The story picks up where the second chapter left off.
SPRING, 1968
I was in my room doing my homework the first Thursday in April when I got a call from Annabelle. She was obviously in tears and asked me if I had heard the news. I had not, and she told me Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot and killed. She was really upset and said she needed to see me right then.
My mother was very understanding when I told her I needed to borrow the Chevy. I told her I’d be back for supper.
Annabelle and I went for a drive. She wept as she looked morosely out the window. “Things just don’t get better,” she said. “They keep getting worse.”
Eventually I parked in a secluded area. She quietly took off her jeans and panties, I also removed my lower garments, and she climbed onto my lap, facing me. We fucked slowly and quietly, and when she came, she began to cry, and when I came as well, filling her sweet cunt with hot cream, I wept too, wondering what sort of world we were about to take our places in.
The first full week in April was the time of the statewide high school choir festival, and my school was entered in several categories. I sang in the Mixed Chorus, the Men’s Chorus, and the Madrigals; Belinda sang in the Mixed Chorus, the Madrigals, and the Girls’ Sextet (which, I had discovered to my disappointment, was not what it sounded like it was). The event was an all-day affair which took us out of classes and put us on a school bus bound for another town with a new convention center which had several stages and performance venues. The day was pretty depressing for me, since I had to be in close proximity to Belinda, who was, as usual, ignoring me studiously. I shared a seat on the bus with another baritone, a junior who seemed preoccupied with getting some beer. When he found out I was not yet eighteen (the legal beer age in our state), he lost all interest in conversation with me.
There was just one thing making the day interesting for me: we traveled in our madrigal costumes, and the boys had all dared each other to dress as true Scotsmen: with nothing on under our kilts. I didn’t know whether any of the others were actually going through with the dare, but I was. It was my last time to wear the stupid outfit, and I was determined to do it right for once. (I admit I had checked the weather report to be sure no high winds were predicted that day.)
It felt strange, and exciting, and liberating, to be dressed that way. And since there were several female madrigal singers close by, with their sexy cleavage showing, I had a partial erection the whole trip. I was relieved to find upon arrival that when I stood up my stiffy did not press against my kilt: having a small cock does have its advantages at times.
The madrigals did better in the competition than expected, and we had to stick around for the evening concert. Those who were expecting to go to the school prom that night were outraged, but most of us had guessed it would happen and many of us, like me, weren’t all that impressed with the idea of a senior prom anyway.
The concert, because the weather was cooperating, was held in a large outdoor amphitheater. All the first and second place groups from different categories were performing, and we did our part fairly early in the program.
I was sitting listening to some other choirs perform when Gail Anderson sat down beside me. We were in a relatively empty area of the amphitheater and were able to engage in quiet conversation without bothering anybody close by.
I had once had a crush on Gail, back in my days of frustrated longing, because I was attracted to intelligence. She was an honor student, one of the girls whose class participation seemed to stem from a genuine desire to learn and not just from a wish to score points with the teacher. She also was willing to talk to boys without trying to flirt with them, which was sometimes a refreshing change. The thick lenses of her ugly cat-eye glasses did not hide her intelligence or her engaging personality. But she was a Baptist preacher’s daughter, and the past year she had become engaged to a college boy who was studying for the ministry, and I figured that in any case we would have had little if anything in common and would not have been a particularly good match. So I was surprised, but not unpleased, when she sat very close to me and casually laid a hand on my thigh. The touch of her hand and the heat from her body had my cock stirring instantly.
“So, Rick,” she said, “are you dressed like a true Scotsman today?”
She had apparently heard about the dare.
“Well, I…”
“Never mind, I see that you are!”
Glancing sheepishly at my lap, I could see kilt tenting up. “Sorry, Gail.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s. . .flattering.” She glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to see what we were doing, and she placed a hand in my lap, gently squeezing my cockhead through the kilt. She smiled, looking me in the eye, and then she really surprised me by reaching under the kilt and sliding her hand right up my thigh to my scrotum. She gasped as she fondled it, gently weighing each testicle in her fingers before moving up to the erect shaft.
