Chapter 5: Sunday Morning

The first thing I recall as I became conscious was two fingers gently poking my shoulder, and a voice that seemed familiar saying, “Dave – Dave – are you awake?”

“Yeah ... sort of.”

“Dave, I want you to fuck my asshole!”

I guess Jen’s coming out of that ‘shy’ phase.

I was already in the process of developing a morning woody, and feeling Jen’s warmth next to me pretty much completed the job. I was awake and conscious enough now that I started to roll over on my back to reach for the cream and the oil, but Jen quickly blurted, “Don’t worry – I already smeared gobs o’ cream in me!”

So I rolled back toward her and positioned my cock against her anus – she’d pulled her knees way up, with her butt sticking out to make sure I got a good angle on her. And, sure enough, the tip of my cock encountered a big, cold glob of the hemorrhoid cream. It felt like she had added some of the coconut oil, too, for good measure.

In addition to the cream and oil, it seemed like she might have been doing a little finger work to loosen up the tight little ring, and with just a slight push, the head of my cock was inside her. I was going to wait a little, to give her time to adjust to the intrusion, but what I heard was, “Don’t stop – give it to me – I’ve been waiting!”

So on my first, careful push, I was almost all the way in her, and on the second stroke, I had practically reached the point where the rectum takes a bend into the colon (I must have remembered that from something in high school biology).

And Jen? Jen just pushed back against me, working to try and get as much of me inside her – inside her asshole − as possible. How was it feeling to her?

“Oh, god, Dave, that’s incredible. Don’t stop moving!”

I didn’t know how she was able to take so much of this, so soon, but I wasn’t going to debate her judgement. I kept moving.

And something wonderful happened – for me: I for once stopped worrying about protecting Jen and making sure nothing unpleasant happened to her, and instead, I simply got lost in the sensations of sliding back and forth, in and out, in that tight channel that is her ass.

I wasn’t so lost in my own satisfaction that I totally forgot about Jen. Like the previous time, I reached around her and placed my free hand between her legs, but before I could begin rubbing her clit and her pussy, she took my hand and pulled it from between her legs and onto her breast.

“I don’t need it this time – this is for you, Dave.”

I guess I’d just been given the go-ahead to “take my pleasure” with Jen’s ass. She sounded like she knew what she wanted, so I just let loose. I thought that yesterday evening might be the best ass-fuck of my life. Well, this is definitely be best ass-fuck of my life! I just concentrated on “taking my pleasure,” but in the process, I noticed that Jen seemed to be getting pleasure in her own way. She actually seemed to be writhing on my cock, swiveling her hips whenever I pulled out, trying to stretch and stimulate her asshole with my cock, and swiveling her hips when I was all the way in her, trying to get as much penetration and inside contact as she possibly could.

Then I felt the inevitable coming. “Jen – Jen, honey, I’m gonna cum soon. Is that OK?”

“Go ahead – so am I!”

She was going to cum? But I hadn’t touched her ... I mean, touched her there. How could... ?”

But Jen was bucking and moaning and twisting on my cock, so I wasn’t going to argue with her, and, in fact, was in no condition to argue with her. Feeling that I had only a few seconds left, I just let myself go and, in fact, I kind of went crazy on her – on her velvet asshole – until I couldn’t control it any more –didn’t even try – and just let my first morning cum, after a nighttime of rest, shoot out of my cock and into that hot, wet, grasping ass.

And so did she. The moment I let go, Jen arched her back (as much as she could without pulling me out of her), and with a drawn-out wail of “U-U-N-N-N-N-N-H-H-H-H-H-H... , “ she went rigid there in my arms. I guess it was an orgasm, but not like anything else I’ve ever witnessed. My only hope was that whatever it was, it was a good feeling for her.

We lay there, unmoving, and I don’t know whether she had lost consciousness or was just spaced-out, but anyway, neither of us moved or said anything.

