Ramona Jean's Sinful Weekend

Mona arrived at the kitchen door to see towel-clad Jeff, making use of his time by turning the crank to wring out their soaked underwear. "Your exile is over, peeping Thomas," she said, handing him the khaki shorts he had worn for the car trip. Jeff stepped into them, his belt clinking imperceptibly to the brunette as she had her back turned, making them another drink, then pouring a little water from a glass into the whiskey bottle to hide her theft.

They adjourned to the sofa, and Mona sat with a thigh against his, but the petite woman had perched on her knees and was sitting on her calves, skirt fanned out to the side, facing him. She had to make an effort to ignore the stern Tompkins ancestors and relatives in the framed black and white photos on the wall above as they scowled at her recent scandalous behavior - cavorting nearly naked in the storm. She had retrieved a battered, small book from off the fireplace mantle.

'American Sign Language For The Deaf and Hearing Impaired' read the title.

"Now you can talk to me," she smiled, "without that rotten penmanship!"

Jeff pretended to be insulted, but dove right into the book, flipping pages showing hundreds of motions for words and phrases. He stopped at the charts for the alphabet, each letter a different juxtaposition of hand and fingers.

Slowly he signed 'Ramona you look nice so beautiful', and she signed a 'Thank you Jeffrey' intentionally using the wrong derivation of his name as she laughed.

As the coded, silent exchange slowly progressed, each admired the other's eyes and smiles- Jeff had worn braces and Mona's teeth luckily 'came in straight'. They discussed the exceptional day and the young woman casually worked her hurried dressing that morning and inadvertently wearing her mother's blouse into the conversation, but stopped short of admitting to her purposeful exhibition. Each confessed - the young man first - to apprehension and that they had little experience 'making out'. Eventually most of the lights were turned off and the book was tossed aside - Jeff now knew the signs for the letters K, I and S - the drinks were empty, and their tongues were intertwined in a deep, sensuous grappling.

As they continued to kiss and caress each other, the young woman's hand left its assignment of repeatedly passing through his chest hair and marveling at the solidity of his pectorals. She placed it on the blonde man's neck to feel the vibrations of his moans as she forced her tongue into his ear, and as he spoke her name by request. As they continued, sensations began to erupt deep within her, ones she had only previously summoned during her dark nights on the side porch, when her own fingers gave her pleasures even some of her schoolmates had alluded to but not achieved. Ramona's ghostly nocturnal lovers had finally manifested into this one flesh and blood man who held her trembling body so closely she found herself dizzyingly breathless.

The petite brunette beauty had gradually shifted sideways into his lap, sacrificing her balance to be ensconced in his arms, dependent on his grip to prevent her falling away. A separation, even a fraction of an inch distant from him now would seem as if she had been hopelessly swept into an abyss. Ramona looked at the exposed wooden beams of her living room ceiling and caught her breath, finally, as Jefferson dragged his lips along her uplifted jaw line.

Now, with her mouth no longer pressed against his, Mona could speak and break the spell; she could ask him for a cessation - he had promised one if requested - and she would walk away with only a moderate reprimand from her body for not answering its demands. If she failed to negotiate a treaty now on behalf the beckoning presence between her legs, the resulting escalated urges could become unbearable. Mona acknowledged her alcohol-fueled weakness, her hedonism, and her lust. She didn't utter a word - a sinful invitation for her sweltering vagina to declare its war on her willpower and morals.

His hands were large and had felt wonderful and almost commanding on her back, but she wanted his touch elsewhere. Mona raised up until she was on her knees, straddling one of his legs. Her heart raced as she could feel, with the side of her leg, a foreign object along his khaki-shrouded thigh - an erection. Again ambivalent about her first contact with a male organ, especially a stiffened, enlarged one - the girls back at school hadn't been kidding - she decided to address it later, as if it were the last unwrapped gift in the pile. Looking into his blue eyes, now slightly below her, she grasped one of his forearms and brought his hand to her breast.

