0 comments/ 12990 views/ 0 favorites Vineyard Adventure By: grandcruvin "It's been too long, Craig thought to himself as he cruised up the familiar driveway to his favorite winery. He tried to get away from his stereo shop at as many times as he could to pursue his second passion; the rich red Napa Valley Cabernets. Craig walked into the tasting room like he owned the place, and perhaps one day he should own it with the huge portions of his income he'd shelled out over the years. Even though it had been over a year since he had last visited, Ricki, the tasting room manager had poured him a glass of red deliciousness before he reached the barstool. "Reece told me to tell you that he had something come up. Make yourself at home and he'll meet you tomorrow," chirped Ricki. The message wasn't a huge surprise, since Reece had the kind of prima donna attitude of the best artists, chefs and winemakers. The message barely registered with Craig, he was too busy studying the only other person in the room. "I can't believe she left with that asshole." Her green eyes flashed with anger and a slight glassiness of an afternoon of wine tasting. "I brought her here to cheer her up and she did this to me." "She's been here for two hours waiting for her friend," whispered Ricki. "I think I can handle this for you if you need to go home," replied Craig. "Oh, I bet you can," giving Craig a big wink. The tasting room was supposed to close over a half hour ago. "Be my guest, you go right ahead. You know where everything is," sighed Ricki. Craig got up and moved next to the green eyed beauty. She was right on the ball and turned towards him and said in a sultry to die for voice, "Hi, IÕm Laura." She wore a green shirt buttoned to the exact point of being high enough to be classy, but exactly low enough to inspire lustful thoughts of gropes. Her skirt was not short, but the slit was enough to make Craig dream of her thighs for weeks. She had curves in all the right places. "Why hello there, I'm Craig," he said with his steamy eye look. "Can I take you home, or may I show you around the vineyards?" asked Craig. Sitting there staring back at her phone and remembering how a few minutes ago the promise she made to have fun no matter what, she turned back to Craig with a look of desire in her eyes. "Show me the vineyards," Laura purred, with a sudden change in attitude as she drank in Craig's features as he did the same with hers. "In fact," she demanded, "feed me some grapes," as they walked into the rows of vines. Trying not to laugh, he said to her, "You might not like it, wine grapes are not like super market grapes." He knew these grapes were just about a week from harvest. "Try me," she said with daring lustful eyes. Craig picked up a cluster of grapes that were intended for $100 a bottle Cabernet and held them out for her to indulge in. Laura's mouth bit into the dark, sweet/tart grape cluster while letting her tongue pass along his fingers. Craig impulsively bent down and sucked at the deep red juices dribbling down her chin. Their tongues entwined mixing the subtle tastes of sweet and tartness across their mouths. Dropping the rest of the grapes, Craig grabbed her nice firmly rounded buttocks as her hand reached to his crotch, finding his stiffening manhood through his slacks. With one hand on her round ass, he pulled her against him and with the other Craig now grabbed her left breast he had been lusting after since first seeing her in tasting room. Laura moved her hand now to the belt buckle of his pants and was pulling and tugging to help free it from the barrier it was trying to protect. While working on freeing his pants button, she bent down trailing kisses down his chest to the pants line. She took the zipper of his slacks between her teeth and looked up at him while pulling the zipper down with lust filled eyes. Finally freeing his hard cock from his slacks, Laura made herself more comfortable by getting down on her knees, taking his thick cock into her hands. While Craig did not have porn-star length, he did have world class thickness and Laura took him with some difficulty. He was surprised how big his cock looked in her amazing small and tight mouth. He started thinking about how her tight wet pussy would feel as he leaned his head back while she continued bobbing her head up and back with insistent rhythm. He pulled her hair back away from her face to watch her work her magic. There was still a deep crimson red of grape juice on her lips as she worked him. Laura now began massaging his balls at the same time as sucking his hard luscious cock. Craig knew she was determined to drain every bit of his ooey goodness from his body. He fought the urge to thrust as she brought him closer and closer to orgasm. He could no longer take it as she ran a finger back towards his asshole and slowly massaged between his asshole and his