Giggling Into the Pillow Page 5

  I gently took the brush away and began brushing her hair myself, letting one hand caress her neck and shoulders while I groomed with the other. “It's finally getting cooler, I thought I'd take a walk before the mosquitoes realize it.” Beautiful hair. I've never met a woman yet who could resist having her hair brushed or shampooed; Nicole's eyelids were drooping already. “Are you as'eep?” I asked.

  “Mmmm hmm.”

  “Should I stop?”

  “MM mmmm.”

  I started using long strokes from the crown of her head to the ends of her hair somewhere by her waist. As her eyes closed and her chin rose I let my other hand stroke her face and throat, always changing direction just short of her cleavage. This was my way of finding out what her plans were for the evening. If she was sleepy she could enjoy my ministrations in a loving, tender way and then hold me for a bit before we both dozed off. Or, she could… Without opening her eyes she placed her hand over mine and squeezed gently, a little hug, before drawing it down into her nightgown. I love her breasts. Wonderfully round and full, they draw my touch like ripe fruit to a starving man. I roamed over their surfaces, letting just my fingertips graze her skin. On a down stroke I dropped the brush from my other hand and continued to stroke her, both of us luxuriating in the feel of her silky hair slipping through my fingers. She leaned backwards as I supported the back of her head so that she ended up lying in my arms. We work well together without really thinking about it, much like longtime dance partners but with more moaning.

  “Sir, your hand appears to be invading my person,” she informed me.

  “My most sincere apologies. I never know what my right hand is doing.”

  “Well, right now it's… ooh… stubbornly avoiding my nipple.”

  “I understand you chicks are sensitive there, I thought I'd show some consideration before I slip you the weasel.”

  “You sweet talker, you.” She slid her hand beneath my shorts and took firm possession of her play-toy.

  “Madam, please! Have a care!”

  “Got one. A big'un, too, don't you think?”

  “I never thought so… ah…, but who am I to… oh, god… fly in the face of public opin… ah!” The dratted wench knows 3 or 4 good strokes can drop my I. Q. 30 points in seconds and she always likes trying to keep a conversation going just to see how long I can answer coherently. I silently vowed cruel revenge and decided to up the ante by suddenly thrusting my hand further down the top of her nightgown and running my rigid middle finger between her legs, resting it on the furry ridges there. She gave an indescribable squeak and eased her thighs slightly, just enough for my hand to move about, so it did. I gently stroked the soft rises and warm valleys as we moved into a familiar race. Who would break first? Place your bets! She took an early lead by letting the head of my cock slip in and out of her hand as she stroked but I closed the gap by opening hers, surrounding her clit with my first two fingers and stroking back and forth. Under normal circumstances — a better track, a lighter jockey — I could have taken it, but the position we were in meant that as she stroked downwards my penis continued to rub up against her wrist and arm and the movements crushed her wonderfully cushy tits around my arm while I was hampered by her nightgown from doing anything really compelling. Obviously something had to be done.

  “Ha, wench!” I cried as I twisted away (carefully), sprang to my knees and whipped her nightgown over her head, holding it there with one hand. Her body was revealed to me from the waist down and I spent a few seconds admiring it. Smooth, slightly rounded belly, a gentle slope to a light brown patch surrounding full, pink lips. And wildly kicking legs, of course. Ignoring her muffled cries of indignation I managed to get past her defenses and place my hand over her sex. The heat of it surprised me, as it always does, and I could feel her heartbeat against the heel of my hand. Applying a bit of pressure I moved my palm in large circles while my fingers probed and tickled. It was a bit of a struggle holding her in place like that but it was working: my hand was decidedly slick and she was pushing up to meet it on the upswing. I leaped over her leg and, just as she yanked the nightgown away from her face, I thrust into her in one long, fast rush, pushing my pubic bone against hers and grinding.