Six

It had been quite the day for Jefferson Payne. First, the incidental, mischievous peeks at a young woman's small, conical but bountifully appointed breasts. Then the nice chat, of sorts, they had, and the seemingly mutual infatuation, which would have occurred, peeks or no peeks. She was smart, funny and her face was stunning, even without a hint of makeup. He wished she hadn't lived so far from him. The blonde young man recalled the morning's encounter as he stood in his best suit and flawlessly played his bluesy solo in front of several hundred people. Now, through bizarre, seemingly ordained twists of fate, he had seen her completely naked and now was on the couch with her in the wee hours, alone with no parents, no anyone, nearby. Even the cars traversing the wet concrete highway out front had almost subsided. In terms of time spent kissing, and now the fact that he was massaging her firm, unbridled tit through her dress - Mona had a clean lace Maidenform available, but left it hanging on the bedpost - it had become his most involved experience with the opposite sex, ever. It didn't matter at what point Mona asked him to pause and separate for the night, even if it was to be soon, this was the best day of his life.

Mona continued to give in to her desires, and again directed Jeff's wrist, this time to the waiting zipper at the nape of her neck. Jeff launched his tongue into her mouth once again, facing upward slightly, as if to garner the last few kisses before he moved on to her anticipating nipples. As his fingers gently descended, unable to ignore the Biblical metaphors of her upbringing, the petite brunette thought of the zipper's diamond-shaped slider as the head of a serpent, slithering as such, to reveal her flesh once more, this time with the added sin of touch. As the blonde young man lowered one side of her dress off her shoulder and down her arm, she felt more exposed, more vulnerable than even that morning, letting a stranger see. Possibly it was the dress she chose - not part of a sexy ensemble conducive to such forays - but a conservative plaid schoolgirl's dress from a couple grades back with no slip and no brassiere that was now hanging off her unattractively and exposing a tit, making her feel even more naughty. The wet nightgown had not been entirely her fault, she rationalized, as she didn't create the rain. Now - without vows of marriage - he would feel and taste a portion of her bare, private regions as well.

Nevertheless, Ramona grabbed the back of Jeff's head and pressed it to her as spikes of pleasure began to burst within. She could feel the moans of satisfaction emanating from Jefferson as his heated mouth drew her breast inward, then ardently, almost disrespectfully treated her sensitive flesh as if it were taffy or a wad bubblegum, manipulating then spitting it out, only to reacquire it once more after a circuitous bath with his forceful tongue. The petite brunette realized that, despite her unhappiness with her breasts' minimal bulk and seemingly primitive, National Geographic-jungle-girl appearance, their contribution to her pleasure was quite substantial. Furthermore, the expression of jealously and crude, signed prognostication of a supportive female upperclassman in the shower room - 'Don't worry, honey, men will just love sucking on those' - was true. Ramona dipped her right shoulder so the dress would complete its freefall down to her waist, tendering an offer of a second virginal but excited nipple to the grinning blonde young man, whose excited, bright blue eyes looked into hers momentarily in the dim light.

The best day, now night, in Jefferson Payne's life continued beyond his wildest dreams. As his ecstatic mouth surrounded Ramona's right breast - the one he had first gotten a glance at that morning, but now reshaped with stiffened excitement - his erection throbbed madly against his bare thigh, since his boxers were wrung out and still hanging on the edge of the washtub. His massaging lips and tongue carried on almost like an automaton - the oral behavior regarding nipples was obviously never forgotten from infancy - as he acknowledged the hard-on's ache. His dick begged for attention, but he found solace in the fact that he only had to wait until he was showering or locked alone in his room for release, aware she may not want to venture that far. Maybe soon he would unzip his pants, but at the moment he didn't want to stop giving attention to her very satisfying breasts. He expected an interruption from her any moment now, as this was an oft-reported threshold, according to his contemporaries in Blacksburg. There were moments he couldn't believe this was the same girl that he had spun around outside in the rain just an hour or so before. Possibly Mona was ignoring her grown-up body for a brief interval, spending a few more, final moments as young girl playing in the storm before her passage into what she would find was the lesser adult world, filled with its promises, but constricted by its risks and tragic realities. Soon the diversion away from her breasts began, but far from the one Jefferson expected.

Mona was becoming exasperated as the boiling hunger between her legs escalated. She had never imagined how the warm, wet compression and extension of the damned protrusions on her chest - an albatross since she was fourteen - would amplify her desires. Unable to resist a moment longer, the petite woman grabbed both of Jeff's wrists, pulling them from their duty of holding her bare shoulder blades and molesting whichever inflamed breast wasn't in his mouth. Trembling and almost in tears, Ramona Jean turned to the side, her stretched nipple protesting as it slid sideways out of the grip of Jeff's incisors.

