On the south side of my bedroom, there's a large window box, easily big enough for two friendly people to sleep or to play. The blinds allowed thin strips of late afternoon sun to lace across Martina's nude body as I traced feather-soft, random lines across the swell of her breasts, almost, but not quite touching the sensitive nipples.
"Oh, you tease, you," she murmured in slight protest, pushing her breast at my retreating finger tip.
"You ever read anything by Nancy Friday?" I asked, cupping the swell of her tit at her side.
"Yes... but sometime back. Wasn't she the one who wrote about women's fantasies?" Not to be denied long, she reached for and tweaked her own nipple, pulling it up and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger.
"The same," I replied. "Did you read the story -- or was it a recount of a fantasy? -- about the woman, a mother as I recall, who was wearing a long white dress and who went walking with her son one day?"
Now pulling on both her nipples, Martina complained, "What're we doing? Are we making love, or are we having a literary discussion?"
"Both actually. Stay with me a moment and you may see where this is going." Then pausing, I ran a light touch from her throat down between her breasts, across her abdomen and just touched the ends of her public hairs with the flat of my hand. "As I recall, this woman was walking in front of her son in the country, up a trail perhaps... "
"Oh, God, that tickles!" Martina interrupted, scrubbing her public bush with her finger nails until I grabbed her wrist, holding her gently but firmly.
"No, babes. Not yet. I know you're hungry, but let me set the pace. Surrender to this, won't you?"
Her eyes blazed for a moment and then she gave a little smile and said, "Well... okay... but I'm wet NOW."
"Just let go. Surrender to the experience and you'll be delighted." I continued, "As this woman in the long white summer dress was walking with her son, she became aware that she had to urinate."
With a huge smile, Martina squealed, "Oh goody, it's one of THOSE stories!"
Laughing, I said, "Of course. What'd you expect from someone like me. But listen up, you squirmy thing."
"Okay, okay. But first, won't you touch me just a little lower?"
"You mean... down there?" I asked with an astonished gasp. "You mean... your... your pussy?"
"Yes, Billy! My pussy. My cunt! You've hardly started this dumb story and I'm leaking and I'm itchy and I need something INSIDE me."
She attempted to push the hand I was holding into her crotch as she lifted her hips to meet herself, but I pulled her away, saying, "The woman HAD to pee. She was desperate and at the same time, it felt good, but her son was there. What should she do, do you suppose?"
Martina laughed and struggled again, trying to free her hand, and said, "Well, she should take a god damn *pee*, for cripes' sake."
"Right in front of her son?" I asked, shocked, still holding her wrist but lowering my head that I might touch her nipple with the tip of my tongue.
"Of course. Oh, shit... I don't know. How old's her son anyway?" And then, "Do that again, Billy!"
"Say 'please.' He's, oh... fifteen, sixteen. Old enough to by horny. Do what again?"
"Lick my nipple. PLEASE. Lick my nipple, please." And then, remembering the story, she asked, puzzled, "Horny? What kinda story is this, anyway? A mother and a son? And she has to pee? Is this an incest watersports story. You some kinda PRE-vert?" Martina licked her lips and rolled her eyes, indicating how shocked and morally outraged she was.
Lightly licking one, and then the other nipple, I continued, "So she just out and announces to her son -- without looking at him -- that she has to pee."
"Oh, racy, racy."
"Shut up and listen, woman. I may have to spank you at this rate," I threatened in my best oil-can Harry voice. "The son had been walking behind her for a reason. From time to time the afternoon sun shown through her dress, outlining her long legs."
With a big-eyes look of surprise, Martina asked, "You *sure* Nancy Friday wrote this?"
"Kinda. I may be buffing it up a bit, but who cares?"
"Not me, big boy. Buff away. So, what'd she do? Piss in her pants?"
"No, my little pants wetter. What she really wants to do is show her butt to her son. You see, they have the hots for each other and neither knows it. This is her way of letting him see her, get it?"
Pushing her breasts at my mouth again, she shook her head and said, "Um... I don't think so. Sounds too complicated for me."
"I'll go slow. Watch my lips."
"I'll watch em, if they're wrapped around my nipples, or better yet, on my clitty."
Talking slowly, I continued in my very best story voice, "So, she picked up her long dress and, holding it above her waist, she pulled her panties down with the other hand... "
"Facing him or away from him?"
"Which way do you want?" I asked.
"It'd be better if she faced him," she offered. "That way, she could watch him watching her. You know, make eye contact as she's taking a pee. Sounds hotter that way."
"Okay, got it," I said, again licking her nipples. "So, facing her son, watching him looking at her and pushing her panties down, she stands there a moment, her black public hair in bold contrast to her pale skin and the white dress."
"Uh, 'scuse me again. The white dress *mean* anything? I mean, like she's no virgin." Martina, who normally spoke very correctly, could 'act dumb' when she wanted to pretend.
"Sure it means *something*. How about the purity of their relationship... or something like that? At least up to this point."
"Yeah. I can tell the way *this* story is going that purity isn't going to play a major role for long!"
"Hopeless," I muttered, feigning turning her over for a spanking. "This is gonna hurt me more than... "
"I give. I give. Sorry, boss. I'll be good. Honest. Don't beat me, again!"
With a dubious tone, I relented, "Well-l-l-l. Just this once."
In a fake breathless voice, she interrupted again, "Oh, please go on, sir. Do tell me. I've just GOT to know." And then in a little girl voice, " Did the mommy in the white dress show her pussy to the jerky little boy?"
Nodding, "Just that. Looking at him, she slowly squatted and with legs spread, her cunt completely exposed, she began to pee. looking her son in the eye." Then I added, "By the way, I should tell you that this wasn't a tinkle. This wasn't a *little* pee. This was a real gusher, a torrent!"
Martina gushed, "Oh, isn't Nancy Friday a *wonderfully* gifted writer. This is so poetic, isn't it? And I just LOVE how you tell a bedtime story!"
I moved down and glanced at the junction of her thighs, at her swollen and wet cunt lips. Sniffing her musky scent, I observed, "If it weren't for the soggy condition of your cunt, I might think you were funnin' me."
"And then what happened? Did they DO it?" she asked, slowly rolling her hips and again making a half-hearted reach to touch her self.
"No, not then. This is a SLOW build up."
"Slow is an understatement. You give new meaning to the term "slow." Don't you know about cruelty to frustrated and terminally horny chicks'?"
Responding to Martina's needs for ministrations, I gently stroked and squeezed her soft mounds. Her nipples erected, hardening and extending out in little points from the dark circles surrounding them. She whispered, "Oh, Billy, I love that. My boobs are so sensitive. That's. sooo... gooood."
I knew that if my hands felt that good on her breasts, my mouth and tongue would feel even better. I moved my mouth to her right breast and stroked my tongue across its top. Martina jerked in reaction to the contact, and then pulled herself even further back. With her hands wrapped around the back of my neck, she leaned back and thrust her breasts up to me, inviting me to give them oral caresses.
"Yes, Billy, suck on them. Oh, God, Billy, I've longed so much for a boy to suck on my nipples. Suck them. Please, Billy, suck them... suck them hard."
As I took a nipple into my mouth, she muttered, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Like that. Oh, God, yes. Suck on them... suck them... suck like a baby."
.... There is more of this story ...