balls. Craig moaned a deep hearty groan of pleasure as he pumped his load into her mouth and she took it as hungrily as she took the grapes a few minutes before. With a satisfied look on Laura's face, she got up to go back to the parking lot, but the tour was far from over in Craig's mind. Craig pulled her to him and the kissed once again. He could taste his salty sweetness on her tongue still. He had never done this before, but for some reason he was enjoying the mix of her wine soaked saliva with his taste in her mouth. He was getting turned on again at the thought of the kiss in itself. Craig felt weak in the knees and pulled her to the ground with him, pushing up her skirt. Laura was purring like a like while he licked her inner thigh and blew his hot breath on it. She began to squirm around as he moved his hands closer and closer to her G-string and barely making contact before pulling away. Finally, he bent down and with his teeth began to pull the G-string to the side, while letting his tongue dart out and taste her sweet honey pot. Craig could no longer take it and Laura was surely no longer able to take it either. He pulled off her g-string and plunged his tongue once again into her wet snatch. Searching her wet pussy, he found her little button sized clit and went at it with the hunger she had for his cock. Running his tongue up and down it and piercing it with his tongue back and forth she moaned with pleasure. He then sank his teeth down and nibbled her clit at the same time as he took two of his long thick fingers and plunging them into her dripping wet pussy. She gasped with pleasure and rose her hips off the dirt and grape scented ground. He knew exactly where to reach now with her hips up for the taking. Craig used his other hand and held her right buttocks up in the air and told her to not lower her hips no matter what. She was squirming at this point as she swearing in French at him to fuck her in so many different words. Oh there was so many things about this young woman he wanted to know more about. With his fingers still inside her working in the come here motion, he found what he was looking for, her g-spot. Rubbing and rubbing while still nibbling on her clit she was now having a hard time keeping her hips up, because of the intense pleasure she was receiving. She began to lower her hips and as Craig warned her, he stopped completely. Laura with a flabbergasted look on of yearning on her face thrust her hips so high up in the air. Craig was pleased with this and began to continue what he was doing before he was rudely interrupted with her hips dropping. Now, he knew she was getting close again, for her swearing was more intense and she was now gripping his hair with urgency. Craig wanted to get her off with the same explosiveness that she did to him. He took his free hand and began to rub her ass while it was propped up in the air. Running his finger up and down the area to her pussy getting all the juices she has been releasing he took that finger and slowly worked its way into her asshole. Laura's eyes became so wide she didn't know what to do. She automatically started to raise her hips higher, but with that he countered and continued to move his fingers in and out of her asshole and her pussy while still sucking and nibbling on her clit. She began to moan and purr in a way she had not done earlier. Laura dropped her hips down just a tad and began to raise up. Craig realized she was trying to ride all of his fingers. He began to move them in and out harder and faster as she moved up and down more and more with a complete new urgency. Laura's hands now began clawing at the soil like she would at the sheets of a bed to thrust herself as far onto his tongue and fingers as she could. Every muscle suddenly contracted and Laura came in sweet waves with her juices now squirting out of her pussy running down his arm between the vines of pleasure. Neither one of them had noticed the sunset during their "vineyard tour". In the dusk, they headed back to the winery. Thinking Laura's tour was over she turned to Craig and said, "I suppose you should take me back." "But, you haven't seen the winery yet," protested Craig while groping her nice firm tit in his hand. "You are right," she replied with a now different gleam in her eyes from even earlier. Craig was so entrusted by this woman, even her looks made his whole body begin to quiver in ecstasy. He led her to the barrel room, which was aptly named as all it contained were rows upon rows of wine-filled barrels. Walking around with widened eyes, "That's a lot of wine!" she exclaimed. "Want to try it?" Craig asked and before he got an answer he took a long phallic glass tube off of a small table. "This is a wine thief and," he proclaimed, holding up the tool, and opening the plug in the barrel, "and this is the bung hole." "Perhaps after I know you a