Finally, I had to do something. “Jen, Honey ... are you OK?”

“Mmmmm.”

I’d gotten my answer, so I didn’t say anything more.

Then, “I feel a little beaten-up inside, but it’s kind of a good ‘beaten-up,’ like how you feel after exercising real hard. ‘Cept that all the achy muscles are inside. I think I’ll be fine. How ‘bout you. You must have pumped several gallons of your stuff inside of me. Do you think you’ll have anything left for the rest of the day? Or should we just write today off and check into a convalescent home?”

After all that we had just done, this amazing girl – this amazing young woman – was making jokes and teasing and already thinking about the next sex of the day. How did I get this fortunate?

So we continued lying there, coming down, resting, recovering some initiative. I think I might even have fallen asleep for a short time – Jen, too – but we finally decided that we ought to get up. Or, at least, we realized that we were hungry after all that “exercise.”

But first, I thought, maybe we ought to get these sheets, which were doubtless a mess after this morning’s rather messy session of anal sex, off the bed and into the laundry. But when I mentioned it to Jen, she said, “Not to worry.” She held up the sheets so I could see. She had anticipated just such a situation, and there, right where we – and by we, I mean our hips and my juice-covered cock and her leaky asshole – had been positioned, Jen had placed a half-folded pillow case.

She smiled, proud that I was pleased with her initiative. “There – just one pillow slip to wash!” Once again, she has amazed and delighted me.

To the bathroom, a quick rinse in the shower – together, drying each other, brushing teeth – together. We hastily threw on some clothes – hastily, because neither of us really wanted to put on clothes – and headed to the kitchen.

I would have been delighted if Jen made her scrambled eggs again, like she did yesterday morning. She, however, was not going to let us fall into a rut.

“How about French toast?”

“Sounds perfect. What should I do?” [Read What am I going to be allowed to do in my own kitchen?]

“Let’s see. Bread, eggs, milk, vanilla, cinnamon. Can you reach the van... − oh, wait, it’s in front, I can reach it...”

So once again, I am relegated to the dual roles of juice-pourer and master kaffeemeister (actually, that’s redundant, isn’t it?)

As usual, Jen made the French toast in her own way. Two eggs, of course. Milk, vanilla, cinnamon, whisked together in a bowl. But no wimpy dip or swipe of the bread through the mixture. Instead, Jen immersed each bread slice in the mix, making sure it was completely saturated, using the spatula to rescue each sodden, fragile slice and transfer it to the sizzling skillet.

It was a good thing I’d gotten a head start on the coffee, because Jen was finished with the French toast in no time flat.

She cut the pieces diagonally and placed them artfully on the dishes. “Powdered sugar?”

“Nahh. How about some real maple syrup?”

The French toast was like none I’ve ever tasted before. It was like a fried custard, just barely held together by the bread. The cinnamon, the vanilla, all the components were just perfect.

She’s doing this on purpose, you know.

We cleaned the table and washed dishes and talked about calling her mom, but just as we finished laying out the dishes on a towel to dry, her phone rang. Jen’s hands were still wet and soapy, so when the phone announced that it was Karen, Jen asked me to answer.

“Hey, Karen, we’re just finishing the breakfast dishes and were about to call you.”

Karen replied, “You must be some kind of Svengali – lotsa luck with me trying to get her to do the dishes.”

“Well, I think she’s in ‘good guest’ mode.”

I looked over at Jen, who stuck her tongue out at me. Several years older and she might have given me the finger.

“You two still having a good time?”

“Amazingly good, Karen. She’s the best company I’ve had in a very long time.”

“I bet.”

What did she mean by “I bet?”

“Are you two going to be watching any more of those movies I’ve been hearing about?”

Uh-oh. What movies, and what exactly have you been hearing about them?

Instead, I blithely replied, “Don’t worry. We’ll manage to keep busy.” And because of the further suggestive possibilities of that remark, and in desperate need of saying something that made me sound mature and responsible (and less like a pedophile), I added, “I have a homework check planned for right after we hang up.”

