8 comments/ 39700 views/ 19 favorites Little Things Ch. 03 of 04 By: nomennescio I strongly recommend beginning with the first section of this story. ----- I awaken slowly the next morning, a yawn stretching my mouth and my limbs before I realize that I'm alone. The sun well-risen over the horizon, peering in through the window at me. Snowfall stopped, for now - the skies are mostly clear, with just a scattering of clouds, and yesterday's blanket of white sparkles so brightly in the sunlight as almost to dazzle the eye. Slept in, I guess. At least by the standards of home, where one usually gets up with the chickens. Pulling on yesterday's jeans, I amble downstairs to find my mother at the sink, industriously scrubbing at a large cast-iron skillet, the sound of scraping masking my descent until I hit that one squeaky step near the bottom of the staircase. "Well!" She turns around then, regards me with tolerant disapproval. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I wasn't sure you were ever going to get up." "Sheesh, mom." Lightly amused, I roll my eyes good-naturedly, thumbs hooked into my pockets. "It's only like eight o'clock." "'Only,' she says." For all the grumbling, my mother's voice is mild and friendly as she shakes her head. "You missed breakfast, I'm afraid. We had omelettes. I wanted to wake you up, but your brother insisted we let you sleep; you can blame him for missing out." "I'll be sure to." A little smile quirks on my lips, touched and appreciative. Ah, Davey. "Anything left to eat?" "Well, as it happens - entirely by coincidence - I may have left a pot of oatmeal simmering on the stove." She sniffs with an almost theatrical delicacy. "Do you still take it with honey?" "Yeah, that'll be fine." Funny. Not sure why, but I laugh, a brief huff of humor. I just feel good this morning, overall. I guess it didn't necessarily have to be that way, after last night, but...everything feels nice, the day bright before me. It's not even a chore to get along with my mother; the smile of gratitude that grabs at my lips is entirely genuine. "Thanks, mom." For all that we fight, I know that she cares, that she's trying to look out for me in her own way. A girl can't really ask for much more than that. Half an hour later, my stomach appeased, I slip on a heavy black turtleneck and dash across the snow outside to duck into the corral beneath the barn. The air inside is thick with the familiar smell of cow, of methane and manure - you can hose them down from time to time, but they're filthy creatures. Loud, too; on top of the near-constant conversational mooing, there's the steady hum and whoosh of the ventilation, bringing in and heating outside air so that the stink doesn't turn lethal. With the animals packed in tight, I have to scan twice over the long room before I catch sight of David two rows down, shoveling corn into a feeding trough. I almost manage to sneak up on him. Only in the last few feet does he notice me and turn, setting the metal head of his shovel down upon the concrete floor with an audible clank. "Hey, morning, Sam." His tone light enough, but surprisingly restrained, hesitant. A daub of concern evident in his eye. "How are you feeling?" "How do I feel?" I give him a look, amused and faintly sardonic. One eyebrow raised curiously. Not entirely sure what to say, until impulse pushes me close and lifts my hands to his face, one resting on each cheek as he looks back, uncertain. "I feel good." Laughter bubbling out of me again, alive and ebullient. I give his cheeks a pinch before letting go, treasuring briefly the texture of his skin. "Really good, actually. Why do you ask?" His own smile blooms weak and relieved. "I don't know, I just kinda worried that, um..." A brief silence, his eyes in mind. The past night flowing in each of our thoughts. "That maybe you wouldn't. That's all." "Well, I do." Stepping forward again, so our bodies are separated by no more than an inch. My hands draped down from his shoulders, my face close to his, tilted up. A careful question. "Is dad around?" David's mouth barely opens, but he doesn't speak. Just shakes his head 'no'...and I cross the remaining inches, plant a quiet kiss upon his lips. A mild one, soft; no great sensual hunger possessing me here on this cold morning amidst the cows. Just a few moments, shared as welcome to the new day, as an affirmed connection. It feels almost natural now. Like it's totally normal to kiss my brother hello, to feel my soul warm with the touch of his lips. Pulling back again, a silly smile stretches on my face. David speaks first. "I'm almost done here. Dad took the truck out into town, but we could, um...go for a walk, or hang out around the house, or...I guess we could drive the tractor out there if you wanted." Shoveling another load of silage from the wheelbarrow as he speaks. "I don't know." I shrug vaguely. "We'll figure something out, I'm sure." A beat passes, watching his body shift and tighten as he works. Warming by his labor and by the paddock's heating, he's wearing just a thin white t-shirt stretched across his chest, and the movement of muscle is outlined plainly beneath, intricate and precise like some grand machine. I almost want to just stand there watching as he finishes, enjoying the show. Almost. "Let me pitch in there." The tools are still in the same place as always, left leaning against the wall; I pick up another shovel and head back to his side. A brief hesitation in his expression, a look in his eye like he wants to protest, to tell me that he'll handle it himself. But my knowing smirk heads off the words before they can reach his tongue, and together, the two of us burn through the feeding of the remaining cattle. The work passes quickly with an extra set of hands. It's comforting, too, in its own way. A little slice of my childhood, looking after the big animals. Still, I'm far from disappointed when we finish, tossing our tools back into the corner and stepping back outside together into the brisk winter air. A pleasing chill, after the excessive warmth inside; I stretch, breathing it deeply in, while David shrugs his way into his battered old army coat, a hand-me-down from my father. The sun smiles down on us, and glints almost painfully up in fractured reflections from frozen waves of snow. Didn't think to pack my sunglasses...I avert my eyes, looking up into the sky, and the trees of the nearby woods poke up invitingly just into the bottom of my vision. That could work. "You know," my voice carries clear in the wintery stillness. "Let's go on that walk, like you said. It's been too long." A rail line lies a hundred yards or so from the house, running ramrod-straight through forest and countryside - a knife, cut across the landscape. Little-used, now; usually just two trains a day. It makes a fine path to follow as we walk, sometimes alongside the old timbers, sometimes atop the steel rail, stepping carefully with arms outstretched like we're walking a tightrope. And sometimes hand-in-hand down the middle of the tracks, treading through light slush left by the passage of the morning train. At either side a steep embankment rises, leading now into the heart of the woods, splotched with light and darkness between evergreens still standing wide and majestic and the bare skeletons of deciduous oaks; as I look deep amongst the frozen forest, impulse takes me, and I lead us scrambling through crumbling snow up the short slope, into the woods proper, to truly wander between