little better," Laura bantered back as he plunged the thief into the barrel. When he pulled it out, the thief was full of the inky-crimson, still aging, new vintage of cabernet. He put the thief to her mouth and poured some of the rich, velvety wine into her mouth and the rest into his own. Looking at her with a new found lust, "Get naked," Craig ordered. Laura gave him a look of desire and obeyed with earnestness. Her ample tits were now glistening pink in the dim cellar light. After she shed her already damp g-string and skirt, she went again to his crotch, but this time Craig stopped her and then demanded, "Turn around." He reached up and began to caress her neck and back up and down massaging her from behind making her moan in pleasure from the mere touch. He finally rested his hand at the base of her nape. Craig told her to bend over as he helped with his hand still on her nape pushing her over one of the 55 gallon oak barrels. His hand left her nape and ran down her back and her trailed down her ass cupping it at the end. He reached between her legs to her pussy feeling the warm juices that began to accumulate in his fingers and his other hand reached around to the front to grab her beautiful exposed pink nipple. Her nipple hardened against the barrel that was as cool as the vineyard soil had been warm. Laura screamed as he thrust is thick cock into her eager pussy. "I'm ready, fuck me hard," Laura pleaded and Craig wasn't ready to argue. He grabbed her hips and pounded her against the round barrel. It wasn't long before he felt her muscles spasm and contract around his thrusting cock. His back arched and he came in waves inside her. "Don't get dressed," Craig instructed as he saw her reaching for her strewn clothing. "But we better go." "Let me show you the guesthouse. It's where I'm staying..." Vineyard Adventures I live and work in New Caledonia, in the South Pacific, having departed France in my early twenties. I met Martine for the first time when, after being away for five years, I went home on holiday to the villa my elderly parents own in the countryside south of Toulon. "Pierre, this is Martine," my mother introduced the teenager who was living with them. The girl had a haunted, uneasy demeanour, and shyly let me greet her with a kiss on both cheeks. Later, I found out that Martine's mother, a cousin of my father, had committed suicide, and that her father had abandoned her shortly after I left home. She was thirteen then, and my parents had taken her in not just because she was useful to them around the villa, but out of charity. My being their only child, my parents had in my absence come to love her like the daughter they never had, though, now eighteen, it seemed she still suffered the effects of the double tragedy in her life. In fact, Martine's sad face kind of made it difficult to notice anything else about her, as if it would be embarrassing to take an interest in any other part of her anatomy. Luckily she did not have the coarse features of some of the country girls of the district but was fine-boned. Her eyes and hair were brown, the latter often beguiling tucked at the sides behind her small ears. The top of her head rose to the level of my chin. As the days passed, and when she wasn't looking at me, I noticed more about her, like the simple cotton frocks she always wore during the day. They invariably had a high neckline and a hem that brushed the tops of her shapely knees. To hide the swell of her breasts she tended to hunch when I was about, and the dresses, apart from flaring over her hips, looked shapeless unless blown against her legs by the wind. The villa, which Martine kept cleaned, was the heart of the small vineyard from which my parents earned a living. They employed staff (both men and women) to do the harvesting and help make the wine. Martine also cooked for the family, with my mother contributing when she was well enough. The first two mornings of my holiday I slept in late but on the third, now rested from my long journey home, the dawn chorus of birds woke me. The Mediterranean sun was streaming into my upstairs room. Naked, I got up and went over to the open window to look out at the familiar view of the countryside, spotting Martine walking down one of the lanes between the grapevines, moving away from the villa. She was wearing a frock, and was barefoot. A white towel hung over shoulder, and I assumed she was heading towards the river that fringed the vineyard. It usually ran shallow but there was a waterhole that, after a hot day, I'd swum in myself as a child then a teenager, sometimes with members of the vineyard staff or their children. Seen from the rear, Martine had a very feminine silhouette, and the erection I'd woken with stayed up, tightening delightfully as I watched her. Encouraged, I let the fingers of my right hand drift to the sensitive flesh. I had