“Gail. . . Aren’t you engaged . . .?
“Yes.” Her fingers gently squeezed my cock and moved on up to the fast-engorging head. “And Will says we shouldn’t do anything until we are married.”
“You disagree?”
“In theory, no. But I can’t help wondering how I can be a good wife if I enter marriage in total ignorance. Belinda said you might be willing to help.”
“Belinda?”
“She said she thought you were . . . experienced.”
“I don’t know how she would know that.”
“But she’s right, isn’t she? You’ve done this before?”
“. . . Some.” I was having trouble breathing normally. What Gail was doing between my legs was wonderful. “You sure you . . . haven’t done this before?”
“Will likes to kiss, but that’s all. Nothing below.”
“Nothing below the waist?”
“Nothing below the chin.”
“. . . You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. I have all these cravings, but I don’t even know what it is I want.”
I put a hand on her cheek and ran my fingers gently down to her neck. She closed her eyes in pleasure. My hand slid down to her scoop neckline where my fingers found a trace of cleavage. Her moan was too soft to be heard by anyone else, but I found it extremely erotic, and my penis hardened further in her hand. I ventured further south, over the fabric of her peasant dress, and I discovered hard nipples pressing unrestrained against the soft cotton. “Gail?”
“No bra,” she whispered. “It wouldn’t be authentic, would it? For a singer from the madrigal period?”
“I guess not…and…further down?”
“I’m as authentic as you are.”
She gave my cock a squeeze and fondled my balls and the sensitive spot behind them, getting perilously close to my asshole. I fondled her unfettered breasts for a moment and then slid my hands down to her bare knees. She was taking long, deep breaths, her eyes closed, as if giving all her concentration to what she was feeling between her legs and between mine. He knees spread apart as if to invite me in. I accepted the invitation, grateful for the darkness.
Her insides of her thighs were warm and soft, and her legs opened wider as my hands slid up toward her crotch. Her pussy was quite hairy, and my fingers brushed and played with her hair before moving on to her warm wet folds. I wondered if her pubic hair was as yellow as the hair on her head, and not knowing somehow added to the sense of adventure. She was slick with desire, and she gasped when I slid a finger along her virgin folds and found her hard little clitoris.
“I—oh my—I can’t say anything—mmmm—I would probably—probably say something unladylike—ohhhh…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I whispered, leaning into her face and kissing her ear, her cheek, her open mouth. I didn’t think I should try to penetrate her vagina since she was still a virgin, but I did try gently to get her clitoris harder, and I lubricated my fingers with her vaginal fluids so that I would irritate her as little as possible.
Meanwhile, she was fondling my balls with one hand and tugging on my penis with the other, and I worked hard to hold back, hold back, hold back, until I was certain she was about to reach orgasm. I was certain because of the dazed, wondering look in her eyes, the quiet moans from her throat, the warm flow of juices from her gently thrusting pussy.
“Gail…Gail, you know…you know what will happen if you…if you keep doing…what you’re doing….”
And she came, her copious juices bathing my hand, and I came, what seemed like endless ropes of thick semen shooting from my cock into her hand and onto the concrete at our feet.
We sat there motionless except for our heavy breathing, her hands still holding my slimy, deflating cock, my fingers still immersed in the fragrant juices that permeated her cunt hair. “Well,” she said with a wink, “I guess this means we have to get married.”
“I think it means you will make Will a wonderful bride.” I wiped my wet fingers on her inner thighs and pulled them out from under her skirt. She did the same, leaving cooling semen on my hairy thighs and a wet spot on the front of my kilt. We looked around; no one seemed to be paying any attention, thank goodness.
It was a bit awkward, as we tried to thank each other, and each one saying, no, no, my pleasure, and then, after our hands had air-dried for a bit, getting up and going our separate ways. I kept to the shadows until my kilt was mostly dry and found a rest room to wash my hands. Then, the concert finally over, I headed to the bus.