the thick-set trees. David's quiet. Unusually so, a reticence of manner which itself speaks of some deep thought struggling to find words. But I don't worry overmuch - he'll say what he wants to, in time. Right now, amongst the trees with him, I feel a deep upwelling of peace, a simple, honest joy. It was walks like this which first made me realize my love of nature, the beauty I found in just this space making me want to preserve it and others like it, to work to spread the awe and the majesty which take root outside the cities of men. We've been walking in silence for a while now. Me forging ahead, with David just behind. In the frozen stillness, the sound of his voice seems almost deafening when he finally speaks. "Sam." A diffident tone, even as he tries for my attention. I'm only half-listening, engaged in looking about. "Where are we going?" "I don't know," an abstracted answer. My gaze still turned upwards to the treetops, trying to identify genus, species, subspecies as we pass beneath... "I'm just wandering, you know? Don't think there's any trendy nightclubs in the area, anyway." Amusement leaking through, at the end. "No, that's not what I...um." An awkward silence. It takes me a moment to realize that the crunch of his footsteps behind me has stopped; when I turn and look over my shoulder, his gaze is laying troubled at my feet. Only slowly rising up to my eyes, before he speaks again. "I mean we. Us. What are we...what are we going to be? Where are we going to end up?" My turn at quiet, an unhappy cast falling across my features. Obvious now what he means, what he's asking, but...I don't want it, don't want the question, don't want to see his eyes so soft and plaintive, lambent with desire for something that can't be. I mean, sure, as a dream, as a fantasy...there's a kind of beauty to it. For us not to be pulled apart by time and distance. To hold tight to the closeness we've shared, to be siblings and friends and...and something more, too. If we didn't have to worry about the rest of the world, if we could love each other as fully as our hearts might want. But that's foolishness. Insanity. There are things we can't have, things that are impossible. He has to see that. Biting unconsciously at my lip, I try for words of eloquence to explain it again, to make him understand. But they evade my grasp - I'm no poet, and as the seconds pile on one another I finally fall to the brusque, the direct. "Nothing, David. Nowhere." Looking out among the trees, tearing my gaze away so I don't have to look him in the eye. "We can't be anything other than what we are. Brother and sister. All this other stuff...it isn't real. It's a game, it's pretend. And it can only go on as long as we both understand that it's a game. That it can't lead anywhere, can't mean anything." I risk a glance back in his direction. He stands there in ankle-deep snow, shoulders sagging, gaze fallen again to the frozen earth. Looking for all the world like a chastened puppy, innocent and desperately earnest in sadness - my heart tears a little at the seams, at the image of him there, empathic pain spreading swiftly through me like a poison in the blood. I step closer, wanting so badly to comfort him, despite how little I have to offer. And closer still, drawing up before him, my hands grasping at his wrists. Ducking down, to try to catch his troubled eyes. "Please tell me you understand, Davey." Softly. Tenderly, I hope. My thumb stroking gently at the back of his hand, my face rising up to his. A quiet regret that he's too tall, now, for me to touch foreheads...I lay it down at his cheek instead, feeling his nose at the side of my scalp. "I don't want it to have to end right now." For a few moments, he just breathes, his exhalations running softly through my hair, setting it gently to flutter. Then, "Yeah." A sound low and self-conscious, trying for energy while burdened with an atom of bitterness. His hands brush ineffectually at my waist. "Of course. I understand. It's just a game." The words forced rigidly from his throat, his body stiff with upset. Not quite the truth, and yet not quite a lie; he may understand intellectually, but even a stranger could see how his heart rebels, how he fights against acceptance of the truth. Refusing to surrender his dreams. It'll have to be enough. Game or not, what I said is true - I don't want it to end. "Good." A firm whisper on his skin. Before pulling away, I lay a little kiss there on the side of his chin, feeling the brush of his almost invisible stubble on my lips. A smile, weak and bittersweet, as contact breaks and I look up again into his troubled blue eyes. The space between us filled with the painful honesty of silence, building until it must be broken. "Maybe we should head back to the house." There's a vague sense of guilt inside me that pushes me to his side in the return, walking not hand-in-hand but arm-in-arm through the snowy woodland. Pressed up close beside him, my head tilted onto his shoulder, sharing a morsel of warmth with arms stretched across each other's back and hands clasped on each other's waist...I can feel his fingers there, through my shirt and sweater, and the sensation is a constant distraction from the natural beauty which surrounds us. "If only you weren't my brother." My voice again breaks the stillness of the forest, murmuring in tones tinged with longing. "Well, thanks," he returns with faintly biting sarcasm. Nursing still his hurt. "Oh, stop." My fingers slip under the edge of his jacket to give him a chiding little pinch. "You know what I mean. If we were just two random people. If it didn't have to be a game, be pretend. If we could just do whatever we felt like." It's an admission in itself, a suggestion of the things I might want, and my cheeks warm with color as I work past the mass of contradiction in my heart, my throat. Ending with a need to minimize, to brush aside. "Not that it matters, I guess. You wouldn't even feel this way about me if I weren't your sister." His head shifts, glancing over, and I can hear the surprised injury in his tone. "What do you mean? Of course I would." "No you wouldn't." I shake my head with the easy confidence of certainty. "Come on. How would I catch your eye, if I were just some girl on the street? Why would you care?" A shrug, one shoulder beneath his. "You'd just end up with somebody pushy enough to rope you in." "You can be pretty pushy," he reminds me, a tickle of amusement in his voice. "Maybe. Sometimes." A snort of laughter, then quiet. "But still, I don't have the goods. No, you'd probably shack up with April, or somebody like her." My smile flickers, touched by a twinge of jealousy. "Probably enjoy it a lot more, too, without me making you feel bad about it." "I would not," he protests again, a defensive edge to his voice. "She's...I mean, I don't even know her, really, but she doesn't seem like someone I'd even want to spend time with at all." A frown, looking away. "And I know, I - I spent the night with her, but she...I didn't want to, exactly." "Uh-huh." I raise a tolerantly skeptical eyebrow. "Well, like I said, she's pushy...but I don't remember you looking the other way when she was waving her tits around." A slight, self-deprecating smile, glancing down at myself. "Don't think I'd be much competition in that area." "I..." Embarrassment and frustration wrestle in his voice, choking him off. He shakes his head, a bid for composure. "Jeez, Sam. What do you want me to say?" "Just the