been without a girlfriend in Noumea for three months, after splitting up with Simone and, in the intervening period, masturbation had become as necessary again as it had seemed when I was a boy at home. My penis thrilling to the self-stimulation, I wished Martine would turn round, look up, and see me in the window with my manhood standing proud. In that hope, my knob jutting out of my hand, I started jerking off in full view. But Martine didn't look my way. Her figure got smaller and smaller in the distance until it was no longer providing any stimulus for what the priests at Confession used to call my 'self-abuse'. In response to the loss of incentive my penis drooped then, after I released it, started shrivelling. I could have closed my eyes and recalled any number of sexual episodes with women, to reach a climax, but I was fixated on Martine. I guess I wanted to be with her rather than gratify myself with a self-induced orgasm. I suppose, in my subconscious, I lusted to make love to her, but I did not consciously think about it in those terms, simply feeling a desire for her company and to find out more about her. Acting on that impulse I searched for a pair of swimming shorts, pulled them over the remnant of my erection and, leaving my parents likely still asleep in their bed, I went outside. The sun was low on the horizon, but its warmth reached my bare skin and heated the air around me. As I headed quickly down the row next to the one Martine had taken I could smell the earth and the vines, and the sweet smell of ripe grapes. Soon the vineyard would fill with workers for a new day. The riverbank was lined with a dense band of native trees and shrubs, and a short path led through it to the waterhole. Birds were singing in the trees and I could hear the gurgling rush of the water running over the stony bed further downstream. I slowed, not wanting my arrival to startle Martine. With her back towards the path, she was sitting on a tree stump that had washed up on the bank. The white towel was placed beside her, and she was still wearing her plain frock. She was motionless, looking out across the river, perhaps staring into space and waiting for the sun to warm the water as it chased back the shadows of the overhanging trees. I stopped and stayed still, staring at her back, undressing her with my eyes and visualising the firm curves of her sides, waist, hips and flanks. Then, like a schoolboy who had never seen a naked woman before and foresaw an opportunity, I gave in to the whim to hide in the vegetation rather than go up and greet Martine as I should have. Sexual impulses often seem to bypass the reasoning centres of the brain, yet I knew I wasn't acting my age. I guess her youth made me feel like a boy again, perhaps subconsciously figuring that she would not be interested in a man ten years her senior. I knelt on the ground and peeped at her through the shrubbery, knowing it was wrong but feeling too expectant and excited to stop myself. The idea of watching her undress unawares was irresistible, even if she turned out to be wearing a bathing costume under her frock. My erection had come back, elongating down the leg of my shorts, a good excuse to stay concealed, though my desire to see her body had overcome my shame. Minutes passed and nothing happened. I thought that maybe she had changed her mind about swimming. Perhaps she had left it too late and expected the workers to arrive in the vines behind us. I wasn't wearing my watch, so I couldn't check the time. If such an expectation had put her off then, I speculated, perhaps she had been planning to swim nude. The thought sent a thrill to my genitals, already stimulated by my hand toying with the lump under the thin fabric of my shorts. The heat of the early morning sun, even in the shade of the trees, was getting uncomfortable and I began to regret my choice of hiding. I could have been swimming instead of sweating and skulking in the bushes like a pervert. Then again, I reconsidered, if I got to see her nude, the sacrifice would not be too great. After all (having only just turned eighteen, and being painfully shy) there was no way she would show herself to me if she knew I was there. Without warning she turned her head. I thought for a moment she was looking at me, but her eyes swept the entrance to the pathway, perhaps to make sure no one was coming. She stood up, her back to me, and lifted the shift over her head. I could see a bra strap and bikini briefs, both white, with a lot of tanned skin in between and all the way down her slender legs. Two white cheeks peeped out from the leg bands of her underwear. It appeared she did not sunbathe nude. Turning her head again, briefly, she checked down the pathway then reached for the catch of her bra. Unfastening it, she slid the shoulder straps off her arms. Now she was standing at a slight angle and I