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Lilli

By: nochoiceleft



My wife and her older sister have always been close. Her sister lives a couple of town over with her daughter and they're who we spend most holidays with. The sisters spend as much time together that time and distance allows and this is one of the weekends we're getting together. As usual, her daughter Lilli came with her. Lilli has been dreadfully shy ever since she was a little girl, she always seemed so frail and just a wisp of a thing. Now that's she all grown up, must be going on twenty by now, she's become just plain socially awkward. She wears really frumpy clothes, keeps her hair straight down and half over her face. She is seldom able to look you in the eye. I feel sorry for her because she really is a sweet girl if you can get her to sit and talk, but I've been told I'm one of the few that have ever found that out. When the sisters go shopping she will go with them, but other than that she just hangs out by herself and reads. I've never heard her speak of any friends and figure she must be missing out on most of the good things in life.

On Saturday morning, we were all up and finishing breakfast when my wife got a call from her mother's neighbor. The neighbor said she had tried to call the older sister but couldn't reach her and that their mother had had a health issue during the night and was taken to the hospital. My wife thanked the neighbor and let her know that her sister was with her and that they would head that way immediately. An hour later they were packed up and ready to make the six or seven hour drive to their old home town to be with their mother. I didn't mind that they leave Lilli behind because she is very little trouble. In fact, if you didn't look for her you might not know she was here at all.

Later that afternoon we got the call from my wife letting us know that their mother's issue was serious and she wouldn't be released from the hospital for several days. Even then, she wouldn't be going home right away but transitioning into a skilled nursing home. In the meantime the girls were going to stay in their childhood home getting it ready to close it up until their mother could return. If all goes as planned, they would see us in a couple of days after they had their mother settled in at the nursing home.

Lilli and I made due for dinner. We talked a bit about her grandmother but that was about it. Mostly we just sat in silence and ate. After dinner, Lilli picked up her current book and excused herself to her room. I retired to the den to watch TV from my favorite chair. I have a great TV chair, its big, overstuffed, high back winged leather chair. I can camp out in it for hours. Finally, I made my way upstairs to get ready for bed. I hadn't seen Lilli since dinner, but not to worry, that was pretty normal. 

Before jumping in bed, I went downstairs to double check the doors. The light was on in the kitchen so I went to turn it off. As I stood in the doorway, I see Lilli standing at the sink getting a glass of water. I was stopped dead in my tracks. She was long and slender, wearing nothing but a thin, spaghetti strap camisole and white panties. Her hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail. As she leaned over the sink her small little ass turned per perfectly down to her thin thighs. The camisole hugged tight against her flat tummy and her titties were bigger than a handful. Her neck and jawline were thin and beautiful. Where in the hell did this Lilli come from? 

As I stepped into the kitchen, Lilli was startled. She quickly tried to cover something up but with the glass of water in her hand she was having a hard time. Finally, she got one arm across her breasts and stood there with a panicked look in her eyes saying, "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

I was a bit stunned as well and probably didn't think my response through thoroughly and said a little too positively, "There's nothing to be sorry for, you're beautiful."

She looked away from me to say, "I am not."

Again, with too much enthusiasm, "Oh my god Lilli, you are absolutely stunning!"

She actually took a second to look down at herself, like she was checking to see what I was talking about. Then she blushed to a bright red, smiled a little smile and scurried around me and headed for her bedroom without making eye contact.

The next day we just hung out, mostly doing our own thing. When we finally sat down to dinner, I had to ask her why she dressed the way she did. Why did she cover up her cute figure? My answer was given in how uncomfortable she became, she even had a hard time even talking. Once again, I felt sorry for her. I told her that I would be happy to take her shopping the next day if she would like to, maybe find something a little less "frumpy." She still couldn't look at me, but I could see a little smile. In fact, I was seeing her in a completely new light knowing what was under her oversized sweatshirt.

That night we both went our own ways, me to my big comfortable chair to watch TV and Lilli to her room to read. The night wore on and it was getting close to my bedtime when Lilli came downstairs to apparently get her glass of water. I was surprised that she came down in her night clothes, similar to the night before, with me in the den. She had to walk by the den and I could see into the kitchen from where I sat. She was just as incredibly hot as she was the night before. Seeing her breasts lightly bounce as she walked and the space between her thighs as they reached her tight ass was mesmerizing. I couldn't believe my shy little niece was actually displaying herself again; this wasn't like her at all. 

She wandered around the downstairs a bit making a point not to look at me. My show came to an end and I turned off the TV. With the TV off the den was only lit by light coming in from the other rooms. Lilli was walking around tentatively, seemingly trying to work up her courage to come talk to me. I waited. She finally came and stood in the doorway to the den. Seeing her thin frame backlit from the kitchen made her figure look like a runway model. I continue to sit quietly, although this whole thing was stirring my loins. 

I was purposefully not making eye contact, starring in the general direction of the TV. She came into the den slowly a little bit at a time. She got within three or four feet of my chair and just stood there. It was clear that she had some major internal conflicts going on or maybe she just didn't know what to do. She seemed to need some sign from me to take another step, so I placed my elbow on the arm of my chair and just laid my arm out towards her with my palm up. It looked like I was seeking a hand slap but she seemed to figure out what to do. She slowly moved forward until my hand lined up to her crotch and gently moved over it. My hand slid easily into the space between her thighs and I lightly pressed upward. As soon as I made contact, her legs trembled and she gasped a breath.

I lightly stroked my fingers back and forth at the knuckles, taking my fingertips across her panties. She let out a quiet whimper. I noticed her crotch was already damp which indicated to me that had been thinking quite a bit about this as she was working up her courage. She had taken the plunge now; this little minx was literally in the palm of my hand. I increased my pressure and cupped her whole sex. She almost lost her balance so I slowly turned her with the hand between her legs guided her down to my lap with my other hand. She curled up nicely with her head on my chest and my hand still holding her between her legs. Lilli was so light and seemed so innocent; she was almost childlike on my lap. 

I began to rub her sweet pussy with more intention and my other hand found her breast as I cradled her. She buried her face in my chest as she opened her legs a bit more giving me permission and began mewing. I found her nipple hard and erect as I rolled it between my fingers with one hand and found her clit through her panties and began to rub and pinch with the other. She came on my lap with a loud groan. 

We sat for a while as she regained her breath. I told her that she was so beautiful as I stroked across her bottom and down the back of her delicious thighs. My other hand had found its way under her top and roamed front and back. "Do you want me to remove my pants?" I quietly asked her.

She gave a slight nod. I first took my hand on her bum and slid her panties down her legs and off. Her narrow hips made it easy. Without her panties on she snuggled in closer, feeling more vulnerable. I slowly lifted her off my lap and encouraged her to stand. Without getting up I lifted my hips and slid my pants to the floor. I took her hands in mine and drew her back onto the chair. This time she had a knee on either side of my legs as this sweet thing sat back on my lap. I ran my hands from her ass, up her back and took her night shirt off as I went. 

I studied her lovely titties in the low light and found her nipples were perfectly placed high on her breasts. I leaned in and took one into my mouth and she arched her back pressing her chest into me. As I fondled both breasts, licked, flicked, and sucked back and forth, she began to grind her soft and nearly hairless vagina down onto my cock. Judging from the flood of moisture that began to flow onto my lap, she had come again.

She stopped all movement for a moment to gather herself, then lifted herself up on her knees and looked down between her legs. I assumed she was a virgin but really didn't know, so I waited for her to take the next move. She seemed to be inspecting my penis and finally reached down and lightly touched it. She tentatively stroked it as it lay across my belly and then lifted like she was judging its weight. Finally, she lifted my penis up against her soft pussy lips and ran it back and forth, lightly masturbating herself with it.

I was ready to lift up and shove my cock deep inside her, but refrained. As she slowly inserted my dick I was expecting some virginal resistance, but didn't notice any. This only made my beautiful little niece even more intriguing. At some point she either gained the confidence or just couldn't take it anymore, she dropped fully onto my cock with a loud grunt. Lilli paused, breathing heavily, and just wiggled around on top of me before rising up and down, again with a loud grunt. She finally started to roll her hips back and forth. It was spectacular, her flat tummy gyrating on my crotch as she leaned back pointing her breasts towards the ceiling. I held her hips to stop her from falling over backwards as she tried to gain the most pressure on her sensitive parts. As she found the spot and increased her movements, I started to pull her back and forth by the hips, pushing my cock up into her. Lilli was squealing with every stroke, we were both getting close. As I felt myself load up, getting ready to unleash my virility, I leaned forward holding Lilli almost parallel to the floor and fucked her like a madman. Sliding her lithe little body off my raging hard on and then slamming her back, she lost it. Her arms started to flail about, her head dropped back, and her body deflated on my dick with a guttural moan. I was still pumping cum deep inside her as she just hung there impaled on my cock.

After a minute or two I lower her to the floor and laid her there on her back. As I sat in the chair above her, I don't thing think I had seen a more beautiful sight than this slender, beautifully shy, just fucked, woman laying before me. Looking at her flawlessly flushed skin as she watched me back through her half opened bedroom eyes was almost enough to make me cum again.

Eventually I got up; picked up the panties, the night shirt, and Lilli, carrying all three to her bedroom. Laying her on the bed, I kissed her on her forehead and on both her eyes then retired to my bedroom.

The next morning we were both late risers. When Lilli finally came down, she was almost back to her old self but with just a bit more bounce in her step and a small grin on her face. I told her we were going shopping, if for nothing else than to replace her white cotton underwear. She was reluctant but I was insistent. I had the feeling she was hoping I would push the issue. As we were getting ready to leave I asked her if she would wear her hair back off her face. She said she would if I wanted her to. It dawned on me that maybe no one had ever taken interest before, or maybe she looked at herself a little differently today, after last night. We rode to the mall in silence but it was nice getting to sneak peeks over at her feminine profile. 

The first store I tracked down was Victoria's Secret. I figured if we only got one thing done, it would be underwear. Figuring out how I could help this overly shy young lady with her unmentionables was quickly solved by an assertive and attractive salesperson. I ended up finding a chair watching as the two of them hit the dressing rooms, back onto the sales floor only to giggle and talk their way back to the dressing rooms. I had never seen Lilli interact so well before and could see her getting caught up in this young sales ladies pitch. This was going to cost me a fortune and I was all the happier for it.

That turned out to be the only store we visited, Lilli got everything she needed but was exhausted. When we got home we grabbed a bite and decided to take naps. I got back up before Lilli and started dinner. When she came down she wasn't wearing any of her new clothes but she wasn't wearing her bulky old sweatshirt either. We had some light conversation through dinner, which was a big improvement to silence, when I asked her if she likes her new clothes. She lit up and said enthusiastically she did and thanked me one more time. She asked me if I wanted to see them, that she would model then for me. Again I had to ask myself where did my socially awkward niece go and who's this?

The first thing she showed me and that she liked the best was a summer dress. Light, colorful, and subtly sexy, she twirled around in it like a child. Next were some hot, hot jeans that showed off her ass, hugging it tightly as well as a couple of top options to go with them. I asked her if she got some pretty underwear. She got this half shy, half coy look on her face and said, "Yes, do you want to see them?"

It felt like we were a couple of preteens showing each other our underpants for the first time. She ran upstairs and I was dying to see how she would show me. Would she bring down a bag full of under garments our what. A few minutes later, down came this rock solid hottie in a matching black lace panties and bra set. I was getting hard watching her slowly walk my way, do a little spin and say, "I got more!" Then she turned and ran back up the stairs. I wasn't done looking yet but there she went. Another few minutes went by and she came back down the stairs wearing a white, sexy, purely Victoria's Secret panties and bra combo that made my mouth water. It made her flawlessly perfect skin leap out at you. Her breasts were lightly pushed up and the panties formed a lacy vee right down to her treasure. All I could say was, "My god you are beautiful."

She smiled and said, "I've got one more," then turned and ran back up the stairs. 

Her last item to model almost took my legs out from under me as she came down the stairs. All Lilli had on was a pair of beautifully skimpy white panties. Her breasts were proudly on display as she came down topless. She came towards me, stopped and turned as she had done before, but held her back to me so I could take in the G-string running down her prefect ass. She then turned and slowly walked past me into the den. I followed her, never taking my eyes off her luscious behind; it didn't jiggle or shake but just swayed in harmony with her ponytail as she moved through the room. 

She went straight to my big leather chair and got up on her knees on the seat, facing the high back of the chair. She reached up to hold onto the wings of the chair on either side and lowered shoulders, stretching out her arms. She curved her back downward and raised her sweet ass out over the edge of the chair. I could do nothing but fall in behind her on the floor and put my face right into that ass. I licked from her asshole down to her pussy and back. She arched her nubile body and stuck out her ass even more to give me better access. As I reamed her rosebud and sank my tongue in as deep as I could I could hear moaning accompanied by, "Oh, oh, oh gawdddddd."

As I stood and began to remove my clothes, looking down at this slender body stretched out on this chair, head down, breathing hard, I found it to be the most erotic sight I had ever seen. Her narrow shoulders were accentuated by her delicate shoulder blades, her beautifully slender back with a hint of ribcage showing through with each breath, down to her tiny waist and perfect ass. I had to fuck it.

I stepped to the coffee table and grabbed my wife's hand lotion. Getting a load on the end of my over excited cock, I pulled down her G-string to stretch between her upper thighs and pressed up against her tiny entrance. With my hand directing the motion, I moved my dick around and around while slowly applying pressure. Lilli began to mew. I could feel some ground gained when the mushroom head of my cock suddenly slipped inside this incredibly tight ass. It seized me around the head of my dick tighter than anything had ever and Lilli let out an animalistic, guttural groan. For a moment I didn't think I would be able to move in our out, so I just held it there and watched Lilly's asshole pucker around me. 

Rather than pushing forward I decided to pull out. With little plop and a huge exhale from Lilli, I left her little hole gasping for cock. Not to leave it wanting, I pushed back in plus a couple of inches. Again, Lilli released a low guttural groan as her ass pushed back towards me. Imposing my cock's will on her I proceeded to sink my dick to its hilt. Once again I had to stop just to look at this erotic nubile being now turned pornographic with the addition of a penis deeply embedded in its ass. I couldn't take anymore, it was time to let my dick take control and fuck this ass. Grabbing Lilli by the sides of her waist I started to pull and push her on my cock. Lilly's head would drop down between her arms and then lift back up towards the ceiling, with her face grimacing in wordless expression.

I ran my hands from her waist up and around to cup her breasts. Her nipples were hard as stones. I pulled the flesh of her breasts away from her body, stretching them out before releasing. Lilli groaned as I repeated the abuse over and over with each stroke that I made deep into her ass. Then I focused on her nipples, pinching, rolling, and pulling them so far until they pulled their own way out from between my fingers. This time being rewarded with a yelp and Lilli climaxed, squeezing my dick tightly in her sweet hole. 

Grabbing her hips I pumped her harder and harder, her rapid grunts began to reveal another oncoming orgasm. Having never fucked anything this tight before, I was close too. I started to completely remove my dick from her tiny asshole before slamming it back in as deep as I could. Ten or twelve of these strokes took us both over the edge. I pulled her tight up against my crotch and held her there as I uploaded everything I had deep into her bowels. Her ass was pulsating around my cock, milking me for every last drop. I could see her trying to catch her breath as her whole body shuttered around on my dick. Finally she deflated and sunk to half sitting, half lying in the chair. I hadn't noticed until then that from her "doggie" position she had cum all over the seat of my favorite chair, which made us both smile. I leaned down, picked her up and sat back down with Lilli on my lap, right in the cum and all. It was alright, I had just had the best fuck of my life. 


Lilli and I: Away From It All



Dinner was great, as it often is when you're sitting in an absurdly large rental house in the mountains and the food has been delivered to you up a long and winding road that only the local Japanese place knew how to negotiate. We were smart enough to bring wine up here over the weekend, and a little dessert too, fresh strawberries from a roadside stand. The whipped cream we just plain got lucky on---it was in the refrigerator when we got here to spend the weekend. 

Tomorrow, it'll be canoeing along the little winding streams that surround the house, but tonight, it's some good food and relaxing after the drive to get here and an afternoon of doing little more than lazing on the back lawn, which rolls right up to a peaceful little lake. There was an hour in the hammock, of which half is only remembered, as the other half saw us both zonked out peacefully, and a full hour of letting our feet dangle in the calm water off the edge of the tiny pier that is technically ours for the next forty-eight hours. Much too sophisticated to perform such a menial task as making dinner, we both changed into even lighter clothes than the day began with and greeted the dusk with our delivered meal. Since then we've been exchanging stories and not-terribly-important observations about this and that under the gaudy chandelier than lords over the long dining room table.

"Now, the reason we don't live like this all the time is why?" you ask me, staring at me with mock accusation across the table.

"Oh, don't worry," I assure you. "I have certain investments that should pay off soon. All we need is for America to start just two more wars in the next six weeks or so."

"I see," you say.

"You never look better than when you're sitting under a chandelier, have I told you that?" I inquire.

"Mmmm, you did, just two minutes ago. Right after I told you that you never look better than when you lose one of your shoes in the lake dangling it off the dock like a little kid."

"I intend to get that shoe back someday, I really do," I say. Little do you suspect that I wasn't joking around when I complimented the way you look tonight, here at the table. I don't recall ever seeing your eyes quite as bright or your hair looking so soft.

"Let's go out onto the deck," you suggest to me, thankfully ignoring all issues of clearing away the plates, takeout cartons, and empty glass cups which contained our strawberries. It occurs to us that we haven't even been out on the deck yet to see the view. 

I follow you out onto it. It's going on nine-thirty and there's mostly just the sound of crickets. We walk across the overly spacious "tanning area" and stand near the railing, looking out over the back yard. We also get a lovely view of the lake and, far in the distance, the sleepily winking eye of a lighthouse on the cape which we'll be visiting sometime tomorrow. The only other house in sight is visible only by the lampglow in one window several hundred yards away. We are truly secluded. I put an arm around your shoulders and kiss you warmly on the cheek. The stars are out in full, untainted by the glow of city lights for eighty miles. 

"Mmmmmmm, I'm tired," you say, leaning your head against my chest. We very slowly rock back and forth. It's too much effort to stand straight.

"I don't see any yawns yet," I say, kissing you on the top of the head.

"Lilli doesn't yawn, it's beneath her," you reply. You wrap your arms around my waist, look up at me, and give me a quick smooch on the lips. The taste of the wine we shared greets me again.

I run a hand through your hair, guiding a few stray strands from your eyes which had settled over them due to the slight, perfect breeze. "I believe I have just the thing to make you sleep soundly," I say. "Do everything I instruct and you'll slip into a very nice dream and not wake till morning."

"Okay....as long as it doesn't involve any jogging or kayaking. That'd be a little much for me in my state."

"There might be just a little kayaking, actually, but it'll be quick. Are you ready to do everything I say?"

You wrap your arms around me a little tighter. "Mmmmm, yes."

"Good. First of all, I want you to stay out here and enjoy the view for another few minutes while I prepare to guide you off to sleep. Get a nice look at the lighthouse, because you won't be seeing a lot of light for the rest of the night. Time to rest your eyes, sweetie. I'll come back for you, okay?"

You smile, not having an inkling of what I've planned. "Be glad to," you agree, and kiss me firmly on the mouth while giving me a gentle, affectionate scratch on the chest with your fingernails.

I run a finger down your bare arm and leave you. You stay just where I want you to. You turn back to take in the evening. Another breeze sighs in from the lake, sifting through your hair. You're definitely tired but now you're looking forward to not quite going to bed on time after all. You've just about forgotten every obligation that accompanied you out here, and it wouldn't take much to banish all thoughts of them forever.

The feeling of such isolation combined with the now-continuous summer breeze makes you aware of how nicely in tune your body is with the surroundings. Everything here is natural, right down to the wood this big house was built from, and you have a wonderful sense of being part of all the nature that surrounds you. There's no reason for you not to be completely comfortable every moment while we're out here; there are no rules, no expectations, and you kick off your sandals to feel the cool wood beneath your feet. 

You imagine how nice the breeze would be on your entire body and lift off your T-shirt and shake your hair, running your hands through it before placing them back on the railing of the deck. The breeze whispers across your bare shoulders, your lower back, and your cleavage, held in sweet shape by your red bra. You've worn a pair of jean cutoffs on the trip here and now you unbutton them, unzip them, and push them down silently, until you are down to your panties and bra. Now you feel just like you want to. Whatever little bit of stress remained from your long week is gone now. All you need is another glass of wine, but the atmosphere of the deck and my instruction holds you. You feel beautiful, standing here, your body exposed to the night and nothing else. 

"Ready to obey me?" my voice says behind you. You turn and see me standing just inside the open screen door, in the dark. I've turned out almost all the lights in the house and I've reached a hand out to take you in. Leaving your cutoffs and your shirt on the deck----who's going to take them?---you walk towards me, and reach your hand out to become clasped in mine. You're grinning from ear to ear when you cross the threshold and enter the dark dining room.

"Wow, I hope you're going to be a good guide," you say as I turn to lead you away from the deck, closing the screen door.

"Just follow my every step," I say, and, holding your hand like a high school sweetheart on a first date, I begin to cross the kitchen and head toward the spacious, over-decorated bathroom. "I like what you've decided to wear, by the way."

"I thought you would," you say. "Too bad you can't get such a good look in the dark." The entire place has been dowsed, you notice. There's not a hint of light anywhere. We're nothing more than shadows among shadows.

"I've memorized every curve on your body," I reply, walking slowly, in absolutely no hurry. "I can feel them all touching me anytime I imagine it."

"Excellent," you purr, and become aware of the small sound of cascading water up ahead. There's a tiny glow emanating from the bathroom, the extra large one with the gigantic clawfoot tub. When we enter, you see that it's lit by a single candle on the edge of that bathtub. It gives off the dimmest of auras, not even enough to see all the way across the room by. Everything in it seems to be tinged by a soft color like gold. 

