Charlie and Mindy Bk. 01 Ch. 01

I switched to her ears. From her right side, I gently folded that ear forward to look behind it. Then I laid it back to look inside of it. Once I'd finished, I moved around to her other side to repeat the inspection on the other ear. As I checked it, she reached for my belt buckle, undid it.

When I'd finished with her ears, I slipped out of my pants and boxers, moving behind her as I did so. I ran my hands over her back, her sides, her shoulders, and her arms.

"No ticks so far," I reported.

She was short, so I knelt in front of her, with my back toward her, for her to check my scalp and ears. After those inspections, she knelt behind me, straddling my lower legs. The creamy skin of her inner legs and lower thighs brushed against my lower legs while she checked me as I had just checked her.

"None on you, either."

I turned around; we faced each other at not-quite arm's length, on our knees, and both completely naked. Naturally, I had a big stiff boner. She looked down at it and looked back up at me, smiling.

I smiled back. "I'd better check your boobs."

She said nothing, but her smile deepened, and she nodded. I reached out and cupped her firm warm tits, gently rotating my hands as if seeking the hardness of a tick between hand and boob. I felt her nipples stiffen at my touch, but I moved on to check her arms and the rest of her chest and belly. When I finished this part of the inspection, she reached out and repeated it on me.

My boner was throbbing.

"You'd better lie down on your tummy so I can check your legs," I said.

"Of course," she whispered as she laid herself on her pad, belly down, head turned to one side and resting on her palm-down hands. I moved toward the end of my pad—toward her feet—kneeling and facing at right angles to the long axis of her body. She was breathing deeply and quickly. So, I noticed, was I.

I ran my hands over her feet and her lower legs, up to her knees. Then the outsides of her thighs, the backs of her thighs, her hips, and her ass cheeks. She spread her legs a bit, and I gently stroked her inner thighs. As I did so, one of my hands accidentally (really!) brushed the outer lips of her pussy. I heard her sharp intake of breath at that touch.

I said, "Okay," and I lay down on my own pad, taking care that my hard cock pointed up against my belly, rather than being bent uncomfortably downward. She performed an inspection on me that mirrored the one I'd just done for her. My cock pulsed against my lower belly.

"We're almost done. I just have to check your pussy." I realized that I was whispering, too.

She whispered in reply, "Yes—you do. And I have to check your dick and your balls." She lay down on her back, spread her legs, and pointed her knees skyward. I knelt between her legs, and I ran a hand through her electric fur. She stiffened at the touch. And, for the first time, I fully understood that phrase; that touch was indeed electric—for both of us!

Almost all of her fur was in that little triangle above her cleft—beside which grew only a few wisps of hair. Gently, I reached out with both hands and parted her nearly hairless outer lips, revealing the secret pink complexity within—her clitoris, hooded by her inner lips, and her vaginal opening. I stroked them all.

Right below her vaginal opening was the tight little brown rose of her anus. I touched that briefly with my thumb, wiggling it gently. She moaned. Backhanded, I ran the thumb-side length of my index finger up between her inner lips, from her opening to her clit. Her furrow was hot, marvelously hot, and marvelously wet. She gasped.

I'd found no ticks, and so reported. She got to her knees and pushed me over onto my back. It was my turn to spread my legs and draw my knees up, while she knelt between them. She ran a hand through my own fur and fondled my nuts, searching for ticks. She moistened a finger in her mouth, reached down with that hand, smiled at me with a touch of gentle malice, and inserted the moistened finger into my anus—just breaking the seal of my sphincter—and wiggled it just a bit. Her touch there was as exciting as it was unexpected. My cock jumped, and I moaned.

She completed her inspection by taking my rod into her dainty hand, encircling me completely. She stroked lightly, letting her hand move over my skin in search of parasites. After two or three strokes, she tightened her grip and stroked a few more times, moving the skin up and down my shaft. My hips rocked a bit, and I moaned again.

She said, in a barely audible voice, "No ticks here." She released my shaft and lay down on her back, at my right. I extended my legs. My cock projected like a tree from my groin. We breathed heavily for a few moments.

Without speaking, I rolled onto my side, raised my head, and applied my mouth to her nipple. I took it, gently and moistly, between my lips, and sucked lightly. She jerked in surprise, as startled by this contact as I had been by her finger's unexpected invasion.

And then she startled me again. She moaned again, and thrust her tit toward me, compressing it against me and forcing her nipple more deeply into my mouth. I reacted by bringing a hand up to her other tit, cupping it, and tickling that nipple with my thumb while tickling the other with my tongue.

She seemed to be in an ecstatic trance, which did not end until I released her nipples. Our mouths sought each other urgently, and we kissed, open-mouthed, and much more passionately than we had that morning. Indeed, that earlier kiss seemed casual by comparison. She had rolled her shoulders toward me, but her hips less so. My cock caressed her thigh and hip as we kissed, and I felt her exciting, beautiful, wonderful tits against my chest.