could see the side of one swelling breast, but not the nipple. The globe was fuller and shapelier than I had expected, and looked as firm out of the bra as it had in the cup, the benefit of being small-breasted. Without checking her privacy again she slid down her briefs and took them off. She stood for a second, regaining her balance, then twisted to drop the little garment on the top of her dress. I had a fleeting view of her breasts before, all-nude, she padded down the sandbank in her bare feet. She waded into the water until it reached her knees then dove in headfirst. I had glimpsed an interestingly female nook and cranny between the peach-like cheeks of her buttocks, but was left with no impression of the detail. Martine came to the surface out in the pool, where the river slowed and ran deep. Her hair was soaked and, with only her bare shoulders showing, she paddled with her feet as she brushed wet strands out of her eyes. Then she breast-stroked to cross the pool, kicking out, her legs repeatedly opening as she drew her knees forward. Reaching the other side, she turned and swam towards the shallows where the running water entered the pool over a bank of stones. Beached, she turned on her back and lay in the flow, her head facing upstream and her feet towards me, the rushing water seeming to be massaging her curves. I could see the hair-covered mound between the tops of her legs, and the little peaks of her brown nipples standing out from the swelling whiteness where the suntan did not reach. Her youth and her physical beauty entranced me. I slipped my shorts down to my knees and gripped the male organ that had sprung to attention in front of me. Gratifying it became the overwhelming need as I admired Martine's erogenous zones and womanly contours. At the moment she parted her thighs, as if she was relaxing in the warmth of the sun, my organ spouted. White semen spat out, splattering the broad green leaves of the shrub in front of me. Luckily, Martine was far enough away for my contained gasp of ecstasy to go unheard, the countryside sounds of the river, birds, and insects masking it. Martine remained sprawled on the gravel bank across the pool, resting on her elbows, letting the cooling water flow under her buttocks and play teasingly around her genitals. I think her eyes were closed. The elation of my sexual release was slowly ebbing, but I could still see up the valley of her thighs to her vulva, though I could not get any sense of what lay under the mat of hair. I guess she wasn't worrying about being disturbed -- perhaps thinking it was still too early for anyone to be about. Then I recalled it was Sunday and that, from the vineyards on either side of the river, it was unlikely anyone would happen along and see her. I watched Martine turn over onto her front, prop herself on her arms, and plunge her lower half into the shallow water, the peach of her buttocks exposed provocatively in the sunlight. Pulling my shorts up, I thought fleetingly, and unintentionally, of my parents rising to go to church and expecting me to join them. But, too delighted by carnal attraction to Martine, I experienced no more than a passing guilt. After I had shifted position several times to ease cramped muscles, I saw Martine slide back into the pool and swim across to the sandy bank near the point I was concealed. As she came out of the water she was facing my way, and I got my first full-frontal view of her nude. It took awhile for my eyes to get from the gap between her legs to her face, but when I saw its habitually haunted expression I immediately felt ashamed of having taken advantage. Even so, I couldn't move away without running the risk a noise might reveal my presence and, having decided to stay put, I remained the voyeur. The girlfriend before Simone had been the first woman I had ever seen stark naked, but catching Martine unawares had been almost as exciting. Still facing in my direction, she dried her youthful breasts, making them jiggle pleasantly then, knees akimbo, put the towel between her legs to blot her pubic area. I could glimpse a hint of pinkness as she slipped her panties over her feet, but she hid it, and her pubic hair, when she pulled the undergarment all the way up. She lifted the towel again and started giving her hair a more thorough drying, leaving it tousled. All the while, her firm breasts had jiggled nakedly in a way that was even more delightful than before. When she finally put on her bra, and then her dress, I felt like a child whose treat had been taken away. Martine headed back towards the villa, and I trailed her unseen, two lanes of lush grapevines over, and got back to my room without encountering my parents. There, I checked the time (I was not late after all), and dressed respectfully for church. Martine sat with our family group, next to me in the pew, still shy and, of