truth," I fire off carelessly casual into the cold air, and immediately regret how much it sounds like an accusation. Scrambling for humor, to soften the impact. "Or a really good lie, if you can think of one." He chuckles at that, slightly, and then stays silent for some moments. Breathing slow and quiet through his nose as we walk together in the snow. "Yeah." Finally admitting, "She had a nice chest." I smile, though I don't really feel it. Just a smug little smirk from my inner cynic. But he's not done. "So do you, though, in a different way. And you have absolutely beautiful legs, while hers were kind of too skinny, with gross knobbly knees." A mild snort of my own, snidely amused, as he presses on. "And besides, it isn't even that important, all that physical stuff. I feel like I do because...because of times like this, you know? Walks in the woods, talks, all these moments we've had. All our adventures, and when you stuck up for me, and when I've been able to help you. I mean, maybe it'd be hard for us to have had those times, if I weren't your brother, but if we somehow did - if I'd just been your friend instead - I'd still feel the same way now." I hardly notice that we've stopped walking until he turns, looks into my eyes with such urgent sincerity that my heart seems to tremble in response. "I know I would." My lips part, gently, but I can think of nothing to say until at last a murmured "Wow..." flows out to break my silence. Hanging there in the air, saying more than it ought, as my heart patters in a quick tattoo. My cheeks flushing at my own reaction, and my only escape is humor. "That is a pretty good lie." A beat passes, David still staring down seriously. Then his mouth twists up at the corners, his head lightly shakes, and he laughs soft and sincere, warm and happy for a good handful of moments. Finally ending with a shyly good-natured bite at his lower lip, amusement dancing with affection in his eye. "That's why." He speaks, smiles, as his hand reaches up and taps me lightly at the top of my chest. "Right here - that's how I know." Turning back then, and as we continue onwards I feel a warm relief at least that the shroud of upset which had fallen over him seems to be lifted. I can hardly be happy when David isn't, but when he is...there's a subtle joy in being at his side, a pleasure I can find nowhere else. It's a long walk back, crunching now through a foot of snow, forced into a cautious pace by the occasional log or rock that lies buried underneath. But in his company, the minutes pass swiftly, and my feet hardly feel the chill. Indeed, it seems almost a disappointingly short while later that the red edifice of the barn heaves into view past gnarled wooden skeletons, and the house follows close after. We could head back inside, have some lunch - I'm feeling a trifle peckish again. But I don't really want to. Not quite ready, yet, to face the restraint of observation, to have to watch my words and actions under the gaze of my parents. Instead, I lead David up to the big barn doors, finally disengaging from one another to pull one open a notch and slip inside. Bare bulbs, hanging down on long wires from the roof, cast a dim light across the huge room, illuminating a cubist landscape built from yellow bales of hay, reaching up in some places almost to the slanted ceiling. It's warm, almost hot, the heat from the corral beneath drifting up to be captured by the insulating straw, and I hardly hesitate before stripping off my turtleneck and tossing it atop a bale near the door. "So. What are you thinking?" David speaks mild and easy, leaning against the wall. "I don't know." A bright admission, my fingers poking at the tight-bound hay. Glancing back, a bit of a grin curves my lips. "Remember when we used to build forts in here with this stuff?" He laughs a moment, mirroring my smile. "I remember when one of them collapsed on us, anyway. Trying to make a roof probably wasn't too smart." I stick my tongue out at him, playfully. "Hey, we dug ourselves out just fine." "Maybe you were 'just fine,'" a cheerful retort. "Me, I was scared out of my wits." Laughter, soft and brief, bubbles from my chest. My knee catches at the top of a bale, and I clamber up, sitting with legs curled half beneath me as I look back at David. "Didn't stop you from coming back the next time we built one." Lightly teasing. He shrugs. "You asked me to." Simply. Like that's enough. A little shake of the head as I smile, the cheer he inspires leaking irrepressibly into my expression. I turn again, gesture for him to follow as I climb further up the irregular, blocky hill. Another memory percolating slowly through my mind, though this one I don't share - long after we stopped with the forts, I brought a couple boyfriends here, when I wanted to spend time with them outside my parents' watchful gaze. Hidden behind piles of hay, I had some of my earliest sexual experiences. The first time I touched a guy's dick. The first time I was ever totally naked for someone. The first time I went all the way...I mean, it wasn't very good, and the guy turned out to be an asshole, but who can forget her first time? The trembling uncertainty of it, the fumbling, adolescent hunger. The curiosity and the fear, and the strange sense of simultaneous gain and loss in being for the first time possessed. Little Things Ch. 03 of 04 There's excitement even now, in the memory of that hot August afternoon, and it kicks at my pulse as I find another seat among the bales. Another nest, half-enclosed by piles still higher, the layers of the surrounding hay making it a warm and quiet place. My eyes track David as he approaches and settles down beside me, and with the avenue of my thoughts, something he said before is called to mind. "You know," almost idly spoken, as I look over with a quirked smile into those soft blue eyes. "We never finished our conversation the other day, did we?" "Which one?" He asks with honest curiosity. His head cocked just to the side, hands planted with splayed fingers on the bale where he sits. My eyebrow lifts, a touch of mischief. "The one where you were telling me what you thought about doing with me." My hand sneaks over and slips atop his, pressing warm above his knuckle. He glances away again, a minor retreat, and for a moment I feel a stab of disappointment. That he still won't do it, won't tell me what my prying mind wants to know, what went on in the depths of his imagination. But our time together in the past few days - and what we've done with it - perhaps has helped to loosen his tongue; he shakes his head and smiles with uneasy self-consciousness as he replies. "It's...I mean, jeez, what do you think? It was sex stuff." A simmering pink on his cheeks at the confession, his gaze still kept averted. "Well, obviously." A brief giggle escapes my lips, a thrill leaked from the greater mass which arcs along my spine. "But I want to know the details. The specifics." My hand pressing slightly forward, grasping at his wrist there atop the hay. So many things we can't do...but we can talk. We can always talk. And the word carries a glimmer of the deed, a trace of its feeling. "Did you fantasize about bending me over the kitchen table?" I egg him on, my voice teasing and excited and perhaps a little hungry. "Fucking me in the shower?" His face burns brighter, his gaze locked to the straw-strewn ground. "Probably, yeah," he croaks out weakly. "I mean, you know. I thought about a lot of things." Adorable as his