The young man made a halfhearted advance toward his zipper with one of his wrists, not expecting his change in course to be accepted.

"Not yet...please!" she said aloud, a winded lack of volume and desperation in her voice.

Jeff began to speak, to express his respect for her and that he would comply with her wishes to cool things off, but before he could speak, the petite woman surprised him.

In a flash, Mona had guided both his hands beneath the crumpled bulk of her dress -lightweight but still an obstacle - on either side of her thigh. The pretty, perspiring brunette then vacated her grip on his wrists. She silently prayed for forgiveness as she lowered her panties several inches and then grabbed Jeff's waiting left hand. The young woman, bent forward, and reaching behind her and under the canopy of the green plaid dress, then corralled two of his digits and led them to their fate. Once the mission was understood, Jefferson's aligned index and middle fingers instinctively plunged into the silken, heated slit between Ramona's trembling legs. The young woman moaned gutturally and loudly as he began - without coaching from her - to slide them in and out, forcing her slippery walls aside, despite their seeming resistance to the presence within them.

Next Mona grabbed the blonde man's other hand, which had been immobile - its existence temporarily forgotten due to the thrill the violating hand was experiencing - and this time had him extend a single digit, the middle, and begin massaging the region surrounded by her soft pubic hair. The young woman fine-tuned his motions with under reaching grips on his wrists and verbal requests - literal single word shouts - for increases, mostly, in speed and force. Once a steady rhythm had been established, petite, essentially topless Ramona, grunted and gasped erratically, enveloped in the dim morning.

While the adjustments to the pace and severity of the incursion were taking place, the two had worked themselves into a pretzel jumble of legs on the sofa, and Ramona was essentially on all fours. This animalistic, utilitarian stance - she was perpendicular to Jeff and couldn't kiss him or even see his face - made her feel even more guilt about the overwhelming satisfaction she felt. Her ravenous vagina - her pussy - had swiftly won the rebellion, hammering pulses of pleasure directly into her brain, basking in and gloating at its victory over her righteous upbringing. The heavily breathing, grunting brunette began to silently self-flagellate herself with insults. You got yourself into this Ramona Jean , you let him see your tits, you harlot. This isn't even romantic like the kiss in the rain under the stars - you simply presented your genitals in the same living room you sit in every day. Fornicator! You'll be lucky if he doesn't pull that erect dick out of his shorts, mount and impregnate you, SLUT! WHORE!

Regardless of the verbal assault from her conscience, the sweating, petite brunette could do nothing to - rather didn't want to - mitigate the incendiary waves of pleasure that began to steamroll through her. Jefferson's diligent finger fucking - let's call it what it is, she reasoned - and rubbing of her clitoris, was catapulting her skyward into a storm of repeated, intense orgasms.

Jefferson, excited and in disbelief that he had reached 'third base', he believed was the benchmark, continued to raucously invade her sopping genitals, and rub the mysterious flesh between her upper labia with his other hand at a faster pace. His fingers had yet to tire. Even after years of music lessons, this beautiful feminine instrument was his greatest solo yet, although the raw, groaning wails Mona was beginning to expel as her torso stiffened and jolted would only be melodic to him; his own private concert.

Ramona convulsed as the most intense - so far - orgasm of her life overtook her.

Her vocal expressions were varied and empirical, random responses to the waves that burned through her. Suddenly the schoolgirl dress - a halfhearted and wholly ineffective defense against the very acts that were now occurring - had become an overheated encumbrance. As she tried to regain her sense of reality, Mona began to slide it up her body. Only after it was up to her armpits and she felt the cool air on her behind, did she realize in this position, she was potentially exposing everything - a swell view of her rectum - to Jeff in the dim light. She hoped this parading herself like livestock at a fair didn't repulse him.