It's as if we've stepped back in time. And the quiet itself is quite striking. It makes you realize how busy the night outside really was, with its crickets, breezes, and sounds of the water lapping against our dock. In here, there's only a dreamy hush. Behind the shower curtain the water has been turned on, and already the room is filling with a hint of steam and warmth. 

"I like this," you tell me. I let go of your hand and move directly in front of you. You look up at my face and I touch your chin delicately.

"You'd like a nice shower before you go to sleep, wouldn't you?" I only half-ask. "To get into bed just a little bit wet from head to toe, and slide in between those cool sheets....."

"Absolutely," you say quietly. 

"I thought so. Now I want you to stand very still and let your eyes adjust to the dark. In just a minute you'll be under that stream of warm water. Won't that be nice?"

"Nnnnnnn," comes your answer. I step behind you and lay one soft kiss on the back of your neck, and then I've placed my fingers on the shoulder straps of your bra and very slowly lowered them down your arms. I move my attention then to the clasp and unhook it. You allow you head to loll back against my chest.

"Now squeeze your shoulders together to let the bra fall all the way down, the way I like you to do it," you whisper. You know just what I'm taking about and you obey. The bra tumbles down and is cradled briefly by your arms, and then I've taken it away entirely. You let your arms move to your sides and take a long, deep breath of contentment. Just a hint of steam from the shower has floated up to you and raised the temperature in the dark room by a degree or two, no more.

"Look at the way the flicker of the candle moves across the shower curtain," I tell you. "Can you believe such a little thing can make such amazing dancing shapes?"

Your attention focuses on the curtain and it's ever so peaceful to just watch that flickering. You don't even turn your head when you feel my hands on your hips, taking the strings of your panties in my control and then slowly lowering them down your thighs. You spread them just a little to allow me to more easily take them off. Down over your knees they go, down your tanned calves, and you raise each foot in turn just an inch off the floor to make them disappear entirely. You're naked and warmed by the subtle steam.

"Now draw the curtain back," I say in a low voice. You reach forward and do it. The water emerges from the shower head in a perfect spray. 

"Take one step forward, but no more than one step," I instruct you. You obey, wondering why for a moment, but then you realize why I've had you do this. Standing there in the nude just a foot from the edge of the tub, infinitesimally small bits of water leap up from the shower spray to touch your body all over, from your neck down to your knees. You can't see them in the dimness; you can only feel them, specks so tiny that each one feels less like actual moisture than a kiss from something that disappears upon touching you. You look down at yourself and in a moment you can just barely see a thin sheen of wetness on your breasts. Every few seconds a hint of water lands upon your nipples, your stomach, the soft patch of hair above your hips. 

The overall effect is completely soothing. You could stand here forever, getting warmer and warmer. The candlelight flickers upon your nude body. The water droplets which can't be seen even touch the candle flame itself, making it shudder and dance more urgently, but there's still only enough light to see the tub by. Almost everything behind you in this room is in shadow.

"Okay, my love, you can get in the shower now. There's a new bottle of your favorite soap on the rack inside. It'll be very dark in the tub, but I'll help you get adjusted in just a minute. Think you'll be okay by yourself in here till then?"

"Oh yes," you say. You draw the curtain back, step inside, and close the curtain again. When you're fully inside the shower, it's as close to being completely dark as you can imagine; the flame is screened out now. Still standing just out of the water's reach, you feel out for the bottle of bath gel and take it in your hands. You open the cap and smell the bottle; yes, it's your favorite kind all right. You fill your left hand with gel and replace the bottle. You rub the soap between both hands, getting a nice lather going with the help of the water, and then step forward into its spray. 

It's the perfect temperature and you let it hit your chest and your face, loving it. You hear the bathroom door close, and you see my shape just beyond the shower curtain and smile. You rub the lather on your hips and across your stomach, angling your head so that the water covers your hair and your face. You turn and feel the water, jetting from the shower head with surprising intensity, coat your back and run downwards. Then it's back to wash your face again, and to lather up your breasts.

"I'll help with all that," you hear me say as the curtain is drawn back again and I step into the shower with you. You don't even look back. The dimness of the room is working on you, and it seems unimportant to see much of anything; your other senses are more than ready to give you a nice bathing experience, here in the woods inside a private house, inside a small room and an even smaller enclosure within it, your body wrapped now in layer upon layer of solitude. All you can really see is the shower head and the wall beside you, meaningless shapes in the dark. It's difficult to even see my hands when you look down to find them slipping around your breasts.

"Just here to get you clean," I tell you, and you allow the weight of your body to go limp and lean back against me as my lathered hands rub the soap all over your chest, crossing my arms across it, squeezing and caressing. Your skin is slippery and soon I have your entire torso covered in that scented foam and I'm spreading it out from your neck to your waist, my hands moving slowly in all directions, occasionally hesitating to skate them from a place just below your neckline down over your breasts toward the nipples, where I cup your entire bosom just firmly enough to let you know that maybe there's more going on here than just bathing. 

I hear you exhale comfortably and then I do your back, cleverly scooping up all the excess suds that have rested on your breasts and transferring them to your shoulders, letting them slide down over your back while I press more gel from the bottle into my hands. You feel your nipples gradually harden and you look at them proudly as they protrude from your breasts, asking to be soaped up, scrubbed, even pinched. But instead I've moved on and I'm playfully soaping your ass, using both hands to cup your cheeks and rubbing them over and over and over again. 

I squeeze your hips and run my backs of my hands across your lower back. You feel the lather slide from your buttocks down to your thighs, and now I've reached down to touch them, guiding the lather downwards toward the backs of your knees and pausing momentarily to bring some of it back up toward the space where your legs part. Your inner thighs become soaked with lather....first the right, then the left, up and down, as if I'm on some showroom floor and you're the product whose lines I want to feel and admire before I purchase you and take you home. You spread your legs a bit to give me fuller access, and you feel my hands high up on your thighs, soaping here, there, and everywhere, stopping just short of your labia. 

I withdraw my hand then, which is a bit disappointing at first, but you see my arm reach around you to replace the bottle of gel on the rack, and you can just see that my hand is full of the lovely stuff again, and I turn my palm up to allow the warm water to soak it briefly and bring it up to temperature. Immediately after that, my arm disappears and the next thing you're aware of is my entire palm, thick with lather, cupping the entire area of your pussy, pressing the soap all over it and rubbing it all around. 

You emit an involuntary gasp but before I get too involved I've moved back to your thighs and then reached around the front to soap up your pudenda. Once again my hand dips down low, and you feel my sudsy fingers touch you in just the right place once more. A second later I'm turning your body around to face me. You don't resist at all or ask me what I'm doing. 

You see me for the first time, naked as you are, and I'm sinking slowly to my knees, where I rest with my head at the level of your waist. To make sure you never slip, you place your soft hands on my shoulders, looking down at the top of my head. I scoop up lots of suds from your legs and press my right hand onto the wet thatch of your pubic area. Then I glide my hands down your inner thighs and let my fingers play lightly over your ankles. I even soap up your feet and your toes. Then I stand up again, and kiss you on the mouth. 

You open it to receive some of my tongue, and when I feel you meet it with your own, I bring you close to me. Much of the soap from your body is transferred to mine as we kiss, your breasts pressed against my chest. You close your eyes and see nothing, just feel it all. My arms move around you and you're entirely enveloped in my embrace, the warm water cascading down your back, as cozy as you've ever been in your life. Eventually we must break our kiss and I tell you it's time to get all the soap off and join me outside the tub in a minute or so. As I turn to step out of the shower you feel my rigid cock graze your thigh and know this has been very, very nice for me too.

You spend another minute in the shower letting the water wash away all the lather. The candlelight dances and plays outside the tub, creating uneven shadows on the wall. The moment you're done rinsing yourself, my hand appears inside the enclosure to turn the tap off. You don't even have to bend to do it yourself.

"Okay, I believe it's time to dry off," I invite you, and pull back the shower curtain. You step out towards me, displaying your hard nipples for me to gaze at. I'm holding a big blue towel for you to step easily into. You do it, and I begin to dry you off myself, just patting you softly, starting with your shoulders, moving down your chest to your legs. I tell you to raise your arms up and you giggle and I pat under them. I tell you to turn around and you do so that I can rub the towel down over your glistening ass. When all this is done, I turn briefly to the sink. I'm little more than a naked silhouette to you, a silhouette with a very noticeable part extending outwards. From the sink I've lifted a garment you've never seen before.

"Step into this," I say, and I proceed to wrap you delicately, like a very special present, inside what you might think of as the finest wrapping paper in the world. It's a dark red silk robe with a complicated black stripe design. The feel of it going over your arms and enshrouding itself around your body is heavenly.

"Oh my," you say wonderingly. "When did you buy this, and how short do we have to cut the vacation to pay for it?"

"I have my secrets, Lilli," I answer. Standing in front of you, I tie the sash very loosely around your waist and the robe is fully yours. Now only one of us is wearing any clothes. I take your hand in mine and announce that it's time to head to the master bedroom, where the rest of your pre-sleep ritual will take place. 

I blow the candle on the tub out, leaving us in total darkness for a moment, and then we walk companionably across the hall and into the large master bedroom, with its carefully selected reprints of the great masters hanging on the walls. You notice before we even enter that I've set up a few more candles to provide atmosphere. 

It's really just as dim as the bathroom was. Impossibly soft illumination rests on Monet's Waterlilies above the oak headboard. I lead you by the hand over to the newly made bed and tell you to lie on it face down. You climb up upon it, move forward like a very sexy tiger, and ease your body down so that your wet hair spreads across the satin pillow. Your breasts are pressed pleasantly beneath you, and you can see nothing but the wall. Deciding that's not much of a sight, you close your eyes and sigh. You're not really that tired anymore. The shower might have put you out for the count, but certain sensations in there certainly woke you up.




Lilli and I: Beginnings



"There's a much nicer ambience at my place," is the sentence that begins the second part of our first amazing evening together. We've been sitting at the bar for over three hours, and the place has been getting more and more crowded, but thankfully never to the point where we can't hear ourselves speak. We didn't really expect to be here this long-when I suggested we meet for a drink or two at about seven at a quiet tavern near your office, who would have thought it would turn into a spontaneously agreed-upon dinner at a Japanese restaurant around the corner, followed by a half mile walk for overpriced but dead-on apple martinis at stop number three, a dimly lit hipster dive with a reddish glow in the air and Tom Waits tunes meandering from the speakers overhead. It's almost eleven-thirty now, and what was supposed to be a modest Friday night date before you headed home to rise early for a trip tomorrow has become something much more. And when you suggest walking back to your apartment, I suddenly feel very sure I'll be rushing to jump on the very last Metro of the night in the wee hours.

Of course, you can never predict instant physical attraction, and from our cautious initial flirtations after our first drink sprung something much more tangible. I had almost no choice in the matter, obviously, since you looked so stunning when you appeared, dressed in a tight black skirt and a white sweater which is all neckline. The scrunchie tying up your hair adds a wholesome, first-day-of-college feeling to your look which is belied by your amazingly sexy body. The first time you really laughed tonight, you leaned over a bit to touch my arm, and I responded in kind, and from that point on we seemed to get closer and closer to each other at the first bar, culminating in a little soft hand-holding after dessert. We held hands on the walk to this trendy place and our knees have been in constant contact with each other ever since as we talked about our jobs, our families, the state of the modern comic book, and whatever happened to the whole Atkins thing. So very nice. 

"What do they charge for martinis at your place?" I ask you, smiling, looking down at your fingers enclosed in mine on the bar.

"Very little," you say. "But bigger tips are expected."

We leave the bar and walk out into the perfect summer night, Friday party-goers passing us left and right, breathlessly in search of what we've already found, which is the ideal companion to usher in the late hours. It's only three blocks to your apartment, and we laugh and hold hands tightly, your footsteps right beside mine. The smell of your perfume has a much greater effect on me than the few drinks I had tonight. I can't wait to kiss you, and wonder where exactly it will happen.

Standing behind you as you produce your keys to open your door, I lean over to smell your hair without you noticing. I look at the nape of your neck longingly, knowing that it's going to be getting some very intimate attention before too long. The anticipation is priceless. Knowing that the night began with us knowing so little about each other, and then, in seemingly the blink of an eye, knowing that the night will end with my lips on yours....who needs more reason to be alive.

Your living room is dark and you choose to keep it that way, turning the light on only in the kitchen to let its illumination flow towards us, but fall well short. You kick off your heels right away and I leave my shoes behind as you take my hand and lead me over to the sofa.

"Sit down," you tell me. "Want anything? Glass of wine?"

"No, I'm perfect," I tell you, and sit on the cozy sofa, turning my body toward you in expectation. You sit down beside me close enough so that I know we're not here to make idle conversation. All our talk, great as it was, was for being out in public and unable to do what we truly wanted after only a couple of hours: kiss. You smile as I lift your right hand in my left and I place my lips tenderly to it.

"Such a gentleman," you say softly. "Want some music?"

"Absolutely," I say, and you bend over to the nearby knickknack table to lift a remote control, making sure to leave your hand at my disposal. You press Play and the quiet strains of Nina Simone float into the air. You set the remote control down again and lean right back into place on the sofa, your body turned entirely toward me. You bring your legs up and fold them before you, leaning your head in your free hand. I kiss the other one again and set it down gently on your lap, keeping one finger curled around one of yours.

"Well, I'm glad you like me," you say. "I almost had my doubts there for a little while."

"Really?" I say, turning your hand over to expose the palm, which I begin to stroke with infinite lightness using just my index finger. "What gave you doubts? Was it the way I've been gazing into your eyes all night? And moving closer and closer?"

"I was going by another criteria," you say, looking down at your palm as it's treated to a tiny, affectionate massage. "I know you liked my personality, but there are other aspects of me I was expecting you to respond to."

"Mmmm, other aspects, yes," I reply. "I noticed everything a man can notice, believe me."

"Did you now?" you inquire sweetly, and place a finger beneath my chin the way you did back at the bar when we broached, ever so briefly, the subject of sex and what men love about it so much. "You know, I've been watching your eyes and never once did you frisk me with them. That's pretty commendable."

"Not once," I confirm. "I know I must have set some sort of record. I have the endurance of Shackleton."

"Of course, being an absolutely flawless gentleman can make a girl feel unwanted," you say, moving your finger seductively below my chin, tickling it.

"If it makes you feel any better," I tell you honestly, "when you went to make that phone call during dessert, I helped myself to some secret sights."

"Good, good," you say. "I thought about turning around after a few steps to see if I could catch you."

"I expected that," I tell you, "and I was on guard against you being so sly."

You lower your hand and rest it on my arm. "What I was really expecting was some subtle glances at the place most men tend to get lost in. In fact, I wore this sweater just to make sure it happened." You laugh.

"And I haven't fallen into your trap, not once," I say proudly. On the CD, one song ends and another begins. The music seems so soft in the background, it could almost be playing only inside our heads. 

"You've lasted so very long," you tell me, interrupting my massage of your palm to fully hold my hand, "that I wouldn't be at all put off if you broke down and took a nice long look right now."

"Ahhhh," I whisper, moving my face a little closer to yours in the semi-darkness, "I'm not collapsing that easily."

"No?" you sulk pleasantly, responding to my movement by bringing yourself toward me.

"I'm waiting for a chance at a more private view," I say, and then our lips have pressed together for the first time. I bring my hand up to touch your neck as we connect, and this is no tentative peck; we come together and stay together for quite some time. I'm amazed at the softness of your lips, intoxicated by their warmth. I've wanted to be this close to you all night and now it feels just as it should. You let out almost inaudible sounds of comfort when we shift our lips to accommodate the other's movements. I find myself doing the same thing. You slowly raise your arms to place them on my chest, curling your fingers into my shirt and bringing me even closer to you. We break our kiss for just one moment to get our breath and look into each other's desirous eyes. Then we come together even more intently, and I slide forward on the couch a few inches to get as close to you as possible, wrapping my arms around you. Strands of your hair tickle my forehead and you feel my tongue slip onto yours. They entwine and play for a moment. Then I pull back and place several small, earnest kisses on your mouth, each one more delicate than the last, making you smile at their silly storybook tenderness, before I bring my hands up to your face and kiss you far more passionately. You respond with a yearning sound and sift your fingers through my hair. I love the feeling that your lipstick will leave tiny traces of you on my mouth, love the way you brush the hair away from my eyes as our lips get wetter and wetter. You lift your right leg slightly to rest your knee on mine, cozying up for a nice long spell of making out.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," you purr when we pause to luxuriate for a bit in the sensations of our bodies cuddling, our faces so very close. Even in the gloom, you can see the details of my hazel eyes as they gaze into yours. "It didn't take us very long to get comfortable, did it?" you ask rhetorically.

"Not long, no," I answer. "Let's get even more comfortable. I have nowhere to be."

We kiss again, and sink ever so slowly into the cushions on the sofa. I drown in the scent of your perfume and your skin. I control our kisses for a few moments, my hands touching your face, guiding it gently as my lips journey over yours, turning it when I want to kiss your cheek and then lower my attention to your neck, which I brush serenely with my mouth before resting a firm, resolute kiss there as my hand draws a loving path from your neck to your ear. Then you've leaned into me and kissed my chin before pulling my head forward to assert yourself, smothering my lips with yours, nibbling on my bottom lip hungrily, pushing your tongue into mine. We let them dance with each other for a time, and intensify our embrace. 

It goes on. At one point, I lay your head back against the back of the sofa, where you let it rest as I move my lips downward, kissing every part of your neck, sometimes with the most tentative touches, sometimes with a firmness that lets you know you've truly become mine. I rest my lips upon your skin as you close your eyes and I move them slowly from left to right across your neck, letting a little moisture create a gliding sensation on you, and I end my path with a modest flick of the tongue on your earlobe. I pinch it almost unnoticeably between my teeth for a second and you giggle in a most womanly way. You next feel my lips press on the upper part of your chest, just inches above the slope of your cleavage, and it causes you to arch your back. I place the tip of my tongue a couple of inches lower, leaving a trace of moisture there for you to feel. Then your lips are covered by mine again, your head pressed back with the insistence of this next kiss. I stroke your hair and inhale you. I hear you whisper my name and when our faces are as close as they can be, your eyes open and we become utterly lost in the sight of each other's heavy expressions of want.

Without a word we lie down on the sofa beside each other. You rest your right leg on my side as we make out, sliding it up and down, rubbing me blissfully. Our arms remain wrapped around each other. Our kisses become softer and sweeter for a few minutes, romantic ones, kisses for a gazebo in the park. But then I see something a little different in your eyes, a fresh desire equaled by mine, and you roll on top me, your breasts pressing maddeningly against my chest. You begin to kiss me and somehow tease me at the same time, drowning me with long, wet, minute-long kisses that lull me into a wondrous lethargy in which I am completely under your control, the movement of your head dictating mine completely, only to release me at a point of ultimate comfort to shift your weight with awesome friction and start all over again. Sometimes when you lift your head from mine, my eyes remain closed and my mouth involuntarily moves toward yours. You won't give me what I want so easily, playing a little game where you start to make our lips connect but then pull back until I've rested my head again to await whatever you do next. Your hands sift through my hair as you lay a kiss on me that is so brazen in its wetness that I make a sound of surprise. Your tongue probes my mouth and sinks in deep, causing mine to lick and swirl with yours almost in self-defense. Your face moves and bobs above mine with increasing rapidity, pressing down with open lust, your mouth opening wider, smearing your lips across mine, and I lean up to run both my hands through your hair, grabbing it and tilting your head back so I can suckle on your neck. You moan as I draw your soft flesh into my mouth, leaving a fond red mark there. 

We make out the way inexperienced teenagers can only dream of for a good twenty minutes. We find ourselves wallowing in every kind of contact our mouths can make. Lying side by side, I kiss your eyelids, your hair, push the fabric of your white sweater off your shoulder and tongue you there too. I take your fingers and kiss them one by one. I turn you over completely and use nothing but my moist lips to make love the back of your neck. Your distant purrs let me know I'm doing things just the way you like. Your sweater has shimmied up from your stomach with all our squirming and I rub the almost impossibly warm skin there. When we face each other again, I keep one hand stroking back and forth across your naked belly.

You do something to me then that you can have no clue creates an almost raging passion in me. You take my index finger and you silently draw the tip of it into your mouth, licking it, making eye contact with me as you do it, and then you move on to the next finger, and take a little more of it into your mouth than before. It's a sight and sensation more erotic than any I know. At last you make one of my fingers almost disappear into you, sucking on it, then letting it out with exquisite slowness. 

Time spins out and eventually we find ourselves lying beside each other and merely gazing, your hand on my chest, mine on your stomach, still moving there comfortably. Our mouths are partially numb, partially tingling from our amazing kissing session. My hair is mussed, my shirt is untucked. Your sweater is halfway up your stomach and your skirt has been creased. The Nina Simone CD has long since gone back to Track One and started over. 

"You're not going to be leaving here for a while," you tell me, your voice low and silky.

"I have no intention to," I tell you.

"Now I really know you like me," you say. "I could feel it on my thigh when I sucked on your finger. I could feel it very strongly."

"You should be able to feel that for many hours to come," I assure you. 

You smile at me. "Sit up," you say, and you've lifted your leg off me to let me up. I'm almost disappointed, I had become so cozy. I sit up and run my hands through my disordered hair. You rise off the sofa entirely, and you bend to the remote control again. You take the volume of the CD down a tiny bit, and then you turn to face me, standing above me, looking down.

"Here I come, handsome," you say, and you place one knee on either side of me, lowering your hips to my lap, settling in, your skirt becoming taut, making yourself at home on me. I have no complaints. You push my hair behind my ears, straighten the collar of my shirt. Then you touch my lips, parting them.

"Do me a favor now, and close those hazel eyes of yours," you say. Done deal. Within my new world of darkness, I feel you shift on me and I hear fabric moving against fabric.