innocent hesitation is, this is getting a bit frustrating. I squeeze gently at his wrist, trying for his attention, and when he glances up I hit him with half a smile and an eyebrow expectantly raised. Finally, he seems to take the hint. "Um," stammering out, "I think...I mean, I guess there were a couple things I thought about a lot, that I...um, that I sorta went back to." His voice is high and tight, nervous and embarrassed; I squeeze again at his hand, comforting, and hope my smile is encouraging. "There was...I think I dreamed it, the first time, but...I imagined that I woke up in my bed, you know, except you were in there with me. Kinda on top of me, with your arm around my shoulder. And you smiled at me, and said good morning, but then, um...well, you kissed me, a couple times at the top of my chest." Softly. "Like this?" With my free hand, I tug open the top of his jacket and lean in to lay a few gentle kisses there at the base of his neck. Wanting to make him feel better, to put him at ease. David's smile only flickers, but he nods, his voice coming a little stronger. "Anyway, that's when I realize that we're both naked." His eyes touch worriedly onto mine, as though afraid that I'll react badly to this revelation - only after he's reassured by the encouraging curve of my lips does he continue. "Um, I start to say something, but when I open my mouth you kiss me there, with your tongue. I can't speak." A little pause, glancing half-expectantly into my eyes - this time, though, I let it pass. Acting out his fantasy could quickly end up somewhere we can't go. After a moment, he proceeds. "It lasts for a long time, and while it's going on you kinda slide on top of me. And...I can feel you, all the way down my body, so soft and so...I mean, it's almost scary, y'know, but at the same time it's like, just this wonderful, warm feeling..." He looks a little less abashed now, easing into the telling. "Um, and then you lift up, sitting on my chest, and you reach back and grab hold of my thing..." "Oh, don't call it that," I interrupt with a wince, my nose wrinkling in mild distaste. I was just getting into his fantasy, but this tears me right out. "It sounds so...childish. God, you're not a five-year-old." David pauses, pained, and bites briefly at his lip. "Well, then what...?" "A cock." My heart flutters in a faintly wicked thrill. Maybe I am corrupting him, a little. Or his vocabulary, anyway. "You have a cock. I saw for myself." A touch of mischief on my tongue. His eyes rest on me uncertainly for a long few moments, lightly troubled. Clearly not an unfamiliar word, just one that he's avoided in his earnest, natural gentleness. But finally he nods, dropping his gaze back down near his feet as he resumes the telling. "So, um. I - you grabbed my, my cock." Another softly encouraging squeeze at his wrist. "You stood up on your knees, and moved back on top of me, and when you dropped back down you held - you guided my cock inside you." He swallows, his face flushed. "And then we were, y'know...we were having sex, and I...I mean, it was..." Flustered, embarrassed, he falls silent, unable to find the words to convey the feeling of his fancy. Good enough. An honest try; affection pulses softly in my heart, a humble warmth amidst the nervous, electric tingle of excitement that seems to fill me. Even simple as they are, there's a sexy, powerful feeling, listening to David's fantasies of me. I want more. "What else have you thought about?" My voice slow and inviting. "What else? Jeez." A tone of faint chagrin - but he doesn't really seem to mind that much, beginning now almost immediately. Perhaps getting to like these confessions himself. "I thought about, um. Well, it doesn't really have a 'where,' just...the two of us, sitting down somewhere. A little bit like this. Except all you have on your legs is a pair of socks...totally bare aside from that, smooth, and just so beautiful..." He glances up at me, and there's a touch of humor in his eye. "Have I told you yet that you have really pretty legs?" I grin back at him, amused and delighted. "I believe you may have suggested that before, yes." My left hand tracing inches on the side of my thigh. He smiles as well - and this time, doesn't take his eyes away as he resumes. "Well, it's true. I felt like...I feel like they should be shown the right attention, y'know? So I decide to kiss them. To kneel down in front of you, slide off your socks...starting at your feet, um, little kisses on the bridge, and on your ankles, and then moving up slowly on your leg. Imagining what you would taste like, if I licked them a little bit." Embarrassment painted on his cheeks, but he's still looking at me. Still meeting my gaze. "Kissing my feet, huh?" I tease him a bit, an exultant smile on my lips. Amused and excited, with more than a touch of arousal. "Like a bondage thing? Did you call me 'Mistress Samantha?'" "What?" His brow furrows, seeming genuinely bothered by the implication. "No, it's just...I just thought, you have such lovely legs, beautiful feet, that I should...that it would be good to..." His head shakes briefly, his eyes unhappy on me. "It's not weird, is it?" "No," I reassure him quietly. A little pause, as my smile quirks up at the corner. "No weirder than having the hots for your sister, anyway." My thumb strokes again at his wrist. "Go on. I want to hear the rest." "I guess," he agrees weakly. Trying to shake off his worry as he resumes. "Um. So I kiss my way up your legs. Kinda slowly, carefully...on your knees, and then on your thighs. Jumping back and forth at the end, from one to the other. And then I look up and I see that you don't have on any underwear, either. And I can see your..." Trailing off, he looks at me imploringly. An actor, waiting for his line. "My pussy." A tingle in my throat, in my spine. His blush briefly deepens, but he nods. "Your pussy. And it's...I mean, I haven't seen it for real, but I'm sure it's the most beautiful, the sweetest...the softest..." His eyes drift closed as he continues to speak. "And I kiss there, too, so slowly because I'm afraid you won't like it, and just...smell you, taste you, feel you with my tongue..." His eyes open again. Questioningly. "When a guy, um, licks a girl, a girl's pussy...?" I smirk slightly. More vocabulary. "Cunnilinguis? Carpet munching? Eating out?" My middle finger tracing at his wrist, infused with nervous energy. God, if he could...if we could... "Yeah..." Softly spoken, slightly abashed. "We - I do that." Falling suddenly silent. An anticlimax, disappointment in this quick resolution. I had been getting into it, imagining it could be real. Imagining his mop of golden hair between my legs, his tongue exploring gentle and loving the folds of my flesh. "Have you ever?" I ask suddenly. "I mean, for real?" Looking up curiously into his eyes. His answer comes as a slight shake of the head, and I make a little moue. "That's too bad. It's a useful skill for a guy to have. Better than sex, for a lot of girls." "Really?" His expression is genuinely surprised. "Oh, yeah," a quick, affirmative nod. "I mean, it depends a little on the guy, of course, but some girls can't even get off with regular sex. A guy who knows how to use his tongue...he can be a real treat." I smile slightly, a tight surge of ambiguous, conflicted feeling squeezing at my heart. Faint satisfaction, warm and contented, just from helping him in this way, teaching him about the realities of sex. And a soft pain, because... "Is