course, unaware that I had seen her private parts. She had on her best frock and I was supersensitive to every movement of her thighs and lap, as well as to the rising and falling of her chest. Her eyes were downcast most of the time, and she did not catch the looks I gave her. My parents, naturally, were too devout to be paying me any attention in church, or to suspect the lecherous thoughts I was having about their teenage ward. After Mass, before we returned home, my parents proudly renewed my acquaintance with various villagers clustered outside. Martine made brunch at the villa, innocently unaware of me accurately undressing her with my eyes. Now that I knew what beauty lay beneath her plain dress it was not difficult. I did try to engage her in conversation during the meal, to develop a relationship, but she gave brief, jerky replies even to open-ended questions. I saw that my parents thought I was only trying to be like a big brother to her, and I felt guilty that my interest had been less honourable. The next day I surreptitiously followed Martine into the vineyard when she took wine and cheese out to the workers to supplement their lunches. The men, though scolded by the older women, gave her a hard time, pretending they were going to reach under her dress or grasp her breasts, and making ribald comments. Though rebuffed, they only stopped toying with her when I came on the scene. She gave me a grateful look. Later, when we walked back to the villa together and I prodded, she told me the men often behaved that way towards her. She was used to it, she said, but I could see that it upset her really. "Shall I have a word to my father about it?" I asked, glad to have any sort of private conversation with her. She told me not to, that the men just did it good-humouredly. I was not so sure, knowing the thoughts I had entertained myself. I let her know that if any of the men ever actually touched her improperly she should tell me, but her face did not show any sign she would do more than bear the harassment stoically. "The women will keep them in check," she said. I mastered my feelings about her for a week and didn't follow her to the river though, most mornings, I watched from my window as she headed there to swim. Afterwards (in my room) I would masturbate as I pictured her nude at the waterhole. I guess I could have done more about trying to befriend her, but she seemed so much younger than I was, and had a vulnerable quality that made me hold back. During the week she did speak to me more freely when the occasion required, like at meal times, and I even managed to make her smile a few times with stories about my life in New Caledonia. They entertained my parents too, and I realised how much I'd missed them while I was away. "You're good for Martine, Pierre," my father said to me when we were alone one day. "What a pity she is not your age. Otherwise the two of you could have married." I thought over his words afterwards and wondered if he guessed how I felt about her and was warning me off. By Monday of the following week memories of seeing Martine nude were not enough any longer and I ached to view her bare flesh again. I followed her to the river, not long after dawn. It was fortunate I did. I found she had another admirer, concealed in the same place I had crouched the week before, but his intentions were even less honourable than mine. He carried a length of rope with which to render her defenceless and a sack to put over her head. When I was no more than a pace or two away he turned, perhaps sensing my presence. I recognised him as one of the swarthy vineyard workers who had harassed Martine. He was so startled by being discovered in his guilty plan that I had time to take a swing at him. He narrowly avoided it, but lost his balance and tumbled through the bushes out onto the sandy bank along the water's edge. I leapt on top of him and we grappled fiercely. I heard Martine scream, but was too preoccupied with defending myself to try and see what state of undress she was in. The worker recognised me as we grappled, and his resistance shifted to getting away rather than inflicting further injury. I contrived to let him think he'd broken free, and he ran off towards the vineyard. It seemed the better course to let him go, despite his criminal intentions. He hadn't done Martine any real harm, and I had a bleeding nose and gouged face from thwarting his planned rape, so I did not want any further injury. Martine, I saw, was standing few feet away and clutching her dress to her neck, frozen to the spot. I couldn't tell if she had underwear on or was nude. I blurted when I stopped panting, "He intended to tie you up and rape you." Martine burst into tears, and I didn't know what to do. My intention of swimming with her, of developing a new rapport in the mutual enjoyment of a recreational activity she liked, had