rescue me if I screwed up, either.
So, anyway: Last month, I was spending the first evening of my
first financially sort-of-independent Christmas leaning against my great-
grandmother's piano in the third floor drawing room, trying to look suave
in my new cashmere jacket and sipping a cup of my grandfather's really
excellent hot cider. I was listening to George's sister, Astrid, and another
cousin, Tommy Schroeder, politely but earnestly trying to pressure me
into declaring for Princeton or Brown, respectively (where they each were
serving their sophomore years, respectively). I had arrived with my family
that afternoon wearing a Stanford sweatshirt -- trying, I confess, to get a
rise out of my stolidly Ivy League kin -- and both of them apparently were
horrified that I was seriously considering college on the West Coast.
The thing was, what we called "the other side" -- our second
cousins who were the grandchildren of Great-Uncle Edwin -- had recently
taken to hanging out at weird places like the University of Michigan, and
Tommy especially was worried that the blight might creep over to our side
of the family tree.
"But, Daniel, you need to go to a really good business school
here," he was saying.
"I'm planning on electronics engineering," I replied. "Anyway,
Stanford has a first-rate B-school. So does Berkeley."
Tommy sighed. "But it's not the same--" he began. Then he paused
when George slipped up close behind him and whispered in his ear. Astrid
was taking a slug of her own cider and didn't hear what was said... but I
did, just barely: "She's here."
Tommy got a strange look in his eye. He straightened up a little
taller and licked his lips (unconsciously, I suspected). I opened my mouth
to ask who "she" was, but George shot me a stern warning look and
flicked a quick glance at his sister.
"We'll talk again later," Tommy said to me. He seemed distracted.
And then he and George were gone, trying to hurry casually.
Astrid raised a carefully shaped eyebrow and shrugged. "Boys,"
she decided, displaying the natural superiority of a twenty-year-old woman
toward a nineteen-year-old male child. Then Carolyn, an "other side"
cousin, came to plead Astrid's advice about the music for the customary
dancing later , and I found myself all alone.
Not for more than thirty second, however. Gwen Schroeder,
Tommy's little sister, had been lurking in the background, awaiting her
chance. She seemed to have filled out just since July and she sidled over
and pushed my arm with one of her new tits.
"Hi, Danny," she purred.
"Dan," I automatically corrected her, and tried to think of a polite
way to escape.
Now, Gwen's not a bad kid, don't get me wrong. She's pretty
enough, I suppose, especially since the braces came off, and she's bright
and all that, but she's just not my type. But I'd once made a mistake and
she had been vamping me ever since. I'd kissed Gwen exactly once, in a
moment of weakness at my sixteenth birthday party -- she was a cute
fourteen then and I was feeling desperate for some reason -- and
apparently she'd never forgotten it.
I was sure Gwen had a full quota of panting boyfriends the rest of
the time, but for the past two years, every July and December, she seemed
overcome with romantic nostalgia and fixated on me, and it was driving
me crazy.
I couldn't just tell her to beat it, though. First, that sort of thing isn't
done, not when you'd have to deal with so many other relatives afterward
if she decided to make a stink about it. And second, I didn't actually
dislike Gwen or anything and I couldn't bring myself to be that nasty to
her.
Maybe, I thought, I could get George to pry her loose from me; he
was well known to have a way with women. But, no -- he would just take
her off to a quiet corner and pound her pudding for her. He'd get away
with it, too, God knows how.
Finally, I offered to get her some more cider, which was
downstairs, hoping some distraction would arise along the way. And, in
fact, I never did return -- but I had a very good excuse.
I was standing on the second floor landing with two cups of fresh
cider, waiting for a break in the traffic of relatives coming down so I could
plod back up to Gwen, when I felt a fingertip stroke my neck and a soft
voice said "Hi, Dan."
How in the world did she get down here? I was wondering, and I
turned my head to say something, but it wasn't Gwen.
Melissa Ann Markham is Uncle George's daughter. My cousin
George, in fact, was named for him, as was my young brother George, but
Uncle George and Aunt Julie (she's the McIver of the two) only have two
daughters, Annie (for Annette), who's thirteen, and Missy, who had just
turned eighteen the month before.
Missy Markham had been the cause (the root cause, so to speak) of
most of my wet dreams and early morning erections for about two years.
She'd always been cute, though not really cover girl material, and she had
a nice body, though nothing really extraordinary. What she had was more
raw sexiness than any three other girls. It was like she carried around her
own fog of pheromones. She could look any boy in the eye without
blinking and curl up one side of her mouth, and his knees would turn to
jelly. She could widen those eyes innocently, and raise her eyebrows, and
suck on her lower lip, and a guy would have to stand behind a chair to
conceal his hard-on. (I could speak from experience.) Maybe this sort of
witchcraft came naturally to her, but Missy was certainly adept at applying
her talents.
When I saw who it was behind me, I turned around so fast, I
bumped into Uncle David -- the only unmarried uncle -- and got a bitchy
look in return. (Uncle David has an unending series of live-in male friends
about whom we all loved to gossip.)
Missy took my arm and guided me away from the stairs to a huge
potted fern that stood in front of the window on the landing. She leaned
back against the wall, toes neatly together, and waited for me to say
something. It wasn't easy. She was wearing a sort of Empire-style party
dress that was fitted close up beneath her breasts, made of fine, chocolate-
brown velveteen, with wide white cuffs and a big square-cut collar with
long points in front, all of handmade lace. There was more lace edging the
hem, which ended about a mile above her knees. Her hair was long and
silky and caramel-colored, partly falling over her shoulders and partly
gathered at the back by a large, matching velveteen bow. Her stockings
were very faintly white and she wore dark brown Mary Janes with little
silver buckles. She looked like an extremely grown-up Alice in
Wonderland. Her nails and lipstick were screaming-banshee red, which
went beautifully with her immaculately creamy skin.