it bad that I haven't done it?" He asks after a moment, quiet and low. Saving me from my thought. "That I don't know how?" I can hardly stand to see the gentle, worried unhappiness that tugs downward at his features. Can't bear even to have an ounce of pain ruin that adorable face. I scootch over closer, our legs and sides touched together, and take his hand into my lap. Clutched comfortingly between mine. "Not 'bad,' no," answering back with quiet, hopeful reassurance. "I mean, it's good to have that experience...but it doesn't have to be right now. You'll have plenty of chances to learn. Plenty of girlfriends who would love to let you practice." My lips twist rebelliously as I say it, a note of bitterness taking unwelcome residence in my voice. Shocking, how much it bothers me now, the thought of him with someone else. This is just pretend, just a game I started to help him get over me. But now a large part of me doesn't even want him to. Doesn't want to let him go, to give up the ardent devotion in his eyes or the gentle pleasures of his touch. It's not real. I have to remind myself of that, as my palm rubs tenderly at his. He's my brother; everything comes crashing up against that. Whatever idle dreams I might have, of throwing caution and inhibition to the wind...they're just dreams. In reality, the bond of family separates us as surely as it keeps us together. I mean, I can maybe straddle the edge - share kisses long and slow, allow a few close caresses, teach him what he needs to know about sex - but... A sudden inhalation, the notion striking me with such force that my hands squeeze tight around David's. A trembling in my throat as I gaze upon the side of his face, tense excitement running down my spine. "Or maybe you could practice right here." A tone of hesitation in my voice, as if even I don't quite believe what I'm suggesting. He turns his gaze to me, eyes wide, and doesn't need to speak for me to know his surprise. "I know, I know," a nervous giggle escapes my throat, my cheeks hot. "It's not something we could normally do. But if it's...if it isn't because we want to, if it's just to help you learn how, to teach you something you missed out on..." It makes sense, in my head. I've been there for him a thousand times, in a thousand ways; it can't be going too far to be there once more. It can't. This is something he needs...something that'll help him, anyway, help him to be a better lover for - my jaw tightening - for whoever. Could make the difference between him losing or keeping an important relationship, even. It could. "But is that really the reason why?" He asks quietly, a trace discomfort in the tenor of his voice. "Of course," I answer without hesitation, heart racing and eyes aflame, believing it with all my strength. "I mean, come on. You want to know how, right?" He doesn't answer that, looking out now along the length of the barn. "What..." Nervously licking at his lips. "Um, what about the rules, though? You said we couldn't go under each other's clothes..." I giggle again, half-madly, a delighted grin quirking on my lips. "That's easy. You don't have to go under them if I don't have them on." My fingers tickle lightly at his palm, and I expect him to laugh as well, to gift my soul with the sounds of his joy, perhaps to turn and throw his arms around me, holding me tight...but he doesn't. Just keeps staring away from me, a conflicted, uncertain look on his face, and as silence drags on I suffer a conflict of my own. "What, don't you want to?" I can't conceal the undertones of hurt, of almost anger. After everything he said... "No, I do!" His gaze jumps swiftly back to me, his tone earnest and contrite, his hand squeezing reassuringly at mine. "I do, it's just..." A pause again, our eyes locked, his lips just parted, trying to speak. Struggling with himself. But why now? We finally have this reason, this excuse, a cause to step beyond and to do what we can't. My heart pounds as though for a marathon, my stomach twisting with the fluttering, nervous thrill of anticipation. Doesn't he feel the same? "...I do." He finally finishes, smiling weakly as relief blossoms inside me. Leaning in now, and his lips touch to mine in a soft kiss, sweetly apologetic; I return it with hotter ardor, my fingers fumbling frantically at the fly of my jeans, the thick denim feeling suddenly an almost painful constriction on my tingling skin. I have to break the kiss, push David lightly away as I wiggle the tight cloth off my hips, only to belatedly realize that I still have my boots on. My eyes shut for a moment's laughter. God, I'm not thinking straight...turned on and nervous and bubbling with excitement. I need to calm down a little. This is supposed to be for David, for him to learn...I should let him take action. So I smile up at him, warm and giddy into his bright blue eyes. "Want to help me get out of these?" He nods eagerly, moving at once to kneel at my dangling feet. Cradling my right tenderly in his hand as he teases out the laces, working them carefully loose before easing off the boot and letting it to drop softly on the layer of hay beneath us. And now my sock, peeling it slowly off from the top, unveiling skin lightly tanned and just barely shining with the dampness of sweat. A memory swims into view - Cinderella, the prince placing the glass slipper on her dainty foot. I giggle softly, and David glances up from his work with a wordless smile. It fits, kind of, in a strange and backwards way. My other foot soon receives the same treatment, though not before David takes a moment to run his warm fingers down the arch of my right. Not before his head bows briefly down, and I feel his lips touch gently at the bottom of my foot, just above my toes, my heart sparking with unexpected delight at this unfamiliar intimacy. I had laughed, teased him at the idea - had not thought I would enjoy it so. But already his fingers touch bare at my left foot, pinching softly at tickling skin. I wriggle slightly in his grasp, toes curling, trying-but-not-trying to get free. Waiting, still, for the next kiss, on flesh I never knew could be so sensitive. And when it comes, an inhalation deep and powerful, shocked with electric feeling that arcs along the full length of my body. "My jeans, now." I speak it, though I know I don't need to. His hands already tug firmly at the bottom cuffs, abrading my skin ever so faintly as the rough material slides down inch by inch, slow beginnings that quickly accelerate until they're pulled off entirely to crumple down beside my boots. And how much like that second night this now feels, with his hands at rest nervously on my knees, with the delicious trembling of trespass buzzing in my mind. The same excitement of exhibition as his eyes flow to the top of my legs, setting sight on the crimson silk panties that boldly lay there, and I wonder if, secret even to myself, I didn't expect this, plan it, that I should happen to have worn this one outrageous pair today. Silence but for our breathing as his fingers trace slowly on my legs. First downward, as he lowers himself to kiss again so sweetly at the inner top of my calf. Then upward again, inching forward on his knees, my legs spreading wider to grant him passage. His breath falling warm and moist on the paleness of my inner thigh, and still another kiss, sucking just softly at sensitive skin. Just one covering left, one last unveiling. I feel a little shiver, a nervous pounding of my heart as David's fingers slide