been ruined. Her uncontrollable sobs did not seem as if they came just from relief I had saved her, though. Nonetheless, filled with sympathy, I took her heaving body in my arms, one hand on her back encountering her bra catch. I looked down her spine to find she had her panties on, and I felt jealously happy the worker had not seen her nude. Though in a state of semi-undress, Martine let me comfort her, and I tried not to be conscious of her soft body pressed against me, jerking as she sobbed, or to think about the temptation to undo her bra. When the flood of tears ended she pulled away and apologised for them. I turned my back to let her put her dress on, and then shepherded her to the villa in silence. She did not come down to breakfast afterwards. I got my father alone, and told him what had happened earlier. "That he should attempt such a thing! Martine is like a daughter to me!" His face darkened in outrage. I described the man for him. "Ah yes, the Yemeni... There are so many migrant workers these days, Pierre." "Will you go to the Police?" "I think not." "But..." "Martine has been through enough in her life. Her uncle raped her when she was thirteen... The Yemeni will already be on the run. I will have his work permit revoked for leaving my employment and he will be deported when he's caught." I stayed awake in bed that evening, lying on my back, unable to stop thinking about what had happened to Martine when she was thirteen. Her haunted demeanour and unease around me now had a more convincing explanation. To lose her virginity that way, and so young, was tragic. In the moonlight from the window I saw my bedroom door opening. I recognised Martine as she slipped through. She closed it behind her quietly then turned towards the bed as I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I felt the cover lift and then she was lying beside me. "Martine..." I began, wanting to let her know she shouldn't be there. "Shshsh." She put her finger on my lips as she turned towards me. Then her arm slipped over my bare chest and she cuddled up. I could feel the softness and warmth of her breasts but her cotton nightie was a tantalizing barrier to skin-to-skin contact. "Go back to sleep," she said. Vineyard Adventures I didn't manage to do that for an hour after she, having laid a burden of trust on me, innocently fell asleep in my arms. When I woke daylight was streaming through the window. I had an erection under the sheet, and there was a hand around it, not my own. 'Martine is holding my manhood!' My brain had jerked into gear. Her head lay on my bare chest, her long auburn hair spilling over it, and the bedcover was pulled up to her shoulder. Despite the impression I got that her breasts were naked, she was still wearing the nightie. I must have started because her hand drew guiltily away. I pretended to be waking, saving her embarrassment. Her head lifted and her eyes gazed into mine. "Good morning, Pierre." "Good morning, Martine." We sounded like sappy newlyweds waking after their wedding night. I was happy and she was shy. Her breasts were no longer touching me and her hand had gone somewhere that did not have any contact with my body. Only my erection had stayed the same, lifting the sheet that covered us. Her eyes moist and warm, she said, "I'm grateful for what you did for me at the river yesterday." "Any gentleman would have." "I hope your nose is all right now." She looked at it. "Quite recovered," I said. "I should go." She immediately flipped back the bed cover on her side and slipped out. I thought of a line from the movie Romeo and Juliet: 'Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?' But I did not vocalise it and, instead, chastely watched her tiptoe over to the door and leave, casting one last look at the steepled part of the bed cover. Needless to say as, aching for her, I gave myself satisfaction I recalled the touch of her breasts against my chest and how she had inquisitively fondled my sex organ while I slept, either responding to an erection I already had when she woke, or causing it. All day, Martine avoided being alone with me, and did not arrive at the table for dinner. "Her period must have come early," my father commented with his usual Gallic openness about matters to do with sex and reproduction. "During the time of her menstrual flow she's exceptionally shy." "Insists on using pads not tampons," my mother contributed, sounding very modern for her age. It was my turn to feel awkward at the table, and to wonder if Martine had other reasons for avoiding me. Innocent though it had turned out to be -- at least until she woke in the morning -- could she regret having expressed her gratitude by spending the night in my bed? The next night, late and unexpected, my ghostly angel came to me again and cuddled in my armpit. I could sense her breasts near me even though they weren't