The madrigals had a whole school bus to ourselves for the trip home, and so I had my own seat. I was gazing out the window into the passing darkness, half asleep, when Belinda slid in beside me. Her presence made me nervous. “Hi,” I ventured.
She placed her hand directly on my lap and squeezed the lump she found there. “That was a sweet thing you did for Gail.”
I could barely speak, but a response seemed called for. “Well, she…she did as much for me…” It was unnerving. How much did she know about what had transpired between Gail and me? And how should I expect her to feel about it?
“I know,” she said. “But she really needed some reassurance. And some experience. And you gave her both.”
We rode along for a while, her hand still on my swelling crotch, occasionally giving a gentle squeeze. For some reason I felt conversation was called for. “You haven’t spoken to me for a long time. . . Why is that?”
“You haven’t spoken to me, either.”
That was true but seemed somehow irrelevant.
“I don’t want to seem dense,” I said, “but I still don’t know what I did wrong on that. . .that date we had.”
She was silent for a minute. “I know I probably overreacted,” she finally said. “You shouldn’t worry about it.”
“But what did I—” Belinda looked furtively around the bus, then quickly pulled my kilt up over my penis and let my erection hold it in place. In the dim light, my white thighs seemed horribly exposed, not to mention my cock, throbbing silently and earnestly in her hand. She lowered her head to my lap and set to work. Her mouth was wet and warm, and her tongue seemed to know exactly where I needed to be licked. I was tired, and as much as I enjoyed what she was doing, I wasn’t sure I could reach another orgasm before the bus got us all the way home.
But I was underestimating Belinda’s talents. She took my cock a little farther into her mouth with each stroke, and with each stroke licked the head, and with each stroke also insinuated a finger up into my anus. “Oh, fuck,” I whispered, almost giving us away to the rest of the bus. Soon my cock was pressing back on her throat, and soon after that it seemed to pass all the way into her throat, and I was completely inside her sweet, salivating, sucking oral cavity. It was like being inside a vagina, but one with a tongue. She was warm and willing and welcoming, and I began to feel that familiar glow deep inside my organ. She slid herself off again, and if the bus engine had not been so loud, everyone would have heard the sound of my cockhead popping out of her throat and her lips and tongue sliding and sucking, her saliva splashing and soaking my pubic hair. Then she slid me back inside, simultaneously pressing her finger against my asshole, and I came, all the energy that would have gone into moans and gasps and thrusting going instead into keeping still and quiet, as she received what felt like huge dollops of semen into her gulping, sucking, slurping mouth and throat.
My hands were clutching the bus seat as the waves of pleasure moved from my penis all through my body, like an orgasmic electricity, stiffening every muscle even as my cock, in spurting its thick, lumpy cream, began to soften.
I expected Belinda to gag or cough, but she did not. She simply kept stroking me with mouth and fingers until, finally, I was empty, and my half-rigid cock slid wetly out of her cum-filled mouth. She let not a drop escape but swallowed it all, down to the last exhausted ejaculation which she received with lips and tongue; and when she had swallowed one more time, she gave my cockhead a quick kiss, pulled my kilt down, and quietly rose up to sit beside me.
I could barely whisper, I was breathing so heavily. “Thanks.”
“Your welcome.”
“No, I mean, really, that was really amazing. But I should. . . I should do something for you. . .”
She patted my knee. “No need. I just thought I owed you that.” Then her hand slid back up my thigh and fondled my near-flaccid cock, “I like kilts. I hope they come back into style.” She gave me a peck on the cheek and went back to her own seat.
We would scarcely speak from that moment till graduation some weeks later.
Academically, I had done surprisingly well that year. Sex agreed with me. At graduation I would wear the gold tassel of the Beta Club and the white stole of the National Honor Society. I had a partial scholarship to a church college, and I received special awards for music and English. Belinda was there; as a junior she could play the piano and let Gail, the choir’s usual accompanist, march across the stage. Annabelle was also there to see me graduate, and I wondered if they would actually meet each other—and if they did, what fireworks might ensue. They were each vaguely aware of the other’s existence, but I feared Annabelle especially might be quite jealous. She tended to be a bit possessive at times and to assume we were “going steady” though I had never actually made any such commitment, much to her.
