Chapter 3C

At the time, most of this went right past my very young level of awareness--but I clearly understood that she was troubled. I knew that I somehow had to stay with her and believe in her and help her in some way. I wanted to bring indescribable pleasure and comfort to her. She was making me feel loved and tickly now, and I wanted desperately to do the same for her. I found the folds of her skirt and tried to gather them up, but had a hard time; my hands were too small. She stepped back, not letting go of my cock, and used her free hand to lift her skirt. She spread her feet apart and looked down while I massaged her mound over her panties.

She breathed, "Ahhh. That's exactly how I like that. You remembered."

As she had done to me, I slipped my hand under her waistband and found her pubic hair and her soft folds. She was not wet yet. But she moved one foot to open her legs a little more so I could find her crease.

I whispered, "I want to make you feel good." Now I hoped I was learning to talk to her as she talked to me. I was beginning to comprehend the nature of my own very young sensuality, realizing how so much of it was mirrored by Martha Jane, and learning to try and contact those elements within her. I was not yet very certain about any of it. But now I had glimmerings of the giddy adrenal rush generated by the allure of the forbidden that held us and our secret world together. And I was beginning to understand as well the paradoxical, inexplicable comfort we both experienced by giving in to, rather than resisting, our hunger. In short, I was getting older and more sexual, and I realized more than ever how complex were the emotional and physical needs that bound us. It was scary. It was a lot like rushing blind across the avenue the way I used to, traffic headed at me in all six lanes, not sure if or how I could make it safely to the other side--but knowing, from where I stood at that moment, I would not and could not run back.

Still standing by the bed and cradling my head on her shoulder while I touched her warming pussy, Martha Jane moved her head slightly, toward me. Her lips touched my ear. Her mouth opened and I heard the thin saliva break as she licked my earlobe. And then my neck. My free hand rested at the back of her neck, and under my palm I felt the warm skin on the back of her neck move and flex as she reached farther with her tongue and licked behind my ear, then down, then into my neck again. Under my other hand, inside her panties, she was getting wet.

She pulled her head back and looked down and smiled, watching my hand working between her legs in the dark. She spread her knees apart a little more. She softly hissed, "Put your finger in me..." I found her hot opening, now growing wetter, and slowly inserted what came to me naturally--my longest finger. She urged me, quietly, "All the way in, hon. Deep..." Her eyes closed and she gave a low, seething "Sssss" and then "Ahhh."

"Like that?"

"Yes, baby."

I flexed my finger in her. I never ceased to be amazed at the way the inner Martha Jane could suck on my fingers in her. I asked, "Did that feel good?"

"Yes. Bend your finger again, like that. Bend it back and forth inside. Yes. Keep doin' that."

We continued for a while, but it soon became uncomfortable standding. She pulled away and got undressed. Before climbing into bed she removed my underwear and had me sit up against a pillow that she placed against the headboard. Then, naked in the moonlight, she lay before me on her tummy with her head in my lap and, holding my four inches with one hand, she closed her mouth on me. It was moist, warm, tickly. She tightened her tongue a little and slowly pulled up, and then smiled at me.

"Did you like that?"

I was very enthusiastic. "Mm, yeah. That was good."

She lowered her head and began gently sucking me. She sucked wetly, slowly for several strokes, then she immersed me in her very hot mouth, held for a second, then withdrew slowly, sucking upward, coming off me with a loud swallow of the wetness she had just sucked off me. She sighed, "You feel so good in my mouth. You fit all the way inside."

"I like it, too."

"Good."

She licked her lips and sucked me again in the same way, gently but fully, flattening her tongue along the underside and pressing slightly, then started bobbing her head in a slow rhythym. I was hypnotized and amazed. I looked down at her sucking me, at her closed eyes and her eyelashes and soft, frizzy auburn hair, her long, slim neck tapering into gently rounded shoulders and graceful arms and a long, straight, firm back, and her small waist and rounded buttocks and trim, graceful legs. I took in every inch of this young woman's body, growing more and more aware of how very, very beautiful she was physically, even more so as we indulged in this delightful, secret sin, both of so wanton and utterly naked. And in the dim moonlight as I watched and felt her suck and lick, I began to know something of the dark, desperate lust that lurked in both of us, a lust we both held in common.

She stopped and asked, "Do you know what I'm doing?"

I just stared at her. Of course I knew what she was doing, though she had never done it so gluttonously. But I didn't know what it was called.

