by Ada Scott
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and my legs relaxed, parting even further than before. Kris pulled at my bikini bottoms and the material slid out from under my ass. He tossed them aside without looking where they were going.
A moment later, his jacket was flying across the room too. The way he filled his shirt, the material straining at his chest and biceps, made me squirm involuntarily in anticipation despite my nerves.
Kris lifted my right foot and placed it on his left shoulder, then slowly stroked the skin of my inner leg from ankle to mid-thigh, where my scars were. Everywhere he touched he left a trail of faint pins and needles that made my breath catch in my throat.
Turning his head, he kissed my ankle and I pointed my toes in response. With slow purpose, he kissed his way along the inside of my calf, and I watched, mesmerized.
Every touch of his lips made me want to whimper blissfully. It took a supreme effort of willpower to stop those sounds from escaping as I watched him treat my leg like it was priceless.
He raised my foot so he could kiss the back of my knee and the surprise spike of pleasure was too much for me. My hands flung to the covers and gripped twin fistfuls, as the sensation of an itch being scratched hummed from the back of my leg to my clit and back again.
“Oooh!” I squealed.
Kris smirked and tortured me with licks and sucks to the back of my knee until I was right on the borderline of having to pull away from him. Just when I thought I couldn’t handle it anymore, he resumed his journey up my leg, kissing my inner thigh just above the knee.
I calmed down from the sweet surprise of how much I liked getting kisses to the back of the knee, and grew quiet when he came to the scars. If I had to bet, I would have expected him to pass over them and continue closer to my pussy.
If I had done that, I would have lost my wager. I bit my lip when he kissed my scars as if they were invisible, then continued upwards.
The higher he went, the more sensitive my skin became, and I was acutely aware of the stubble that framed every one of his kisses. Its rough texture tantalized me, and now that he was close enough, I reached down to stroke his cheek as he closed in on my most closely guarded treasure.
Finally, I felt his lips on my skin right next to my labia. It couldn’t really be classified as leg anymore, he was that close.
I felt his hot breath puff out on my entrance, cooling the natural lubricants that were slowly seeping out, and a moment later I felt a man’s tongue on my sex for the very first time in my life. My eyes closed and my head lolled back as I moaned in bliss.
I was in no position to judge whether it always felt so good to have a guy go down on you, or if Kris was simply an expert at it, but either way, this was the life. He licked the full length of my pussy, slowly and purposefully on each side before his tongue slid into my slit to sample my flowing nectar.
He tasted me once and then again, a deeper lick that ended with a gentle flick across my clit. The sudden shock of pleasure made me yelp, then run my fingers through his hair.
Kris alternated between licking, kissing and sucking my folds, the prickles from his stubble merging with the tingling sensation his lips and tongue elicited. I could feel that delicious roughness on my inner thighs when my legs twitched together and hugged his face.
Between his licks and my ever-increasing arousal, my pussy felt wetter than ever before. The wetter I became, the faster he licked. It was a wonderful upward spiral of pleasure.
“Woooow,” I moaned, like some hippie on a psychedelic trip.
Kris turned his attentions to my clit and my head snapped up so I could watch what was happening between my legs. I gripped and released the covers several times, then my hands seemed to move of their own accord without any clear plan as to what was the best course of action.
I grabbed the headboard, ran my hands through both mine and his hair, squeezed my breasts through my dress, stroked his cheek and even reached as far as caressing one of his biceps through his shirt, all within the space of a few minutes.
His lips were latched on to me and his tongue flicked back and forth across my most sensitive spot at a furious pace. An electric buzz was running from my clit to my stomach where it was collecting like a ball of lightning, threatening to strike me down if it grew big enough.
My hips began to buck, to instinctively grind against his face, as that threat came close to realization. My eyelids closed halfway and I started panting, my voice catching with every exhalation and forcing louder and louder moans out of me.
Just when my toes curled in preparation for my first orgasm, Kris pulled back, and the only thing touching my clit was his breath. My eyes rolled back down from up in my head and I blinked until my vision cleared.
“What… what are you doing?” I couldn’t keep the edge of desperation out of my voice.
He didn’t say anything, just gave me an all-knowing smirk, and bent his head down again, kissing next to my pussy on each side, licking up any errant juices that had escaped beyond the realm of my most intimate parts, but being careful not to touch anything that might push me over the edge until my climax had receded back into the shadows.
Then he started all over again. The slow licks along the full length of my folds, finishing with a sustained assault on my clit that drove me crazy.
Despite his best efforts, enough slippery juices escaped so that I could feel a wet patch under my ass. I was too far gone to care, all I cared about was the sweet release he was teasing me with.
The muscles of my stomach were taut with the strain of containing that humming mass of electric ecstasy. My humility was blown out of the water and he had me moaning with complete abandon as he brought me to the brink a second time… and once again left me hanging.
I was almost crying with need. The tears were welling up and if I blinked hard enough they would squeeze out and flow down my cheeks. How could something that felt so good be so torturous?