  I was just congratulating myself on having gained the upper hand when she gazed up lovingly into my eyes, smiled an angel smile and, after abruptly locking her legs together around the small of my back, began hunching against me in a very unladylike and remarkably effective manner. I held myself perfectly still in an effort to withstand her assault and I’m certain that my immobility and iron will were all that enabled me to last the entire sixty seconds. She milked me to a pulsating orgasm made all the more powerful by her clasping pussy and the feel of her strong thighs working back and forth. Once I had finally stopped making monkey noises she released her hold and let me relax. I rose up to slide out of her and she breathed a sweet sigh of lust at the sensation, twisting in obvious arousal. I let my hands trail down her body, following her curves as she undulated underneath me. Sitting back on my heels, I brought my hands to rest framing her pussy, spreading it slightly. Her own hands crept slowly towards her breasts as she kept her eyes on me, waiting.

  I sat there for a full minute, enjoying her, letting my thumbs meet at the bottom of her slit and moving them up and down through the heat with a maddeningly gentle touch. Finally I slid two fingers of my left hand into her and mashed her clit beneath my right thumb. She closed her eyes in rapture (and a bit of disappointment? ) and squeezed her tits together as I helped her to her own shuddering release. When the last bits had been toweled dry and we were snuggled under the blankets I held her close while she drifted quickly off to her usual dead-to-the-world slumber. I was still awake, hours later, when I got up to go to work.

  Mondays are overrated. There's absolutely no reason you can't be every bit as miserable at work on even a Thursday if you put your mind to it, especially if your best friend pitches in to help.

  I had just opened the shop and was still turning the little “We're Open!” sign over when Clary burst in, stomped over to me and whipped her finger up to accuse my nose. “What the HELL is WRONG with you?”

  “My shoulder aches a bit when it rains, but I never…”

  Her finger never wavered. “I've known you for 5 years, buddy boy, and I never DREAMED you would treat my sister this way. I never dreamed you would treat ANY woman this way!”

  “Could you give me my copy of the script? I'm not sure what the problem is.” I knew all right, I just wasn't sure what she knew. Never admit to anything before you know what the crime is. No sense getting arrested for murder when they're just asking you about littering.

  Mrs. Bentworth, a sweet silver-haired lady and one of my regulars, came through the door holding her purse in both hands and gave me a puzzled smile. Clary continued to glare at me. “Why the HELL won't you go DOWN on your own WIFE? What, are you afraid the BIG BAD PUSSY will GET you?” she yelled.

  Never losing her smile, Mrs. Bentworth performed a smart about-face and quickly made her way back outside.

  I backed away from the finger and sat down on a stack of Tom Clancy books. “Can we talk about this some other time?”

  “NO! Give it up, Vince. The taste? The SMELL? Some psychological BULLSHIT about performing a submissive act and undermining your essential MASCULINITY? Because if that's it then it's not working, cuz I've never noticed much masculinity coming from your direction…”

  Other customers were starting to come in, either for books or the free entertainment. “Look, meet me for lunch and we can talk then, all right? Nothing's going to change in four hours.” She didn't respond right away, and then she nodded once and left without another word. I breathed a sigh of relief and regret before standing back up, straightening the stack and heading behind the counter. An elderly gentleman stepped up.

  Deep breath. “Can I help you, sir?” I asked.

  “So why won't you go down on her? You some kinda fag?”

 
Unfortunately, when you work in a mall, lunch usually means the Food Court. Privacy was not an essential feature in its design, although apparently uncomfortable seats and colors not found in nature were. Clary got away from her shop in time to meet me in front of Chick-Fil-A. Clarisse is Nicole's sister. Darker blonde hair, pixie nose, evil mind. I met her first, as luck would have it, but as she was paired off with a friend of mine at the time we settled into buddihood. We went through some harrowing times together, watching each other's lovers come and go with accompanying sarcastic comments until the day her sister came home from school overseas and was introduced to me by her giggling, whipped-cream-covered sibling (we had been battling). Clary worked in the terribly trendy lotions shop across the way, a horrible waste of her talents but I'm hardly one to talk and at least the constant aromatherapy seemed to help calm her down. By the time she joined me she was able to converse in a rational manner.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I sipped my tea slowly. “I don't know.”

  “Oh, no, I need a better answer than that.”