"Keep them closed, now," you say. "You're about to get your wish." I feel your hands settle on my shoulders. I sense your torso moving forward, and your hand brings my head closer to you, holding me by the hair. Then I feel soft flesh against my cheeks, and I realize you've taken off your sweater. I'm unable to keep myself from opening my eyes now. You guide your cleavage, snug inside a blue satin bra, into my face. I sink into it, your breasts brushing my cheeks, surrounding me.

"Better?" you ask, looking down at me.

"All kinds of," I say, and bring my hands up to your bra. I cup your breasts through it, and then I squeeze them, a full handful of warm, pearly flesh in each palm. After holding them firm for a moment, I slide my palms back and forth across the satin, slowly rotating my hands to knead those breasts, so pillowy, so white. You sigh and rub my shoulders absently, barely able to keep focused on it. My hands dip between your bra straps and your skin and massage you tenderly. Then they move those straps down off your shoulders. Your cleavage becomes more pronounced as the straps hang there. I could take your bra off entirely now but I don't. I see you're loving your view as much as mine as my eyes take in this wondrous sight.

I bring my lips toward your right breast and I kiss it as I massage the other. My tongue emerges and touches your flesh. I kiss you right above the cup of your bra, and then my tongue has snaked inside that cup to where your nipple is still concealed. With great dexterity, my tongue washes over your hard nipple, then brings it out, freeing it from the bra cup. I enclose it fully between my lips and give it one long, firm suck, then let it go. I bring my left hand up and pinch it between my fingers as my lips drift across your canyon and move to the other bra cup. Again, I kiss your breast before inserting my tongue beneath the satin, exploring, licking the nipple, then pushing away the satin to free it. I poke my tongue more fully out and rest it upon it, then flick it a little, causing you to moan. I pinch it as well between my fingers, and then, yearning to see what your breasts look like fully exposed, I peel down the bra cups until they spill out, touching my face again. I grip your breasts in my hands and swirl my tongue around each nipple, careful not to brush the tips now, getting them wetter and wetter. They become hard as pebbles, and then I flick them with a newly moistened tongue, making you wince with pleasure. I enclose each in my mouth, drawing in as much flesh as I can as my hands stroke the sides of your breasts, then push them toward each other. I place my tongue between them and draw it upwards, licking all the way up to your neck. Then, pressing on your breasts, I move my hands in wide, slow swirls, rubbing and moving them against each other. The skin of one breast brushes against the other again and again as I turn my head to savor each nipple. When I lift my head, they're soaked in saliva, creating an erotic coolness there, a sensation of guilty pleasure that keeps them aroused and erect. I lean back to just look at your breasts, admire them, worship them, all the while keeping my hands working on them in a lazy midnight massage. Your bra slips little by little down your arms. You run your hands across my chest and undo the top three buttons, and then, after a hesitation to look down at your nipples and see my fingers playing with them, pressing them into your flesh with my thumbs, you undo three more. You move your hands inside my shirt and rub my muscled chest. 

"You like what you see?" you ask me in a breathy voice. 

"I love it," I tell you. "Tell me if you like this," I say, and reach beside me, to where your fuzzy white sweater rests on the sofa. I lift it, rest it on my upturned palms, and bring the fabric up to your breasts. I press the sweater against them, and holding it firmly, I move it from side to side across your nipples. All it takes is one brief second of that kind of obscenely delicious friction to cause you to gasp and tense your shoulders. Your tits jiggle with the sudden shock, which I much enjoy. I rub your nipples with your sweater and you gasp again, sucking in air, jerking back involuntarily. But after a moment to collect yourself, you dare to bring your chest forward again, to where the sweater is held taut and still. You reach up and cup your breasts and squeeze the flesh around your nipples to reduce their sensitivity just a bit. I draw the sweater across the stony tips again and you cry out and throw your head back and sigh. You can't take it anymore and you push the sweater away, smiling and breathing hard. Two tiny circles of wetness have appeared on the fabric.




Lilli and I: Cape May



It's been a long day on the beach in Cape May, and the sun's beginning to go down behind us as the last of the vacation crowd heads back to their hotels for the evening. But you and I have decided to stay, to soak in the last faint rays before it's time to start thinking about dinner.

We couldn't be any cozier sitting in our chairs under a huge striped umbrella, a radio in the sand beside us playing some old eighties station. We've been in the water five or six times and we're fairly exhausted, except we both seem to have a little excess energy just from eyeing each other all day. At first I just thought it was me who'd been having adventurous thoughts from watching you walk and splash around in your blue bikini, then stretch out for a tan and a nap. I almost went a little nuts when we kissed in the ocean and then a wave from nowhere overtook us, flinging one of your shoulder straps completely off and exposing almost all of your luscious left breast....and I wasn't the only one who noticed. 

Smiling, I reach across the short distance between our beach chairs and give your hand a little squeeze. You smile at me and lean in for what supposedly is our last kiss of the afternoon, but we swap two or three more, not quite able to let go of the day quite so easily. I tell you I've been thinking about your body all day, and you laugh and tell me you had an inkling of such thoughts once or twice....especially out there in the water when you pressed yourself against me and could feel my erection pressing into the soft fabric of your bikini bottoms. 

Just the mention of that moment makes me hard again, and I'm surprised when you suggest that we lay down on the silly Lowenbrau blanket we bought from some tacky souvenir store to celebrate our mini-vacation. We get out of our chairs and lie beside each other, close, maybe a little bit too close for propriety. After all, there are still beachcombers scattered about here and there, and people walking back and forth along the little boardwalk about a hundred yards in the distance. The closest sun-worshippers are about two hundred feet away. It's amazing to us that so few other people would want to remain on the beach as the sun goes down. I guess not everyone has a sexy partner to cuddle with.

I look into your eyes and smile and rub a hand along your side. You've got quite a nice tan going. I give you a soft kiss and you return it fully, pressing your lips intently into mine and letting out one of those gentle moans I love so much. It tells me you'd like more, but I don't know how much more we can realistically get away with. Maybe we should be heading back to the hotel....but being with you here is so very nice. I could just lie here and listen to you breathe for hours, watch you toss the hair from your face, adjust that skimpy bikini....I just want to admire the slope of your neck, your eyelashes, every little thing about your body. I let myself slip into a five-second mind movie of a time when we were together last week, in bed with the lights out, you lying naked on top of me and the way you slowly lowered your breasts so that they brushed my face....

"What's wrong, babe?" you ask me, a sneaky grin forming on your face. "A little bit too turned on?"

"You could say that," I say. The front of my swim trunks is definitely strained. "I'll be all right as long as I don't gaze at a certain area, I suppose."

You know exactly what I'm talking about. Lying on your side, your breasts are squeezed together provocatively. You glance down at them and shift your weight slightly to give me an even better look. The thin necklace you're wearing clings to your cleavage in an extremely sexy way. I can see beads of water still trickling down that slope, and I envy them, thinking of how a few must find your nipples and rest there comfortably.

"Too bad this isn't a topless beach," you say. "I'd really give you something to look at." You've started to draw one light finger across my stomach, back and forth, maddeningly just a couple of inches above the drawstring of my trunks.

"That would be agony enough," I reply. "Imagine if it were actually a completely nude beach. The entire world would know what kind of daydreams I was having."

You quickly lower your hand to my crotch, just for a moment, giving something there a brief squeeze, unseen by anyone else because of the way are bodies are snuggled together. Funny how just a minute ago we were farther apart; now our hips are touching and I can feel your full breasts against my chest.

"Feels like some nice daydreams," you say, and then idly finger the loose drawstrings of my trunks. "I'll bet I can make a few of them come true right here."

I laugh. "You're crazy," I say. "We'll get arrested."

You press your lips against mine again, and I'm almost overwhelmed. Your tongue ventures inside my mouth and I meet it with my own. We french kiss for a whole minute, all the while your fingers on my trunks, and now my cock has become so hard it's pressed against your bottoms, like it was in the ocean. Our suits are still a little wet from our swimming and it's an incredible feeling. I know that tonight we were planning on climbing into bed and sharing a long, slow, gentle lovemaking session, but suddenly that seems too far away. 

"You really are too turned on," you say, stating the incredibly obvious. "Would it be easier on you if this wasn't so strained?" Looking into my eyes, you pull the knot on my swim trunks completely loose. I take a glance around the beach. No one's really paying any attention, I suppose, and their view is blocked off almost totally by our bodies. The only sounds are the surf lapping the beach and the distant voices of the boardwalk folk.

"Yes, maybe I could concentrate on more constructive issues if I wasn't so confined," I joke, and without any hesitation you tug the front of my trunks down. You reach in with your left hand, giggling a bit because of the way you have to maneuver your body on the blanket, and daintily lift my cock out. Blessedly, you don't touch it any further at the moment; you have the decency to simply free it and let it rest against the blanket in its aroused state.

"That's much better, isn't it?" you ask, and I agree. We both laugh and share another kiss. This time I place my hand on the back your head and press you to me, running my fingers through your damp hair. 

When we break our kiss, I note how lovely you look when you're slightly wet all over from the ocean, and what a nice smell you have. Then I ask you if all of your moisture is due to our swim, or if there might be something else going on here....

"I seem to be a little wetter in some areas than in others," you inform me. "Seems to be due to other factors than the swim."

"Well, let's see here," I say softly, and place the tip of my index finger squarely on the darkest patch of your bikini bottoms. You shift your legs slightly to give me better access. I rub the area in question just a little, and you sigh and shift your thighs again, almost lifting your right leg entirely a few inches in a pose that will get us kicked off the beach in the next thirty seconds if we're not careful. My finger slips easily into the specific indentation I'm searching for....I'm able to press my fingertip a good half inch in, a sign that there's a lot of warm moisture down there indeed, allowing me to feel your bliss through the thin fabric.

"Wow," I say wonderingly. "Glad to see I'm not the only one fantasizing."

We hold each other for a moment, exchanging very light kisses, knowing that anything more serious will send us over the edge. Of course I'd love for you to fondle my cock, and I'd love to move your bikini bottoms aside and perhaps guide just one finger into your wet opening, but as long as there are still people about....well, I see now that really, when you consider it, there's almost no one around, just one or two groups left on the beach, and even they're packing up, since in the time we've been lying here having such fun the sun has descended even further, and it's full dusk, just a few warm red run rays touching our shoulders. The people on the boardwalk can't even see that far over here....we're not much more than silhouettes to them, I'll bet....

The sense that we're technically more alone than ever emboldens me a little bit, and I ask you what you'd like me to do to you, if only we could, right here on the beach. Just the asking of the question turns me on deeply, and I've turned my hips enough so that my naked cock is touching your belly. You can feel it. You're so turned on that my question just elicits a sigh and a closing of your eyes. Your right hand is resting on the blanket, so close to my penis that if I were to move all of two inches your sweet fingers would be touching it, encircling it, gripping it. But I can wait.

"I'll tell you what I'd do if the last of these people were gone," I whisper in your ear. There's no real need for me to whisper; no one can hear us, but it gives me an excuse to snuggle closer to you. "I'd slide your bottoms off and plunge my tongue into your pussy so deep they'd hear your cries all the way in Atlantic City."

This makes you grin from ear to ear, your eyes still closed, and what a coincidence, the moment my words are out I feel your fingers dancing casually on the head of my cock, making it slick. Your swirl the pre-cum around playfully and then, sweet agony, you wrap your full hand around the length and hold it lovingly. We may be past the point where we can realistically stop....I'm beginning to think it would be worth putting on a show for whoever might be watching us just to feel what it would be like to go down on you right here on the blanket, under the gorgeous sky, with the stars beginning to come out overhead....what would it be like to have my face between your thighs, licking and sucking every bit of wetness from you that you have to offer....all these nights I've tasted your pussy, what would it be like to inhale not just your incredible juices but the lingering scent of the ocean....

To stem these insane thoughts, I wrap my arms around you for the first time today and kiss you long and deep, not caring that everyone who can still see us must know exactly what we're doing. Two people locked in a passionate makeout session on the beach. Two lovers who just don't care what anyone else thinks of them just now. 

Our tongues connect and swirl, and I break the kiss to nuzzle the nape of your neck. Your hand begins to move up and down my cock, moving the slickness from the head down along the shaft. I bury my face in the place where your hair meets your neck and I kiss it and tongue it. With my left index finger I push aside the fabric of your bikini bottoms and feel the swollen lips of your sex, slippery and inviting. Oh, the things we could potentially do if we just threw caution to the winds....I tell you again, softly in your ear, how hungry I am for your luscious pussy, how badly I want to eat you, and if I'm not mistaken I believe I hear the words, "Do it, sweetheart" emerge from your lips. That sort of invitation is not to be taken lightly, but we'd have to be crazy to try such a thing....

In the midst of kissing you, I become suddenly aware that a tiny sliver of the moon can be seen in the part of the sky that is full blue now....not that my mind can really focus on such things, with your hand where it is and your invitation--well, more like a demand--to take our intimacy much further than sane people would dare. The moment for such a thing seems so right...in the twilight, the aura around you is a reddish gold and you're unbelievably beautiful. Half of me is somewhat lost in how you look, and the other half is consumed with lust. 

Your hand on my penis works up and down, up and down, more and more urgently, and you bite my lower lip playfully, and once again you dare me to take things to the next level right here on the beach. "I'll make it worth your while," you say in a sultry voice, as if it wouldn't already be worthwhile to spend whatever time I could steal with my face nestled between your thighs. "I'll tell you what," I say, the glimmer of an idea taking shape in the small part of my mind that's still working coherently. "People can still see us from the boardwalk a little, and if I really do what I'd like, they'd be able to tell instantly what's going on. But how about I, ah....give you a San Antonio, darling?"

You answer with a nice little moan and squeeze my cock, then release it so I can move. I invented the 'San Antonio' just for you many months ago, when we first began exploring each other and found ourselves on your sofa wanting to end our first real makeout session with something memorable. The only reason what I did to you that night is called a 'San Antonio' is because whenever someone mentioned that random place in conversation from that point on, I wanted you to smile inwardly remembering what I did. 

It wasn't much, really, but you seemed to like it then--after a series of intense, passionate kisses (all we'd promised to do that night since we were trying to tease each other relentlessly), I dipped my head down to your waist, where you were wearing only filmy white panties below a tight T-shirt, moved the fabric aside, and gave you exactly one long, slow, careful lick from the bottom of your soaked pussy all the way up to your clit, where I let my tongue dance for just a moment before lifting my head back up to smile at you and say goodnight. 

It was the first time I had tasted you. Of course, the very next night we went much further than that....and I remember just a month or so later when we were at a dinner party and the host mentioned his possible transfer to....you guessed it. We held hands under the table and had a great time later on revealing to each other how nice it was to have the image of my first taste of you rise into our heads in the middle of dinner. My secret as we lie on the beach tonight is that I've lied about just wanting to give you a San Antonio....I really want to hear what your voice does when you discover this little game.....

"I'll just pretend I'm looking around for something," I tell you, and shift down the blanket so that my face nears the level of your waist. "No one will be able to prove we're doing anything untoward." You turn from your side onto your back for just a moment, looking down at me in anticipation. I sit up halfway and look around. I couldn't swear it, but I suspect there are a few people strolling on the boardwalk who have their heads turned toward us. Surely they see little more than two silhouettes, and even if one of the silhouettes seems to have maneuvered into a very interesting position, nothing can be really seen.

You spread your legs just a bit to allow me access, and I lift my left hand again to nudge aside just enough bikini fabric to expose your soft fur and your moist lips. Then I move my head between your thighs and place my tongue just where I did that first night we tried this....and it's so slippery down there that it enters you a bit, just a fraction of an inch really, but enough to make you quiver. I feel your right hand touch the back of my head, pressing me into you and making my tongue sink a little farther in. Then I draw it upwards, letting it become drenched in your wonderful juices, the smell of the ocean in every breath. 

When I reach the top of my arc, I circle your clit without actually touching it, then give it one flick to let you know how much I'm enjoying myself. And then I've withdrawn, and I look up at your face. Your eyes are closed and you're smiling. You start to pull your hand from the back of my head and close your thighs, but I hold your hand still, kissing each of your fingers in turn, and say, "Not so fast, sweetheart."

Before you can say anything, I've nuzzled my head between your thighs again, and when you realize what I want, you let out a delighted gasp. I see you crane your neck to look around. As luck would have it, there are a couple of people walking down the beach near the tide line, strolling in our general direction, no more than seventy-five feet away or so. You say my name, half in warning and half in hard lust, and I'm aware of this little obstacle, but I'm more aware of the taste of you, because my tongue is already inside you and I have no intention of stopping now.

"Yessss...." you say, trailing off to nothing, as I run my tongue up and down your slit, pushing it inside your pussy here and there, reveling in the moist sounds this makes, more evidence of your intense arousal. I place my hands under your buttocks and lift them ever so slightly, and you take this as a cue to lift your legs off the blanket and rest them on my shoulders. Perfect. This makes it easier for me to reach up and, removing my mouth from your sex ever so briefly, I pull off your bikini bottoms. I crush them in my right hand and drop them to the blanket and begin to really indulge myself. 

Up and down, side to side my tongue goes, and I place a few gentle kisses on your clit. This is really the best place in the world to be....I have no idea where those people near the tide line are now. Probably fairly close, passing by, undoubtedly knowing that a man and a woman are engaging in oral sex very near them. Maybe it'll give them a few ideas. I glance up at you and see that your head is turned to the water, watching them pass by. 

You have a hand pressed against your mouth to stifle the guttural sounds of pleasure that you can't stop. I decide to draw a nice one out of you by moaning with desire myself and pushing my tongue as deep into your pussy as it will go, then rubbing my face between your thighs blissfully, getting it wet with your juices. My cock is absolutely throbbing now. When I move the slightest bit it brushes against the blanket and sends small shock waves through it. 

You can't help but start to laugh a little in the grip of your desire, what we're doing is so comical. The couple you've been watching has passed by and later you'll tell me the woman pointed at us and the man turned and they both slowed and stared, causing you to giggle. In an instant, though, the laughter is gone, replaced by more moans. Your hand grasps my hair and forces my mouth harder against you, my tongue swirling your clit now, painting it with moisture, first softly, then more firmly. When I begin to lick it in short bursts your thighs squeeze together and your ass lifts off the blanket. 

You've begun to squeeze your left breast through your bikini top to give yourself a little extra boost. I stop everything for a moment, for five seconds or so, and then plunge back into heaven again. Your legs have opened quite wide now in a totally raunchy pose, not caring what it looks like. I suck on you and swirl, loving the feel of your pubic hair and amazed by just how wet you are. In another minute you're coming. 

I reduce the pressure on your clit just a little and drink up your pussy, wanting to swallow it all, drown in it. I insert a finger into it and move it in and out as I suck your clit wholly into my mouth. You buck and moan, twisting on the blanket, exhaling hard, and then you settle. I keep my mouth where it is for a moment, kissing you down there, again and again, like a lover would kiss the mouth of a girl for the first time, with less passion and more tenderness, and then I'm done. I lift my mouth, my entire face moist, and smile up at you.

"I can't believe you did that," you hiss at me, grinning from ear to ear. "Get back up here so at least the cops will find us in a normal position."

I scoot up the blanket close to your face again. You have no bottoms on and my cock is still hard as a rock, resting between us. I lean on my elbow and take a look around. It's clear that we've gotten away with it. The lights of the boardwalk show people passing by idly in ones and twos, and absolutely no one is on the beach except for a few people gathered around a bonfire a long distance away. I place a finger under your chin and draw your face to me, kissing you on the lips. 




Lilli and I: Night at the Pool



Walking hand in hand through the dark, we seem to know exactly where we're going. But little do you suspect I'm the smallest bit confused as to where my new place is, and every street in this sprawling residential neighborhood looks maddeningly the same. Cortland Street? When did I see that before? Did we take a left at Orinoco Drive? That means that Aquarun must be the next one, or at least the next to next one....

I'd probably be more than a little irritated at my inability to master the streets of my own new crash pad if it weren't for the fact that every step we take, and every step we've taken for fifteen minutes now, reveals more and more just how stupendously fabulous we happen to look tonight. From nine to eleven-thirty we danced at a charity benefit, spending the two hours before that getting dressed up as intensely as we ever have, dropping much more money on our clothes than we did on the tickets to the benefit. As a result, I'm wearing a tuxedo for only the third or fourth time in my life. I've gotten rid of the tie and undone the top couple of buttons on my blindingly white shirt, but otherwise it's still intact. Compared to you, though, I happen to think I look like something the bottom of a shoe might find on the bottom of its shoe. You arrived at the party in a ruby red gown with a plunging neckline and a provocative slit down the right leg, sporting a new jade necklace and shiny black high heels. 

Gazes followed you all around the dance floor as you spun and wallowed in my clumsy hands, laughing when I turned right when I was supposed to turn left, stepped forward instead of stepping back. Not that you were exactly Gregory Hines yourself out there, but when you look as glamorous as you did, no one much cares about winning any contests. We decided as the party wound down that it would be a minor crime not to exhaust all the possibilities of our clothing, so we decided to park a few blocks shy of our intended destination and wow the public by just strolling down the street, looking wildly out of place, the jewels of the earth. Of course, ten minutes past midnight in this sleepy community has given us exactly no audience except empty sidewalks and lonely lamplights under which you stop once and execute a flawless pirouette as I stand and applaud. The night is warm and the moon is full, and we mosey along looking as if we've stepped out of a musical. I'm thinking The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, you're leaning toward Moulin Rouge. Hell, either one works for me. It's a great way to close out the night, being beside such a vision in red, your hair tied up with a small silver clasp, your lips the innermost color of fire, the cheap lamplights overhead shining on your necklace and your eyes. Beautiful.

When I know that you've started to wonder just where the hell we're walking to, I begin to plot the neighborhood in my head, still a little buzzed from the champagne we drank so freely. Maybe it's the champagne that makes me think that if we just cut between two big houses just up ahead, sitting tastefully at the edge of the cul de sac on Wynwyd Lane, we'll eliminate having to walk five more blocks and halve the distance between us and my place, where I plan to take you right to bed and make love to you in the dark.