As it turned out, there was no meeting between the two girls. Annabelle met me at the door as I marched out, and Belinda was still inside playing “Pomp and Circumstance.” Gail, accompanied by her fiancé, did pass us as we caressed in the parking lot, but she just gave a happy little wave and said, “Have a nice life.” Annabelle didn’t give her a second glance. She had other things on her mind.
She had driven me to the ceremony, and after greeting and accepting the congratulations of my family, I was driven by her to her house. Her parents were home, and they greeted me cordially and congratulated me, giving me as a graduation gift a fancy pen and pencil set. Then Annabelle and I disappeared into the delicious private depths of the family room in the basement.
I had grown to appreciate the etiquette this family followed regarding the family room. If Annabelle and I were down there, no one came down without making lots of noise first. No one wanted to embarrass anyone. I didn’t know what they thought was going on; we had never fucked while anyone else was in the house; but we had done some pretty heavy making out, and we had always had time enough to put on any missing articles of clothing and run a comb through our mussed hair.
This time was special, though. Her little brother was out at some party or other, and her parents made it quite clear they were going to bed early. We would have the house practically to ourselves, and Annabelle was obviously excited about it. She pulled me down onto the sofa for a long kiss and then not-too-subtly pushed me over so she could climb on top. As was my habit, I slid my hands up her thighs to caress her buttocks only to find that she was wearing no underwear under her short, loose dress. She ground her bare pussy into my swelling crotch as I slid my hands up her back to discover, as I had guessed, that she also wore no bra. “I wanted it to be special for you today,” she breathed.
And it was special. I ran my hands over her bare back, her sweet soft rear, her warm thighs, and back up again, slowly. I reached her shoulders and pushed her dress up; she took the hint and pulled it off, leaving her completely naked (except for a pair of high heeled shoes) and me completely clothed. And since the lights were on enough to see clearly, I could see my sweet Annabelle in all her waifish, elfin glory. She propped herself up with her hands on my shoulders, and I could see all the way down past her tiny tits with their pink tight nipples, past her flat belly, to the fiery hair of her crotch, which she was rubbing sensuously on the growing bulge in my pants.
I could have counted on one hand the times I had actually seen Annabelle Lee completely naked. So often the lights were off, or we were in a dark car; or she only removed as many garments as were necessary. But here she was, eyes focused on mine, crotch grinding on mine, and I let my eyes roam up and down. I’m sure she could sense my appreciation as she smiled wickedly and increased the speed of her movements so that her little breasts jiggled like tiny mounds of Jell-o. They were too small to swing beneath her, but hanging as they were, they looked larger than I had ever seen them, especially as their nipples hardened and grew and seemed to take on a life of their own.
My cock was straining for release, but for some reason I was enjoying the fact that I was clothed and she was not. So I just continued to rub my pubis up against her bare pussy, heedless of the fact that she was making a wet slimy spot on my trousers. I reached behind her and pulled her by the ass, spreading her buttocks apart and grinding her onto me even harder. She moaned—loudly---and I quieted her by releasing her ass and pulling her mouth down to mine for a violently juicy kiss. Breathless, with our combined saliva dripping from her chin, she pushed herself up. “Excuse me,” she said, and she got up and walked across the room. In just her heels, she looked sexier than ever, her calves shapely, her little backside swaying subtly as she went to the shelf where the expensive sound system was displayed. She bent down to find a record, and as she did so her buttocks parted, revealing not only her fire-haired pussy but also her puckered pink asshole, surrounded by just a few wispy orange hairs.
Annabelle started the record, and as the Doors began to play, she stayed bent over and twitched her behind in time to the music. Then she stood up and walked toward me—danced toward me, really—her high heels giving her not only sexy legs but a sexy swing to her hips. She looked willing to “Break on Through to the Other Side,” and I was just the guy to help her do it.