  “I said I don't know. Doesn't mean I've never thought about it, I've thought about it a lot, I just don't know.” I sat back and looked at the fountain in the middle of the court. “For some reason, whenever I start to do that I get all nervous.”

  “Nervous.”

  “Yeah. My stomach gets all fluttery and I'm afraid I'll vomit.”

  “Vomit.”

  “Look, it's not that I think it's wrong or unnatural or anything, or even that I don't want to do it, and I know it's not really fair since she'll go down on me without a qualm, or not much of one anyway, unless she's been…”

  Clary grabbed my chin and swiveled my head around to face her. “You're babbling.”

  “Sorry.”

  She sat back and looked at me, either in sympathy or scorn. “Have you ever gone down on a woman?”

  “No.”

  “Never even tried?”

  “No.”

  “Were you, like, frightened by a taco or something when you were young?”

  I stood up, faster than I meant to. “Dammit, this isn't easy for me.”

  She stood up herself and touched me on the arm. “I'm sorry, it's just so hard for me to accept. I mean,” she said as we both sat back down. “You're one of the nicest guys I ever knew. Real considerate, easy to talk to, y'know. If Nicci hadn't grabbed you I might've eventually, although I'd have gotten you some better clothes. And I know you're not shy, and you’re a major horndog, so I always assumed that you, you know, munched the muffin. What's holding you back?”

  I sat still for a few long minutes before I answered. “I think… I think I'm afraid I won't be able to do it right.”

  “You mean like…”

  “Wait, let me finish. Touching is easy, both of you are fumbling around down there. And sex isn’t too tough to figure out; you stick this in there and repeat. And I don’t want to sound like I don’t appreciate it, but giving a blowjob is a no-brainer. Stick it in your mouth and most guys won’t notice what you’re doing with it, they’re just so happy it’s there in the first place. I think that I'm afraid that I'll get down there and not know what to know and feel like a fool, and disappoint her. I mean, when we started fu… I can't talk to you about this, you're her sister for God's sake.”

  “And I'm your best friend and we used to talk about this stuff before so shut up and keep talking. Look, you know what to do with your hands, right?” I nodded. “So do that with your tongue. Use your hands a lot, pay attention to what she likes, I just can't believe I have to tell you this. You've been together since high school, you've been in each other's pants every time you turn around, how could you not know…” She saw the mournful look on my face and subsided. “All right. We can fix this.”

  “’We’?”

  “Yup, 'we'. No sister of mine is going to be deprived if I can help it. She still have her classes on Thursdays? Good, I'll be over around seven. Don't look at me like that, Deep Throat, this'll be a training mission. My pants stay on.”

  Some interesting thoughts went through my mind as I tried to concentrate on business. I've never been unfaithful to Nicole, never really wanted to be, and I've always thought of Clary as a buddy. Okay, a buddy with a nice ass, granted, but I never thought of her sexually, honest. Not more than once or twice. But now while my wife was away she was coming over to my house for the sole purpose of talking about sex. I wouldn't be human if I didn't entertain a few stray fantasies.

  Boy, was I human.

  By 7:20 I was still trying to decide whether aftershave would be pushing it, especially when I knew nothing would happen but I wanted to be sweet-smelling if it did, when she barged in carrying two huge bags. She brushed past me and dropped them on the kitchen counter while I went to close the doors before the cats made a break for it. When I looked back at her, any niggling thoughts I may have had about the evening's activities shriveled and died; she was digging into one of the bags with the same expression I remembered from the night she decided to pierce her own nipple, that “this-is-going-to-be-great-wait-til-you-see-what-I'm-going-to-do-with-YOU” look that I'm sure was the first thing Frankenstein's monster ever saw. I recognized the Hustler right off, but I wasn't sure about the fist-sized package she produced. “Um, what are you doing?” I asked.

  She kept digging and said, “Props. Gotta get you comfortable with the little critter before you can kiss it.”

  “I'm very comfortable with the organ in question. Are you paying me back for that avocado thing?”