I cleared my throat. "You look very nice tonight," I said. She knew
that but she smiled anyway. Then she glanced over my shoulder and said
"Merry Christmas, boys."
I turned and found Tommy and George at the foot of the stairs.
George, of course, was checking her out avidly, but what surprised me was
that even Tommy, the self-conscious gentleman, had a wolfish expression.
They were looking rather curiously at me, too.
"We'll see you later, okay? I want to dance with both of you, you
know." At that dismissal, both guys grinned like apes and stumbled away.
I wondered what had just happened.
Missy's eyes were moving up and down me in a way that made me
feel distinctly warm. I wanted to readjust my tie and straighten my jacket,
but I didn't want to fidget. Watching her knee flex idly back and forth as
she leaned there against the wall, half concealed by the fern, wasn't
helping me think any more clearly.
"Dan, would you like to be my escort this Christmas?" Her voice
was low and soft and promising.
"Um, yes, absolutely. I'd like that very much," I said. I couldn't
quite believe this was happening.
"Thank you. You're very good-looking, you know, Dan. It'll be fun
-- I promise." And I got the full effect of that smile. "Would you meet me
back here at eight o'clock, for the dancing?" I nodded mutely. "Okay. But
now I have to go powder my nose..." (she wrinkled it at me) "...or
whatever."
She pushed away from the wall and practically skipped up the
stairs while I stood there like a flatfooted bumpkin, watching the muscles
move in the backs of her thighs. Then I cleared my throat again and
headed downstairs.
George and Tommy waylaid me at the bottom and George gave me
a little poke with his elbow. "So, old Dan, what are you two up to?"
"Nothing. She just asked me to be her escort." I shrugged.
George and Tommy exchanged a glance and their eyebrows rose in
unison. "Oh, yeah?" George smirked. "Well, enjoy yourself, Danny-Boy.
You'll never get a chance like this again, I can promise you."
Tommy eyed me thoughtfully, then patted me on the shoulder.
"You'll do fine, Dan," he said, sounding like an uncle, as they departed.
Why did I always feel like other people knew things that I didn't?
One of the advantages of coming to Grandfather's house every
Christmas was that we all knew what we were expected to do at all times.
On Christmas Eve, there was a buffet dinner laid out for those who had
arrived hungry. Afterward, a few of the old-timers took short naps while
the rest of the adults visited in each others' rooms (there were about a
dozen bedrooms and make-dos in the house). The smaller kids played in
the big, glassed-in solarium, which was a sun porch in the summer, and
the older kids, like us, wandered around and gossiped and made
connections for later.
About eight in the evening, the adults took over the ballroom (only
about the size of a basketball half-court, actually) and did their style of
dancing, while we pushed back the furniture in the big parlor and did our
style. There were always a few girls of maternal bent who took turns
rocking the infants and keeping an eye on the little kids.
Tomorrow, a minister from the town would come in and lead an
early morning Christmas service (attendance was mandatory, Grandfather
said, and no one balked him on it), followed by a huge breakfast. And then
everyone would gather in the ballroom for the distribution of gifts, which
would take most of the afternoon. Each person was made the center of
attention as they opened their first package, and everyone else would oohh
and ahh over whatever it turned out to be, and the recipient was expected
to acknowledge the gift and exclaim over it. (Generally, the kids knew that
whatever package they were handed first was their biggie that year.)
So, a few minutes before eight, I was back at the fern, having
carefully brushed my hair and touched up my shave with a borrowed
razor. I was determined to be a standout escort.
I was peering absently out the window, watching the wind in the
trees and wondering if it was going to snow (probably not), when I
smelled Missy's warm presence behind me. I found myself beaming like
an ass as I turned and made a little bow. She grinned and sketched a
curtsy, and then hooked her arm through mine as I took her into the parlor.
I had no expectation of monopolizing her attentions that evening,
and it was a good thing because Missy was always a popular dance
partner. We'd all had dancing lessons, of course -- it was one of the social
trials of Fourth Form -- but some of us were a lot better at it than others.
Missy was particularly graceful, drawing the admiration of the guys and
the envy of the girls.
She made a point of dancing with both Tommy and George,
neither of whom seemed very willing to give her up to her next partner.
And she danced several times with me, sometimes brushing her cheek
against mine during the slow parts.
I also danced with most of the other girls there, including Gwen,
who seemed resigned to my obvious distraction. I even cut in on my sister,
Violet, who, at twelve and a half, seemed to be developing an interest in
Gwen's younger brother, Michael. Perhaps it goes against natural law, but
Vi and I have usually gotten along, and I enjoyed dancing with her. Astrid
herself even asked me to dance, but it turned out to be another pitch for
Brown.
Around eleven o'clock, Missy whispered that the parlor was
becoming too warm and stuffy and wouldn't I like to stretch my legs?
Does the Pope shit in the woods?
It was cold and windy out and I didn't especially want to muffle her
up in a heavy coat where I couldn't get at her, so we climbed to the fourth
floor and strolled down the passageway between what had once been
servants' quarters, chatting about inconsequentialities. At this hour, the
rooms mostly were filled with snoring small children. At the end of the
passage was a narrow back stair to the part of the attic used for storing
household supplies, and we climbed that, too.
The attic was dark but there was a nearly full moon in the cold,
clear sky and it filled one side of the space with a soft, romantic light. I
figured conditions would never be better, so I gently and carefully guided
Missy into position in front of a dormer window and kissed her. She drew
me in so completely, I couldn't breathe for a minute, and I wasn't sure
whether I had planned this encounter or she had. Her tongue drifted across
my teeth and she sucked slowly at my lip while her fingers stroked the
short hairs at the back of my neck. I could feel my cock stiffening and
tried to shift position so I wouldn't poke her with it, but she bent her knee
and pressed her slender thigh between my legs. I could feel my pulse
beginning to hammer and I wanted to grab her ass in both hands and
squeeze, but I was still trying to go slowly. I absolutely did not want to
give her cause to push me away. Which shows you how little I still
understood of what was happening.