She reached for me as she got back to the sofa, but I stood up and grabbed her instead, lifting her easily and carrying her to the large square coffee table in the middle of the room. I lay her down on it, pulled her thighs apart, and buried my face between them. She tasted salty and wet and warm, her juices thick and plentiful. She moaned when my tongue found her clitoris, a hot little button eagerly pressing itself into my mouth. I reached up and grabbed both her nipples in my fingers, pinching them a little more roughly than usual. She moaned and ground her cunt harder into my face.
But this was too easy for her; she was obviously near orgasm, so I slowed things down. The Doors reminded me that I could sleep all night in her Soul Kitchen. I reluctantly pulled my face out of her wet crotch and instead inserted two fingers. Now I could look at her face and her chest—her whole body, in fact, as she got lost in her sexual excitement. My fingers slid slowly at first, finding their way, exploring her delicious insides. Sometimes I pulled them out to slide them across her hard little clit, but soon I was inserting them deeper and deeper, finding the sensitive places at the roof of her tight love tunnel, and using a finger from my other hand, or a thumb, or my tongue, to tend to that throbbing bit of exterior excitement.
When “The Crystal Ship” began to play, I slowed down my rhythm to match the music, over which I could hear her heavy breathing and occasional moans and whimpers. I slowly licked her from mouth to nipples. The air was filled with her scent, and my erection was almost painful, confined as it was in my pants.
The powerful rhythms of “Twentieth Century Fox” brought a change in my mood, and I took my mouth away from her body and simply concentrated on what I was doing with my fingers. She was so wet, and so frustrated. Her little pelvis was jerking and gyrating, trying to take control. She even grabbed my wrist once, but I was stronger and held her two hands at bay with my one hand. It was a joy to watch her struggle, her tiny little tits jiggling, her tight little nipples hard and distended, her throbbing little clit slipping and sliding between my fingers.
“Alabama Song” was another slow number. “Show me the way to the next whiskey bar.” I pulled my finger out of her vagina, spread her legs wide apart, and slowly, oh so slowly, lowered my mouth to her oozing cuntlips. “Show me the way to the next little girl.” I licked her slowly, savoring each drop of her salty juices, allowing my nose and chin to become soaked. I even moved my tongue down to her puckered little anus and licked around it, and then went back up her stomach to her nipples, inserting my fingers back into her flowing pussy.
And when “Light My Fire” started, I knew it was the last song on the first side of the record, and I had to finish her. And me.
I took my face away from her crotch, admiring the amount of slimy juice that stretched from her pussy to my mouth and chin. I slid three fingers into her tight but slippery cunt and moved them in time with the music: “You KNOW that it would BE unTRUE / you KNOW that I would BE a Liar / IF I was to SAY to YOU / GIRL we couldn’t GET much HIGHer.”
Annabelle was in another world, grinding and gyrating on the table, clothed only in her high heels, which she ground into the carpet. Her thighs were spread wide in welcome, and she began to moan as her cunt began to pulsate.
I reluctantly pulled my hands away from her—much to her obvious displeasure—just long enough to pull my pants down and free my raging cock. I put it into her without further notice and it slid easily all the way as she moaned in pleasure.
Holding her writhing body by the waist, I pummeled her pussy with thrust after thrust, increasing my speed until I could almost imagine myself as the piston of an engine, increasing my rpms to an amazing speed. I mouthed her nipples, her neck, her ears, and finally her mouth, which latched onto my mouth with a tongue-induced suction that let me know this was where she wanted me: my cock jackhammering her cunt, my mouth united with hers in a wet, sloppy tongue duel. She came, her screaming muffled by my mouth, her pussy clutching my penis, my hips continuing to fuck myself in and out of her, not giving up, as she came again—and again—and again—and yet again, her naked body red and splotchy,, her tiny nipples hard and distended, her pulsating pussy wet and spurting, her arms and legs wrapping around me in helpless clutching joy.
And then I came as well, filling her sopping cunt with my cum, feeling it spew out of me into her in huge lumps and ropes, knowing we were making a huge wet fragrant puddle on the coffee table. I picked her up, standing with her impaled on my exploding cock, and I came again, as our juices flooded my scrotum and filled my underwear and trousers.