up the last few inches to the edge of my panties. Second thoughts suddenly worried in my head, that I'll never measure up to his fantasy of 'the most beautiful, the sweetest'...fuck, it's already a week since I've shaved. I'll be ugly, stubbly, gross. I shouldn't let him see. Should just push him away, so he won't be disappointed. Yeah. Then his fingers catch on either side of the upper hem, his arms curling from down beneath my legs, and despite these thoughts my hips instinctively lift up off the hay to let him peel the damp red silk from my skin. A telltale trace of wetness glistening at the bottom, revealing so blatantly my desires - and he's looking at me, oh god, staring transfixed. It's my first time again, heart racing close to panic, hypersensitive to every little fault, every spot and bulge and blemish of my stupid body, just wanting to be good enough. "Um," a quaver in my voice as I dive for the safety of words. "Even if a girl doesn't...doesn't look that good, you might not want to say anything about it. It's a pretty sensitive topic." Mumbling, my cheeks flushed. Ridiculous. So ridiculous - like he'll be fooled, like I could possibly be talking about anyone but myself... "You're beautiful." His eyes dart up into mine, so perfectly, softly blue, and I let out a tiny exhalation, a note of almost laughter. I'm not, of course. It's a lie - but I love him for lying. His gaze falls back down again then, resting raptly on my flower. On my pussy, damp with sweat and with the slow trickling of my arousal. His thumb venturing over upon my mound, scraping gently on short stubs of growing hairs. A sea of emotions competing for his expression - hunger and fear, awe and uncertainty. His head sits at about my middle thigh, and as he breathes through barely parted lips I can feel the air fall upon my petals, tickling with soft and sensual lightness. We stay some moments in this tableau, until I at last recall the why, the reason I have got this to happen. His instruction in the art of the tongue. As though I'm some expert on the subject. But I know what I like, I guess, and what I don't; enough to help him in the basics, anyway. "You want to start slow," a tone of false confidence, my heart still pounding madly behind a façade of certainty. "Carefully, you know, to build up her anticipation. Just a little touch, with your tongue or your fingers." A nervous smile stretched on my face. "Go ahead, try it." Slowly - he gets that part right. Slowly, he leans forward between my thighs, eyes closed and mouth just open, shallow breaths warm and humid on sensitive skin. Anticipation. My pulse loud in my ears, not knowing quite when the touch will come, when - Little Things Ch. 03 of 04 A sharp inhalation, my muscles briefly clenching as his lips touch wet upon my folds. Firm, but only softly pressed - a kiss down there on my lower lips, still hewing roughly to the fantasy he shared. No intrusion, yet, of the strong and solid tongue I briefly met in some of our fiercer kisses...he pulls back now, looks up at me with gentle eyes in search of approval, and I can do little but beam back at him. My hand slipping to the back of his head, ruffling lovingly at his messy golden locks. "Not bad." A husky depth creeping into my voice. "Maybe even a little softer than you need, but it's a start." A moment more, stroking at his hair, my thumb pushing clear an errant curl that obscures his eyes. God, but he looks so adorable, even at a time like this. I have to focus to call back to mind my task. "Do you know about the clit, David?" Gently asked. I'd assume he does...but then, I'd assume every guy does, and a couple of my boyfriends sure didn't. "Um. Kinda." His eyes dart briefly away, shyly. "I think so." His hands resting at the top of my thighs, held hesitant between fear and hunger. "How about you see if you can find it?" A silvery sheen of humor in my words, taking up ranks with the quaver still of nerves. My free hand drops to my pelvis, laying close beside his. "Right there at the top...might have to use your fingers, spread my pussy open a little." Biting at my lip with faint reproach at giving so bald, so bold an order - and then again, as he obeys. His fingertips touching gently at the top of my slit, stretching carefully apart the folded flesh; his thumb questing forth, slipped in amidst my petals. My breath comes in uneven spurts as he probes slickly at my center, teasing back veils of pink until I'm suddenly exposed, my nails clutching at his scalp as his thumb scrapes exquisitely rough upon the rigid nub. "That's it," commanding him breathlessly, his fingers still slowly gliding on the edges of my garden. "Right there, that's...the most important spot. The most pleasurable. When you're eating a girl out, you should lick all over...but you always want to come back there to really get her going." Just the warm air is softly titillating on my exposed bud, languid currents tickling lightly at that so-sensitive skin. God, I need to feel his tongue on me; I can scarcely keep the hunger from my voice as I inquire, "You ready to start?" A nod first, mutely, looking somewhat overawed at what lies before him. Then his lips part, with that enticing little pop of wetness. "Yeah." And a glance up into my eyes, thrilled and terrified. "Yeah, I'm, um...yeah." "Then go ahead." A faint smile at the corner of my mouth, my heart strongly beating as his lips descend once more. "It's just like licking a lollipop." One second. Two - he hangs back, perched just on the edge of action, afraid of that first step. More than words needed to comfort him, to usher him forward; it's old ritual that drops my hand from his hair down to the back of his neck, stroking there slow and gentle. A habit we had, once, to embolden him in the face of life's terrors; he used to say that it made him feel safe, calm. And right now... My fingers clutch instinctively there at his neck as his tongue suddenly slides warm and wet upon me, aching flesh abruptly shocked with sensation. Faster and more forceful than I expected; the feeling has hardly touched upon my mind when it begins again, his broad, strong tongue stroking up the length of my slit, glutinous saliva penetrating down into my folds, and my hips softly squirm, as much tickled as aroused. "Slower, to start," I manage to remind him, and feel a faint gratification as he obediently softens his assault. Giving me time to experience the shape of his tongue as it caresses the gates of my womanhood, to react to the subtle explorations of its tip, teasing out the furrows of my swollen labia. "Better," I sigh with satisfaction as he brushes my clit, permitting me to feel with stark intimacy the faint pebblestone texture of his tongue. "Better." Two fingers now at the top of his spine, tracing out a tempo for him to follow. "Like this, see...slow at the start, more sensation than stimulation. You build up speed...mmph...um, speed with her arousal." A shudder of pleasure rolls up through my nerves, and my head falls back upon the bale behind me as he ventures deeper inside. "Some guys try to, like, fuck you with their tongue, but it's not about penetration, it's - fuck..." Breathlessness for a few moments, as his lips latch upon my clit in gentle suction, his tongue dancing slowly on its tip. "Um...it's about contact, about activating all those tiny little nerves that say hey, there's somebody touching me here, and it feels so...so damn good, I don't want you to stop." It's getting hard to talk. Hard to