When we both came up for air, Missy sighed and laid her head
against my chest, and I stroked her hair -- partly because I really didn't
know what to do next. But she took care of that by sliding her manicured
little hand slowly down the front of my flannels until it covered my
bulging cock. She squeezed it, just a little, and I couldn't stifle a groan.
When she leaned back in my arms, the look in her eyes heated up
my blood even more. But then she turned and leaned on the window ledge
and looked out at the wind whipping the tree branches. I put my hands on
her shoulders, stroking the velveteen over her shoulder blades. She cocked
a hip and nudged me in the groin with it,... and then she reached a hand
back and drew the hem of her dress up over her ass.
I was transfixed. The white stockings ended at the very tops of her
smooth thighs and her ass was completely bare. I laid the palms of my
hands on those perfect curves and stroked circles over her bottom and
squeezed them, feeling more lightheaded every second.
Missy looked over her shoulder, her face partly hidden by a
honeyed cascade of hair, and sucked her lip with that irresistible air of
sultry, knowing innocence. Then she spread her feet slightly, locked her
knees, and arched her back downward -- the most undeniable invitation I'd
ever received.
I fumbled with my zipper and pushed my slacks and briefs down
around my knees, and my cock sprang up as stiff as the proverbial barge-
pole. I leaned into her, letting my cock slide up and down a few times in
the silky smooth vee between her cheeks, and she purred and reached back
to stroke it with her fingertips. Then she looked back over her shoulder
again and fixed me with that steady, heated gaze.
"Daniel, I want you to fuck me, okay? Don't worry: I'm on the pill.
And I've been careful, so you won't catch anything." She didn't even ask if
I had been as careful. I'd only had sex twice, with two different girls, and I
was reasonably sure both of them were virgins at the time. At least, I
hoped they were. For all I knew, Missy was aware of all that. She seemed
to know a lot.
She pushed that sweet little ass back against me and I pressed my
aching cock downward and slid smoothly into her. She took a deep, deep
breath and I felt her cunt muscles squeezing me. Jesus, I couldn't believe
how fantastic it felt, being inside her like that. Missy was slender in the
legs and hips (definitely not skinny, though) and her cunt was
unbelievably snug and wet and warm. I drew back experimentally and
pushed even deeper inside her, and it felt like a thousand tiny fingers
stroking me. I squeezed her hips between my hands and looked down to
watch her asshole opening and closing with every stroke I made. Un-
fucking-believable....
Even as I moved within her, I was glancing around, trying to find a
spot where I could lay her down and do it properly, but everything was
dusty and uninviting. Then I caught myself and wondered what I was
thinking of: How could I possibly complain about having to fuck Missy
Markham standing up in the attic? I slid my hands farther around her hips,
trying to reach her pubic hair, but she must have trimmed it. All I found
was more soft, smooth flesh. I wanted to run my hands all up and down
her legs. I wanted to squeeze her tits and suck her nipples. I wanted to lie
on my back and have her sit on my cock. I wanted everything -- but I was
happy just to be up here in the dusty moonlight, fucking Missy from
behind in a dormer window.
I wasn't in any hurry for our encounter to end, but sex has its own
schedule and there's nothing you can do about it. Missy's breathing was
becoming ragged and hurried, and she was clutching the window sill
tightly. The back of her neck was flushed and there was a rosy glow
spreading across her lower back. I could feel a growing tingling deep in
my gut and I tried desperately to pace myself... and then Missy began to
make little "hunh-hunh-hunh" sounds, almost like crying, and I couldn't
hold back any longer.
When I jerk off, if I'm really aroused, I sometimes end up with cum
on my kneecaps -- or on my chest, if I'm lying down. This time, it felt like
I could have shot a wad of semen clear out the window and all the way
down to the duck pond. I clutched Missy's hips and slammed into her a
last couple of times, then thrust hard and deep into her and jerked and
trembled as I came, and tried not to fall down in a faint. She was shaking,
too, caught by the wavefront of her own climax, panting and making those
extremely erotic little animal noises.
She didn't want to break the connection any more than I did, and
we stood like that for a minute or two, her clinging to the window ledge
and me clinging to her. I wanted to leave my cock in her for awhile longer,
but finally she took a deep breath and gently extricated herself. She turned
around, her dress still rucked up in back, and leaned against me. I ran my
hands down over that gorgeous little ass (which was hot to the touch now)
and she reached down and took my scorched cock in both hands. We
kissed again, long and slow and sweet, and I didn't ever want to leave the
attic.
And I was thinking hard, trying to work out a chance to get
together again. I wanted to lie in a real bed with her and touch her all over,
and fall asleep with her in my arms, and wake up with her, and fuck all
day.
"When can we--?" I began, but Missy touched her finger to my
lips.
"We can't, Dan. This is -- was -- a one-time thing. We won't be
able ever to make love like this again,... but it was very, very nice,
Danny."
"But why--?"
"You have to accept this, Dan," she cut in. "I'm sorry, but you have
to. Others have."
Oh? Then I remembered George and Tommy. And she saw me
remember, and she nodded.
"You're a very sweet boy, Dan, but you're not the first cousin I've
fucked and you probably won't be the last. But that doesn't mean I'm not
very selective." She smiled a bit impishly. "There are a lot of cousins."
Hunh. Well. Well, okay. I suppose. Then she kissed me again and I
decided to take what she had given me and not make a fuss about it.