I don't know how long that first kiss of mutual passion lasted; I got lost in the feel of her flesh. When we came up for air, we rolled away from each other, onto our backs again. We lay there for a bit, thinking about what we had just done and felt.

I was about to ask her what she thought about it when she gave me the non-verbal, but unmistakable, answer to the question I hadn't had time to ask. She rolled toward me, reached over, and grasped my cock. I felt her fingers flutter as she settled them into a secure grip, clasped me more tightly, and began to stroke my shaft—up and down, up and down.

Briefly, very briefly, I thought that I ought to…

The thought flew from me, lost as the action of her hand on my cock demanded all of my attention. That demand continued for an eternity. At the end of time, as my climax neared, a small measure of sanity returned.

"God," I blurted. "I'm going to come. I'm gonna roll over to keep it off the pad. But don't stop!"

I rolled away from her and, somehow, she followed me without missing a stroke or altering her timing. No sooner had I rolled over than I found myself caught up in a vortex of pleasure as my spasms began and my cum spurted, spurted, spurted onto the ground beside the pad.

She stopped pumping but didn't release her grasp. When my cum was exhausted and my spasms almost over, I rolled from my side onto my back again, slowly, allowing her to anticipate my motion and roll with me. My cock was shrinking, but she held on. When it receded into the depths of her fist, she did let go. Then she, too, rolled onto her back.

"Was that okay, Charlie?" she asked. There was an uncertain note to her question; she was probably afraid that she had gone too far.

The thought I had lost returned, and I knew the only possible reply. I made it: I rolled toward her and reached for the warm wetness of her pussy, and I said, "God! It was a lot more than just 'okay!' But now it's your turn!"

Her thighs parted, almost automatically, to grant me easy access. My hand stroked easily through her little bush, and I found her cleft. My middle finger slid between her outer pussy lips; her knees came up and her thighs parted even more. Her hips rocked as I caressed her clit.

"Ooohhh!" she moaned in surprise and pleasure. I had watched her as she fingered herself in the past, and I tried to duplicate her own technique. (And I realized, belatedly, that she had known, for like reason, exactly how to bring me off.) I circled her little jewel with my fingertip, tickling it but not overwhelming it. Every now and then, I stroked her inner lips or fingered the entrance to her body; but always I returned to her clit. She moaned and writhed, her hips rocking in the ancient rhythm—which I did my best to match. (Had I done the same under her touch? I didn't know for sure, but I had a faint glimmering that I had.)

It wasn't long before her coordination got sloppy and her moans grew deeper and louder. As I felt her spasms begin, she cried out, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Yes! Just like that! Don't stop… Don't stop… Don't…" and dissolved into incoherent howls and moans.

Her moaning diminished, and her writhing slowed. She reached for my hand, stopped its motion, and gently removed it from herself, saying, "No more. No more. She's too sensitive for you to touch her now."

We lay there a bit. The sun had long-since passed behind the hills, though it hadn't yet set. We were suddenly and urgently aware of the chill that had descended while we had been concerned with other matters.

Beginning to shiver a bit, we looked each other in the eyes, coming to grips with this unexpected, but compelling, change in our relationship. She grinned at me and broke the silence: "I sure am glad we didn't find any ticks."

We dissolved in laughter. We had found something far more interesting than a tick, and we knew we were still secure with each other, no matter what the new sexuality between us might bring.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was getting darker as the sun sank below the distant, invisible horizon, and the deepening chill made it necessary for us choose between layering up or getting into our sleeping bags. Very tired, both from the day's exertions and the evening's, we chose the bags.

We again decided that we did not need to sleep in the tent. By wordless mutual consent, we zipped the sleeping bags together again. We walked, hand in hand, a few yards into the woods and emptied our bladders. Almost shyly, but knowing it would be uncultured not to, we each put on t-shirts and boxers. The sack beckoned, and we crawled into it—choosing the same sides we had used the previous night.

As we lay there, I turned toward her. She turned onto her own side and backed up against me. My cock, improbably half-hard again, rested between her ass cheeks. I put my arm around her, my hand again taking possession of her tit through her t-shirt. She ground her ass back against me and clenched her cheeks. Half-hard as it was, my cock could only surge weakly.

"Mindy?" I murmured, as I held her little body.

"What?"

"I'm glad we'll have the next few days alone together. It's really neat that there's nobody else around."

"Me, too, Charlie. I really like being alone with you." She wiggled herself back even more tightly against me, and we composed ourselves for sleep.

As I began to slip away, her drowsy voice came, dreamlike, and seemingly from a great distance: "Big Brother?"

I mumbled something.

"I know I'm not the accomplished outdoorsman that you are, but…"

She paused sleepily. Had there been a teasing note in that so-distant voice?

"Yes?" I prompted her, also sleepily.

"…even I know that in the mountains…"

Another sleepy pause. Another sleepy prompt.

"…August isn't tick season."

She punctuated her statement with another ass-clench.

She'd busted me.

Again.

And then I was asleep.

(To be continued)

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—CarlusMagnus