"Yeah, definitely if we just cut through here, all we have to do is cross Burberry and we're there," I tell you confidently, about eighty percent sure of what the hell I'm talking about. Well, seventy percent.

"I assume by the way you feel the need to convince yourself that you're actually pretty clueless," you point out..

"Clueless, yes, but I'm in a tux, so my decisions all seem to make perfect sense, don't they?" I pull you gently in the direction of the nearest driveway, where a couple of Lexuses are parked obnoxiously side by side. You follow willingly enough, your natural urge to resist my geographical instructions overwhelmed by some residual tipsiness from the booze. Good stuff it was, too.

"We're going to get shot cutting across their lawn," you tell me. "That's really how I want to go, too."

"They're not going to shoot people in evening gowns and tuxes," I insist. "Most they would do is beat us senseless."

I've lowered my voice just a bit, and still holding hands we move past the side of the anonymous sleepers' house. You put your head on my shoulder and wrap both arms around my waist after pausing briefly to remove your high heels. You curl your toes in the grass once to get that nice summery feeling and then we move on, me gallantly holding your shoes for you.

We walk between two big backyards and the scene opens up a bit on a common field between two long rows of houses. Already I know I've made a wee bit of a mistake, but I don't let on. We amble off to the left through a little thatch of trees and come up against a long running fence protecting evildoers like us from reaching the properties of the semi-rich and never-to-be-famous-unless-they-wind-up-on-some-stupid-reality-show. We walk between the fence and the foliage and critique peoples' nicely manicured back yards as we pass them. After four or five houses, the wooden fence becomes a chain link affair and we hear soft conversation coming from a house up ahead. So we're not the only ones awake past midnight on a Saturday after all. Good. Maybe someone will see us pass and think they must be dreaming to see such an image of exotic opulence drifting through their mist. Maybe they'll even think we're ghosts from the Titanic or something. I always wanted to be one of those. 

We see through the dark that the mellow conversation is coming from two couples sitting poolside at the end of the row of houses. They're sitting in deck chairs behind the largest house of all, having opened a bottle (or two, looks like) of wine. Their pool is a very nice affair, lit on each side by running lights set into light pink cement. The water is perfectly still. From the looks of them, my neighbors have been taking an occasional dip, as they're all wearing swimsuits, but the time for actual physical activity is long past. As we go by, we nod and I lift a hand, and one of the women lifts a hand in return. We hear a couple of friendly hellos and we smile and go on, disappearing from their view behind a very tall, intricately cut wooden fence which borders the south side of their property. We angle to the left when we clear their view so as not to head into the large community garden which slumbers under the moon in front of us, and start to climb up a mild, very gradual grass rise that leads to Burberry Lane in another few hundred feet. Home isn't far away. I start to rub your back, which is exposed confidently by your dress, the rear of which starts almost at your waist. I can't wait for the pictures they were taking tonight at the dance to be developed so I can make every man I know weep with jealousy.

"Hello, excuse me," we hear a laughing voice say to our left. One of the women from the pool has poked her head out of a swinging wooden door on the side of the house. She's younger than I thought she was, maybe late twenties. We stop and turn, and my first thought is that she's going to ask us if we're lost.

"Um," she says, giggling, "I think I should tell you my husband's in love with you." She's looking right at you when she says this (Whew!) and you raise an eyebrow. I do the same and we take a couple of steps toward her when a second head appears behind hers, a guy of about the same age.

"I am so sorry, please excuse us, my wife is insane," he says, smiling, playfully pulling on her left arm.

"No, seriously, he just told me he'd do anything to have you," the woman says jovially. 

"I can understand that," I say to them, "but unfortunately she's taken. Unless we're talking about a cash offer, of course." You elbow me in the side and laugh, obviously flattered by this man's attention. How could he not want you, and say so even in the presence of his wife? You're obviously the most stunning thing ever to walk past their house.

"Yes, cash, that is what we're talking about," the woman says. "Could I buy her for about ten minutes as his present? Just to have her stand by the pool so he can look? His tongue's hanging out of his mouth."

"That may be true, but we'll let you good people be on your way," the husband says, rolling his eyes. "Lots and lots to drink, obviously."

"How much do I get for standing by the pool for ten minutes?" you ask, laughing again, stepping over to the swinging door. You're just a couple of feet from them and I can see the man clearly drop his eyes to your chest for a not-so-subtle glance. I step beside you and play along, what the hell. 

"Well, see, it's his birthday, and I told him he could have anything he wanted in the world because he hated the shaver I gave him," she tells us.

"I do not hate it, I do not," the husband insists, sighing and shaking his head.

"So for twenty dollars, you'd get me off the hook," the wife finishes. "Twenty dollars, I'll give you a check!"

"Twenty dollars and a glass of wine for each of us sounds more like a deal," you say toyingly, and the woman claps her hands in joy.

"Yes, absolutely, that's all included, come on in," she says, and swings the wooden door open wider, and you, seeing the opportunity to make your second grand entrance of the night, step over the threshold, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. I always love your spontaneous ideas, especially when they involve scoring us some cash and some liquor. I'm actually wishing I had my swimsuit with me because I wouldn't mind a dip in that nice pool. 

The husband and wife step back to allow us in, introducing themselves. "I'm Sarah and this is my husband Shaw," she says, touching her chest and then his. She's in a bikini and he's in a pair of fairly tight black trunks, and they're both pretty fit, both of them blonde, way too young to have the kind of money it took to buy this house, but we can forgive them since they're so silly. Sarah seems like the classic sorority type, full of energy and deeply tanned, probably liking married life in the 'burbs but wondering why everyone can't be a little more fun. Her husband is sandy-haired, stylishly stubbled. We introduce ourselves as Declan and Lilli, mysterious visions of glamour and intrigue. We tell them we've been dancing all night and intend to wear these clothes for the rest of our lives.

"These are our friends Muriel and Terry," Sarah says, gesturing as we approach the pool to the other married couple. They nod and smile, a more subdued pair in their late thirties, maybe even early forties. Muriel is a pleasant-looking, unspectacular woman with a very plain haircut that probably hasn't been changed since the early nineties, and Terry is about twice her size, looking like he could spin Muriel on his little finger. She's wearing a conservative polka-dot sundress while he lounges in his deck chair in white trunks. We are the extremes of nighttime wear, tuxes and gowns versus whatever the upper middle class happen to have lying around on the deck of their pool. 

"I bought her for Shaw for ten minutes so we can settle this," Sarah informs them, and Terry laughs heartily while Muriel chuckles modestly, looking a little embarrassed.

"I hope you got fair market value for her," Terry says.

"Twenty bucks, don't you think her doing a quick fashion show is worth that for my pervert husband?" Sarah asks, tickling Shaw's ribs.

"You are unbelievable," Shaw says. "However many apologies I have in me for this, I'm sure it wouldn't be enough," he says to us.

"No need to be sorry," you tell him. "I'm only too happy to make a marriage stronger. What sort of show shall I give you?" You raise your arms like a ballerina up in the air. I can't stop myself from looking at the slopes of your breasts, straining against the straps of your gown, wildly erotic. Shaw and Terry can't stop themselves either. They also notice the slit down the side of your gown and all the wonder it promises to the naked eye.

"Look at that," Sarah says to Muriel. "You see where their eyes go? I should make Shaw pay me for this." Muriel only smiles politely, maybe a little uncomfortable around strangers, especially like this. The human body is probably not her most passionate interest in this world; scrapbooking is probably more her speed, being obviously a very well-bred, refined, somewhat shy woman. Funny that she and Sarah are friends.

Sarah claps her hands. "Okay, for twenty dollars, and to shut Shaw up about the awful shaver I got him, and to make his birthday complete---" she begins.

"Okay, the shaver was not good, I'm sorry," Shaw interrupts, grinning.

"---and to make up for the fact that I'm not ever going to do a threesome with him despite his begging to do it just once---" Sarah goes on, obviously quite drunk.

Terry lets out a "Whoa!' and leans forward, laughing, and Shaw's eyes get big as he puts on a look of comical embarrassment. Muriel puts a horrified hand to her mouth.

"---yeah, to make up for all that and to give him a nice birthday, I need you to, um.....do just a small dance beside the pool, that'll be good." She turns and lifts a small battery-powered boom box off the deck beside the long lounge chair she and Shaw have settled down on.

"She is so drunk," Shaw says bashfully, though there's nothing bashful in the way he's looking at you when he thinks I'm not noticing. "The whole threesome thing is a total joke from college---"

"Oh, right, a joke, suuuuuuuuuuuure," Sarah says, fiddling with the buttons on the boom box.

"A small dance, okay, I think I'm up to that, but where's our money?" you ask, running your hands down your gown, straightening it, smiling.

"I have my checkbook right here," says Terry, lifting his keys from the table beside him and picking up his wallet. "I'll make it out to Cash. Sarah, you can pay me back."

"All right, now we're talking!" you say, and look up at me and smile. "I hope you'll be watching too, sweetie."

"Of course," I say, and take one of the free deck chairs, crossing my legs, entirely amused now, and more than a little aroused. My spiffy clothes seem to keep me in control somewhat, as if it's just not terribly dignified to be thinking about naughty things in such finery.

"This is a little bit too decadent for me, I'm afraid," Muriel titters, and Terry rubs one of her shoulders affectionately.

"Oh, Muriel, this'll be great, to watch Shaw salivate," Sarah says, and presses Play on the boom box. A slow Sam Cooke song begins to play: "That's Heaven to Me". 

"Okay, where do I stand?" you ask, and drop me a little wink. Terry has gotten up and put a glass of wine in your hand. You thank him and give him a nice look, more than aware of where his eyes are directed. You don't mind a bit. You're feeling especially flirty after the dancing and the champagne.

"Oh, just get right next to the pool so you're in the lights, sort of," Sarah says, pointing. "Okay, honey, take a good look, happy birthday," she says to Shaw, who's all eyes and isn't quite able to keep up the impression that it's all too silly to watch.

"Well, if it's what you really want," Shaw says, and leans back on the lounger a bit. 

Ten feet away, you start to sway a bit as you step next to the pool, and in one smooth motion place your wine glass down at your feet beside you. The running lights built into the deck shine on your legs but don't go much above that, so you're something of a shadow outlined by the cool blue glow off the water. It's intoxicating to just look at you as you begin to move, closing your eyes and putting your hands behind your head, running your hands through your hair and smiling contentedly. 

"You're a lucky, lucky man," Terry says to me.

"Oh, I know it," I assure him.

The music sinks into you and you turn slowly, moving your hips in time to the languorous music. Sarah and Shaw both look at your tanned lower back, your shapely ass, your legs. I look higher, at the artful slopes of your breasts as your side turns to me. You bend your knees slightly, dipping a bit, and then you raise your hands to the level of your bosom, at your sides, and slink them down your red dress toward your hips. You squeeze your shoulders together, creating a heart-stopping moment of pure, unadulterated cleavage for everyone to see. Shaw whistles and Sarah laughs. Terry claps while his wife pays close attention, amazed and blushing.

"How am I doing, folks?" you inquire as you put a little more hip into your movements.

"Okay, maybe this wasn't such a bad idea," Shaw says. Sarah leans back against him on the lounger and kisses him once, touching his nose fondly, then resumes watching the show. 

"You're great, you have to teach me sometime," she says to you.

"All in the legs," you say, and during the bridge of the song you put your hands on your knees seductively and bend at the waist, giving us all a fantastic view of your chest. "Yikes!" Terry says as his polite wife's face reddens a bit. You straighten back up and give us a rear view once more, your ass moving very slowly left, then very slowly right, commanding attention. You stoop for a second to pick up your glass of wine and as you sip you rotate once more and look me in the eyes, lapsing into a slow, erotic, whole-body vibe which loosens every part of your body. Beginning at your stomach, your free hand glides across your hips and then down to your thighs, which you squeeze together suggestively. You look at Shaw and Terry in turn, sipping more wine, and then you reach back and undo the clasp that holds your hair up. It spills around your shoulders and you toss your head this way and that, shaking it all out, then, as the song reaches its end, you place one finger into your glass. You remove it and push it into your mouth as you look at everyone one by one, ending with me, winking one more time.

"God, we are really getting our money's worth!" Sarah says. The others have been hypnotized for the moment, unwilling to spend a single second speaking lest they miss some subtlety of your swaying, some minor motion they want to savor right this minute.

The song fades out entirely and you spread your arms, waiting for applause. We all give it to you, of course, and you laugh and bow gracefully.

Sarah lets the CD run on and looks at you in awe. "If that's what we get for twenty dollars, maybe we should up it some!" she exclaims.

"Yeah, I'd be willing to go much higher than that for more of a show," Terry says.

"He's offered to pay me for something like that before," Muriel says, surprisingly. "Now I'm sure I'll get even more offers."

"True, true," Terry admits.

"Well," you say, emptying your wine glass, "let's hear some offers."

"I'll spend exactly how much the shaver was, which was sixty-two dollars, so that'll make it nice and even for this worthless loser," Sarah says, poking her husband.

"For fifty, do we get to see some skin?" Terry asks, and Muriel shakes her head disbelievingly.

"Oh yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, honey?" Sarah asks Shaw. "That'll be a great gift."

"What sort of woman did I marry, I wonder?" he replies, rubbing her shoulders.

"Skin, huh?" you say to them. "What do you think, Dec?"

"Fifty dollars could upgrade my tux for next week," I say to you, cocking my eyebrow lasciviously.

"Yeah, but, um, fifty dollars should also buy something for us ladies, me and Muriel, so we want to see you both in your underwear, then you can do one lap around the pool for us." 

The others laugh, but not you. "I think that's a bargain," you say, and step over to me, grabbing me by the hand and yanking me up to my feet. 

"Keep your checkbook out, Terry," Sarah says. 

"Could I make one small request?" Shaw asks, raising his index finger. "And Sarah will understand this, trust me. Could we maybe....could we maybe have the heels on when you do this?"




Lilli and I: So Therapeutic



"Oh my God, you thought I'd forget, didn't you?" I ask you incredulously as we drive along M Street. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Not a monster, per se," you say, stroking my hair from the passenger's seat. "But when you get as old as you are, things just kind of slip your mind."

"True," I admit, "I may not remember the order of the first fifteen presidents, or my brother's name, but I've got your birthday etched permanently in there. Credit where credit is due."

"Okay, okay, you get credit," you say, idly pointing through the windshield at some idiot cutting me off while almost running over a gaggle of elderly pedestrians. Traffic in Georgetown on a cool autumn afternoon is predictably an irritating nightmare. "Now where exactly are you taking me again?"

"Well, it's all explained in the envelope," I tell you, turning off M Street and heading up a hill past the university and into the cozy private neighborhoods where prices start at No Freaking Way and go all the way up to You've Got to Be Yanking My Freaking Chain. "Check the glove compartment."

You rub your hands expectantly and lean forward, popping the glove box and reaching in to pluck out a red envelope fastened with a blue seal. You open it up and remove what looks like a concert ticket, except on closer inspection it's not quite what you think.

"Oooooooooh, day spa," you say excitedly. "The Quiet Grove, I've never heard of it....I get the whole day? Terrific!"

"Well, you won't even need the whole day, from what was explained to me," I say with an air of mystery, guiding the car off a cobblestone street and past a sleepy park where a man tosses a tattered white Frisbee to a German shepherd. "In fact, it's only a couple of hours, but it's not like any spa you could ever imagine. We're not talking about the pedicure-facial-massage-and-get-out kind of place. These people are intense. I forget the name of the treatment, but they promise you'll be more relaxed than at any point in your life when you walk out of there."

"I can't wait," you say, noting how expensively the gift certificate is crafted. A silhouette of an embracing man and woman-actually, a half-silver hologram, no less-is emblazoned in one corner, and they personalized a little message to you about how much they're looking forward to seeing you there. You note the date and look at me wide-eyed.

"Today?" you ask me. "We're going there right now?"

"Yeah," I reply. "In fact, it's coming up on the left, I think. I'll drop you off and you can call for me to pick you up when you're all done."

"Brunch was really enough, Ben, you didn't have to do all this for me," you say, obviously not meaning it, relishing in the thought of being absurdly pampered for a couple of hours.

"My pleasure," I say. "I'm going to love thinking of how relaxed they'll make you." We pull up in front of an elegant brick townhouse, the largest one on the block, possibly in the whole neighborhood. "This is 207, right?"

You look down at the gift certificate and then back up at the townhouse, finding this hard to believe. "This is it?" you say wonderingly. "Wow, ritzy, not even a sign or anything. Look at that place."

"They know their stuff," I say, and lean over and give you a kiss. "Okay, call me whenever. And remember, this is really a different kind of place. They told me everything they do, and it's all about what you want. Whatever you feel like doing, just go for it. Really."

"Hmmmmm," you say, giving me a kiss in return. "I don't think you'll have to worry about me indulging myself at a spa. They'll have to boot me out of there."

"Yeah, indulge is the key word," I say. "Take it to the limit. Happy birthday."

"Bye!" you say cheerfully, and hop out of the car with the gift certificate in your hand. You turn to wave So Long and I pull away smoothly, disappearing down the street, leaving you there to embark upon your gift.

You stand on the tastefully paved walk that winds up to the front door for a moment, then approach it. You admire the carefully manicured lawn and the rose bushes on either side of the three steps leading up to the entrance. After banging the brass door knocker a couple of times, you stand back and note the white gazebo perched under some trees around one side of the house. This is indeed a high-end place, the kind usually snatched up by senators and diplomats.

The front door opens and an attractive young woman with dirty blonde hair tied in a ponytail stands inside, smiling at you. "Hi, Lilli," she says cheerfully, and steps aside. 

"Lucky guess," you say, laughing, moving into the townhouse.

"Not at all," she says. "Declan told me what you looked like."

"Oh," you say, impressed. She closes the door behind you and you absorb the atmosphere. The foyer looks like the foyer of very wealthy but very normal people. The living room off to the side is done in dark wood and deep brown carpet.

"I'm Faith," says the woman, who's dressed in white slacks and a soft blue turtleneck. "I'm your guide today."

"My guide, okay," you say, and Faith directs you with a friendly arm gesture to one of the antique chairs set beside the fireplace, which boasts a modest flame. You take a seat and she sits across from you in a high-backed thing which must have cost a fortune. For the first time you notice the paintings on the walls. Instead of the usual impressionist clichés, the spa has hung three or four prints by an artist whose focus was the forms of a man and woman intertwined. The paintings are frankly sort of erotic, and in one of them it's obviously suggested that the woman's hand is touching her lover's penis. You can't take your eyes off it for a moment.

"So today we're going to introduce you to touch immersion," Faith says, her manner not so much suggesting a professional therapist as a close friend excited to show you something new. She's not holding a clipboard or anything like that; she just folds her hands in her lap. "You'll love it, I promise. And Declan made it clear that you should be totally free to go as far as you want with it."

"So what is....touch immersion, exactly?" you ask. "Have you had it done to you?"

Faith laughs. "Oh yeah, I'm really into it, and you'll be too. I won't even explain it. It'll ruin the experience. Just assume that while you're here, you're going to feel so physically amazing that you'll never be able to forget a moment of it. I'll see to it personally, believe me."

"Sounds great," you say. "Do we start with.....what? A massage?"

"Well, you're going to get the best one ever, no doubt, but first I want you to pick who your masseur's going to be."

"It won't be you?" you ask, secretly a little disappointed. Faith's hands look soft as clouds.

"I come in a little later," she says, reaching beside her to a low marble table on which sits what looks like a scrapbook. "Here's some photos of our staff. Pick who you like to give you your rubdown."

Amused, you take the book from her and open it to the first page. Each page, you find, features two glossy black and white photographs of young men, ten men in all. Each has been photographed posing in a white T-shirt and rather tight shorts standing on the lawn in front of the house. Each one of them is well-muscled, very attractive. Your face gets a little red at the prospect of choosing one over the other. You didn't know a spa could work this way.

"Tough to choose, I know," says Faith. "They're all hot, aren't they?"

"Oh yes," you say, and the two of you share a look and you laugh. "I guess it doesn't really matter who does it, so I'll just say.....ah....Tom." You point at the very first photograph in the book as if you didn't give any thought to your choice, when in fact you find him to be the sexiest of them all, his dark hair and broad chest really turning you on. His hands on you alone will make the trip to the townhouse worthwhile, you can sense it.

"Excellent choice," Faith says knowingly, and tips you a little wink. Wow, you think, this place could really give someone the wrong impression of what they're here for. Faith picks a cell phone off the surface of the marble table, dials two digits, and holds it up to her mouth.

"Hi Tom.....it's going to be you," she says, and that's all. She turns the phone off and smiles at you again. "Okay," she says, "let's start your day. To begin with, you're going to get all the usual treats, and then we'll move into touch immersion. Get you all warmed up for the grand finale. Come this way."

You rise and follow Faith out of the living room and down a narrow hallway which passes a kitchen and a spacious dining room. She opens a door at the end of the hall and you see a softly lit staircase winding downwards. Faith heads down and you're right behind her, noting how there's absolutely nothing in the house that suggests it's anything other than a cozy weekend getaway you yourself might live in if you had the money. 

The basement, if a place so nice can be called something so plain, opens up in a space twice the area of the first floor. It's been divided into several rooms with mostly glass walls. Beside you on your right is a room containing a large, still pool, and the one on the left, where Faith is leading you, features what looks like a miniature indoor lawn. Faith opens the glass door and you go inside. Low lamps cast warm yellow light around the room, revealing a lounge chair, a stereo system, some bookshelves, and a massage table. The lawn, it seems, really is a lawn, specially treated to live inside and underground. Faith steps onto the grass and you follow, never having seen such a thing before. 