“Please…” I put every ounce of need I could into my voice.
Kris started the cycle again, and I gripped the headboard with all my strength as my strained muscles bordered on the verge of cramping. This time, when his tongue was whirling over my clit, I felt his finger circling my entrance for a while, getting good and slippery.
After a few minutes, he slipped it inside me, just barely to the first knuckle, and my pussy hugged it tight. I felt him gently pushing at my hymen. He had his evidence.
Oh my gosh, there’s a man inside me!
It wasn’t his big dick, but there was no denying that my entrance was gripping his finger on all sides, and my entire being was aware of it. I could feel it inside me on the sensitive untouched walls of my vagina. Kris was inside of me in a way totally different to how the tip of his tongue had touched mine when we kissed.
Not only that, this time he didn’t stop his magic tongue on my clit and the ball of lightning zapped me, making all my muscles flex even tighter, making me twitch with undignified euphoria. My heartbeat was the reverberating clap of thunder in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
If my moans were coming in the form of coherent words, I couldn’t hear them. My lips were numb, so there were no clues there about what I might have been saying, if it wasn’t gibberish.
After a while, the sound of my heartbeat receded and I could hear myself panting. The ball lightning in my stomach was still there, but smaller, floating around a wide-open space that it used to fill completely, as if searching for an exit.
I looked down and saw Kris standing at the foot of the bed, framed on either side, from my perspective, by my quivering knees. Blinking again to clear my vision, I smiled at him dazedly.
“I’ve got to go, see you in the morning,” he said.
My brow knitted together and my smile disappeared in the confusion. “Wha?”
He didn’t offer any explanation to my highly pertinent question. He just left, and closed the door behind him. I might have followed him to repeat it if I had any c
onfidence that my legs might have supported my weight at that moment.
Kris
That was a close call, and it had only been the second day. I couldn’t have had a worse sleep if my mattress had been stuffed with a German Oom-pah band practicing for Oktoberfest.
I usually slept on my stomach, but I couldn’t this time because my permanently hard dick made it too uncomfortable. Thoughts of Amy’s perfect little pussy haunted me, and when I was lying on my back, every twitch of the covers against my erection made me think of how incredible it would feel to have the head of my cock pushing into her, breaking through that hymen and going balls-deep.
Eventually I had to throw the covers off and fall into a fitful sleep on my back. If the maid had come in early, she would have got an eyeful. Maybe she would have worked for free from then on, or maybe I would have had to explain that I was actually doing an impression of a sundial and this was not grounds to have me charged with sexual harassment.
Thankfully, I woke up from my broken sleep to my alarm, and a trip to the gym followed by an interrogation-level cold shower had me more or less ready to face Amy again. Once more, I heard her shower going while I ate breakfast. I turned to face her when she emerged wearing the bathrobe again.
In that moment I wondered if this week was going to kill me. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been spread-eagled on the bed with a wet pussy and quivering legs, hair all messed up from thrashing her head back and forth. If I managed to resist a sight like that a couple more times, then I had a strong case to go to the pope and seek out sainthood.
Yet, as incredible as that had been, she looked even better like this. Mostly covered, yet vulnerable. I wanted to unwrap her like a present over and over again. Every time I unwrapped her would be like seeing her naked for the first time, I was sure of it. Her body spoke to mine in ways I never dreamed were possible.
It took a little reassuring to let her know that everything was OK. The fact that we still had plenty of time to go, and even the most socially inept person could see I was wildly attracted to her, probably helped my case. What would I do as the days were crossed off the week though? How could I deflect her advances and not lose my mind?
She was right when she said I was keeping us busy. The least amount of time we spent together alone in this penthouse, the better. I had to keep us out there, make every situation as unsuitable for fucking as I could, without outright treating her like shit.
Today, it was Obvius.ly to the rescue. We were spending the whole day doing shit, and hopefully by the end of it she’d be so exhausted and we’d be so sick of each other that it wouldn’t take much to convince her that we could wait at least another day before getting intimate.
First on the agenda was an Italian cooking class. Amy clapped and bounced gleefully when I told her, and snuggled up in the car on the way, talking excitedly about what she hoped to make.
I slipped my arm around her as we talked and she just… fit against me. It felt right, somehow. There was something I couldn’t put my finger on. It was more than her physical perfection, I was sure of that much.
I’d been with more girls than I could count, but none of them felt like this. Although I never paid for sex before, Amy looked at me with more natural affection in her eyes than any of the others from the more natural encounters I’d had with women.
It was difficult to reconcile that sense with the amount of money it actually took to put Amy by my side. She was either the greatest actress the world had ever known, or she was just as sweet as she seemed.
If I thought getting her in an apron and a chef’s hat would downplay her sex appeal, I was wrong. She spent half the time during our class with a smudge of flour on the tip of her nose that was downright adorable.
She let me wipe it off for her, scrunching up her nose a little, before the instructor cooked the pizzas and ravioli we’d made. We washed up and sat in the restaurant the instructor ran from the same space, waiting for lunch.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so hungry!” she said.