I walked her downstairs to her room in the other, newer wing of the
house. She was sharing it with Annie and Vi, and they were already in
bed, so we had to be quiet. I looked at my watch: almost two o'clock.
Amazing. I kissed her again in the hall beside her door and carefully kept
my hands to myself, but it was hard. She stroked my cheek with a warm
little hand, and that was very nice indeed. And then she whispered in my
ear.
"Danny, I've been doing this since Christmas last year. I don't
know why, exactly, except that it's fun and exciting, and I can get away
with it. Maybe I'll try it with Mike next summer. Or your brother, George,
for that matter." She was trying to get a rise out of me but I refused to
play.
"But I think tonight I'm going to lie in bed and think about your
penis inside me and how wonderful it felt. I think I can still feel your cum
in there, too. Maybe I'll imagine what it would be like to suck your dick
until you cum in my mouth...."
Okay, okay, that got a rise out of me. A rise in the front of my
flannels, too. "Stop that," I said, and stuck my tongue in her ear.
She shivered once and laughed softly, deep in her throat. "Merry
Christmas, Daniel," she whispered, and ducked through the door.
As late as it was, there was no way I was going to be able to sleep
yet, so I wandered back down to the main kitchen. It was a big place, with
a couple of old wooden tables off to the sides and a large fireplace at the
back. There were usually a few people hanging out there and tonight was
no exception: George and Tommy were sitting in tipped-back captain's
chairs in front of the fire, drinking hot chocolate with their feet up on the
hearth.
George hopped up with a gleam in his eye, took me firmly by the
arm, and led me to an empty chair which Tommy had placed between
them. They handed me a steaming cup and waited expectantly. When I
kept silent, George glanced at Tommy, who cleared his throat.
"Daniel, we'd never ask you to be less than a gentleman," Tommy
began in a low voice, "but we know perfectly well where you've been.
We've been there ourselves, both of us, as you may have figured out by
now."
"Dan, speaking for myself, it was a truly religious experience,"
George interjected. "And I've never told anyone the details either, and I
won't ask them of you now." He gripped my forearm and shook it a little.
"But please tell us that's where you've been. Will you at least do that?"
"Please, Daniel," Tommy added. "Like he said, a religious
experience. Even an epiphany. Are you one of the Elect now, Brother?"
That was too much and I broke down and laughed aloud. I felt like
I ought to be a bit jealous or something, but how could I possibly be
jealous of these two?
George leaned back and relaxed. "She's really something, isn't
she?"
I took a sip of cocoa and nodded. "Yeah, she's definitely that."
Tommy cleared his throat. "I was the first, you know. At least, I
assume I was. If it really is all in the family, that is. Exactly a year ago."
He got kind of a faraway look. "God knows, I'll never forget it. Damn."
"Yeah, and I was last July Fourth," Tommy said quietly. "I mean,
I'm not exactly a beginner with women--" (Tommy and I snorted
derisively and in unison) "--but Missy is absolutely a whole other thing."
I was feeling more relaxed about this and I was a little surprised by
George's apparent awe. But I thought I understood it. I was beginning to
feel like I had just been knighted, or inducted into Skull and Bones.
"I guess that means someone else will be The Chosen One next
July," I commented. "I wonder who it'll be?"
"Hard to say, man." George chuckled. "She's about out of men our
age. There're a couple of younger guys coming up, though...."
"She said something about that, but I thought she was kidding, or
teasing me." I thought about it. "I don't know if my brother could handle
it."
"Or her. No shit." George turned to Tommy. "What about your
brother?"
"Mike? He'd be traumatized." Tommy shook his head. "Seriously,
he'd faint dead away if she came on to him. That's the stiffest kid I ever
saw; I wonder where he gets it?" He looked at the two of us, cackling and
whooping. "I swear, I don't understand the younger generation
sometimes."
Tommy's perfectly serious face kept us laughing for several
minutes but we finally recovered and sat in companionable silence until
the cocoa was gone. When we all departed to try to get a little sleep before
Christmas morning, I knew we would all gather in a few months to greet
Missy's arrival at the Independence Day party. I was looking forward to it.
END
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1998 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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=========================================================================
A Missy Christmas
by Michael K. Smith
Holiday get-togethers are a pretty big deal in my family, especially
for July Fourth and Christmas. Smaller subgroups within the family
celebrate Thanksgiving and whatnot together, but twice a year everybody
makes a major effort to convocate.
For instance, Aunt Marie made advance plans for her whole family
to go to Europe last July for some big special art museum thing, but Uncle
Grant refused to hear of it because it would have meant missing the
Fourth. So everyone troops off to Great-Uncle Edwin's twenty-room
"summer cottage" in the Berkshires for a week every Independence Day,
and every Christmas we all foregather at Grandfather Travis McIver's big
old Victorian house in Dutchess County.
When I say "everyone," I'm talking about a contingent of adults,
adolescents, and toddlers sufficient to occupy a small nation. I go to
school with a couple of my cousins at St. Osbert's, of course, and we see
some of these people more or less regularly at one country club or sports
day or another, but putting all of them together at one time in one place,
even a large, sprawling place, is always an interesting experiment in the
chemistry of genetics and the physics of personality. And I've been going
to these things twice a year for as long as I can remember.
My cousins are mostly an okay bunch, if you discount the usual
adolescent neuroses. My first cousin George -- who, like me, is a McIver
and a senior at St. Ozzie's -- is actually a few months younger than I am,
but rather more daring. I learned how to smoke from him the summer we
were both fourteen. His older sister, Cecily, caught us and ratted us out to
both her mother and mine, and we caught all kinds of hell about it
because, of course, my mother believed her over our protests of innocence.