"Kick off your shoes and feel it on your toes," Faith says. "It's great." She actually beats you to it. Your toes curl in the soft stuff, and Faith asks you to step behind a Japanese screen and take everything off except for a white robe slung over it. 

Your session at Quiet Grove begins in a more or less routine way, with Faith giving you a manicure and pedicure as you lie back in your plush robe, eyes absorbing the artificial starry night sky that appears to shift and change little by little on the ceiling above you. It's been cued by a projector set in the floor, and the effect is pretty impressive, especially when the night sky becomes lighter and lighter over the course of a half hour and the glass walls on all sides of you become filled with opaque shades of red and orange, until you're surrounded by a soothing simulation of dawn. You allow yourself to close your eyes and drift off, the feeling of Faith's hands on you perfectly relaxing. She urges you to not say a word and just enjoy the sensations. Not once does she ask you to lift a hand or a foot or change position; she moves around from time to time so you don't have to stir an inch. You're surprised to hear a mix CD of some of your favorite tunes playing low on the sound system, and Faith tells you that I made it and sent it in well before the day of your appointment. She offers you a choice of wines and someone you never see enters the room briefly, sets a glass on the armrest beside you, and disappears again. After forty-five minutes, you're pretty much in heaven. Faith gives your feet and hands a careful, oily rubdown and dries them off afterwards. At one point you decide it couldn't hurt to open your eyes a little, and you see that the glass wall looking out on the hallway is transparent again. Finally, you see another person, a woman dressed much like Faith but somewhat older, walking down the corridor beside a completely naked, and wet from head to toe, client of the spa. The woman is smiling and in no hurry. You wonder where she's being taken and at what stage of your session you can expect to be openly nude and soaked by....steam? The pool on the other side of the hallway?

"I think we're all done here," you hear Faith say eventually, and you're so limp with a feeling of simple peace that you don't think you can move right away. Faith anticipates this. "Tell you what," she says, starting to put away her pedicure instruments, "finish your wine, give yourself another couple of minutes, and meet me at the end of the hall, okay? Leave your clothes here."

"Thanks," you say, your fingers, toes, and soul feeling mighty renewed. "I'll be there in a minute."

Faith smiles and pushes the glass door open, turning left and disappearing. After another full minute of easy resting, you slowly work up the energy to rise, tighten the sash of your robe, and step out as well, leaving the empty wine glass behind.

You walk past an open steam room on the left, being entered as you pass by a lone client, a very young woman in a blue towel who closes the door behind her. It looked nice in there, tiled in deep red, lit by standing lamps. On your right, there's what appears to be a completely normal bedroom, only less cluttered with personal belongings. It seems designed as the ultimate place to take a long afternoon nap. 

You turn an L-corner and Faith is standing there, waiting for you. "Ready?" she asks, and you follow her up a winding staircase back up to ground level, but then keep rising beyond it, going up one story. The staircase opens in a wide, deeply carpeted hallway. Daylight floods in through the windows on each end. You pass a large bathroom and a large den. Faith stops walking outside it.

"Okay," she says, "time for a little touch immersion. You'll be meeting Tom soon, and I'll be there in a bit too. We just require two things from you. First, let's get rid of that robe. I'll take it."

You undo the sash and open your robe, lower it off your shoulders, and remove it entirely. Standing nude in the hallway, you hand the robe to Faith, who takes a long, very noticeable look at your body.

"Very nice," she says at a volume low enough to make you think it's not just a rote professional compliment. Her eyes linger on your breasts, then finally meet your glance.

"Do I get something else to wear for my time with Tom?" you ask.

"In touch immersion," Faith says, "you'll be grateful to have nothing on. Declan told us he didn't mind another man seeing you naked, so it's all up to you."

Wow. The thought of wearing nothing for your massage with Tom is a sudden and very definite turn-on. You try not to make this too obvious when you say, "I'm game."

"Great. You just need to go into the bedroom with the violet on it and everything will be taken care of from that moment on. Close the door behind you, and relax. You'll be alone for a few minutes."

"What's the other thing that's required from me?" you ask.

"Just that you do whatever comes naturally to you," Faith tells you. "Whatever your body wants, that's what Declan wants for you, and what we ask you to indulge in. Don't feel the need to say anything. Have the most free, most memorable experience you can. It's what we're all about."

"I promise," you say, giggling a little. It all sounds a little New Age-y to you, but definitely promising.

"Okay, see you in a bit," Faith says, and starts to head back down the staircase.

"Bye," you say, and go unclothed down the hallway, liking the feel of being naked in such a grand house. You take an L-turn to the right and a few feet down there's your door, marked with a colorful violet fastened somehow to its center. You hold your breath for a second at the thought of Tom seeing you enter without a stitch of clothing on. It might be the best part of the day so far....then you turn the knob and push the door open, stepping inside.

Your first impression is that the room is really enormous, seeming twice as big as any bedroom you've ever been in. It's tough to tell for sure, though, because there is no light inside it whatsoever. There are no windows; the room is one big dark, virtually featureless enclosure, like a barren theater stage after everyone's gone home from a performance. At first you even think there's been some kind of mistake, but then after a few seconds your eyes adjust to the dim and you can make out the shape of something in the center of the room. It's a large bed, tinged with the tiniest bit of gold light. The light is coming from a small recessed bulb in the ceiling, just one.

You take a couple of steps toward the bed, and your feet fall in love instantly with the carpet, so plush you literally sink into it an inch or so. The bed becomes a little clearer in your vision. It's a big antique, fluffed up with two pillows and covered by a white comforter. It really is the only thing in the room and it seems more or less in its center, as if you're intended to be left with no choice but to lie on it. Thinking there are far worse fates in this life, you walk naked to it, put a hand out to make sure it's real, and then climb up onto it. You're on all fours on the down comforter for a moment, and then you lie down, your head on the pillows, and sigh. Perfect. Nothing like being in almost total darkness, nude, on an expensive bed, already soothed by your manicure and pedicure. You stretch out and wait for whatever comes next. You wouldn't mind just resting like this for an hour or so. When you look down at yourself, you can barely see the outlines of your breasts. As your eyes adjust further, you see that your entire body is tinged with the gold light in such a subtle way that someone entering the room might not even see you. 

There's a scent in the room that you're just now noticing. It's a smell very much like honeysuckle, a wonderful summery smell. You close your eyes and turn on your stomach. It could be that there's nothing in the world better than this; you'll check sometime. 

From somewhere off to your left, the perfect silence is ruffled a bit by the sound of a door opening. Yet no light enters the room. You look over and at first you see nothing. Then an image appears before you, the image of a man, stepping into the room from out of the darkness. The gold light touches his hair and his shoulders. When he comes close to the bed, you see that this is probably Tom, your hand-picked masseur. It's too dark to see much of his face, but his muscular build is obvious. He's wearing what looks like a T-shirt and a pair of very, very tight shorts. In fact, those aren't shorts at all, if the dimness isn't trying to fool you; they're boxer briefs, wrapped around the masseur's thighs and buttocks like a glove. You find yourself wishing for a window to let some light in here, but only briefly. The fact that Tom is almost entirely a silhouette lets your imagination be totally free. But what sort of place sends a masseur in boxer briefs?

Your awareness of your nudity is magnified ten times as Tom stands beside the bed, looking down at you, his face essentially invisible. He can see your naked ass, your smooth back. You close your eyes and await his touch.

You feel a firm finger rest on your lower spine. It starts there and, pressing hard against your flesh, it moves up your back, tracing a wonderful path, hitting all the right spots, and ends at your neck. It hesitates, then starts to go in the other direction, detouring across your shoulder blades, relieving subtle tension points with nothing more than a small variation of the pressure, running down your left side at one point, and then swooping softly across your left butt cheek. Finally it withdraws. You almost begin to purr with comfort. Opening you eyes, you see that Tom's form is right beside the bed, only a foot and a half away or so, his boxer briefs more visible now. 

His big hands touch you fully now. They enclose your ankles and squeeze, then move up to the back of your knees and beyond. They stop just short of your ass, as if being modest, but then run right over it, hands clenching your cheeks tightly for a moment before they skate up your back, the pressure becoming firmer and firmer as they go. Tom's hands were so firm on your ass that your labia began to part as your cheeks spread slightly. It was a delicious sensation, as is the feel of his hands on your shoulders, rubbing deeply for a full minute before he lets you go. 




Lilli and I: So Therapeutic



Nothing happens for a moment, so you decide to turn over and hope that Tom will massage your front. You love the thought of him peering through the gloom to see your full breasts and your naked hips. You stretch a little to really expose your body and place your head in the center of the soft pillows provided for you. Above you, Tom waits for you to settle, looking down attentively, not taking his gaze off you. If only you could really see his face, gauge his reaction at seeing you.....even though he must see and touch women all day, you sense somehow that he's going to enjoy touching you more than most of the clients.

At first, your masseur does not touch you. Instead he bends down for a moment and picks something up off the floor. He's holding an object of some sort in his left hand and with his right he rotates another object inside it, stirring something maybe. It almost looks like he has a paint can in his hand. Then something is descending toward your belly, Tom's hand brings it down....it really is a brush, a wide brush, and when it touches you, you've never felt anything like it. On the end of the incredibly soft brush, each bristle with a mind of its own, is a thick, warm substance that gives off a vague honey scent and feels like baby oil on your stomach. Tom's hand moves the brush back and forth, over your bellybutton and across your flesh from side to side, coating you with the wondrous stuff with that amazing silky tool. This time you let out an audible moan; you can't help it. Tom next slides the brush over each of your knees and onto your ankles, going back and forth, back and forth, as if he were painting a fence, but you are what he's painting. The slick warm oil gives off a mild shine in the gold light. Each part of your body that is touched by the brush begins to glisten. It goes down to your calves, swirls around them, then starts to head back up toward your thighs. Oh, if he were to paint them too, what must that feel like.....and you find out in about ten seconds. The brush drifts up your left thigh to its midpoint, the oil spread evenly and thickly, then moves to the other one. Tom starts the brush just a few inches below your vagina and draws it downward. Your breathing quickens a bit, yet you're still in a state of utter relaxation. Tom then begins to completely paint your lower body, not missing an inch. You start to feel different in all the spots that he's covered. It feels like the oil is sinking into you, making you warm, loosening your muscles, caressing them. Eventually he's even done your toes and the bottoms of your feet. There's only your top half left then, and you ache for it.

Having already done your stomach, Tom shifts position, leaning over the bed, to reach your upper torso. He dips the brush into his container of oil and then touches it to the base of your throat and starts to draw the brush back and forth across your upper chest. He slides it over your left arm, making a long, heavenly path down it, all the way to your wrist, and then moves to the other arm. Little by little he fills in his paint job. By now your lower half is slightly tingling with the feel of the oil swimming in your pores. 

Your elbows are painted, as are the backs of your hands. Tom swirls the brush around your shoulders, never once touching your hair. That leaves only your breasts to be done. You're not sure if you're going to be able to endure the feel of the brush on them without letting out a gasp and you tense yourself for it.

Sure enough, the brush slips down between your breasts, spreading the oil out. You watch its progress. Your whole body is shining. Tom's hand on the brush is certain, unwavering. You watch it press into your skin, the bristles conforming to every inch, and then move up the slope of your left breast and over your nipple. Your eyes roll and you close them, almost passing out with pleasure. Tom's fingers are an inch from your flesh as the brush describes slow concentric circles on your breast. When it's fully coated, Tom's hand moves the brush to the other one, greeted by an erect nipple. It doesn't faze him at all. He uses the exact same technique to paint this one, not shying away in the slightest from moving the brush over the nipple even as you flinch a little as it touches it. The oil is finally everywhere, all over the front of your body, as the brush disappears and Tom steps back, appearing to admire his work. You look up at his shadowed face and at his lean, hard body, wishing you could touch it in gratitude. Everything on you and in you buzzes with delight. The oil must be some kind of secret drug, making all parts of you high, like liquid cocaine. Your nipples are both erect, and there's moisture between your thighs. You hope that Tom has noticed. 

You roll over, hoping he'll take the hint and do the back of you now. He needs no verbal prompting, and over the course of the next ten minutes the brush does its thing over every inch of you. You even pull your hair away from your neck so the brush can touch you there, and Tom is happy to oblige. He saves your ass for last, and dares to dip the brush softly between the cleft of your buttocks. The oil feels nicest there, nicer than anywhere else. When you sense him kneel to put the container back under the bed, you can't move or speak. You've been rendered motionless by the natural high humming through your body. 

You turn your head on the pillow to gaze at what can be seen of the body that's just treated you so well, and you're surprised to see another shape emerging from the darkness. The gold light brings into view the figure of a female who has entered the room through the door which Tom must have left open. The woman has light, long hair and is about your height. She comes forward as Tom stands there, turning to her in the gloom. Your eyes, getting better and better at seeing things in the dark but still unable to penetrate it fully, focus on what the woman is wearing. It's a very short robe, tied at the waist. From the way her hair dangles over her left shoulder, you can tell this is Faith, coming to join the session. She says nothing, moves in utter silence.

She is holding something in each of her hands. She holds out one of the objects to Tom; he takes it from her. Together they move to the side of the bed, she closer to your head, he closer to your feet. Faith tilts a uniquely shaped watering container and Tom does the same, the nozzles angled to release something onto your body from above. It's warm water, and it rains down in a light trickle on your feet and on your back. There's something a little different about this water, though. It fizzes very delicately on your skin even as it washes away the oil that coats your body. It feels like two little rain showers have emerged from unseen clouds and have decided to devote themselves to you and you alone.

You smile and indulge in them. Tom moves his watering can up your ankles as Faith moves hers over your arms. You feel the oil evaporating like magic with every drop of this mysterious water that lands on you. You're so anxious to feel the rain on your ass that you shift on the bed to ask for it with body language. Both Tom and Faith bow to your request, showering your ass simultaneously, a thousand tiny fingers massaging it. When they take the water away, you turn over onto your front again. Now you realize just how moist you've gotten below the waist. The sight, obscured as it is, of two beautiful people pampering you in such a way is too much of a turn-on. The water continues to fall and the clouds move up and down your body. Faith even begins to pour the water on your hair. You close your eyes and feel it fizz on your scalp and your shoulders. She guides the water carefully into every inch of your hair, soaking it, drenching the pillow. You wonder if she's going to shower your face, and sure enough she does. Very very slowly, the shower touches your forehead and then your nose, your lips, your neck. At the same time, Tom guides his cascade onto your thighs. You think you can hear the small fizzing sounds on your skin if you listen hard enough. Tom's shower finds your pubic hair and the water trickles down to your soft pink opening. He seems to spend a little extra time dowsing in that area, and you can't get enough. Faith brings the magic water to your breasts just as he's finishing up and there's a terrific overlap on your most erogenous zones. Your nipples become firm again as your breasts are soaked tenderly, one after the other. Being a woman, Faith must know exactly what you're feeling, and this excites you. You part your thighs in a way you think won't be seen, just to get some air between your legs. 

They're all done. They step away from the bed for a moment and you sigh heavily. Whatever I paid for this session, you think, it's not nearly enough. The effect of the water slowly dissipates, the oil all but gone, your hair rinsed and dripping on your pillows. The bed beneath you is soaking wet. 

Tom and Faith let you drift peacefully for a full minute or so, looking down at you. Then you feel Faith's hand touch your own, and with the slightest, friendliest tug, she has directed you to get up off the bed. You hate to leave the nicest home you've ever had, but trust her completely to make the transition a smooth one.

You climb off the bed and stand naked in front of her. You turn your head to see Tom lean over the bed and in a series of simple, precise motions, he starts to remove the wet comforter, almost without a sound. It's more interesting to look at Faith through the gloom, trying to make out her eyes and her lips. She kneels down for a brief moment, her head at the level of your waist, and lifts a large towel from the floor beside her. She unfolds it and holds it up for you to step into like a kid at the beach. You do so, your breasts touching the fabric, and she enfolds you in it. She then begins to dry you off, beginning with your legs, moving up to your hips. The blanket rubbing against you as it dries you off is yet another kind of massage. You've never felt more happily helpless or in another's control. When Faith straightens up to dry your waist, you smell her perfume and observe her thin, lithe body wrapped in its tight satin robe with a plunging neckline. You raise your arms when she brings the front of the towel to your breasts and she slows her movements, rubbing the towel over them gently, again and again, and then making two circles with her hands to both dry your breasts and massage them. It's amazing. You turn around so she can get your back, and you see Tom setting the comforter and pillows onto the floor at the foot of the bed. He then just stands back and does nothing but watch your nude body get dried off. You're more than happy to give him something to look at. Faith pats down your hair, then does your back. She makes little teasing circles on your ass. She ends the nice massage on your calves, and then hands the towel to Tom, who takes it and sets it down with the comforter.

Faith takes your hand again. She takes two steps to the edge of the bed and you follow. She stretches a hand out to it, gesturing for you to lie back down. You sit on the bed, bring your legs up, and put your head back onto a new silk pillow Tom produced for you when you weren't looking. The material beneath you now is perfectly dry, a nice cozy quilt which gives you an even warmer feeling than the comforter did. You lie down, face up, waiting expectantly. Your mind can't conceive of anything the universe might hold that can live up to what's come before.

You think the gloom must be playing a trick on you when Faith's hands undo the sash of her short, thin robe, and then pull it entirely off her body. She lets it fall to the floor and stands there, naked. You can see the faint gold light touch her blonde pubic hair. Her small, perfect breasts are silhouetted artfully. 

That's not the only surprise. You see Faith's head turn to Tom, and she steps over to him. Her fingers take hold of the bottom of his tight T-shirt and lift it up his stomach. You can just barely see his firm abdominal muscles as she lifts the T-shirt up over his head. His broad chest appears and the T-shirt falls away. Then what you were secretly dreaming would happen, but never thought in a million years actually would, occurs.....Faith's fingers hook into the waistband of Tom's boxer briefs and pull downward. She leans over to finish the job, her smooth, flawless ass jutting out. She pulls the boxer briefs down and Tom steps out of them, his long, thick cock dangling between his legs. Faith turns back to you and steps toward the headboard, then moves around the bed entirely to the other side. You follow her movements, but you're distracted by the fact that Tom is moving very close to you, touching the edge of the bed with his thighs. Behind you, the bed creaks the slightest bit and the mattress gives way to Faith's body as she climbs onto it, stretching out on it just as you did. And right in front of you, Tom's muscles become more visible as he first sits on the bed, the top half of his ass shown to you, then moves his legs on top of it as well. You don't know which way to turn, but instinctively you keep facing Tom as he turns over to face you, less than a foot from your body. You can hear his breathing, even as his face remains mostly in shadow. 

Your own breathing quickens as you wait for someone to touch you. You sense Tom and Faith's body heat, and your cool wet hair is really the only part of you that isn't almost too warm with anticipation. You decide to close your eyes after taking one last long look at Tom's chest. 

First, you feel Faith's hand on the small of your back. She lets one finger play on it, drawing small tickling designs on it. Then Tom's right hand has rested itself on your hip, beginning to stroke it back and forth. After a few moments, their actions simultaneously cease, and you sense more shifting on the bed. They've moved even closer. Faith's breasts touch your back, and her legs snuggle against yours from behind. In the front, you can feel Tom's breath on your neck as he lays his head down on the pillow beside you and dangles his arm down over your ass, touching it lightly. His feet rub yours, his ankles touch yours. You can't even bear to open your eyes; you think you might be carried away by desire.

Faith's breasts move slightly on your back as she cuddles you, bringing a hand up to your shoulder and rubbing it. Tom lets his fingers glide over your ass, and then he starts to massage your calves. You make a small whimper of pleasure. Strands of Faith's hair have settled on the back of your neck, and as she breathes in and out, you feel it on your skin there. You sense that Tom's hand and Faith's cross paths at one point and they slow their motions on you. Faith scratches your back with delicate fingers, and then she stops. Taking her cue, so does Tom. The bed creaks once more.

You become lost in pleasure as Tom presses his body tight against yours. Your breasts squeeze against his chest, your legs touch his from your ankles to your thighs. As you lay perfectly still, Faith snuggles as close as she possibly can to you. Now you're sandwiched between them tightly, all your flesh touching all of theirs. You dare to open your eyes. You see your breasts on Tom's chest, nipples more or less aligning with his. His face is right in front of you, close enough to kiss. He has placed his arm all the way over your side and onto Faith's hip, while she has done the same. It rests on Tom, motionless. They stay still, letting you feel what it's like to have an intimate union with not just one alluring nude body, but two. Faith's pubic hair brushes your ass. She touches the back of your head softly. 

You decide to lift your left hand and place it on Faith's as it rests on Tom's hip. Then you reach yours further over until you can feel the top edge of Tom's buttock. His face in front of yours on the pillow does not move. 

Behind you, Faith shifts her weight and seems to pinch her shoulders together while her legs slide up and down yours. Tom, meanwhile, arches his back, drawing the flesh of his chest across your breasts, and also starts to slide his legs over yours. You feel Faith's hair fall across your shoulders as she lays her head on you, and Tom reaches behind your head with his free arm and presses it gently against him, burying your face in his skin. While Faith works her upper torso up and down your back while brushing her legs over every part of yours, Tom works his chest back and forth across your breasts and your hardening nipples. He lifts his right leg a little and rests it on yours. It gives you a glimpse of his crotch and all the wonders therein. He lets Faith's efforts press your body forcefully into his, and you conform to his shape perfectly while receiving a full head to toe rub from front and back. No hands are involved; Tom and Faith slide only their limbs up and down your body. You can't help but move your own hand along Tom's ribs. You need to touch someone, be proactive. Your lips, held against Tom's shoulder blade, form in a single kiss. As the motions of these two master therapists continue, you start to sweat a little, the body heat becoming more and more intense. You feel something poke your belly and look down to find that Tom's cock is getting hard. Wedged between he and Faith, it has nowhere to go but onto your still-drying stomach. Its head slips across your bellybutton and the entire shaft rests against you, pointed upwards. It's so long that you can feel his balls just above your hip while the head actually touches the bottoms of your breasts.