“Good idea. Jen’s actually pretty good about that, but she’s not above taking advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself.” Then, changing subjects, she said, “Dave, thank you again for being there for Jen – and me – this weekend. I don’t know what I – what we – would have done without you. I tried to call Amy, but it turns out that they’re without electricity, too, and they’re all staying at their grandmother’s house. You’re a lifesaver. The county highway department is promising they’ll have roads like ours cleared by tomorrow, and they’re usually pretty reliable about things like that, but they’re still not saying when tomorrow.”

Then, in the kind of confidential tone people usually reserve for serious matters, she said, “Dave, you know that Jen is special...”

I replied that I’ve known that for years now.

“ ... so take good care – be good to her, Dave. I know you will.”

Once again, I wasn’t quite sure just what she was telling me, so I said, simply, “I will, Karen.” Then added, “But now, I think your daughter’s fevered brain is imagining all kinds of conspiracies that you and I are plotting against her, so I’ll turn the phone over to her. ‘Bye, Karen.”

I handed Jen’s phone over to her, and as my thanks, I got another extended tongue.

“Hi, Mom – are ya’ having a good time?”

“Doesn’t sound too exciting. We’re having lots of fun, doing lots of little things. You know about the movies, and we read – Dave’s got lots of neat magazines and travel books.”

She was talking to her mom in an enthusiastic rush now. “Yes, and we’ll probably start a small load of laundry − my clothes, and maybe some other stuff” (she smiled and winked at me about the “other stuff”) “and I’m gonna do my math while the laundry’s going.”

“Oh, and Dave’s letting me cook for him, isn’t that great? I did my spaghetti last night. Only we didn’t use spaghetti – it was some corkscrew-y kind of pasta called ... CAV-A-TAP-EE. We’ll have to get some. And this morning, I made French toast, and I’ve got an idea for tonight, but I haven’t told Dave,” smiling at me again.”

“Yeah, he loves it. Or at least he’s sweet enough to act like he does.” Then she surprised me by going off-script. “Can we have Dave over for dinner next weekend? I’d love to have him over. I could cook for both of you.”

“I will, Mom. Love you. Don’t forget to come home.”

After she disconnected the call and put down her phone, I asked, “So, ... things are still good with your mom?” I tried to manage a tone of voice that could have meant, “Is your mom doing OK?”, or it could mean “Is your mom still OK with – with you and me?”

Jen, as I’m learning, was quick to understand both implications. “Yes. Everything’s good.”

So, as promised, we gathered up the outfit that Jen had been wearing, along with some other stuff, like the pillowcase we had anally baptized earlier that morning, and took them to the washer. Selected the gentle cycle, pushed the buttons, and went upstairs so Jen could fulfill her promise to finish her math homework. It was all paper-and-pencil problems, so she didn’t need the computer. Instead, she chose to work at the dining room table.

So while the washer and dryer were going, Jen sat at the dining table, doing her math, and I sat on the couch, working my way through a stack of magazines that had been accumulating for three weeks.

After a while, Jen came over and stood beside me to show me something about her homework.

I don’t know what possessed me at that moment, but I laid down the magazine I was reading and put my arms around her waist and held her to me.

She quietly put her arms around my head and rested her cheek on my hair. We didn’t say anything for a while. Then she said,

“I love you, too, Dave.”

Love?

Too??

Too late. She knew.

“Dave?”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking. I really want to learn how to do sex, so could we maybe look at some more videos?”

“Sure. Anything in particular.”

She replied, kind of vaguely, “I was thinking – may that first one we saw, with the woman and the two men?”

Oh, yeah, you mean the one with the sexy young woman with the seemingly unquenchable need for genuinely hardcore sex – like, say, lots of piss and anal and DP, and the occasional choke or slap?