See, Cecily's named after my mother because her mother and
mine are sisters, in addition to her father and mine being brothers. Plus,
Aunt Christine, who is father's sister -- one of them, anyway -- married
Uncle Gerald, who is my mother's first cousin. It gets complicated. (At
least no one is named after my father, which is probably just as well;
"Randolph" is a pretty dorky name.) I think the idea is to keep all the
money circulating tightly within the tribe forever.
As you can imagine, we've had a lot of advantages -- especially my
generation -- but you shouldn't get the idea we're all a bunch of rich snobs
and ne'er-do-wells. My great-grandfather, Grandfather Travis's father, who
built the place in Dutchess County, was originally a gentleman farmer who
did very well in the market back in the '20s and then somehow managed to
get completely out of Wall Street shortly before The Crash. Then he
invested in all the right technology companies just before World War II.
Grandfather Travis, when he got his turn, knew what "semiconductor"
meant about forty-eight hours after it was invented, and the family
fortunes just kept growing.
But Grandfather and his father were/are strong Presbyterian types
and they wanted the next generation to have to work for what they would,
in time, inherit. My father and his siblings all received good educations
but they were expected to labor for their bread afterward, and they did.
Earlier last year, on my eighteenth birthday, my grandfather and my father
sat me down and told me there was a trust fund waiting for me, but that I
wouldn't get my hands on it until I was thirty. And even then, it had
various restrictions to keep me from excessive frittering.
I started drawing a generous monthly allowance that very day,
however, which was entirely mine to do with as I pleased. I could bury it
in a hole in the ground, or invest it and learn how to manage it, or blow it
all on candy -- it was all up to me. (My grandfather loves that parable
about the talents of silver.)
I knew this milestone was coming, of course, having learned the
details long ago from my older cousins. At first I was thrilled, but by
Christmas I was beginning to be aware of the responsibilities it involved.
Nobody was going to tell me how to spend my income, but nobody would
rescue me if I screwed up, either.
So, anyway: Last month, I was spending the first evening of my
first financially sort-of-independent Christmas leaning against my great-
grandmother's piano in the third floor drawing room, trying to look suave
in my new cashmere jacket and sipping a cup of my grandfather's really
excellent hot cider. I was listening to George's sister, Astrid, and another
cousin, Tommy Schroeder, politely but earnestly trying to pressure me
into declaring for Princeton or Brown, respectively (where they each were
serving their sophomore years, respectively). I had arrived with my family
that afternoon wearing a Stanford sweatshirt -- trying, I confess, to get a
rise out of my stolidly Ivy League kin -- and both of them apparently were
horrified that I was seriously considering college on the West Coast.
The thing was, what we called "the other side" -- our second
cousins who were the grandchildren of Great-Uncle Edwin -- had recently
taken to hanging out at weird places like the University of Michigan, and
Tommy especially was worried that the blight might creep over to our side
of the family tree.
"But, Daniel, you need to go to a really good business school
here," he was saying.
"I'm planning on electronics engineering," I replied. "Anyway,
Stanford has a first-rate B-school. So does Berkeley."
Tommy sighed. "But it's not the same--" he began. Then he paused
when George slipped up close behind him and whispered in his ear. Astrid
was taking a slug of her own cider and didn't hear what was said... but I
did, just barely: "She's here."
Tommy got a strange look in his eye. He straightened up a little
taller and licked his lips (unconsciously, I suspected). I opened my mouth
to ask who "she" was, but George shot me a stern warning look and
flicked a quick glance at his sister.
"We'll talk again later," Tommy said to me. He seemed distracted.
And then he and George were gone, trying to hurry casually.
Astrid raised a carefully shaped eyebrow and shrugged. "Boys,"
she decided, displaying the natural superiority of a twenty-year-old woman
toward a nineteen-year-old male child. Then Carolyn, an "other side"
cousin, came to plead Astrid's advice about the music for the customary
dancing later , and I found myself all alone.
Not for more than thirty second, however. Gwen Schroeder,
Tommy's little sister, had been lurking in the background, awaiting her
chance. She seemed to have filled out just since July and she sidled over
and pushed my arm with one of her new tits.
"Hi, Danny," she purred.
"Dan," I automatically corrected her, and tried to think of a polite
way to escape.
Now, Gwen's not a bad kid, don't get me wrong. She's pretty
enough, I suppose, especially since the braces came off, and she's bright
and all that, but she's just not my type. But I'd once made a mistake and
she had been vamping me ever since. I'd kissed Gwen exactly once, in a
moment of weakness at my sixteenth birthday party -- she was a cute
fourteen then and I was feeling desperate for some reason -- and
apparently she'd never forgotten it.
I was sure Gwen had a full quota of panting boyfriends the rest of
the time, but for the past two years, every July and December, she seemed
overcome with romantic nostalgia and fixated on me, and it was driving
me crazy.
I couldn't just tell her to beat it, though. First, that sort of thing isn't
done, not when you'd have to deal with so many other relatives afterward
if she decided to make a stink about it. And second, I didn't actually
dislike Gwen or anything and I couldn't bring myself to be that nasty to
her.
Maybe, I thought, I could get George to pry her loose from me; he
was well known to have a way with women. But, no -- he would just take
her off to a quiet corner and pound her pudding for her. He'd get away
with it, too, God knows how.
Finally, I offered to get her some more cider, which was
downstairs, hoping some distraction would arise along the way. And, in
fact, I never did return -- but I had a very good excuse.
I was standing on the second floor landing with two cups of fresh
cider, waiting for a break in the traffic of relatives coming down so I could
plod back up to Gwen, when I felt a fingertip stroke my neck and a soft
voice said "Hi, Dan."
How in the world did she get down here? I was wondering, and I
turned my head to say something, but it wasn't Gwen.
Melissa Ann Markham is Uncle George's daughter. My cousin
George, in fact, was named for him, as was my young brother George, but
Uncle George and Aunt Julie (she's the McIver of the two) only have two
daughters, Annie (for Annette), who's thirteen, and Missy, who had just
turned eighteen the month before.