think, over the euphony of joy that sounds inside my head. I want to just lie back and bathe in it, ride the waves of pleasure that roll in like thunder in an autumn storm. To be aggressively, thoughtlessly indulgent, carried into ecstasy by his able tongue like an imperious queen reclining in her lectica. But I'm supposed to be teaching him, right? That's the reason I'm doing this. The only reason. So I shut my eyes and cling desperately to some shred of coherence as the pulses of pleasure throb through my mind. "You don't want to be too predictable, want to change things up occasionally...um, faster, go faster." Both my hands now curled in his hair, tangled up amidst those smooth cornsilk strands. "And if you're clever, you might give her juuhhhhh jesus fuck." My eyes shoot open, wide and staring at the ceiling as his pursed lips drag fiercely along my inner labia, only for his powerful tongue to press forward from within, sizzling along skin that quivers with satisfaction. Some moments before I can again find words. "Um, give her just...just a little less than just she wants, tease her so she goes half-crazy wanting you, so she has to beg for you to go faster." My fingers tug at his hair, an echo coming as an order. "Faster." Once more he obeys, lapping now like a dog at the steady trickle of my nectar, and my hips jerk in little spasms back against him with each stroke of his tongue. My body burning with arousal, nipples erect and begging for attention from beneath my shirt, though I haven't the hands to spare. Thought remaining only as a hazy near-irrelevance. "At the end..." I gasp out, as it seems to rush upon me. "At the end, you just...oh, god, just want to go all out, push her over the edge...you can, um...you can..." Fuck, I can't think; the whole universe is his tongue delving into my slit, my legs crossing tightly at his back, pulling him inward. The feeling is a constant bombardment on my mind, rapture coursing through my veins, carried by the furious beating of my heart. I can't catch my breath, can't control my body, can only try to survive the tide of ecstasy that rises in me like a tsunami. "God, don't stop," my voice moans out shaky and low, the pretense of 'practice' finally torn away by the power of his passion. "Don't stop, Davey...oh, fuck, I'm going to cum...fuck, lick harder..." Awareness slicing like the blade of a knife, glittering and dangerous; it's really him down there between my legs, my brother with the goofy grin and the kind blue eyes. Somehow he's here now, his tongue buried in my pussy, playing such sweet music on the instrument of my body that my soul is set to resonate with every note. The indescribable feeling of rapture saturating me until every muscle inside draws tight and tingling, until pleasure so overfills my nerves that it spills out across my mind, until it seems almost that I can hear the thunderous chords of delight that roil up through my body. Sensual energy so crowded into me that I fear I might burst, or break to pieces, shattering with a touch into a million tiny shards... Then David's lips close again upon the stiffness of my clit, his tongue stroking in slow circles, and my mouth stretches wide in a silent scream of release as his teeth nip down in a tiny, loving bite upon that swollen, sensitive nub. Orgasm striking like a dam burst, flooding through me with twitching muscles and wide, staring eyes, long waves of pleasure so deep it forces the air from my lungs, leaves me shivering with delight. Yet even in the midst of this release, I feel a need as urgent as that just broken. "Come up here," a breathy gasp, my voice hardly more controlled than my body. "Now, please, David..." I'm only barely aware of him moving, stumbling quickly up to me, but when his handsome face mercifully appears in my vision I lurch madly upward, throwing my hands around his neck as I kiss him with a ravenous hunger. His mouth, his lips, so sweet...I can taste myself on him, but I don't care. Drawn to him like a fish to its spawning grounds, a terrible, inexorable need. The two of us tumble down upon the hay, rough ends scratching at my bare legs, but all I know are his lips sliding against mine, his body tightly pressed against me as the rolling tides of rapture within me gradually begin to quiet. David. Beside me, beneath me, atop me. The depth of the affection for him which fills me at this moment is beyond words, beyond belief - it could reach from the peak of heaven to the lowest pits of hell. It aches in my heart, a love so great and so strong that it carries a hurt as powerful as its joy. David. His name a whisper in my mind, all I can conceive in this timeless expanse, until I'm speaking it silently with lips still pressed and sliding against his mouth. David. Eventually, the world begins to reassert itself around me, seconds ticking by again as the shudders of satisfaction which wrack my body recede into stillness, as I begin to feel a trace of self-conscious silliness at the intensity of emotion which just gripped me. A slowing of my frenzied kisses, laying on top of him, until I'm just planting the occasional soft peck haphazardly on his face. Quiet, giddy laughter, drunk with afterglow, as my lips touch lightly on his forehead, his cheek, his nose, his eye...open now, smiling up at me, and god I love that gentle smile, I love that adorable face. I love the warmth of his body under me and his hands rising up to link across the small of my back. I feel so good right now, so whole, sleepy and sexy, cherished in his arms. My cheek slides down next to him, and I whisper in his ear like I'm sharing a secret. "You're pretty good at that, Davey." My words sparkling with the joy that flows in my veins. "Thanks," he murmurs back bashfully, and I laugh again, a faint mist of happy tears in my eyes at his simple, earnest humility. I can feel his erection through his jeans, a firmness on my bare thigh, but I know he won't say a thing about it. Won't ask any recompense for the attentions he's just given me. He'll just suffer in silence, like he did last night...if I leave it up to him. It doesn't seem right. I shouldn't let him. "Hey," another whisper, merriment gleaming in my smile as I lift myself up off his chest. Looking down fondly at his innocent features, nursing the electric thrill that sparks in my heart as I do. "Have you ever gotten a blowjob?" My lips quirking with mischief as I speak the question. Fair's fair, after all. If I can do for him... But my features fall as he sheepishly nods. "Yeah, um. From Sarah, once, and...kinda, from April. Not all the way, you know, but just for a little while..." Trailing off as he notices my upset, averted eyes. Jealous anger stabbing somewhere close to my heart. Stupid; I mean, I have no reason to be angry, no reason even to be surprised, but...I guess this is what those guys feel when they hear about former lovers. Wanting him to be mine alone, not to have to share a claim even to the memories of private moments. To be the only one he's ever had... Oh, grow up. I push a smirk back onto my lips, leaning down for one more quick and forceful kiss. "Then I'll just have to give you a better one." Slipping down beside him, my hand draws down over his chest, pausing every second or two to snap open the fasteners of his jacket. Revealing the plain white shirt beneath, tight against his body. And lower still, my palm resting on his fly, and on the warm bulge beneath it. My fingers gently squeezing, delighting in the firmness