“I think so. All we have to do is find it again – we probably can.”

A few clicks, and we found another version – slightly longer than the first – of the girl who had so captured Jen’s attention. While Jen seemed to scrutinize virtually every aspect of this girl’s performance, she appeared to concentrate on the scenes where the girl was getting peed on, and how she acted. I felt more questions coming.

“Why are they peeing on her?”

“Well, I guess the real reason is that person producing the video has said that that’s something they’re supposed to do in this video. But why the men are doing it – and why the girl is taking it and seems to be liking it so much – I’d just have to guess.

“The men are doing it – in addition to the fact that they’ve been told they’re supposed to – is that seeing a woman who likes to be peed on is exciting to them, maybe because it’s so nasty and people aren’t supposed to do it, and especially, because people aren’t supposed to actually like it.

“And maybe those are some of the reasons that the girl does it – it’s nasty and ‘forbidden,’ and that just makes it more exciting. And maybe the warm pee feels good on her, and that’s why she spreads it over her skin.”

“But how about when they pee in her mouth? I mean, it looks like she’s really drinking some of it.”

“Same reason, probably. It probably doesn’t taste good, ‘though it might not taste too bad if they drank lots of water and haven’t been holding it too long – it might be almost like water. But I think the reason is still that it’s nasty, and that’s exciting, and she knows that doing nasty things like this turns on people who are watching it.”

She thought for a moment, like she was debating whether to ask a question. Finally,

“Does it turn you on, Dave?”

“Yes.” Then, “ Does it turn you on?”

She thought for a moment, like she hadn’t really thought through the answer to her own question.

“I guess it must, ‘cause I asked for us to come back to it. I can’t explain why, but watching it – watching her – is exciting. I even wonder if I...”

I didn’t push her to finish – it was obvious where her thoughts were headed. I stayed silent, giving her the chance to process whatever she needed to process.

“Do you think there are any other videos like that – ones where the men pee on the girl?”

“I’m pretty sure there are,” and a quick search for ‘piss’ brought up multiple pages of video thumbnails.

I decided to take it gently, and I clicked on the first one that looked like one man and one woman. Jen watched it for a while. It was pretty “vanilla,” as these things go. The woman was nowhere close to being as orgiastic as the sexy young woman in the first video, and Jen asked if we could see some more.

And we progressed through a whole variety: two men peeing on one woman, then several men – sometimes as many as eight or ten – peeing on one or two women. Where there were two women, the women often rubbed the pee over each other bodies and kissed each other, exchanging any urine in their mouths.

Again, Jen asked about these.

“Well, they’re professionals who are getting paid to make these videos and they don’t mind it. Some of ‘em might even like it, or just get into it once it’s started.”

“Oh...”

Then we found something different. This one featured a guy – pretty good looking, maybe you’d even describe him as “attractive” – and three attractive young women – a blond, a brunette, and a raven-haired beauty (thank you very much!) – took turns peeing on him. Sometimes they put their pussies right over his mouth and peed directly into his mouth; he seemed to be swallowing a lot of it.

Of course, this one aroused Jen’s curiosity.

“Is he just doing it to get paid, too?”

“I’m pretty sure this is a professional video, so, yes, he’s probably getting paid. But it also looks like he likes it.”

Three very pretty young women sharing their warm intimate bodily fluids with you? What’s not to like?

Jen seemed intrigued by this idea – that a guy would let – maybe even want – a girl to pee in his mouth.

Finally, she said “Okay.” This was my cue to go on and find another one.

And this one was perfect. It was two young couples, probably in their twenties, and it was obviously homemade, not professional. They were all good looking, but in a normal way -- no studs, no fashion models, but attractive. It started with the two women kneeling side by side in a large jacuzzi tub, smiling, giggling, feeling oh-so-naughty, and obviously excited by what was about to happen. Meanwhile the men were figuring out what to do with the camera, finally deciding that the best shots would be if one of them held it.