Missy Markham had been the cause (the root cause, so to speak) of
most of my wet dreams and early morning erections for about two years.
She'd always been cute, though not really cover girl material, and she had
a nice body, though nothing really extraordinary. What she had was more
raw sexiness than any three other girls. It was like she carried around her
own fog of pheromones. She could look any boy in the eye without
blinking and curl up one side of her mouth, and his knees would turn to
jelly. She could widen those eyes innocently, and raise her eyebrows, and
suck on her lower lip, and a guy would have to stand behind a chair to
conceal his hard-on. (I could speak from experience.) Maybe this sort of
witchcraft came naturally to her, but Missy was certainly adept at applying
her talents.
When I saw who it was behind me, I turned around so fast, I
bumped into Uncle David -- the only unmarried uncle -- and got a bitchy
look in return. (Uncle David has an unending series of live-in male friends
about whom we all loved to gossip.)
Missy took my arm and guided me away from the stairs to a huge
potted fern that stood in front of the window on the landing. She leaned
back against the wall, toes neatly together, and waited for me to say
something. It wasn't easy. She was wearing a sort of Empire-style party
dress that was fitted close up beneath her breasts, made of fine, chocolate-
brown velveteen, with wide white cuffs and a big square-cut collar with
long points in front, all of handmade lace. There was more lace edging the
hem, which ended about a mile above her knees. Her hair was long and
silky and caramel-colored, partly falling over her shoulders and partly
gathered at the back by a large, matching velveteen bow. Her stockings
were very faintly white and she wore dark brown Mary Janes with little
silver buckles. She looked like an extremely grown-up Alice in
Wonderland. Her nails and lipstick were screaming-banshee red, which
went beautifully with her immaculately creamy skin.
I cleared my throat. "You look very nice tonight," I said. She knew
that but she smiled anyway. Then she glanced over my shoulder and said
"Merry Christmas, boys."
I turned and found Tommy and George at the foot of the stairs.
George, of course, was checking her out avidly, but what surprised me was
that even Tommy, the self-conscious gentleman, had a wolfish expression.
They were looking rather curiously at me, too.
"We'll see you later, okay? I want to dance with both of you, you
know." At that dismissal, both guys grinned like apes and stumbled away.
I wondered what had just happened.
Missy's eyes were moving up and down me in a way that made me
feel distinctly warm. I wanted to readjust my tie and straighten my jacket,
but I didn't want to fidget. Watching her knee flex idly back and forth as
she leaned there against the wall, half concealed by the fern, wasn't
helping me think any more clearly.
"Dan, would you like to be my escort this Christmas?" Her voice
was low and soft and promising.
"Um, yes, absolutely. I'd like that very much," I said. I couldn't
quite believe this was happening.
"Thank you. You're very good-looking, you know, Dan. It'll be fun
-- I promise." And I got the full effect of that smile. "Would you meet me
back here at eight o'clock, for the dancing?" I nodded mutely. "Okay. But
now I have to go powder my nose..." (she wrinkled it at me) "...or
whatever."
She pushed away from the wall and practically skipped up the
stairs while I stood there like a flatfooted bumpkin, watching the muscles
move in the backs of her thighs. Then I cleared my throat again and
headed downstairs.
George and Tommy waylaid me at the bottom and George gave me
a little poke with his elbow. "So, old Dan, what are you two up to?"
"Nothing. She just asked me to be her escort." I shrugged.
George and Tommy exchanged a glance and their eyebrows rose in
unison. "Oh, yeah?" George smirked. "Well, enjoy yourself, Danny-Boy.
You'll never get a chance like this again, I can promise you."
Tommy eyed me thoughtfully, then patted me on the shoulder.
"You'll do fine, Dan," he said, sounding like an uncle, as they departed.
Why did I always feel like other people knew things that I didn't?
One of the advantages of coming to Grandfather's house every
Christmas was that we all knew what we were expected to do at all times.
On Christmas Eve, there was a buffet dinner laid out for those who had
arrived hungry. Afterward, a few of the old-timers took short naps while
the rest of the adults visited in each others' rooms (there were about a
dozen bedrooms and make-dos in the house). The smaller kids played in
the big, glassed-in solarium, which was a sun porch in the summer, and
the older kids, like us, wandered around and gossiped and made
connections for later.
About eight in the evening, the adults took over the ballroom (only
about the size of a basketball half-court, actually) and did their style of
dancing, while we pushed back the furniture in the big parlor and did our
style. There were always a few girls of maternal bent who took turns
rocking the infants and keeping an eye on the little kids.
Tomorrow, a minister from the town would come in and lead an
early morning Christmas service (attendance was mandatory, Grandfather
said, and no one balked him on it), followed by a huge breakfast. And then
everyone would gather in the ballroom for the distribution of gifts, which
would take most of the afternoon. Each person was made the center of
attention as they opened their first package, and everyone else would oohh
and ahh over whatever it turned out to be, and the recipient was expected
to acknowledge the gift and exclaim over it. (Generally, the kids knew that
whatever package they were handed first was their biggie that year.)
So, a few minutes before eight, I was back at the fern, having
carefully brushed my hair and touched up my shave with a borrowed
razor. I was determined to be a standout escort.
I was peering absently out the window, watching the wind in the
trees and wondering if it was going to snow (probably not), when I
smelled Missy's warm presence behind me. I found myself beaming like
an ass as I turned and made a little bow. She grinned and sketched a
curtsy, and then hooked her arm through mine as I took her into the parlor.
I had no expectation of monopolizing her attentions that evening,
and it was a good thing because Missy was always a popular dance
partner. We'd all had dancing lessons, of course -- it was one of the social
trials of Fourth Form -- but some of us were a lot better at it than others.