“Whose pizza do you think is going to be the best?” I asked.
She waved her hand dismissively. “Pfff. Please. It’s going to be mine.”
I laughed. “How can you be so sure? I’ve got ten different kinds of meat on mine!”
“That’s pushing it! There weren’t even ten different kinds of animal to choose from,” she said.
“Yeah… but ham is not bacon. Peperoni is not ground beef.”
“Yeah, yeah. Ham cut into circles is not ham cut into triangles is not ham cut into parallelograms…” she teased with a smile.
My eyes narrowed playfully. “Hmmm… this sounds personal.”
“How so?”
“Well, you said you lived on a farm. Do you think there’s something on my pizza that you might have raised? Am I going to be eating an old friend?”
“I don’t know. It’s a wheat farm, so you can understand it’s difficult for me to keep track of every grain of flour, but… some of it did look kind of familiar.” Melodramatic horror dawned on her face. “You don’t think… it couldn’t be… Captain Wheatface? He always kissed me on the nose! Nooo!”
I cracked up at the pet name. “My parents got me a dog to teach me responsibility, I guess your mom was a bit more conservative.”
“I guess so. One day I might work my way up to a fish.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Who’s running the farm while you’re away?”
“Oh, we don’t run it ourselves. My mom’s leased it out since before I can remember. The only thing I grow there myself is a whole bunch of aloe vera, and I didn’t see any of that in the kitchen.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.
“Aloe vera, huh? What do you do with it?”
“Nothing really… it just grows.”
I frowned, trying to understand. “How much is ‘a bunch’?”
“I’ve got a greenhouse jam-packed with it. Like, twenty yards long by ten yards wide, four tiers in each row.”
I held my hands in claw-shapes at each of my temples, then moved them out, extending my fingers and making an explosion sound. “Mind: Blown. You’ve got to explain.”
Amy pulled her hands off the table and fidgeted with them in her lap for a while. Her eyes flickered up at me, then back down.
“Um… It’s hard to… well… you know how I told you my mom’s in a wheelchair?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s because she and my dad were in a car accident when I was only one. A bad car accident. He died and she never walked again.”
“Oh. Oh, Amy, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “It’s before I could remember anyway.”
I tried to think about what my first memory was. I had a vision of looking down at my foot and seeing stitches coming out of the side of my toe. My parents told me I needed stitches when a footstool broke under me while I was using it to reach a light switch when I was two and a half.
“You weren’t in the car, were you?” I asked, thinking of the scars on her thigh.
“No, my aunt was babysitting me that night.”
“OK.”
“So, apparently, my dad used to grow orchids as a kind of hobby. That’s why we had the greenhouse, but by the time my mom returned to the farm, you know, things had kind of gone to hell. All the orchids were dead, but my dad’s aloe vera plant was still fighting the good fight. It used to belong to his grandmother, so my mom was glad it survived. She took care of it for a little bit, but as soon as I was big enough to water it, she gave officially gave it to me. It’s been in my family for four generations!”
“That’s amazing, how long do they live for?”
“I really don’t know, it just keeps on going.”
“Where did the rest of them come from then?”
“From the first one. New plants sprouted up around the big one non-stop, it seemed. By the time I was five, the pot it was in was full of aloe vera plants of various sizes. I tracked down every
kind of container I could and my mom showed me how to transplant the little ones.”
“Oh… then they grew and sprouted even more new plants…”
“And so on. Eventually I had to scavenge all over the neighborhood to get enough pots for them all to grow in. It’s always just been my thing. My way of staying connected to my dad. Something I was able to do from a really early age. It felt like I took what he left me and made it flourish. You know?” she said.
“I know exactly what you mean. My dad busted his balls to get me my education, and my parents loaned me some money when I needed it, while I was waiting for an idea to pay off. To take all their self-sacrifice and make something… amazing out of it has always been something that’s driven me.”
Amy breathed a sigh of relief and reached out across the table to hold my hand.
“Actually, you remember how you were saying the other day you wish you had a business idea?” I prompted.
“You mean I should sell the plants? I don’t know if I could do that. Who would buy them from me anyway, when they can get them at the local Home Depot?”
“The Home Depot is a faceless giant corporation. You’ve got a story. And a face, a really pretty one. If you get a space at the local farmer’s market, print up something that tells the story, I bet they’d fly off the shelves. A very special plant that’s been in your family for four generations, your father’s legacy to you. People would love it.”
“But…”
“And if it works, you can make space for more plants. Make what he left you flourish even further.”
“Hmmm.” She seemed to be mulling it over.
“I don’t know how fast they grow so you could replace your stock, or how much they go for, but it’s worth looking at the numbers.”
Amy’s smile reached her eyes. “OK, I’ll do that. Thanks!”
The door to the kitchen bumped open and our teacher-turned-waiter came through backwards, carrying a tray with our food on it. She spun around and came our way.
“Lunch is served!”