Annabelle was quivering and jerking in uncontrolled spasms as I carried her, still impaled on my throbbing cock, over to the sofa. I lifted her gently off my deflating organ and let our copious juices pour out of her well-fucked cunt into the clothes still gathered around my knees. I lay her, almost unconscious now, on the sofa, and gently licked the remaining semen and grool from her swollen pussy lips.
“I bet you think you’re something,” she muttered huskily.
“I know I’m something.”
She reached down to feel her moist pussy found it too sensitive to touch. “Shit, you wore me out. But just wait, you’ll get yours.”
“Promises, promises.”
“I’m serious. You’ll get yours.”
“When?”
“You’ll get yours.”
I “got mine” after her graduation a week later. Annabelle met me once the ceremony was over, still wearing her cap and gown. She led me to the Buick and drove me to Mint Julep Cottages, a semi-sleazy collection of single-unit hotel cabins on the outskirts of town. She said she knew the owner and that he always made a lot of money on graduation nights.
Our “cottage” was actually a nice little cabin, a tiny white-painted wood frame house complete with kitchen, bathroom, sofa, and, of course, bed. The place was clean and neat, but I had a feeling we were going to do something about that.
The first thing Annabelle did once we were inside with the door locked was to unzip her graduation gown, revealing that she wore nothing underneath except some thigh-high stockings. She kept the black robe on, teasing me with fleeting glances at her familiar anatomy as she moved about the room and her body peeked in and out of the shapeless garment. She had evidently been here before, and she was making sure all the lighting—night lights, candles, etc.—was perfect for our romantic time together. Then she came back to me, dropped the robe to the floor, and said, “You’re overdressed.”
Looking directly into her eyes, I began to unfasten my clothes; when each garment was sufficiently loosened, Annabelle pulled it off, and soon I was dressed in nothing but shoes, socks, and underpants. She was slow to remove the shorts, just fingering around the waistband and the leg openings, caressing the growing bulge my balls and hard cock created, occasionally licking one of my nipples or squeezing my butt through the fabric. She even went to her knees and took my bulge into her mouth, her saliva and my precum generously moistening the cotton until the raging hard cock inside was visible through the soaked material. Finally, she pulled the soggy underwear to my knees and then to my ankles and speared her face with my penis.
She sucked and licked me just enough to bring me to maximum hardness, and then she stood and led me to the bed. Sliding out of her robe, she lay back on the bedspread, opening her legs and her sweet wet cunt to my view. I knelt between her thighs and leaned down to lick first each nipple and then her open lips. My cock was knocking at the door of her pussy, splatting quietly against her wet cunt lips.
“Not yet,” she said, grinning wickedly. “I want to play first.” She grasped my cock and moved it firmly to her asshole, adjusting her pelvis just enough to let my cockhead press confidently against her tight, tiny opening. “Fuck me, Rick,” she whispered. “Fuck me in the ass. I’ve never done it before, and I bet you haven’t either.”
“Are you sure?” My rod was almost painfully hard. “Won’t it hurt you?”
“I don’t care. It’s my gift to you, and yours to me.”
“But—”
“Do it.” She pressed her asshole against the head of my organ; I couldn’t imagine what It would feel like to slide into that puckered little orifice, but I was about to find out. Gently but firmly, I pushed myself against her rear entry, lubricating it with my precum, and soon I could slide in slowly but powerfully. “Unnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she grunted, obviously somewhere between pain and ecstasy. “Oh, god, that’s—oh, fuck—fuck me—fuck my—my asshole!”
“Happy graduation, Annabelle.” I forced myself all the way in and then just stayed there, letting her rectum stretch and settle around my pulsating penis. “Oh, sweetheart, that feels so good—I could come right now.”
“But don’t, Rick—just rest, let me—fuck—let me get used to you—Jesus—it hurts so good!”