Missy was particularly graceful, drawing the admiration of the guys and
the envy of the girls.
She made a point of dancing with both Tommy and George,
neither of whom seemed very willing to give her up to her next partner.
And she danced several times with me, sometimes brushing her cheek
against mine during the slow parts.
I also danced with most of the other girls there, including Gwen,
who seemed resigned to my obvious distraction. I even cut in on my sister,
Violet, who, at twelve and a half, seemed to be developing an interest in
Gwen's younger brother, Michael. Perhaps it goes against natural law, but
Vi and I have usually gotten along, and I enjoyed dancing with her. Astrid
herself even asked me to dance, but it turned out to be another pitch for
Brown.
Around eleven o'clock, Missy whispered that the parlor was
becoming too warm and stuffy and wouldn't I like to stretch my legs?
Does the Pope shit in the woods?
It was cold and windy out and I didn't especially want to muffle her
up in a heavy coat where I couldn't get at her, so we climbed to the fourth
floor and strolled down the passageway between what had once been
servants' quarters, chatting about inconsequentialities. At this hour, the
rooms mostly were filled with snoring small children. At the end of the
passage was a narrow back stair to the part of the attic used for storing
household supplies, and we climbed that, too.
The attic was dark but there was a nearly full moon in the cold,
clear sky and it filled one side of the space with a soft, romantic light. I
figured conditions would never be better, so I gently and carefully guided
Missy into position in front of a dormer window and kissed her. She drew
me in so completely, I couldn't breathe for a minute, and I wasn't sure
whether I had planned this encounter or she had. Her tongue drifted across
my teeth and she sucked slowly at my lip while her fingers stroked the
short hairs at the back of my neck. I could feel my cock stiffening and
tried to shift position so I wouldn't poke her with it, but she bent her knee
and pressed her slender thigh between my legs. I could feel my pulse
beginning to hammer and I wanted to grab her ass in both hands and
squeeze, but I was still trying to go slowly. I absolutely did not want to
give her cause to push me away. Which shows you how little I still
understood of what was happening.
When we both came up for air, Missy sighed and laid her head
against my chest, and I stroked her hair -- partly because I really didn't
know what to do next. But she took care of that by sliding her manicured
little hand slowly down the front of my flannels until it covered my
bulging cock. She squeezed it, just a little, and I couldn't stifle a groan.
When she leaned back in my arms, the look in her eyes heated up
my blood even more. But then she turned and leaned on the window ledge
and looked out at the wind whipping the tree branches. I put my hands on
her shoulders, stroking the velveteen over her shoulder blades. She cocked
a hip and nudged me in the groin with it,... and then she reached a hand
back and drew the hem of her dress up over her ass.
I was transfixed. The white stockings ended at the very tops of her
smooth thighs and her ass was completely bare. I laid the palms of my
hands on those perfect curves and stroked circles over her bottom and
squeezed them, feeling more lightheaded every second.
Missy looked over her shoulder, her face partly hidden by a
honeyed cascade of hair, and sucked her lip with that irresistible air of
sultry, knowing innocence. Then she spread her feet slightly, locked her
knees, and arched her back downward -- the most undeniable invitation I'd
ever received.
I fumbled with my zipper and pushed my slacks and briefs down
around my knees, and my cock sprang up as stiff as the proverbial barge-
pole. I leaned into her, letting my cock slide up and down a few times in
the silky smooth vee between her cheeks, and she purred and reached back
to stroke it with her fingertips. Then she looked back over her shoulder
again and fixed me with that steady, heated gaze.
"Daniel, I want you to fuck me, okay? Don't worry: I'm on the pill.
And I've been careful, so you won't catch anything." She didn't even ask if
I had been as careful. I'd only had sex twice, with two different girls, and I
was reasonably sure both of them were virgins at the time. At least, I
hoped they were. For all I knew, Missy was aware of all that. She seemed
to know a lot.
She pushed that sweet little ass back against me and I pressed my
aching cock downward and slid smoothly into her. She took a deep, deep
breath and I felt her cunt muscles squeezing me. Jesus, I couldn't believe
how fantastic it felt, being inside her like that. Missy was slender in the
legs and hips (definitely not skinny, though) and her cunt was
unbelievably snug and wet and warm. I drew back experimentally and
pushed even deeper inside her, and it felt like a thousand tiny fingers
stroking me. I squeezed her hips between my hands and looked down to
watch her asshole opening and closing with every stroke I made. Un-
fucking-believable....
Even as I moved within her, I was glancing around, trying to find a
spot where I could lay her down and do it properly, but everything was
dusty and uninviting. Then I caught myself and wondered what I was
thinking of: How could I possibly complain about having to fuck Missy
Markham standing up in the attic? I slid my hands farther around her hips,
trying to reach her pubic hair, but she must have trimmed it. All I found
was more soft, smooth flesh. I wanted to run my hands all up and down
her legs. I wanted to squeeze her tits and suck her nipples. I wanted to lie
on my back and have her sit on my cock. I wanted everything -- but I was
happy just to be up here in the dusty moonlight, fucking Missy from
behind in a dormer window.
I wasn't in any hurry for our encounter to end, but sex has its own
schedule and there's nothing you can do about it. Missy's breathing was
becoming ragged and hurried, and she was clutching the window sill
tightly. The back of her neck was flushed and there was a rosy glow
spreading across her lower back. I could feel a growing tingling deep in
my gut and I tried desperately to pace myself... and then Missy began to
make little "hunh-hunh-hunh" sounds, almost like crying, and I couldn't
hold back any longer.