Impossibly, they begin to kiss you. Faith takes the lead, giving you a simple one on your neck, then two more. You moan and tilt your head back. It gives Tom an opportunity to push his head forward and put his lips on your throat. He then moves his face down and kisses you gently on the top of your chest. You return the favor, resting your head on his shoulder and licking him there lustfully. Meanwhile, your left hand leaves his hip and reaches back, rubbing Faith's pearl of an ass. Soundlessly, she kisses your shoulders several times. 

You feel an uncontrollable desire to turn over and face her. You do it, disappointed that Tom's hard cock moves away from you. But it's almost nicer when he settles back in and it comes to rest against your buttocks. You see Faith's face through the gloom, and the simple, Midwestern beauty you remember from the foyer downstairs causes you to suddenly weaken. You put your arm around her and look down to see your breasts touching, your large ones smothering her small ones, nipples brushing. You want to kiss her so badly you can taste it, and as Tom's chest rubs your back, you move your head forward to Faith's lips and do it, throwing caution to the wind. 

She lets you do it. Your lips cover hers and you inhale her perfume and the scent of her tender mouth. You kiss her intently, firmly, then move your head back to look at her face. She reaches up and touches your cheek, and then kisses you back. She tilts her head and lets her tongue slip from her mouth. You lick it, taste it, and your hand continues to rub her ass. 

Suddenly she's moving away from you, and so is Tom. The bed creaks, the sound of it coming to you as if from a great distance, and then they're both off the bed, leaving you there. They stand beside it, one on either side. You release a sound of good-natured discontentment and spread your hands out over the quilt, wanting something to touch. You look at their naked bodies in turn, Faith's supple small one, and Tom's which is twice her size. His cock is erect, huge. 

On some silent mutual signal, the two of them lean over, placing their hands on the mattress, and let their heads descend toward your midsection. Before you have a chance to absorb what's going on, their mouths have touched your knees, each of them kissing one. Then together they kiss you a little higher, then higher, then higher, heads never lifting an inch, achieving their kisses by merely sliding their mouths up your legs. Their heads almost touch as they lean further in to kiss your thighs. You spread your legs, praying they'll never stop. They give you one kiss after another, the golden light in the ceiling petting their hair. Faith's blonde locks cover your thigh. There is a tremendously exciting contrast between the two pairs of lips, one impossibly soft, the other masculine as can be. Soon they are both almost all the way up to your vagina. You open your legs in an obvious gesture of need. They pause for a moment, and the four lips touch you so close to your vagina that Tom's ear touches your pubic hair. 




Lilli and I: So Therapeutic



Tom and Faith stand straight again, having brought you to the edge of total abandon and then letting your stay there. You want to leap off the bed and make love to them both, but you've learned by now to be patient. Your agony is only momentary, because Faith is climbing onto the bed again, bent over, hands and knees on the mattress as she positions herself at the foot of it. She turns to you, hair dangling down, as Tom merely stands beside the bed, watching, his stiff dick exposed for your enjoyment. 

Faith begins to move on all fours up the length of your prone body. You breathe heavily as her hair glides across your stomach. Her knees on either side of you, she lowers herself until her body is lying on top of yours, your faces close. You bring your arms up and embrace her and lift your head off the pillow to kiss her again. She gives you completely what you want, moving her lips all over yours, then bringing her head down to lick your neck, tonguing it, giving it a small suck. You turn your head to look up at Tom. As he stands there, watching Faith's naked ass as it moves on top of you, his cock twitches, rising and rising, not merely hard but hard enough to sit on for hours.....

Faith is soft, warm, and pliable on top of you. She lifts her head and covers your face in her hair, shaking it back and forth. Your hips rub against each other and you've become completely wet within. She kisses you again, her lips newly moistened. Your hands find her ass and rub it tenderly. 

When she finally releases you from this last kiss, she's moving back down your body again, backing up, breasts sliding down your stomach, until her head is positioned over your pussy. She stops right there. She puts her hands on your thighs and you keep them nicely spread for her. Her mouth moves in, and you feel her hot breath on your clit. Then her tongue emerges from her mouth and she places it on your pussy.

You make your loudest sound yet, and your head turns back and forth on the pillow. You look at Tom on your right, whose thighs touch the edge of the bed, and who has moved toward the head of it so that his cock is stretched out almost to the pillow on which your head lies. You could lift your right hand to touch it...

All thoughts of moving in any direction are blanked out momentarily by the sensation of Faith's tongue beginning to flutter inside your pussy. Your juices leak out onto her chin as she removes her hands from your thighs for a moment to open your lips further, exposing your clit fully. She's so precise, so gentle, she must have done this many, many times before. You're with a true professional....two true professionals. You wonder how good Tom would be at eating you out, and how well he might do other things.

You reach up when you're temporarily finished gasping at Faith's technique and wrap your fingers around Tom's twitching shaft. It's warm, flatteringly rigid, and almost half of it protrudes from your hand, such is its size. You move your hand up and down it, your head turned to the right so that the head of his cock is looking you right in the face, just inches from your movements as you stroke him.

Faith encircles your clit, her mouth exuding more and more moisture to make your pussy feel like it's drowning in comfort. Then for the first time her tongue touches your clit directly, and you cry out in the darkness. Like a hummingbird, her tongue flicks across it rapidly yet delicately, just barely touching it. You squeeze your thighs together, trapping her head between them. She does not seem to mind. 

Tom shifts his weight forward slightly as you pull hungrily on his cock, and the golden light shines on a bit of slickness that emerges from the tip. You lash your tongue out to lick it off. Tasting his pre-cum, you lose control and open your mouth wide to bring the head into it. Your lips close around it, and you suck more of his cock in. He lets you do it. Before you know it, your head is in constant motion, taking his giant dick in inch by inch, tasting that salty pre-cum and loving it as Faith maintains constant pressure on your clit.

She slides a finger into your vagina and you squeal, the sound of it smothered by Tom's cock, which makes your cheeks bulge. You gobble it eagerly, feeling like you're both using him and being used. If there were a third person in the room as gorgeous as these two, you'd use your other hand to do.....whatever came into your mind. Your hips lift off the bed with joy when you hear Faith audibly swallow your juices to keep from choking on them. Then she begins to kiss your pulsating clit again, sucking it between her teeth, letting it go, tongue twirling it like a toy. You increase the tempo of your blowjob, looking up at Tom's face high above you. You want him to come, to fill your mouth with spurt after spurt of hot sperm....to let them both know how grateful you are....

Faith lifts her head away from your pussy but keeps her fingers inside it, curling one of them to touch and graze your G-spot. You make a sound of desperate ecstasy as an orgasm builds within you, happening sooner than you even thought. You're virtually deep-throating your co-masseur's cock now, and feel it almost hitting the back of your throat. He keeps leaking droplets of sperm, and you keep swallowing them down. 

You have to take your mouth away from Tom when you start to come. Faith kneels at the foot of the bed, stroking your G-spot rapidly, her high breasts tipped with small perky nipples, and you see now that there's a smile on her face. You buck on the bed when you plateau, keeping hold of Tom's dick, and every curling of Faith's index finger gives you another tremendous burst of pleasure. You let out a completely immodest yell, hoping everyone can hear you, the other clients, the other staff....you make it dramatic and loud, your pussy shaken and drooling. When your orgasm subsides a little, you engulf Tom's cock again and give it three, four, five big sucks before you let it go permanently, hoping that by denying him the opportunity to come all over you, he'll know that you want more from him.

Faith climbs off the bed toward Tom's side. You lie there, watching avidly, as she moves beside him and stands, her chest rising and falling noticeably, left breathless by her performance between your legs. They don't seem to be doing anything more....you wonder if it's over....and then you again remember Faith's urging to do whatever it is you wish. 

You lift your head off the pillow and sit up. You put your hands on your breasts, squeeze them provocatively, and look up at Tom. You swivel your ass on the bed, letting your feet dangle over the side, and you reach forward to grab Tom's cock again. You lean back, pulling him to you, and spread your legs wide, lifting them. As soon as Tom makes the slightest motion forward, you place your feet firmly on his upper chest and let your arms collapse on the quilt, waiting for him to complete this blissful day by fucking you.

Faith reaches out to his cock as he positions himself in front of you. She takes hold of it firmly and guides it toward the opening of your vagina. The head touches your lips and you finally let a single word slip from between your lips: Yes. Faith steps away when Tom's cock is nestled against pink flesh and ready to push forward into you. She sits on the edge of the bed, then leans her weight on one shoulder to watch. 

Tom slides his big cock into your waiting pussy, your walls opening wide to take all of it in, savoring its size. He starts to move his hips back and forth very slowly, reaching down to put his hands on your thighs. It isn't really necessary, because you're intent on keeping them as wide as you possibly can. You lay still, close your eyes one last time, and focus all your attention on the feeling of being simply and therapeutically fucked by a stranger with a nice thick dick.

The bed creaks and Faith has leaned in close to your ear. You're almost shocked to hear her voice, so long has it been since you heard another beside your own. 

"Tell me when you're just about to come again, Lilli," she whispers, and looking at her, you nod, slightly lifting your head off the quilt. Tom fucks you gently, with long, patient strokes. Your wet pussy opens more and more and is pushed to the limit of its ability to hold him. The sheer anonymity of your fucking, in the dark with a man you don't know, and the fact that's it's all someone else's treat, makes you unbelievably horny and you're already halfway to another orgasm. You keep your eyes on Tom's chest, your feet touching his pecs. He starts to thrust in and out a little faster but no harder, being completely respectful and mindful of your tight pussy.

Faith has disappeared, and you see her next crossing behind Tom. She kneels on his left side and moves her head close to the holy connection of his penis and your vagina. Tom moves a little to his right, not missing a beat, and as he continues fucking you, you feel something wet slide between your buttocks. Faith is tonguing you there, and as soon as she starts, you know you're going to go crazy with lust. She applies direct pressure against the opening of your ass, and then her tongue slaps and flicks it over and over again, Tom's balls touching her face as he slides in and out of you. Just as she did on your clit, Faith works on your ass with care and determination.

You let it all happen for a good three or four minutes, withholding your orgasm, testing both Tom's endurance and Faith's. Neither one of them ever slows down; their energy never wanes; they make not a sound. Tom's fucking becomes perfectly modulated, repeating each stroke within a centimeter of the previous one's depth and within a whisker of its speed, until the flawless, precision rhythm makes your body shudder. Faith licks you unrelentingly, giving you feelings you've never known from a woman. 

"I'm gonna come...." you finally announce, hissing it because you can't speak normally, so glorious is the feeling inside your filled pussy. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, Faith stands up and Tom's cock slides out of you with a syrupy pop and stays out, so erect it's pointing upwards toward the ceiling. You gasp and can't believe they've stopped pleasuring you.....you lean up on your elbows as Faith retreats into the gloom. Staring at Tom's slick penis, so ready for more of you, you look around, confused.

Light begins to fill the room. Standing at the rear of it, Faith is turning up a dimmer switch, revealing how bare the enclosure truly is. There are paintings on the walls and a dresser in the corner, and nothing else. It's all of no interest to you, though; all you care about is somehow making Faith and Tom understand that you desperately want to come again. 

Faith rejoins Tom near the bed. They're both smiling, their naked bodies slightly sweaty, even more alluring than you envisioned them being.

"You're getting a very special ending," Faith tells you, and reaches a hand out to you. Tom reaches his out too, and together they help you up off the bed. "Exactly what you want will be yours very shortly, I think," Faith says, and looks at Tom knowingly.

"What do I do?" you ask, your voice hoarse from lack of use and an intense throbbing in your loins. God, all you need is thirty seconds riding on top of Tom.....his erection hasn't withered in the slightest.

"Just go out the door and down the hall," Faith tells you. "And enjoy the end of your touch immersion."

She steps aside and you walk past them toward the open door. You don't look back at your congenial hosts, feeling the need to hurry out, anxious to know what's out there that can satisfy you as much as you were when Faith went down on you and when Tom entered you so skillfully.

There's a dark hallway just beyond the door, one that ends in white light. A faint breeze touches the front of your naked body. You walk toward the daylight, a door wide open for you. You see that it leads out onto a green lawn.

You step over the threshold between indoors and out, and find yourself in the townhouse's large back yard, the warm autumn wind blowing past you, ruffling and drying your hair. The backyard has been crafted into a vision of docile nature. Amidst several tall willow and oak trees are several flowerbeds sporting every color of the rainbow, and tall rocks near the fence at the back of the yard surround a small, imported lagoon. There's even a small waterfall, the water coursing over the rocks and down ten feet into the pool below. I stand before the lagoon, sipping a glass of wine. I have nothing on but a smile.

You walk toward me disbelievingly. I come to meet you, our bare feet sinking into the freshly mown grass. We're all alone. I hold out my glass of wine and ask you how your session has been so far.

"It's been the best two hours of my life, actually," you tell me, taking a sip and then handing the glass back to me, "except they left me a little bit short of perfection. You're going to have to finish up, I'm afraid." With that, you move past me, taking my hand. Seeing your nude body, your hair still a little wet, knowing you've just been well eaten and fucked, I get hard almost instantly. I follow you most willingly. The people at the spa told me to be prepared for anything when you came out, and I am indeed.

You take us to the lagoon and climb the two stone steps up into it. The water is only six inches deep and cools your feet soothingly, making the sweat on your body slowly vanish. Splashing softly through the shallow pool, you lead me beside the waterfall, and you lean over, placing your hands against the tallest stone there is. 

"Ready for the task, sweetie?" you ask me, moving your ass left and right, beckoning me.

"I am," I tell you. "Happy birthday again." I put my hand on my hard cock and raise it to meet the lips of your pussy.

"Mmmmmmmmmm, it's been nice," you say. Your vagina is still plenty wet, and I slide into you easily. 

"So how was the man you chose to play with?" I ask from behind you as I deliver the first of what will turn out to be many, many strokes inside you.

"Terrific," you say, beginning to pant already. "And the woman you made the appointment with was even better."

I grasp your hips now and fuck you a little harder, knowing it won't take long for you to approach your second orgasm. "Too bad for your masseur that he didn't get to come inside this sweet pussy," I whisper, breathing hard.

"You would have been proud, honey," you say, looking back to watch my cock move in and out of you. "I almost got him to shoot inside my mouth."

"Poor guy, I wonder what he'll do after not being allowed to," I say. The sound of the waterfall is almost drowned out by the sound of my hips slapping against your ass as we start to go at it lustily, like horny, uncontrollable teens.

"The way he and Faith looked at each other," you say, having to pause between words to catch your breath, "I have a feeling she's getting....filled up....even as....we.....speak. Uhhhh!"

"Yeahhh...." I begin, and mean to go on, but I just can't, needing my breath to concentrate on our screwing. You fall silent too, your hands clasping and unclasping against the tall rock, the two of us standing in the lagoon, our feet in the water, free and uninhibited under the clear sky. 

The day does end perfectly, just as you hoped it would, with you begging me at last to give my cock to you as hard and fast as I can, and in response to my rapid strokes, you come once more, clenching your teeth to stifle your cries. As your orgasm pulses through you, you wonder how many people would hear you if you just let loose....and you wonder how I found out about The Quiet Grove, and whether they have a special session designed for couples who wish to go through the experience together. When your body is finally ready to move on from all thoughts of sex (well, almost), we stand together under the waterfall, soaking ourselves in the oh-so-cold water before jumping out of the lagoon to walk back indoors, slipping into a side room where all our clothes are laid out for us, as well as a little note from Faith that tells you it's been a pleasure serving you, and anytime you want to come back, the door is always open. There's even a typically well-made coupon offering us ten percent off our next appointment. Maybe we'll just take them up on that one. For now, we couldn't be more hungry, and the birthday brunch I bought you this morning will be sequeled by a trip to somewhere casual where you can fill me in on every detail of what you experienced today. Yeah, I really can't wait to hear about that pedicure..... 



Lilli and I: The Arboretum



"I'm detecting a subtle pro-Aquafina slant to this vending machine," I say as I insert two dollars into the tall monolith standing before us. We both silently pray that the thing won't reject our hard-earned money, because if it does, well, there's going to be hell to pay. Outside, the temperature has climbed to an unexpected ninety degrees or so, and of course, because this town was built on a swamp, the humidity is close on its heels. I punch one of the eight, count 'em, eight big buttons stamped with the Aquafina logo and ba-ba-ka-boom, two sixteen ounce bottles tumble to the slot and we both reach down greedily to scoop them up.

"I'm disappointed, I kind of thought mine would really be this size," I say, gesturing to the five-foot bottle pictured on the front of the machine.

"If it was that size, I wouldn't drink it, I'd just climb in," you say, and take a swig from your bottle. We step away from the machine and back onto the walking path, giving up our precious shade for the moment and strolling at a snail's pace down a softly curving hill.

We've been at the arboretum for about two hours, first checking out the bonsai garden with its rows of trees that look and act like old men, then moseying through a maze of trellises (or is it trelli?) festooned with overhanging vines and plants that strained down to touch us, then admiring the water garden. After a walk out to the gigantic stone columns that mark the most striking feature of the place (meaningless though they may be), we've started a long, leisurely walk from section to section in the afternoon heat. 

This place is more like a vast, empty park than a tourist attraction, made up of vast stretches of lawn and footpaths and rolling hills broken up by smaller areas of gorgeous foliage. Most people don't have the energy to walk the entirety of such a big place, but most people aren't us. We've set a goal to do the entire circuit and by God, we mean to accomplish it. We just didn't expect it to be this damn hot. We're certainly dressed appropriately for the hike, me in my T-shirt and green shorts, you looking resplendent and fit in a similarly snug pink tank-top and black spandex shorts with a white racing stripe down the side which, you explain to me, increases your foot speed by upwards of forty percent. Indeed.

"Did I ever bore you with tales of my month in Northern California and the incredible climate there?" I ask you, fully aware that I've been harping on it ever since we got here.

"If you can't take the heat, go live in your hippie state," you say. "I love this."

"You Washingtonians are freaks," I tease you as we walk along, headed more or less toward a section where a large group of exotic elms promises a little respite from the sun. "There are only two temperatures here and you totally accept it: one hundred and ten degrees below zero, and microwave popcorn. That's it. There's nothing in between."

"My foot's going to be between your eyes if you don't stop yer whinin," you say smilingly, and reach out to hold my hand. Oooh, it's nice and cool, having been wrapped around your bottle of water for a minute.

"You're so considerate," I tell you, noticing how you switched the bottle from your left hand to your right just so I could feel that coolness. After that brief bit of delight, I get the pleasure of simply holding your hand in mine as we stroll, now crossing a bit of lawn and deciding to bypass the elms for something more promising up ahead: an expansive warren of budding trees, colorful bushes, what looks like a small pond, and a couple of gazebos. By the time we get there that shade will come in handy.

"Look at your legs," I say, admiring them as we go. You look down as if to make sure they're the ones I'm talking about. "Damn."

"Merci, monsieur. You might remember them from last night. You pretty much went over every inch of them."

"Yeah, I think there's still a four-inch area I didn't get, though," I say, and lean over and down to squeeze the back of your left thigh. "There, got it."

You take another sip from your water bottle and let go of my hand just long enough to lean over as well and squeeze my butt with over-the-top force. Then our hands clasp again and we walk along quietly for a moment, in mild awe at the spread that rises before us. This part of the arboretum is so far from the entrance that a lot of people don't even get to really see it. It's like a small park in itself, a place where the rosebushes lead travelers along small lawn paths amongst a beautiful series of hedges and small trees, which all surround the tiny pond. There's no one around, much like the rest of the arboretum. It's free, people--where the hell are you all?

We walk very slowly, in absolutely no hurry, down one small path, feeling a little as if we've just stepped into the pages of Alice in Wonderland. There's the occasional chirping of birds and the idle buzzing of bees who don't seem to be in the mood to do much work today. Every color imaginable is represented in the trees and flowers around us. We don't stop to eye the plaques that tell us what's what; we prefer to be overwhelmed

After a good fifteen minutes of passive strolling, the sun has begun to get to us and you point me toward the wooden gazebo coming up on the left, beside the footpath. Not until we step under it do we realize how smoldering it's gotten. What a contrast. We chug a little water and laugh a little at how sweaty we've become just during the walk from the soda machine to here. I drop the backpack I've had slung over one shoulder onto the wooden bench and we sit down beside each other, looking out at the splendid view. The gazebo is on a small hill overlooking the entire humanless area. The pond a hundred feet away is perfectly still except for the parcels of water divided and resettled by a family of ducks putting its way from here to there.

You decide that a nice lie-down is in order, so while I remain sitting, you turn, put your legs up on the bench, and lie back with your head resting on my lap. It gives me an easy excuse to touch your hair, so very warm from the sun, and run my fingers through it. You sip from your bottle of water in your lazy horizontal position, careful not to spill it on you, and close your eyes. I rest my hand on your forehead and feel the sweat there, wiping it away gently.

"Yeah, we'll be getting the tram back to the entrance of this place," you inform me. "I'm not so pro-heat anymore. We've lost enough pounds today, don't you think?"

"Agreed," I reply. You take a deep breath, rest your bottle of water on the ground beside you, and keep your eyes closed, looking very nap-oriented. I draw my fingers lightly across your forehead, then run them down through your hair, again and again, going more slowly each time. You make a small sound of contentment.

"You're spoiling me," you say. 

"Damn, why do I keep slipping up and doing that?" I ask myself. Of course, you know damn well that whenever you lie back on me, I commence to pay extra attention to you. With my index finger, I softly rub the tiny space where your hairline meets your forehead, rubbing for many seconds until it produces an exquisite tickle. Then I brush my fingers across your ear and massage your earlobe a little. After that, I take both hands and work just a little of the stiffness out of your shoulders. You shift on my lap and sigh. A thin stream of sweat runs down from your hairline and I'm quick to place a finger against it before it can get down toward your eyes.