I knew it must hurt, couldn’t imagine how it could feel good, but I was certainly enjoying my end of the experience. I relaxed, as she suggested, as her warm inner body stretched to enclose and surround my rigid sex. Her tears made me wonder if I should withdraw completely, but her smiles invited me to stay and continue the job she had assigned me.
“You should know,” I gasped, “that I don’t know how to make this good for you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, reaching down and fondling her wet vagina herself. “You make it good for you.” She flicked her engorged clit. “It’ll be fun.”
And it was. Her ass was so tight, tighter than her pussy had ever been, and it was wonderful to watch her work toward her own orgasm as I worked toward mine. She lay before me, legs wide open, anus impaled on my cock, one hand playing with her pussy and the other moving between her nipples and mine. It took some effort to move myself in and out of her asshole fast enough to cause my excitement to grow, but the combination of the slick friction of her rectum and the lewd display of self-pleasure she gave me soon had me pumping what felt like thick wads of semen deep into her bowels. As I helplessly moaned out my pleasure, she came as well, treating my spasming cock to her own orgasmic pulsations and treating my eyes to the sight of her exposed firecrotch spurting rhythmically as she grunted and clutched her little breasts. Her body flushed red from neck to crotch as she continued to emit almost inhuman sounds of pleasure.
My own orgasm over, I enjoyed watching her twitch and quiver as hers died down. I slowly drew my mansword out of its obscene little sheath. It was followed by a dollop of creamy white semen which merged with the greyish grool oozing from her sweet orange cunt. I collapsed beside her on the bed and leaned over to kiss her neck and face and mouth as she came down from her cum-induced high.
When Annabelle finally spoke, it was with both lust and practicality: “We need a shower.”
The motel bathroom was pretty basic, with little pressure and an inadequate supply of hot water. But it was wonderful to be standing in its tepid stream with the naked Annabelle, watching the water flow in rivulets shaped by her sweet little body. Water dripped from her hard nipples and from the hair of her orange pussy, and my penis responded, as always, with an eager hardness.
She took a bar of cheap motel soap and began to soap herself up, then thought better of it. She handed the soap to me. “Get me clean,” she said, and then she pressed herself against me and began to take her own soapy hands and rub my nipples and my balls and my penis and my ass. I followed suit, enjoying the slickness of her breasts as I cleaned and caressed them, kissing her open mouth with mine and moving my hands down to the sweet alluring juncture of her thighs, where her wet cunt pressed back at me, her little clit swelling and slipping through my fingers as she moaned softly. I soaped up my hands and reached behind her to her little rear, but when I slipped a soapy finger into her anus she gasped with pain. “Not there,” she said. “Not yet.” She did begin to finger my asshole, and I did not mind a bit. She got me nice and clean front and back and then knelt to take my hardening cock into her mouth, then moving down to my balls, then back to my buttocks. Unable to get her tongue just where she wanted it, she moved behind me and, pulling my ass cheeks apart, she thrust her tongue as far as she could into my anus, flicking in and out and all around as she reached around to fondle cock and balls. I was too spent to come again, and so was she; we cuddled under the water for a few minutes, dried each other off, and fell naked into the polyester sheets of the bed. Sleep was almost instant; my last thought was one of gratitude for this unpredictable little elf who was exploring sexual pleasure with me.
Early in the morning we went out for breakfast; Annabelle knew a place where some of her graduating friends were planning to meet. We were the last to arrive, and we found her friends in a large booth near the back. Some of the kids were making out pretty heavily; one couple was trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact that the boy’s penis was out and being manipulated by the girl. There wasn’t much room, so Annabelle sat on my lap. I experienced a slight erection, but our main mission was to eat breakfast, for which we were ravenous. Someone commented on the fact that we didn’t seem to be doing anything but eating, and someone else whispered, “No, that’s her church boyfriend. I bet they’ve never even kissed.”
We both just smiled and took another bite of scrambled eggs.
Summer was almost here—the last summer before college and, presumably, adulthood. Would it be a time of growing maturity, or would it be a time of last-chance hedonism and excess? I knew which program I wanted to follow.