"Please don't stop!" she said exasperatedly, looking back over her shoulder into his eyes. The dress was surprisingly cooperative, and she tossed it on the coffee table as Jeff beheld the site of his first lover's bare body - except for a pair of white panties that were stretched between her thighs just above the knee - writhing in ecstasy. He continued his assault on the overflowing genitalia that seemed to barely fit at the base of her small torso. There was no question as to its viability; her oceanic cocktail dripped from Jefferson's wrist and forearm as he continued to ardently invade the young woman's aquifer. Soon Ramona Jean was grunting and crying out with more orgasms, arching and twisting in a primal ballet as her breath loudly escaped her open jaw.

As the dark-haired beauty's spasms diminished, it left her exhausted, her mind clouded and awash with the addictive opiate of carnal satisfaction, but at the same time, invaded by random thoughts and pangs of guilt. Seeking solace and some form of absolution, Ramona turned toward her first lover and collapsed into his arms, her breathing labored. She just needed a short rest, then she would enter another realm - that of the care and feeding of the unseen creature lurking in Jeff's shorts. She was surprised at his patience - schoolmates' tales of demanding penile urgency echoed in her memory - as he responded by holding her firmly, kissing her cheek and stroking her raven hair.

Seven

Mona awoke from her nightmare - some unseen force had been chasing her, but it was more likely a result of the indigestion from her dad's whiskey. Her covers were incomplete and the couch felt strange. There was an arm - a heavy arm - on her waist. 'Shit! I'm on the couch with that boy, Jeff! I fell asleep on him! How awful he must feel! Bless his heart.' - he had covered Mona with his button down shirt, albeit backwards, and somehow - she didn't remember doing it - her white cotton panties had found their way back up to her pelvis, although the crotch panel was now a soggy, cold reminder of her uncontrolled lust a couple hours before

Her bladder full, she slid out from under his arm and he stirred but didn't awake. Mona spun the shirt, which covered her to her knees like a dress, around and buttoned it. Once on the back porch in the dim morning light, she off slid her panties - they were uncomfortably plastered to her sore crotch - from underneath and tossed them in the wash tub. She needed to make sure to launder them later today, lest her mother discover them, rife with vaginal essence.

On her return trip from the outhouse, Jeff emerged from the back door, his cowlick sticking up but he otherwise appeared undamaged by her neglect. The young blonde man smiled and waved, since any greeting would go unheard. He leaned down and kissed her cheek as they passed each other in the cool morning air, but was preoccupied with his own errand.

Jefferson returned to the Tompkins' kitchen to see his pretty new friend still in his shirt, quite oversized for her. Off-white with a faint black grid pattern, it was partially unbuttoned and hanging off a shoulder, held up on that side precariously by one of her conical breasts. Bathed in bluish florescent light, her skin was smooth and flawless. His boxers, dried but missing from the back porch - he had noticed just moments before - were spinning around her finger.

"Looking for these?" she asked, her voice rough with a morning rasp.

Jeff shrugged and smirked.

Ramona began giggling, unable to maintain the siren caricature she was mimicking, an amalgam of several movie stars. The boxers stopped spinning, but she kept her grip on them.

"Jefferson, I'm sorry I fell asleep. You aren't mad are you?"

He smiled and shook his head.

Ramona's pulse began to quicken and butterflies began as her apology ended and she began to carry out her plan. Once again her conscience reared its annoying head. 'You could go get dressed and make him breakfast. That would be the proper behavior. You got what you wanted, Ramona, to be fingered by a man like a common whore and illicitly reaped the pleasures of matrimony.'

Unsure of what to do next, the blonde man approached her and reached for his boxers, which Mona quickly hid behind her back.

"Which hand?" she asked, grinning broadly.

He pointed at her right, aware either choice was futile.

"Wrong!" she reached out with her empty hand, palm up, very near his zipper.

Jeff stepped forward and tried to reach for his underwear, but she dropped them on the floor as his motions pinned her against a Hoosier cabinet. Both her shoulders were bare and the shirt was about to reveal her breasts. Their eyes, reflecting the bright overhead light, met.

Before she realized it, Ramona was grabbing a man's crotch - albeit inside his pants - for the first time. Her mind raced and eyes widened at the feel of the fleshy appendage. Instinctively she groped and explored as Jeff smiled at her amazed expression - his testicles were unexpectedly weighted, solid, and loosely attached. After a few seconds she took a deep breath and withdrew her hand, gathering the shirt around her shoulders. Jeff stepped back.