"Hot, heat, hot," you murmur. The gazebo is kind of small and cut off from the breeze that rose up once in a while outside of it, and it's gotten kind of muggy where we are.

"Shhhhh," I say. "In just four months it'll be tolerable to walk around outside. Only four." I brush my fingers along your legs, trace a path rising up to your knees, and then let them glide down the other slope toward your feet. I do it twice more. Your legs are slightly moist all over. Humidity, you're a killer. After your legs are tingled for a time, I stroke your inner arms, making simultaneous paths on both of them with my fingers, doing leisurely sets of ten before resting and resuming again. It can't even be considered massage; it's just one human being touching and soothing another in the lightest possible way.

Your eyes open and you look up at me, then more intently at the water bottle which I take a pause to swig from. I lower it to your lips and tilt it ever so carefully until they have a firm grip on it and you take a little in. You swallow it, then I take the bottle away, and instantly dribble a bit of it on your neck.

"Oof," you say, your shoulders shifting with the new sensation. "Very good."

"More?"

"Not too much, though," you warn me, and I tilt the neck of the bottle again, carefully, carefully...then intentionally tilt it forty-five degrees until a nice healthy splash of water falls onto your neck.

"Aiiiiiiiiiiigh, you bastard," you say, twisting on my lap. You reach a hand up and smear the water around the space just below your neck. A little better, but not that much. It's sizzling out here. 

"Now give me a kiss," you say, looking into my eyes. "Take my mind off the oven."

I lean over delicately and press my lips against yours firmly. You lift your head ever so slightly to greet me. We kiss for several seconds, exploring each other a little, and your tongue greets mine. Nice. Then we part again, and you smile and rest your head again. You giggle.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"The way I'm lying here, I can feel something's gotten into a different state," you tell me.

"Well, that certainly didn't take much," I say wonderingly.

"Nope." You lift your torso off my lap for a moment and come in for another kiss. This time you bring your right hand to touch my cheek as we do it. Our heads tilt to opposing angles so we can easier connect. The kiss is a soft and very wet one; before you leaned in I took another drink of water and we melt it away happily with our kiss. I place my hand on your neck, slick with sweat, and caress it. Then you've let me go and rested your head back in place again, this time casually folding your hands behind your head and grinning.

"Jesus, it's even harder now," you say, and you snuggle in more tightly to my lap, arching and then un-arching your back to torture me a bit.

"Well, what do you expect," I say. "I have a hot Lilli lying on me, her chest is right in front of me, and she's wearing bicycle pants so tight I can read the brand name of her panties though them."

"No panties today, are you kidding me?" you say. "Too hot. Just flesh, my dear."

"My my," I say. 

You turn your body so that you're on your side, pressed closer to me, and your face is just inches above my lap. Your left breast dozes gently on my thigh. You rest your head on my knee, scoot your body a little back toward the edge of the bench, and look down at my crotch, where there's a very noticeable bulge. Very noticeable. 

"Impressive," you say. "Just kissing you did that?"

"Pretty much," I reply, looking down there as well. The sight of you, looking down at me there, is causing yet more enthusiasm to announce itself. God.

"I guess the fact that there's also less than a millimeter of fabric between your thigh and my left nipple is doing a little something to you too, eh?" you ask me sweetly.

"Why, why do you do this to me in public all the time?" I ask you, laughing. 

"Oh yeah, this is really in public," you say. "This place is sad and empty, like the space between my tanned, beautiful legs." Now you've moved your face in tighter to take in the view of my bulge, creating an almost comical sight, like a scientist observing a male erection for the first time and fascinated by the proceedings. Of course, to me, it's not so much funny as incredibly arousing.

"Holy fuck," you say mildly as you see the tip of my dick peek out from the fabric covering my left thigh. "I think your friend wants to introduce himself." As hard as it can get, pretty much, my shaft has elongated itself so that a full half inch of it is exposed, sitting tight against my thigh. Like a sulking teenager playing a game which makes you happy, you resume your original position and flop your back on my lap again, looking up at me. "How presumptuous of you, sir," you say. "Perhaps I shall meet him under different circumstances, but never amongst such beautiful greenery. It would be disrespectful to nature."

"He's kind of anxious to make your acquaintance," I say, "but it's so hot out here he thinks he'll just go to sleep for a bit."

You giggle and lift your hands to give your breasts a squeeze through your pink top. "Tell him to meet me right here sometime and we'll share an experience."

God, as if I wasn't hard enough, you had to go bring those amazing breasts into the picture. Resigned to the fact that I'll just have to have a hard cock for a while (no real complaints---I do like the feel of your back squished against my lap, giving it no room to maneuver and thus keeping it on high alert), I go back to stroking your hair again. It seems to please you, but I'm a little worried that the heat is just a bit too ridiculous to bring you any long-term enjoyment.

"What did you bring to snack on?" you ask me, eyes still closed. I have an absolutely dandy X-rated response ready to roll off my tongue, but instead I choose to maintain my high intellectual standing and turn to unzip my backpack. From it I take out a small Ziploc bag full of grapes and carrots.

"Grape me," comes your request. I unzip the bag. The grapes are still wet from when I washed them today and I rest one on your partially parted lips. You open them, take the grape in, bite it in half, then chew it and swallow, immediately opening your mouth again to ask for another. I place another on your teeth, smooshing it around a bit to confuse you---where is it? Where did it go? But you don't even open your eyes to see, just open wider and let the grape fall in. 

"This pleases me just a tiny bit, just enough to stave off the heat for about five seconds," you say after you swallow. "And by the way, I haven't heard the tram since we started walking out here. We're stranded, fella."

"I think you're right," I sigh. "Sorry. We'll bake on the way back, no two ways about it. I'll make it up you to you. I'll bake you a pie or something."

"Close you eyes," you say, and of course I do. I've gotten used to obeying your commands, because there's always a pleasant result. I hear you digging into the bag of grapes and then I feel one pressed against my neck. You roll it up, bit by bit, over my Adam's apple, trying to guide it with just two fingers and not letting it fall. It scoots up over my neck, then onto my chin, and finally I feel it touch my lips. I open my mouth and take it in. When it's firmly ensconced in my mouth, I suck on your fingers, which you've let dawdle on my lips. 

"Keep your eyes closed," you say. "Here comes another one. I don't want you cheating." There's a moment where nothing happens at all. Where's my grape? I wonder what you're doing, but there's no particular rush to ingest another three-calorie piece of fruit. I sense some movement but can't determine its origin. Then the mystery ends when the second grape is felt on my lips, this one not making any sort of long fleshy journey to my mouth. It's merely pressed there firmly right away, and I take it in and...whoa. Whoa. 

WHOA.

I open my eyes and look down at you. You're grinning from ear to ear.

"And what is THAT taste I have on my tongue right now?" I ask you in amazement, letting my gaze drift from your eyes to your thighs.

"I thought I might marinate that one a little," you tell me. "It's nice and sweet and salty, I hope."

I savor the grape in my mouth, sucking on it, tasting your secret juices. "Wow, that's terrific," I say. "You sly dog....and a quick one at that. I'm surprised I didn't sense you pulling your shorts down."

"I'm clever," you say, and I lean over to kiss you hard on the mouth. We remain like that for a long moment, and when I come up for air my cock, which had been settling down, is back at full attention beneath you.

"I'm still hungry," I tell you. "Give me another one. I want to see."

Looking into my eyes, you put your fingers into the bag and take out a grape. First, you kiss it in an insanely sexy way, once on the center of your lips. Then you place it in the oft dreamt-about slope between your breasts, just above the beginning of your pink top, and you squeeze your shoulders to hold it in place. You let it sit there for a moment while I watch it, one long deep breath from you making it rise and fall on a wave of flawless skin. Then you remove it, and, without much further ceremony, you reach your hand down into your tight spandex shorts and work your hand down below. 

You shift on the bench, putting your tongue out in mock effort, licking your lips, and my cock yearns against your lower back as I watch the place where your hand, concealed by your shorts, works its magic. I can see a bit of your hair down there, hidden mostly by shadow, and I start to breathe a little faster. Then your hand has emerged again and you slowly bring the grape up to my begging lips. You let the grape go and I roll it into my mouth greedily, sucking on it loudly for effect. God, the fine coat of wetness around it, tasting entirely of warm pussy, deliciously salty, fantastically sweaty and sticky....I chew it and swallow it down.

"Hope you enjoyed your lunch," you say, still smiling. You sigh and go into an elaborate stretch, as if you've just woken from a terrific nap. "Wow, I just realize you also have carrot sticks in there..."

"Oh Jesus, I absolutely cannot take it," I laugh. "Please."

"But don't you like the sight of a long, hard carrot going in and out of my mo---"

"I'm sending you to jail," I say, "no trial, just fucking jail." Visibly satisfied by the agony you've caused me, you sit up and get to your feet. When you look down from your new vantage point, the first thing you notice is that a full two inches of my dick can be seen against my thigh. When I stand up too, the fabric of my shorts covers it but there's still no way in hell I can walk anywhere at the moment in my condition. We'll just have to wait a minute or so, and that's a fact.

"I sort of like the idea of fucking jail," you say, and bend over to lift your bottle of water. You take one step toward me, still looking down at my erection tenting out my shorts. "Is that where they lock us in a room together and we have to fuck each other a lot?" Suddenly you push the lowest part of my shorts covering my left thigh up and back a few inches to expose my cock in its aching entirety. You release every inch of it into the open air unapologetically, and then, seizing the tip with your left hand, you pour a long stream of water over the whole thing from shaft to head. I flinch back, almost doubling over with the shock of it, and you laugh and laugh. I collapse back onto the bench and curse your name. Oh my God, that felt good. Between the feel of your hand clenching the slick head of my dick and the water engulfing it...I forget completely about the heat for a moment.

"Come on, you wimp, you can't walk with that hanging out? I don't have any problem walking along with these exposed...." You lift the bottom of your tight pink tank-top and show me your tanned breasts, then stand like that for a long moment, putting your hands saucily on your hips like a pouty Playboy model. I stand up, reach forward, and pull your shirt back down over your boobs, pretending I'm physically dying from desire. You grab my mouth and squeeze my lips together.

"Poor baby," you say. "I'm just trying to take your mind off the awful walk ahead. Like an idiot I even wasted most of my water washing your dick." You hold up your bottle of Aquafina, now mostly empty.




Lilli and I: There Will Be Dancing



I take the iced tea from the mini-fridge, get a glass down from the cupboard, pour a nice healthy serving for myself, and remove a lemon from a small wicker basket on the countertop. I take a knife from the drawer and slice off the ends of the lemon, then cut myself a nice thick segment and hook it around the tip of the glass. I think a little sugar would go down nicely today, so I scoop some out of a tiny blue bowl on the kitchen table and drop it in, stirring it briskly before I drop the spoon into the sink. 

The spoon and the remains of the lemon will be dealt with later. For now, I think a dose of sunshine would hit the spot. I grip the glass of iced tea in my right hand, the condensation cooling my palm, and walk over to the ladder leading upwards onto the deck of the sailboat.

I climb the ladder carefully and hop up barefoot onto the smooth white deck, a single drop of tea swirling over the rim of my glass. The sun overhead shines artfully in the flawless blue sky, unfettered by anything even remotely resembling a cloud. A constant breeze ruffles my T-shirt. We're in for at least several hours more of great weather, and I doubt the thermometer will even break the eighty degree mark. I look out over the restless water, seeing a red speedboat roaring by in the far distance, its engine sounds tiny and insignificant. The coastline is still in sight, just barely, retreating gently with every quarter mile that vanishes behind us.

"Where on earth did you disappear to this time?" I hear your voice say behind me. I turn and take a sip of my iced tea.

"I believe my slave doesn't need to be asking such personal questions," I reply, and step across the deck over to the mast of the sailboat. The small sail fastened to it rustles and beats against the wind, keeping the boat steady and slow. What's tied to the mast itself is of far more interest to me, and has been for about an hour. My slave's hands and feet are bound with expensive green silk, forcing her to stand fairly straight, her back pressed against the tall steel column. 

"If you're very, very good, you get a drink," I tell you, stepping close. You sense me through your red blindfold--nothing more than the sash from your bathrobe--and purse your lips around your tongue thirstily.

"It better be iced tea," you say. "I think you promised to make me some before I lost this stupid bet."

"Oh, it's not stupid at all," I say, free to let my eyes roam over your body, which sports a sexy white bikini bought special for our trip to nowhere in particular. "There's no other way to learn that you can never beat me at Scrabble than to pay a steep price for your hubris."

You laugh. "You only know how to spell 'hubris' because I got a double word score with it, loser," you scold me. "Now stop ogling me and let me have a sip."

"The slave knows me too well," I say, and I bring the glass up to your lips and tilt it slightly. You drink up cheerfully. 

"Too much sugar," is your criticism when I take the iced tea away from your mouth.

"For that remark, the slave must suffer," I say, and remove one of the ice cubes from the glass. You never see it coming; the world is just a dark red smudge behind your blindfold. I touch the cube against your neck and you wince and open your mouth wide to unleash a hurl of good-natured epithets.

"Your time will come," you swear to me. "Little do you know, I'm kind of enjoying this."

"Oh yeah?" I say, knowing full well it's true. 

"Yeah," you say. "It's kind of kinky."

"I was hoping you'd find some bit of joy in this," I say. "And if you think this is kinky, you're going to like what I have in store for you."

"The Coast Guard is going to pull us over and throw you in jail pretty soon, so you'd better make your move," you say, shifting your body pleasantly against the mast, twisting your wrists against the firm knot that binds them. 

"We have plenty of time," I tell you. "There's no one around, and the deal was, you're my slave until three o'clock." I take a long sip of my drink, set the glass down beside the mast, and move very close to you. You can feel my breath on your neck. "Just don't you dare resist anything I do," I whisper, and feeling mighty powerful, I move my hand to your left breast and peel down the cup of your bikini top. I lean over and place my lips on your nipple, suck on it gently for two full seconds, then replace the top exactly where it was. You make a small sound of appreciation.

"No resistance whatsoever," I say.

"Yes, master," you reply in a husky voice.

"We're going to begin your servitude," I say, "with a story. You like stories, as I recall, don't you, slave?"

"Mmmm, yes," you answer, licking your lips.

"This is a story," I continue, "about something that happens to us in a very different climate. Not quite as comfortable, maybe, as this one. Ready to hear it?"

"I am, master," comes your response.

"Fine." I turn around and take a few steps toward the starboard railing, where a deck chair sits. I lift it and bring it close to you, then sit down almost right in front of you, kicking back cozily and bringing my tea up to my lap. "Now if this story should arouse you, just let me know...and I'll make it even better."

"I hear you getting comfortable," you say. "I can't wait for this one."

"As I tell it to you, my love," I say, "I'm going to keep an eye on your bikini bottoms. If I notice it get a little damp down there, I'm adding an hour to your indenturedness. Keep that in mind."

"I'll get as horny as I feel like," you say defiantly. "You can tie me up and blindfold me, but I'm still a strong woman in complete control."

I chuckle. "Sure, slave, sure. Now then: Imagine a Saturday night back in Washington....and a place almost as far away from the troubles of the world as this sailboat adrift on a summer ocean...."

* * * * * * * *

The music seems to come from everywhere at once, the lights seem to flash inside our eyes. The club didn't really start to get hopping until about midnight, and now, an hour later, the dance floor at Horizon is absolutely packed and throbbing. Red and blue rays shine down and criss-cross over the heads of the hundreds of young people moving rhythmically and blindly to the techno that blasts from speakers as tall as I am. 

The music's been rolling without so much as five seconds' break for about fifteen minutes when we decide, from our perch on one of the overhead walkways, that it's time to get down there and shake things up a bit. With so much electricity going through the place now, it seems absurd that we almost judged it too cold out tonight to head anywhere at all. A high of twenty-five degrees did make watching a DVD seem like a fine option, but we just had too much energy to stay in. 

We've been wandering Horizon's vast, cavernous spaces for about half an hour, drinks in hand, just enjoying the energy and watching the people throng around us, when the techno becomes too infectious to sit still for. We wedge our elbows out from between the other spectators standing at the railing and gazing down at the shifting, pulsating mass of dancers, then head for the steps that will take us into the action.

It takes some time to get to where we're going. Hands clasped so that neither one of us is carried away by the ever-shifting throng, we make our way down a couple of staircases, past one of the several bars set up to pour drinks at a fairly desperate rate, and edge our way to the side of the main dance floor. The other one is less crowded, as it always is, but tonight we're in the mood to be utterly surrounded by people. If we can just spot a gap where we can slide onto the floor and start moving....

Just when we're about to make our move, a garish strobe light is switched on and we laugh at the amazing effect it has, turning every dancer into a series of fascinating, beautiful still frames alternating between light and dark, the mistakes and jerky motions of the bad dancers erased, the grace of the good ones gone too. If we try to shimmy through the crowd right now, we'll become so disoriented we might wind up outside at the patio bar, or even down the street at the gay strip club.

"I hope you don't mind a few guys bumping into me as we dance!" you shout over the music. I can barely hear you even though you force your words right into my ear.

I squeeze your hand and smile. "As long as no guys bump into you on the drive back home!" I yell. Looking at you in the strobe light, I can tell that if you were alone tonight, you'd be instantly mobbed by a sea of fascinated men. You're wearing a short black leather skirt, heels, and a shiny silver tank top whose strings laced around your shoulders are thin as dental floss. It's a wonder it can hold up your chest, which is admirably on display. 

Finally the strobe light disappears and everyone is bathed in a tropical orange glow as the volume of the music seems to rise. We can see the silhouetted DJ at the end of the dance floor, elevated above us, clapping his hands, urging everyone on. The young crowd is in a frenzy. An hour from now they'll be even more worked up.

Hand in hand, we make a dash for an open space on the floor. We bump past ten, twelve, fifteen people, the casual contact of our bodies against theirs not even registered. There are going to be some unexplained bruises tomorrow. I just hope that I don't get hit with cigarette ash, which has happened before, or even slapped in the face by a stray hand, which I seem to remember happening twice. 

At last we have our space and right away you've gotten in sync with the pulsating beat. You raise your arms to the sky, smile, and begin to dance. I follow your cue, not nearly as good as you are, happy to just be beside you, keeping up with the beat, and losing myself with eyes closed for ten or fifteen seconds at a time. The body heat around us is palpable. It's got to be ten degrees hotter here than it was on the edge of the dance floor. It's okay; just thinking about the bitter cold outside makes it seem like paradise in here.

The lights dim a bit and the DJ segues into a peppy techno remix of an old A-ha song, "The Sun Always Shines on TV", and then we're officially off and running. You close your eyes and smile and shake your hips with perfect timing, turning and using your arms to achieve flawless balance as you move. Your hair flies in your face, obscuring it sometimes in a most lovely way. The dark orange vibe on the dance floor lights you softly and flatteringly. Every thirty seconds or so the dimness erupts in a flash of bright white from overhead and everyone is lit up as if a Polaroid of the whole place is being taken from the heavens. It's quite a shocking effect which the DJ, some famous guy from Germany, or maybe Oslo, has managed to time with the beat. After it, fiery spots appear in our field of vision as the orange glow returns. 

It gets tough to concentrate on the music when there's so much to see right in front of me. You look amazingly sexy as you dance, the beat seeming to snake up through your entire body. I can see the muscles in your legs doing their thing, your feet gliding from position to position, your hips always in motion. When you turn away from me briefly your ass shakes seductively. When you turn toward me, your breasts bounce with unbridled eroticism. From above, I'm sure your cleavage looks quite phenomenal when the occasional flashes of white light illuminate it for the appreciation of all the spectators crowded around the railings high above us. I'm almost jealous of their vantage point. 

It's too dark most of the time down here on the floor to see anyone's eyes, but plenty of heads are turning your way. I almost lose the beat entirely sometimes, so riveting is the sight of you moving every part of your body in tune with the blasting music.

We go for about five straight minutes, working up a nice sweat, when the music breaks and thunderous applause breaks out. The DJ has given everyone the smallest of breaks, about thirty seconds in which to regroup. We clap and laugh and I kiss your forehead just so that everyone around us knows you're mine.

"This is some good music!" you shout, the look in your eyes telling me that venturing out through the January frost was the best possible idea after all.

"We'll definitely collapse before we hear it all!" I shout back, rolling up my shirt sleeves. You place your hands fondly on my hips as we look around and people-watch for a moment. There are couples everywhere, many of them becoming sexually charged for the first time as their potential partners flaunt their physical attributes through the time-honored medium of club dancing. There are individual singles here and there, girls of twenty-one or twenty-two just waiting to be surrounded by aggressive guys, and loving the attention. Many people head over to the bar, fanning themselves, but just as many people replace them. 

The thumping of the music starts again, a slower, more seductive cut this time, more trance than techno, but still heavy on the bass, laced through by an addictive beat. The lights above us switch from orange to a deep sea blue. Tacky lasers pop into action, highlighting the smoke in the air, swishing across the room, intersecting with each other constantly. You run your hands up through your hair, hold it and let it fall, then slide those hands down your sides and onto your legs, which you erotically half-cross. 

You move closer to me and put your hands back on my hips as I resume dancing, and our eyes meet. We both smile suggestively. It's a very sexy song, two women chanting the lyrics, some very interesting words and phrases worked in for the benefit of those with vivid imaginations--and on the dance floor, everyone has a vivid imagination. 

You move close enough so that the front of your silver tank top grazes my chest and I look down at your smooth, half-exposed breasts. You see me staring and run a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head up. You wrap your arms around my neck and gaze up at me, your mouth partially open. Our hips touch and rotate against each other. When your skirt first comes into contact with my jeans, it's instantly arousing.

I put my hands on your lower back and press you a little harder into me, letting my hand almost touch your ass. I give you a brief kiss on the lips and you return the favor, your mouth tasting slightly of good vodka. It's so very nice. We dance and remain close, noticing how close others are getting too. The beat picks up slightly and our hips really begin to rock in harmony, moving from side to side and then, at your doing, back and forth, a not-so-subtle simulation of an act similar to dancing but even sweeter. 