When I jerk off, if I'm really aroused, I sometimes end up with cum
on my kneecaps -- or on my chest, if I'm lying down. This time, it felt like
I could have shot a wad of semen clear out the window and all the way
down to the duck pond. I clutched Missy's hips and slammed into her a
last couple of times, then thrust hard and deep into her and jerked and
trembled as I came, and tried not to fall down in a faint. She was shaking,
too, caught by the wavefront of her own climax, panting and making those
extremely erotic little animal noises.
She didn't want to break the connection any more than I did, and
we stood like that for a minute or two, her clinging to the window ledge
and me clinging to her. I wanted to leave my cock in her for awhile longer,
but finally she took a deep breath and gently extricated herself. She turned
around, her dress still rucked up in back, and leaned against me. I ran my
hands down over that gorgeous little ass (which was hot to the touch now)
and she reached down and took my scorched cock in both hands. We
kissed again, long and slow and sweet, and I didn't ever want to leave the
attic.
And I was thinking hard, trying to work out a chance to get
together again. I wanted to lie in a real bed with her and touch her all over,
and fall asleep with her in my arms, and wake up with her, and fuck all
day.
"When can we--?" I began, but Missy touched her finger to my
lips.
"We can't, Dan. This is -- was -- a one-time thing. We won't be
able ever to make love like this again,... but it was very, very nice,
Danny."
"But why--?"
"You have to accept this, Dan," she cut in. "I'm sorry, but you have
to. Others have."
Oh? Then I remembered George and Tommy. And she saw me
remember, and she nodded.
"You're a very sweet boy, Dan, but you're not the first cousin I've
fucked and you probably won't be the last. But that doesn't mean I'm not
very selective." She smiled a bit impishly. "There are a lot of cousins."
Hunh. Well. Well, okay. I suppose. Then she kissed me again and I
decided to take what she had given me and not make a fuss about it.
I walked her downstairs to her room in the other, newer wing of the
house. She was sharing it with Annie and Vi, and they were already in
bed, so we had to be quiet. I looked at my watch: almost two o'clock.
Amazing. I kissed her again in the hall beside her door and carefully kept
my hands to myself, but it was hard. She stroked my cheek with a warm
little hand, and that was very nice indeed. And then she whispered in my
ear.
"Danny, I've been doing this since Christmas last year. I don't
know why, exactly, except that it's fun and exciting, and I can get away
with it. Maybe I'll try it with Mike next summer. Or your brother, George,
for that matter." She was trying to get a rise out of me but I refused to
play.
"But I think tonight I'm going to lie in bed and think about your
penis inside me and how wonderful it felt. I think I can still feel your cum
in there, too. Maybe I'll imagine what it would be like to suck your dick
until you cum in my mouth...."
Okay, okay, that got a rise out of me. A rise in the front of my
flannels, too. "Stop that," I said, and stuck my tongue in her ear.
She shivered once and laughed softly, deep in her throat. "Merry
Christmas, Daniel," she whispered, and ducked through the door.
As late as it was, there was no way I was going to be able to sleep
yet, so I wandered back down to the main kitchen. It was a big place, with
a couple of old wooden tables off to the sides and a large fireplace at the
back. There were usually a few people hanging out there and tonight was
no exception: George and Tommy were sitting in tipped-back captain's
chairs in front of the fire, drinking hot chocolate with their feet up on the
hearth.
George hopped up with a gleam in his eye, took me firmly by the
arm, and led me to an empty chair which Tommy had placed between
them. They handed me a steaming cup and waited expectantly. When I
kept silent, George glanced at Tommy, who cleared his throat.
"Daniel, we'd never ask you to be less than a gentleman," Tommy
began in a low voice, "but we know perfectly well where you've been.
We've been there ourselves, both of us, as you may have figured out by
now."
"Dan, speaking for myself, it was a truly religious experience,"
George interjected. "And I've never told anyone the details either, and I
won't ask them of you now." He gripped my forearm and shook it a little.
"But please tell us that's where you've been. Will you at least do that?"
"Please, Daniel," Tommy added. "Like he said, a religious
experience. Even an epiphany. Are you one of the Elect now, Brother?"
That was too much and I broke down and laughed aloud. I felt like
I ought to be a bit jealous or something, but how could I possibly be
jealous of these two?
George leaned back and relaxed. "She's really something, isn't
she?"
I took a sip of cocoa and nodded. "Yeah, she's definitely that."
Tommy cleared his throat. "I was the first, you know. At least, I
assume I was. If it really is all in the family, that is. Exactly a year ago."
He got kind of a faraway look. "God knows, I'll never forget it. Damn."
"Yeah, and I was last July Fourth," Tommy said quietly. "I mean,
I'm not exactly a beginner with women--" (Tommy and I snorted
derisively and in unison) "--but Missy is absolutely a whole other thing."
I was feeling more relaxed about this and I was a little surprised by
George's apparent awe. But I thought I understood it. I was beginning to
feel like I had just been knighted, or inducted into Skull and Bones.
"I guess that means someone else will be The Chosen One next
July," I commented. "I wonder who it'll be?"
"Hard to say, man." George chuckled. "She's about out of men our
age. There're a couple of younger guys coming up, though...."
"She said something about that, but I thought she was kidding, or
teasing me." I thought about it. "I don't know if my brother could handle
it."
"Or her. No shit." George turned to Tommy. "What about your
brother?"
"Mike? He'd be traumatized." Tommy shook his head. "Seriously,
he'd faint dead away if she came on to him. That's the stiffest kid I ever
saw; I wonder where he gets it?" He looked at the two of us, cackling and
whooping. "I swear, I don't understand the younger generation
sometimes."
Tommy's perfectly serious face kept us laughing for several
minutes but we finally recovered and sat in companionable silence until
the cocoa was gone. When we all departed to try to get a little sleep before
Christmas morning, I knew we would all gather in a few months to greet
Missy's arrival at the Independence Day party. I was looking forward to it.
END
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1998 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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