"I'm suckin' you off." Once again, her eyes had a strange glint and her voice sounded inordinately wicked. "God, I've never said those words in my life. They sound so dirty. Do you like it when I say that?"

"Yes," I whispered back, suddenly realizing how breathless I was. And I was doing some hard, nervous swallowing of my own. "I like it when you say it. Especially the way you do it." I was truly flabbergasted that there were so many ways to bring pleasure to each other.

She returned to her sucking, which she continued for quite some time, breaking to gently fist my wetted cock. The cloying sensuality of her motions and words caused me to make a wide, seriously wicked grin as I watched her pump me. "That's good," I whispered.

She looked up, grinning back at me. "Yeah?".

I grinned again too, into her eyes. "Yeah. Keep doin' it."

"Yeah, honey."

"Ah..."

"Feel it, baby. Enjoy it..."

And once again, her eyes and her words and her voice held me mesmerized. She herself seemed hypnotized by my own spellbound reaction. We fell into unalloyed devilishness, as if demons within us had generated a chain reaction neither of us could not stop. She wouldn't let up. The lust in her eyes and her voice met mine, mine met hers, and they fused. We were glued to it, tangled it in. I kept hearing the nuns and the aunts and relatives warning me, but all their screaming voices together could not drown the tantalizing whispers of Martha Jane. And the more my eyes lit up with pleasure, the more Martha Jane saw it and gloated on it.

She gave a low, dirty chuckle and breathed, "You like it. You like being like this with me." She kept looking into my eyes, directly into them, into my cornea and through the optic nerves and into my brain. As she wetly stroked my twitching cock I heard only the wet slush of her hand in the hot spit she had left on me, and her endless, libidinous whispers. "You like it just as much as I do, don't you, I can tell. I like it too. I like watching your face while I make you feel good. I love your dick. I love touching it. I love milking it. And suckin'." She pumped and then sucked and then pumped me again. I was feeling extremely strange and giddy, and I knew she did too. A dark wicked wave seemed to wash into the room and lick me squarely in the scrotum under my balls, then lick upward along my spine and settle in the back of my head. I could see the reflection of these new and growing impulses in Martha Jane's eyes, I could hear her lascivious whispers echo my own rising lechery. We fed on it, and fed it back, helpless in the moonlit room. She fisted me loosely now, looking up at me. I felt and saw her own eyes catch the glint of lust in mine, and she leered and pumped and kept whispering. "I feel you likin' it. I feel you jerkin' in my hand. Such a beautiful, hard, sweet little dick. It gets so big. How does it get so big from being so little?"

"I like you making it big," I managed to whisper back, but only after fighting for the breath to say it. I took a deep breath and gasped brazenly, "I like watchin' you watch me."

Her eyes rose, surprised and please that I was joining her in this hypnotic whirl. "I'm so glad you like this. Want me to suck you some more?"

"Yeah, it feels so good."

"I want to suck you and then I want you to fingerfuck me. Like last time."

Uh-oh! A new term in the ever-expanding lexicon. I was taken by surprise. Another Martha Jane word. At that point I somehow knew an explanation would be forthcoming. Contented, and learning for the first time what the word "turn-on" would later come to mean, I let her suck me and we continued our lurid whispers and glances. Of course, I did not cum. This was fortunate, in a way, since literally I didn't know what I was missing. But at one point a pang, of sensual tickle coursed through the length of my shaft, and I felt an oozing from me that mixed with her spit and slickened it. I wondered if that meant I was cumming.

But the feeling passed too quickly for me to stop and ask questions about it. For Martha Jane rose to a half-sitting position alongside me, her head against the headboard. Her left leg lay between us, bent at the knee toward me so her inner thigh was spread to expose her mound; and she bent her right knee upward, keeping her foot on the bed, using her heel to spread her right leg wide and exposing even more of her nakedness. She shoved her hips forward so that I, lying beside her, could fully see her auburn tuft and the widening, smooth lipped slit below. With one hand she spread the stray silken curls that partly covered her, and instructed me on how to touch her clit and how to insert my finger and how to search far up inside her and find a magic bundle of muscle and nerve that made her arch her hips and sigh lustily and made her nipples swell in my mouth, and she looked down, leering and watching me please her and telling me to keep fingering her. She said that when she felt really nasty as she did now that she wanted me to call it her cunt. As I alternately rubbed her clit and stroked the tender place far inside her wetness, her words and her voice and her sighs slid into a barely audible stream of hissed obscenities.