You slowly turn around as you dance and back up into me, your ass pressing against my crotch, and you wrap my arms around your waist. As I move to the beat I draw them playfully across your belly, and lift the bottom of your tank top and inch to run a finger across your naked skin. You tilt your head back against my chest and enjoy it. I move my hands a little higher, to your midsection, holding you firm. We dance like that, intimately, for a long moment before you bend over at the waist, pressing your ass into me snugly, holding my hands out to the sides. 

You catch sight of a young guy ten feet in front of you, totally forgetting about his date for a second as his eyes lock on your breasts and the much dreamed-of cleavage which asserts itself phenomenally when you bend over. You smile at the guy and straighten back up, your hips, graceful as liquid, describing circle after circle exaggeratedly against my jeans. In a few seconds you can feel it: my erection, yearning for you, trapped by the denim but bulging against your skirt. 

You turn around and put a theatrical hand to your mouth to mimic ladylike shock that I would find myself in such a state. I shake my head, smiling, silently accusing you of totally setting me up. You move forward into my arms again, undoing the third button of my shirt, letting more air in. My shirt, well-ventilated before we even got downstairs, is now half undone, and you put your hand inside it and rub my hard chest as you sway this way and that, always looking into my eyes. So that's the way you're feeling tonight....I was hoping.

For the next five minutes, as the song's tempo slowly increases, becoming more and more frenetic, my hands explore your midsection and your hips as we dance around each other, always in some sort of contact. Your hands dive in and out of my shirt to keep me close. I keep lowering my hands until they're on the upper part of your ass, gripping more and more tightly. 

You rub your cheek against mine, and I plunge my face into the aromatic hair swirling around your neck. Even over the din of the music I can hear the short breaths you take and I follow many of them visually by absorbing the sight of your jiggling breasts. At one point, when I'm behind you and reaching around to hold your stomach, I lift the bottom of the tank top several inches off the top of your skirt, exposing a great deal of skin, and instead of swatting me away and laughing you leave it just like it is, your lower back exposed, silver fabric bunched up beneath your breasts. 

More heads turn. You pay me back by grabbing my tight jeans at the waist and yanking down hard, causing nothing more than an inch or so of actual descent but sending me a definite message that my hijinks involving your clothing will definitely be met with retaliation. A few people look at us, probably hoping we're going to rip each other's shirts off with drunken abandon, and we smile at them without shame. Apparently we're the only ones on this dance floor who really know how to liven things up.

The music stops, the throng settles after another round of applause, and the DJ speaks some garbled words into his microphone. The lights come up and there's another clumsy tide of people leaving and people coming on. You take my hand and lead me deeper into the crowd.

"I see a spot with more room!" you shout, and I follow you. We're very close to the far edge of the floor and in a moment we've popped right off it, stopping beside a tall pillar where people who are just about to hurl themselves into the fray gather to watch the human ocean before them. "Let me adjust my clothes first, you troublemaker!" I hear you yell, as you elbow me in the side. You stand there and pull your tank top back into place. I run my hands through my hair, feeling the sweat there, and decide it's not such a bad feeling. 

A sudden rush of cold air hits our backs and we turn. Someone's ducked out through one of the exits and it's like a splash of icy water on our bodies. We shiver in unison and the door closes again. Thick smoke fills the air, trapped again indoors.

"So you can't control yourself out there, huh?" you say to me, eyes flitting down to the front of my jeans. "I didn't think you could."

"Could you grind your ass into me any harder?" I ask you, grinning. "We don't want any accidents out there."

You casually flick two fingers across yet another shirt button and undo it, then press a warm hand onto my chest. "I told you we were going to have some fun tonight, boy."

"If you think you can get away with more than I can, you're wrong, girl," I threaten jovially.

You step forward into my arms, which wrap around you instinctively and possessively. I inhale your perfume, press my lips to your forehead. "I am so much more brave than you are, it's not even funny," you inform me, and tilt your head up for a kiss. I give you one, a firm one, and when I break it off you demand another, something more personal. 

Our lips touch, lock onto each other, and explore. Your tongue touches mine and we keep them in contact for several seconds. Your head moves slightly, allowing my mouth freer access. I raise a hand to your cheek and touch it gently as our kiss becomes more intense. When we finally part, you begin to run a hand up and down my side, starting at my ribs, descending to a point all the way down to my knee. 




Lilli Marlene



German bitch.  It was the only thing that would go through his mind.  She sat on the passenger side in a desecrated officer's uniform and casually smoked a cigarette like most whores sucked a man's cock.  He didn't care that she'd been an American citizen for years.  It didn't matter that she had spent the last two years entertaining American troops with the USO instead of chasing a glamourous movie career.  Her accent was almost gone, but it was too exotic to be American.  Somehow she had fooled Hoover's FBI, but most of the GIs had her number.  German spy.

"Stop over there.  I want to see the church."  She waved her hand negligently at a burned out husk of a building.  The fallen cross was the only testament to what it had been.  He couldn't imagine why she'd want to see it.  Maybe to savor the destruction.


"All right, Miss Dietrich."  His tone was appropriately respectful and pleasant.  Probably why he'd gotten stuck with chauffeur duty, because he was a good poker player.

She didn't say anything, just eyed him for a moment then returned to watching the scenery.  He ignored the bitch and geared down the jeep.  He parked it behind the church under trees and near bushes.  The muscles in his back knotted up because there really wasn't any better cover than that.  Even though this had been declared a safe area, it was hard to shake the feeling that the Krauts were everywhere.  He followed her into the church, admiring the view.  She strode like a man, but the way her ass twitched, well it made a man think off all the luscious sin he could do with it.

"Sergeant, I would like to be alone."  Her husky voice crawled down his spine and stroked him with a thousand tiny pricks of heat.  He stood still, hoping like hell she wouldn't turn around before she went into the church.  He didn't have a single damned way of hiding his erection.

"All right, Miss Dietrich."

She paused at the sound of his voice, did she hear something in it?, then went inside.  German bitch, he was forced to remind himself.  A man could detest a woman he wanted to fuck, he discovered, it was just hard to concentrate on the animosity with a hard on.  He leaned against the church and arranged his trousers just in case she came back out before 'Ol Boy calmed down.  He lit a cigarette and scanned the area, listening to the birds signing.  Nature never seemed to notice war nearly as much as people did.  A particularly vocal bird took a seat on a branch near the jeep and carried on as if it were in the middle of Carnegie Hall.  Some of the tension he'd been carrying around with him evaporated.  He blew smoke toward the sky and just listened.

The crackle of her footsteps through the building stopped.  He vaguely wondered what she was doing in there.  Meeting her Nazi contact probably.  He considered peeking, but couldn't muster the energy.  The sun was warm, the breeze was soothing, and the birds were singing a concert just for him.  Hoover's FBI had already cleared her three or four times over anyway.  Maybe five.  What was good enough for Truman was good enough for him.  Nothing but dead silence from inside, she couldn't be doing anything but just standing there.

He stubbed the cigarette out more for something to do than because he was finished with it.  After watching her make love to one with her mouth, he felt vaguely uneasy smoking it anyway.  He froze in the middle of sticking the cold, folded butt in his pocket.  His first thought was that she was choking a rabbit.  The swallowed whimpers were low and full of pain and didn't even sound human.  His second was that her Nazi contact had gotten aggressive with her.  He slipped his eye around the fire gutted frame of what used to be a window and peeked.  He could only see a gleam of honey-blonde curls in the gloom at the other end of the church, where the altar still stood.

He cautiously stepped into the church.  "Miss Dietrich?"

She hadn't heard him.  She sat on the floor against the altar, curled up on herself and rocking.  The moaning was coming from her.

"Miss Dietrich?"

She stiffened, lifting her head.  He could see the faint gleam of tear tracks on her cheeks.  "Go away."

"Are you all right, Miss Dietrich?"

"Sergeant, I have asked you to go away, please go."  Her voice cracked on the last word.

He crossed the church reaching to touch her, then stopped.  She was a star of the silver screen and he was just a buck sergeant.  She was golden, he was dirt.  She was German.  Fuck it.  He gently put his hand on her shoulder.  He could feel her shaking, occasionally hiccupping with the force of will she used to keep her tears in check.

"Go, please go..."

Aww shit.  He'd always had a soft spot for women, German or not.  He cursed that soft spot and his mother for sticking it into him.  He wrapped himself around her, silently offering her a shoulder to cry on.  She was like him, in a way.  He wouldn't want anyone to see him crying either.  She held herself away stiffly for a few moments, then allowed the luxury of weeping.  He closed his eyes and rubbed her spine silently, letting her take as long as she wanted.

Eventually she stopped and pushed herself away from him.  He offered her a handkerchief and pointedly looked at the wall while she dried her eyes.  "You hate me because I am German.  I know this," she handed his hankie back.  He was about to protest when she waved a hand negligently.  "You are not a good actor, Sergeant.  You are a kind man, but you are not a good actor.  I am German and I am proud of my heritage.  I am not a Nazi and it pains me to see what they have done.  This," she waved her hand at the charred walls, "is the price of hate.  My people have allowed this to happen.  This is what hurts and angers me.  I wish that I could stop it all and make it right.  That I could make everything the way that it was.  I am but one woman and this destruction is, it is tiring."

"Miss Dietrich, I don't hate you."

"Yes, you do.  I have seen it in your eyes.  Come, let us return.  I have seen enough."  She stood and brushed her pants.

He thought about it, knew he should follow orders.  "No, Miss Dietrich, I don't think you have.  Get in the jeep."

Astonished, she stopped.  "I have no need for more guilt, Sergeant.  I carry all of it that I wish to.  You will return us to camp."

He didn't say anything, just followed her to the jeep.

She gifted him with a smile when he backed onto the road and headed in the direction that they'd come.  She could think that they were returning all she liked, but he would take her to one other place before they did whether she liked it or not.  He had no earthly idea why he cared one whit about how she felt, he just knew that he did.  That damned chivalry that his momma had beaten into him with a broom wouldn't let him do otherwise.  There was the trail.

"What are you doing?  I demand that you turn this around and take me back immediately!"  She said it immeedjitly like the Brits did.  "You will be in a great deal of trouble for this sergeant, this I promise you!"

First Sergeant had translated his light duty into essentially no duty while his leg healed.  Rather than hang around the bivouac waiting to be someone's gofer, he'd found a fishing hole.  It wasn't very far away, just a little more than a mile, but it felt more like a different time or a different place.  If the war had touched it, than it had forgotten about it.  He stopped the jeep and shut it off.  He wouldn't put it past her to drive, but she didn't seem inclined.  She glared at him instead.

"I want to show you something, Miss Dietrich."

"I assure you that have seen several already, I have no interest in seeing yours."

"What?"  He jumped out of the jeep and went around to her side, opening the door.

Her eyes dropped chillingly to the front of his pants, then met his furiously.  He understood the innuendo finally and blushed.  "No, not that.  I come fishing here when I can get away.  I want to show you the creek."
"Crick?"

"Yeah, it's right over here."

"What is a crick?"

"It's like a river, only smaller, you know, a stream?"

"You kidnaped me to show me a stream?  Are you insane?"

"Maybe.  Momma always said that I never had no sense.  I'm not going to do anything to you, just please.  I don't know how to explain it."

"Very well.  I will see your stream and then we can return."  She flounced out of the jeep, her nose in the air.  She surveyed the little clearing as if it were beneath her.  She hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath of the clean, sweet air, then sauntered to the verge of the water.  "I have seen this water, can we leave now?"

"Not just yet.  This is going to sound silly, but I want you to take your shoes off."

"You are insane."

"Please?"

She stared at him unblinkingly for a moment, as stoic as a cigar store statue.  Whatever she found there convinced her, though he had no idea what it might be.  She dropped gracefully to the ground and slipped off her shoes.  He looked around, convinced for a fleeting moment that the Krauts were surrounding them.  He shrugged it off and dropped into the fragrant grass next to her and yanked off his boots and socks.  He shot her a glance, hoping she hadn't noticed the smell.  She wrapped her arms around her legs and watched the smooth flow of water in from of them.

He stuck his feet out in front of them, mildly embarrassed about their contorted whiteness.  Marching for years in combat boots did that.  Still, they weren't something you showed to a lady.  He shrugged that feeling off as well; he was already violating her privacy by forcing her to be here.

He felt her sigh all the way from the tips of her toes rather than saw it.  Her shoulders drooped a little.  "I like to wade in the crick, but it's too cold to."

"Why?"

"To just feel.  Hey, try something."  He hoped it didn't sound as silly to her as it did to him.  "Close your eyes and curl your toes into the grass.  Just feel."

"Feel?  I feel the grass already, it is cool."

"No, feel the land around you.  The air, the water, the dirt.  Smell it, feel it.  Let yourself be a part of it."

Astonished, she shot a glance at him.  "You do not sound like a soldier.  You sound like a philosopher."

Unaccountably, he blushed.  "I read Thoreau a little.  It helps.  To listen to nature.  Kinda like everything will be all right."

"You are an odd man.  I did not think that a soldier would consider such things.  It is peaceful."

"I'm just a man, Miss Dietrich."  He stared off into the distance, watching the wind brush through the trees.

She wrapped her aristocratic fingers around his hand and pulled it to her lap.  Startled, he looked at her.  She'd relaxed, her feet stuck out next to his.  She turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the callouses on his palm and index finger.  "It is hard to be German in this war."

He wanted to jerk his hand away.  It was somehow obscene that she was getting intimately acquainted with the hard callous on his trigger finger.  "Yeah, it's hard to be a soldier, too."

Her fingers explored the rest of his hand.  The fine hair on his wrist melted with a brush of her nails and the sensation raced like a Messerschmitt straight to his cock.  He willed it to stay down, to behave, but it wasn't paying any attention to him.

"Miss Dietrich, I–"

She lifted his hand and delicately licked the between his thumb and forefinger.  It was the single most erotic thing he'd ever felt.  Whatever he had intended to say almost choked him.  She pulled the length of his finger along her lips, then sucked it into her mouth.  He closed his eyes and groaned.

"Miss Dietrich-"

"Shh.  It will be all right."

She pulled his finger from her lips, sucking as it left.  He could only think of his cock in her perfect mouth, withdrawing slowly.  He let her have his hand to do whatever she wanted to with.

She trailed his finger down her chin and over her soft throat.  She spread his hand open and slid his palm down into her cleavage until it rested fully against the generous swell of her breast.  When had she opened her shirt?  He couldn't stop a reflexive squeeze any more than he could stop a Panzer Division by himself.  She sucked in a breath and he gave into her.

He twisted himself, bringing the full length of his body against her.  She closed her eyes, her head falling back, when he nuzzled her neck.  He could feel her shiver under the moist heat of his breath under her ear.  He pulled her shirt off of her completely and went to work on her brassiere, she reached back to help him.  Feverishly, he nearly ripped it from her.  She cried out, the soft epithet felt like praise, when his bare hands connected with her bare breasts.  The skin on skin was electric, hot, every boy's silver fantasy in burning reality.

They both fought with her trousers, forcing them off of her legs along with her under drawers.  He sucked in a breath, staring at her intense, liquid beauty.  She didn't pause.  She turned and attacked his clothing, as hot for him as he was for her.  It was a heady feeling.  His nakedness collided with hers and then he couldn't think of anything his.  Her body was warm and silky against his, her mouth was on his chest, and her fingers were between his legs.

He lifted her face, bringing her lips up to his for a deeply ravenous kiss.  His tongue tangled with hers, tasting the wet heat and wanting more.  He shut his eyes.  It felt like she was swallowing him whole, bearing him down into a sensual vortex.  His slid his hands between her legs and found that she was as drenched down there as the creek that gurgled at their feet.  He groaned into her mouth.

When was the last time he'd made love with a woman?  He didn't really know.  There were whores, he wasn't like some who took up with local women only to leave them.  He preferred to keep things more professional.  It had been too long.  He opened his eyes and stared at the rich golden curls between her legs.  Entirely too long.

He pulled away from her, even though she clung to him.  He spread her legs, kneeling between them.  She settled herself back, her eyes locked onto his cock standing stiffly away from his body.  She tilted her hips, offering herself up to him.  He wanted nothing more than to sink as deep into her as he could.  Almost nothing more.  He stretched out onto the grass and pressed his face between those world-class legs.  The fresh, clean aroma of aroused woman washed over him.  He'd wanted this for years.  He gently spread her open with his fingers and took a long, loving lick.

She sank her fingers into his hair and arched her back, mewling.  One by one, he sucked on her damp lips, then slid his tongue between them, tasting her as far inside as he could reach.  Earthy, musky, delicious, everything a woman should be.  He slid a finger inside of her, pressing gently against the tight muscle within.  He found her clitoris with his tongue and she nearly bucked him off.  He played with it, testing it, and was rewarded with a ration of warm wetness on his fingers.  

He rubbed his face in her pussy, forgetting all about the Nazis on the other side of the border.  He sucked on her clit, gently pulling on it for a moment, then teasing it with the tip of his tongue.  She surged against him, then fell back gasping.  He slid two fingers inside, rubbing in maddening circles.  She squeezed him, gripping his fingers in a vice that made him shudder.  He sucked on her clitoris, just to feel that grasping inside of her all over again.  She thrashed under him, her hips lifting to meet his mouth and fingers.  She panted and whined.  He kept up the suction, pulling on the very core of her orgasm.  A moment later it crashed over them, soaking him in her juices and saturating her in her sweat.  Her husky siren's voice lifted, pleading in broken English and fractured German.  It was the sweetest song he'd ever heard.

She clawed at his shoulders and he acquiesced to her.  He rose along the length of her legendary body and pressed the tip of his erection to the quivering, wet lips between her legs.  She opened her eyes, meeting his, and held her breath.  They both sighed when he sank inside.  She held him tightly, her pussy welcoming him with a searing heat that felt like a homecoming.  He stared down into her face, memorizing the silver lines of her golden profile.  She licked her lips and rocked against him, her eyes half-lidded.  He saw her completely undone, like few people ever had seen her or ever would.  Glamorous beauty replaced by raw, feminine sensuality.  

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled.  He braced his hands on either side of her head and withdrew until only the head of his cock nestled in her lips.  The cool breeze of the late September day caressed his shaft and dried the pussy cream that had leaked onto his balls.  He shut his eyes and stroked back in.

Catlike, she lifted herself up, clinging to his neck with her arms.  His hips worked against her almost automatically.  He couldn't stop himself if he wanted to.  She lapped at his lips, then swiped her tongue over his chin.  He groaned deep in his chest and felt his balls tighten against his body.  She relished the tasted of her pussy on his face, he could see that easily.  The rumors about her had always flown.  She dressed in manly clothes at times, strutting in a tuxedo that seemed more feminine on her than a ball gown on a starlet.  The rumors, though, had it that she had as many female lovers as she'd had male ones.  The way she chased the last bits of her own cream on his face seemed to prove the rumors true.

His eyes closed and he pictured her wrapped in a torrid embrace with another woman.  Their bodies writhing together in a soft collision of voluptuous female flesh.  Breasts crushing breasts, painted fingernails parting pussy lips, red lips clinging to red lips.  She licked along his throat, her tongue leaving a trail of sexual fire from his adam's apple to his earlobe.  He gritted his teeth against the tide rushing through him.  He didn't want it to end this fast.  She tilted her hips up, thrusting against him.  He could almost see her thrusting her hips up against a female lover's face.  The tendons on his neck stood out in an effort told back his orgasm.  She mewed something at him, her husky voice mixing with the sighing of the stream like two lovers intertwined.

He roared, shoving himself as deep into her as he could.  He felt himself jerking like a marionette on a string, pouring all of himself into her. 

She patted him, caressed him, singing softly.  He eased his weight onto her; sucking at the air.  His lungs burned because he couldn't get enough oxygen.  He tucked his face into the crook of her neck and breathed her.  Closing his eyes, he felt himself melting into her.  The war and their positions in life were the furthest thing from his mind.  She was all he knew.  Replete, he dozed off.  

He sat through most of the USO show smoking a cigarette and waiting for Bob Hope to finish his golf jokes.  He stared off toward the Sauer and one of the little creeks that fed it rather than at the stage.  He thought about the chirping birds, the cool breeze on his back, and warm, living woman beneath him.  Consequently he missed the moment he'd been waiting for.  The whistles told him that she'd come on stage before her voice reached him.

He didn't listen to her banter with Bob Hope other than to feel the rhythm of her voice.  She laughed at something and lifted her skirt to show off those gorgeous gams of hers.  The soldiers exploded with the proper appreciation.  He thought about the soft skin he tasted.  She was known for her legs, her sparkling wit, and the handsaw that she played with eerie skill.  She was remembered for her song, though.  When she came to it, he closed his eyes and remembered the creek.  Instead he heard the husky words sung quietly in his ear while her warm breath stirred his hair.




Lilli



It was the end of the weekend and we got the call from my wife that she and her sister would be making the drive home on Tuesday. I decided to stay home from work on Monday and maybe Tuesday to get some important chores done before they showed up. First I needed to clear the kitchen table, wipe it down good and then eat Lilli for breakfast. Not ignore her education; I still had to teach her how to give a respectable blow job and how to lick a man's balls. I should also clean out the shower and wash every tit, ass, and pussy that I find in there with me. There were beds to make and then stretch Lilli out on one and fuck her proper, and I probably should inspect the ceiling while there, watching Lilli's breasts bounce up and down as she ride my cock like cowgirl. So much to do before the sisters gets home. 

When they finally arrived home Tuesday evening, they were greeted by Lilli wearing her new summer dress. They were both a bit startled as Lilli said, "Hi mom," gave her a kiss and began helping with their bags. 

The sisters quickly looked at me with dumbfounded but accusatory "What in the hell happened here" looks on their faces. All I could say with a shrug was, "We went clothes shopping?"