touching my side this time. As before, she had worn all she needed for modesty in the moonlight. Deciding after a few moments that I was awake, she whispered, "Do you always sleep with nothing on?" I wondered how she could tell, and said, "Even in winter in Noumea, except for a mosquito net." There was silence for a few moments. Then I felt a small feminine hand slide down my chest and rest on my belly, excitingly only a few millimetres away from my pubic hair. "And this?" She touched my organ with one extended finger and giggled softly. "Is it always the first to rise in the mornings?" "Every morning since I've been here." "Who do you dream about -- your girlfriend back in Noumea?" "I don't currently have one." She digested that information in silence while I was wishing her finger, or even better her whole hand, would come back to touch my penis. "Whom do you dream about then?" "You." "Really?" She giggled softly again. "Because of this?" Her hand began fondling my manhood. "Because I like you," I managed to say. "We hardly know each other." "I'd like to remedy that." My manhood, though telling her no lies, any more than I was, had started to grow like Pinocchio's nose. She was now stroking it, but inexpertly. I threw back the sheet so that we could both see my swollen member standing up in the moonlight. I showed her how to hold it with three fingers spread along the underside of the shaft and a thumb on top rubbing the foreskin over the rim of the glans. She whispered with delight, "It feels so big and hard!" "I love the feel of your hand on it!" With little kisses, her lips started caressing my ribs. Then I heard her ask, "Do you want me to bring you off?" As if in anticipation, she increased the pace of her milking, leaving me startled she knew about such things. She had appeared to be so shy and innocent. I wanted to tell her how it would be a waste and that I really wanted to come inside her, but I said, "If you like." "Would you like?" "Very much!" Her hand flew even faster, and I groaned in pleasure for her without having to pretend. She giggled, amused, and then concentrated harder on what she was doing. Seconds later, with me craving relief, her hand produced a gusher, gouts of semen spurting upwards then subsiding over her wrist and fingers. The next thing I knew she had slithered on top of me and was pressing her groin against my subsiding erection, her lips passionately finding mine. She did not seem like a girl anymore but very much like a woman. I hitched at her cotton nightie and she lifted a little to free it to the waist. Settling again, her hair-fringed vulva nestled nakedly against my penis -- deflation stalled by the delightful intimacy. (My father had been wrong about her menstruating early.) My hands found her buttocks and squeezed down. She let out a little groan of pleasure, pressing her belly into mine. Groping lower, I drew her buns gently apart. She raised her upper body, her hands on my shoulders, and pressed her wet flesh against my still swollen shaft. While she did a delightful bump and grind against my manhood I kept holding her open, down there, as best I could. I was stiff enough to have entered her but she reached a climax without penetration, forestalling, and perhaps not wanting, full intercourse. Maybe frightened I might, she leapt out of bed and wordlessly left me. Aching for her, I felt bereft and alone in the room. The next day I worked in the vineyard with my father. At dinner, Martine sat across the table and kept giving me shy glances. Once, whether by accident or not, her foot touched my leg. I wasn't sure if she would arrive in my room again or not. I waited, and thought of going to hers, but worried it might seem too aggressive given her age and circumstances -- far better that I take things gradually and she come to me of her own freewill. She did come in the end. This time she stood by the bed and lifted her nightie off over her head. For a moment I saw her young body up close, nude though shadowed, and wished there were no clouds over the moon. She came in with me and cuddled up. For the first time, skin-to-skin, I felt the magic touch of her soft breasts and nipples on my chest. "I just wanted to be with you like this," she whispered. "It feels wonderful," I said, hugging her closer and giving up any expectations of having sex. "I love you," she said shyly. "I love you too, little one," I responded, meaning it, hugging her delightedly because she felt so wonderfully bare from head to toe. She settled even more comfortably into my embrace. "Good night, Pierre." "Goodnight, Martine." I spent the long hours with her chastely, not sleeping much, but when I woke after dawn found her already gone from the bed, perhaps scared off this time by my morning erection. Eventually,I know she will be ready to go all the way and, once she is, she will want to be totally mine.