Allie's Pilgrimage Ch. 02

“Allie!” Joe shot to his feet, grabbing at his shorts.

I realized that we were both staring. My eyes were glued to his crotch where the now-limp flesh lay on a bed of curling hair. His eyes had become glued to my wet shirt. I looked down and realized that the wet cotton was transparent, and that the pattern of my lacy bra was clearly visible. So were the protruding outlines of my hard nipples. I gasped and covered them with my hands, suddenly feeling ashamed and dirty.

I began to stutter, “I’ve... I’ve got to go change. I’m all wet.” Turning, I fled my parents’ room. In my own room I shut the door, leaning against it. My hands were shaking and my knees wobbled until I had to slide down the door, sitting on the floor.

What had I just witnessed? Why did it make me feel this way?

After a few minutes the chill of my cold wet clothes reminded me of why I had come in here. I shed my shoes and socks, shirt and bra and wet skirt, pulling a tight white camisole over my shoulders. That’s when I noticed that my panties were wet, too.

Slowly, I stepped out of them, and nearly threw them in the laundry hamper when I noticed the smell. Confused, I stopped. They hadn’t gotten wet when I had been out in the rain. I brought them closer to my nose, sniffing carefully. It was an odor that I hadn’t ever noticed before, somewhat sweet and musky.

Joe knocked on my door just then. “Allie?” he called, slightly muffled.

Surprised, I quickly buried the panties deep in the bottom of my laundry hamper. “Just a minute! I’m getting dressed!” I dug new panties out of my dresser drawer and slid them on, then pulled on thick socks and my blue plaid pajama bottoms. Tousling my blonde hair with my fingers a little bit, trying to get it to air-dry faster, I finally opened the door for Joe.

“Honey,” he began, cupping my shoulders in his arm as he led me over to my bed. There was an awkward pause as we sat down on the edge, next to each other. “Honey,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that this happened today.”

I looked up into his face. So often, Joe had been more like a big brother to me than a dad like my friends had. I would be sorrier to lose that easy closeness between us. “No, I’m sorry Joe,” I said, rather sheepishly. “I came into your room without knocking. It’s my fault, not yours.”

I stared down at my hands in my lap. Joe’s hand reached over to rest on my knee. “Well,” he said, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been watching that video this late in the day...” he paused, embarrassed. “But sometimes a man has needs...” He took a deep breath and barked a short laugh. “I can’t believe I’d have to be the one to give you this conversation, honey. Your mom should have done this so many years ago.”

The thought of asking my mom any sort of questions about what I had just witnessed curdled my stomach. “It’s ok,” I assured him, even though half of me wondered what this conversation was supposed to be about.

“Good,” Joe said, patting my knee. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I hope we can still be friends.”

I thought about that. Despite the bizarre emotional turmoil I had felt while watching Joe stroke himself while watching that video, fear had definitely not been one of the things I had been feeling. I put my hand over his, interlacing our fingers. “No Joe, I wasn’t scared.” But what was it that I was feeling instead? I didn’t know.

I looked over at Joe and realized he was staring again... but not at my face. His gaze was on the deep shadow of cleavage showing above the low neckline of the tight camisole top, where my skin was still slightly damp with beads of water dropping on my chest from my hair. Joe rubbed my leg gently, from knee to middle thigh. “But... how about we keep this little incident between you and me. Your mom wouldn’t be happy about this. And you and I have already made up, so we can forget about it, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered. Joe’s touch made my belly quiver. Deep between my legs I felt the throbbing again in time with my heartbeat. I wanted to spread my legs open... and do what? I wasn’t sure. All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want Joe to stop touching my leg. But...

He took his hand away quickly and leaned in to kiss my forehead. Then he was gone, shutting my door behind him.

I felt like heat was radiating from my body. Suddenly, I felt angry and depressed. What was wrong with me? Joe hadn’t explained anything at all and I had no idea what to do to make my body go back to normal. I didn’t even know what I was feeling or how to describe it. How could I even ask Joe what was happening?

I got up and flopped down in the chair at my vanity. Grabbing a hairbrush, I began to run it ruthlessly through my damp locks, wincing as it caught on the tangles. I kept brushing my hair until it was nearly dry and then tossed it on the table in frustration. The round-bristled styling brush spun lazily in a circle where it had landed, coming to a stop with the bristled top pointing towards me.

Something about the shape of the brush was familiar... Slowly, I picked it up by the bristles. The slender rubberized handle of the brush was cylindrical. With a little imagination it resembled an object I had seen earlier today.

The memories of the black man thrusting his cock in between the women’s legs... into her pussy... came flooding back to me and the pulsing between my own legs grew stronger. What did it feel like, I wondered. The woman had looked like she was enjoying it. So did Joe for that matter.

Without understanding why, I pulled my flannels and panties down to my ankles. The big tilted mirror of the vanity showed me the vista between my thighs that had previously been unseen. It looked just like the one I had seen on TV. Well, a little smaller, maybe. Kicking off my pants I lifted my feet and rested them on the edge of the table to get a better look in the mirror.