of resistance, in the little pulse of growth that I think I can feel even through that thick fabric... "Sam." He speaks, and I look back into eyes uncertain and softly solicitous. "Are you sure you want to...?" Silence. There's a shiver of reason in the back of my mind, a tenebrous stench of worries and second thoughts, ugly and painful. A quiet voice, shrill and appalled, demanding explanations for what I've done. Horrified at my abandon. I don't want to face it, not right now; I shove it away, brick it up behind the moment's warmer pleasures. "Really shouldn't ask a girl things like that, Davey." A smile, low and quixotic, touched upon my lips. "Doesn't really help you out at all, you know?" "Maybe." Faint agreement, quiet. His breathing is shallow, and I can hear it catch as my fingers twist to undo the button of his fly. His body held stiff and still as I pull downward on the zipper, so slowly that its release is not the usual rasp but a long series of distinct clicks. A seductive delight in my breast as I look up again into his eyes, as he watches me with hunger only half-concealed. Awareness of my body, still nude below the waist; I shift over so I'm kneeling with his muscular thigh between my legs, one knee barely touched beneath his groin, and when I move my hips the denim of his jeans rubs roughly at my naked, soaking slit. Pleasure stirring inside me again, kindling fed to the furnace between my legs. Not that it matters so much, now. He's the point; I want this to be for him, as good as I can make it. Under my hands the top of his jeans are carefully unfolded, neatly unwrapped like one of his christmas presents - rather than torn messily open like one of mine. Those charming white briefs again beneath, arched and bulging with their contents, and a pink, fleshy tip just protruding above the waistband, too much to be entirely contained. Gingerly, my fingers reach and catch upon the elastic band, pulling it in a smooth, decisive motion swiftly downwards to bunch up below his balls. A throaty sound of guilty laughter escaping my lips as his cock springs forth proudly from confinement, bobbling lightly curved, its tip now hovering in the air half an inch above his waist. Not even fully erect, not yet - but I can see it bounce barely upward with his every heartbeat as his blood strives to fill it. "God," a murmur, with my fingernails touched at the top of his legs. "It really is gorgeous." David blushes modestly, but gives no other answer, and I bite softly at my lip, squirming atop his thigh. Feeling for myself now a trace of his earlier hesitation - this is a hurdle before me, a landmark, the first time directly touching his manhood. I'm not quite ready for the jump. Yet. My gaze flits back up to his, mischief painted on my smile. "Jerk it for me. Just a little." He obeys without question, without even his usual pause for confidence. His big hand rising from the hay to close around his cock, stroking slowly back and forth, just a foot from my wide, staring eyes. The shaft rising and falling hypnotically with his motions, like a ship upon the sea; it stiffens further in his grasp, losing the little droop at the end as it stretches taller. And a liquid shriek of delight from my pussy as I notice the glittering tear of pre-cum beading at his tip. Turned on again, despite my recent satiation; my thighs clench firmly around his, and I can feel my arousal drip out slowly onto his leg. "That's good." A breathless whisper to wave away his hand, letting his organ to stand alone again, jutting up near-horizontal above his pelvis. Tightness in my throat, and a thrill in my heartbeat as I bring my fingers from the side of his hip and bring them tentatively near; my nails brush briefly against him, and I can hear David's quiet inhalation, shocked with pleasure. A sparkle of empathic satisfaction sounding in my breast. Silly of me. Silly to hang back, to hesitate; like walking slowly into cold water, it only extends the ache of adjustment. Better just to dive in. With that thought, my hand slips forward, fingers curling firmly at the middle of his cock, and...fuck, it's hot. I mean, of course it is, they always are, but his especially...feels like I'm holding an iron bar that's been left in a fire, heated 'til it's glowing. Like at any moment it could melt through the thin layer of flesh that surrounds it and scorch my hand. God, this is really real, my brother's cock so hard and hot against my palm. So thick I have to tightly squeeze just to get my thumb and index finger to touch, and my ears prick to the soft hiss of almost pain from David as I do. I can feel his pulse running through, rapid and strong in the big central vein that runs jaggedly up the side of his dick. Fully erect now, or close to it; the head blushes at me in a pink so deep it's almost red, sticking up bare and free, with his foreskin bunched down around the bottom like my turtleneck sweater. I play at it with my thumb, experimentally, pushing it to stretch up again to the tip, smearing a shining layer of his pre-cum messily across the head. "That feels so nice..." I glance up from my efforts to see him lifted halfway up on his elbows, watching me with a dazzled and adoring gaze. Lips parted, as he breathes swift and shallow. "I haven't done anything yet." A sly grin, and then bossily, "Lie back down, though. Close your eyes. I want you to just...feel this." Cradling his cock in my right hand as he follows my instructions, tiny strokes up and down, while with two fingers on my left I gently rub right at the glans, like I'm petting the head of some affectionate little animal. Maybe I am. And leaning in close, lifting him up near vertical...the smell of his manhood suffuses my senses, a rich and heavy musk, think and pungent. I haven't decided yet exactly what I'm going to do, how I'm going to start, but as my lips hover near his tip, so close that I can feel on them the heat which radiates from his body, the answer suggests itself with a clarity and a rightness I could not deny. The pleasured gasp that issues from David's throat is my first reward as my pursed lips make their first contact with his cock. A soft kiss upon the very head, saliva and pre-cum mingling thick and viscous. The second is the deep, answering hum of arousal that vibrates down beneath my belly, pushes my hips to grind slowly against his leg. Primal satisfaction echoing along my nerves. My hand wrapped delicately, lovingly around his organ as I continue the kiss, the tip of my tongue sneaking out to further wet my lips, and with a touch the salty, faintly acrid taste of him flows and billows into my consciousness like cream in my morning coffee. Desire thrills along my spine; it's an effort just to keep things slow as I continue. Allowing my lips to part just the slightest fraction, the tip of his cock to push barely into my mouth, bathing slowly the smooth, hot flesh with the tip of my tongue. My saliva spread around, slowly oozing out at the corners of my mouth around the tip. And then, an ever-so-gradual, almost teasing descent, permitting gravity bit by bit to lower my head upon him. Feeling his thickness rise and rise inside my mouth. Wet, as it slides inside...careful, so careful...I wash him with my tongue, first all over, but as his maleness fills me, as the scent of it crowds my nose, I can only lap softly as its underside, without enough room even to get my tongue around. Pushing deeper still, my jaw forced wider to accept him...taking him into me...