  “As you long as you think of it as an 'organ', you still need help. And no, my vengeance for that travesty will be drawn out and terrible.” She started yanking at the package wrapping.

  “Gives me something to live for. Give me that,” I said, taking the package away and easily removing the brown paper. It was a sex aid, half a pound of polyvinyl cunningly shaped into a familiar shape, with a reservoir. The package promised Real Hair and The Time of My Life. I stared at it stupidly, then looked up at her beaming face. “You bought me a vagina?”

  “Everyone should have one,” she agreed happily. “It's a ‘Pocket Pud’. If you can't practice on the real thing, we'll run you through the simulator.”

  “I'm afraid to ask what's in the other bag.”

  “Tacos. In case I get hungry, too.”

  We repaired to the bedroom and sprawled on the bed, surrounded by her gear. I stalled by flipping through the Hustler. “Why do they insist on showing nude women on the beach, with sand all over their butts? I grew up near a beach, I can tell you there's nothing in the world more uncomfortable than rubbing frantically against someone covered in beach sand, and I'm reliably informed it's a bitch to get out of you.”

  She grabbed it away from me and opened it to the centerfold. “First off, I want you to understand that nothing you can do will bother Nicci. She will be pleased and flattered and honored that you are willing to fight your fears and face the fur, and the most inconsequential, timid little lick you can offer will be orgasmic to her because she loves you, you asshole. But,” she continued confidently, “I'm going to teach you how to do it proper.” She picked up a Magic Marker and began drawing game plans on the centerfold. “Okay, this is the target in question. Do you jump at it, howling?”

  “Hell no, I'd get the staple stuck in my teeth!”

  “Actually there are times of passion when you do just that,” she said, ignoring me. ““Quickies, while you’re driving, that sort of thing. But for the most part you need to sneak up on it. It’s not a dick, it doesn’t like being yanked on right away. Use anticipation to get her going before you even get near it, like letting your car warm up first on cold days.” She pointed out the vulva and drew little arrows towards the inner thighs. “Stroke her here and here, and keep your hands moving all the time. Light touches are usually best, they get the goosebumps going. You can let the back of your hand or your knuckles brush against her puss but don't try anything funn
y yet. When she starts moving her hips back and forth it's time to go for the groceries, but go down there real slow. Maintain eye contact as you do, it's killer. When you get close, breathe on it first, soft and hot.”“

  I was starting to experience some discomfort lying there, but I listened carefully, trying to ignore the gloss that was making her lips sparkle in the lamplight, lamplight and the way her shirt gapped open to reveal hints of soft, rounded flesh.

  Quickly sketching in some up and down arrows, she turned the centerfold into a winning play. “Lick up and down the lips on the outside, until they start to open up. Dart your tongue between the lips every now and then, but do it sparingly at first, then more as she gets hotter.”

  “So far this sounds like what I do to her anyway,” I said, trying to be a good student. Damn, this bed was lumpy.

  She beamed at me. “There you go, exactly. Use your fingers, too. Once she starts moving her hips back and forth, it means she wants you to lick harder and closer to her clit, that’s this little part here.”

  “I know where it is, thank you.”

  “Just checking. Lick and suck around the top of it but don’t lick towards the bottom ‘til she’s ready. That’ll be when she’s moving her hips like a pop star trying to get under your tongue. You know how the head of your dick gets all sensitive and shit after you come? Her clit starts out that way, so go easy. Here, try this.” She offered the Pocket Pud. I looked it hesitantly. “What, should I rub it with tuna fish or something? Try it.”

  I held it up to my mouth but the situation was just impossible. Did she really expect me to…? Looking up I finally noticed the suppressed laughter in her eyes and so I bit the thing, hard, and shook it like a terrier with a sock. She burst out laughing and rolled on the bed, whooping. I added appropriate growling noises and her hilarity redoubled, turning into a long and painful shared belly laugh. At times our plastic friend became a hairpiece, an armpit, an especially wide grin and a hand puppet. She grabbed it away from me and gave it a few overly sensuous licks herself, to my appreciative hoots. Then, eyes shining, she placed it between her legs, held it in place and leaned back.