How had that man’s huge cock fit inside of that woman? I looked with dismay at my own pussy. Was it supposed to be so tiny? I had never even inserted a tampon into it before. There was no way something the thickness of my arm could fit into it.

I looked at the handle of the brush again. Suddenly, I felt compelled to stick it into that small dark opening of mine. Would it feel good?

Self-consciously, I pressed the handle against the wet hole between my legs. Gently at first. The shaft of the brush sunk in about a half an inch and stopped. It was tight, even considering the fact that the handle was thin. I could feel my body stretching open for the passage of this hard object. But without a doubt, I knew this was what I needed. The throbbing sensation grew more intense, as if my entire stomach was contracting.

I pushed the brush again, sliding it into my pussy another inch. It felt so good to have something inside of me that I couldn’t help myself. I moaned. Holding it firmly by the top part of the handle, I began to slide the brush in and out, remembering what that man’s cock did inside the woman. But as the brush slid deeper inside of me, the picture in my mind’s eye changed. It was no longer the black man’s cock pressing in and pulling out. It was Joe’s. Joe’s hard cock sliding into my pussy, over and over.

It was by accident that I touched the hard knob of flesh at the top of my slit. Once I touched it, though, I realized that this is what was throbbing so insistently. The sensation nearly made me faint.

Everything began to blur together. As the feelings got more intense, Joe’s cock began to pump faster inside of me and the hard bump sent pleasurable shocks to my brain every time he thrust deep. I was dripping, oozing wetness that lubricated his movements like a well-oiled machine. Suddenly, it was all too much, and my muscles clenched, gripping around the hardness in my pussy like a closing fist as the most incredible sensation washed over me. For a moment, I blacked out.

I came to with my feet still propped up on the table, the brush half-embedded inside of me. It hadn’t been Joe inside of me after all. For some reason, I was oddly disappointed.

I pulled the brush out with a wet slurp, remembering how good it felt. Could it possibly be better than this? What would it be like if it were really Joe’s cock inside of me instead of just this? It made me tremble again just thinking about it.

* * *

I slept in the next morning, having been troubled all night by the most vivid pornographic dreams. Mom had to yell at me twice to get up or I would be late. By the time I got downstairs for breakfast, she was heading out the door. She had a long commute to work and back and had to leave before I went to school.

Joe was already sitting at the table, reading his paper and eating Shreddies. Keeping my face down so that he wouldn’t notice my flush, I grabbed a bowl and plunked it down beside him in my usual spot. But I had slept in so late that the cereal had been put back up on the top shelf of the cupboard. Instead of ask for his help in reaching it, I strained to grasp the corner of the box with my fingertips.

I nearly had it but the box popped out of my grasp, sliding backwards an inch. Now I couldn’t reach it at all.

Suddenly Joe was standing behind me, reaching up to grab the box for me. He pressed up against me to reach it because he was only a couple of inches taller than I was. I froze, realizing that his pelvis was pressed against my butt. And that Joe’s cock was decidedly stiff.

“Here you go, hon,” Joe said, his voice sounding strange. He dropped the box on the counter next to me and sat back down quickly. I looked over at him, watching as he spooned cereal into his mouth with grim determination while he studied his paper.

I stared at the box of cereal then and realized that it wasn’t food I was hungry for. Instead, it was something darker, something that I had no name for. Something that my mother had tried all my life to keep me from knowing about. “Thanks, Joe,” I mumbled, “but I think I’d better get dressed or I’ll be late.” I left the box sitting on the countertop and dashed back upstairs to get dressed for school.

I showered quickly and dressed once again in my school uniform. White, unadorned cotton blouse over a plain bra. Plaid skirt ending no higher than six inches above the knee, with dark panties underneath. White knee socks and plain black shoes. I stared at myself in the mirror--the same mirror I had examined myself in the night before. I thought again about the feel of the brush inside and Joe’s semi-erect cock pressed hard against my rear.

Just like that, I was so hot and wet that my knees nearly buckled. I could feel my panties growing slick as I imagined Joe pulling down my PJs in the kitchen and penetrating me from behind. Joe’s cock, hard and in my pussy instead of just pressed against my cheeks. Joe... Joe... Joe.

I lifted my skirt quickly and slid my fingers into my soaked panties. I needed release again. My fingers rubbed the hard bump and I sat down heavily in my chair at the vanity, moaning. It felt wonderful to touch myself like this. But something was missing...

Quickly, I slid the crotch of my panties to the side and inserted my brush again, moaning as it slipped deep inside of me. I arched my back and bucked my hips as it filled me up. I rubbed harder and harder with my fingers, pressing my thighs together, while I slid the brush in and out with my hand beneath my legs. I gasped in little breaths as the handle wiggled within me, applying pressure to the walls of my pussy. Oh, if only it were Joe doing this to me instead...!

My vision whited out again as the pleasure became unbearable. The brush seemed to pump itself into me of its own accord as my muscles spasmed, and I bit back an unholy cry of delight.

My gaze fell, then, on the clock. It was nearly 8 o’clock. I was late for school.

(To be continued.)