Summer Ch. 21

He pushed inside her and like a child he explored the already explored, turning his finger inside her until she groaned. He perversely withdrew his finger and examined it, carefully watching the juices that coated it catch the light and glisten. He lent between her open legs again to study her clitoris. It surprised him that it took him a while to find it, now hooded and seemingly much smaller than he remembered. Stroking it with his finger he rolled the protective hood back to expose the small, seemingly insignificant, head. The effect was electric and despite her torpor Pat cried out and tried to squirm away from his fingers. He pushed her hands away as they tried to stop him and she moaned again as he touched the small, highly sensitive, nub of flesh.

He sat back, his mind afire with his new knowledge and shopping list of possibilities. He rearranged himself in his trousers. He had never been so desperately erect, so sexually aware. His almost painful erection was straining to escape the confines of his pants, the large wet patch staining his front testimony to his readiness and his need.

Making his mind up he leaned back and unbuckled the broad leather belt he wore before, working with both hands, he slowly and deliberately unbuttoned his trousers.

"What are doing?" Pat asked, her voice unsure, wary, for the first time perhaps showing a hint of fear.

"You know exactly what I'm doing," he answered quietly, pushing his trousers down to his knees. He reached under his shirt and taking hold of his huge and voluminous underpants he levered himself up so that they could join his trousers around his knees. He knelt upright and as he did his erection suddenly sprang free, poking out, hard and angry between the flaps of his shirt. Startled, she cried out and pushed herself up onto one elbow as his penis bobbed threateningly just a hand span in front of her. He smiled and with one large hand he pulled up his shirt, exposing himself to her. Shocked she tried to back away but came up against the canvas wall of the tent. She licked her lips nervously and glancing away from his erection she looked down at herself as if realising the precariousness of her position for the first time. She made to sit up but he restrained her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Too late for that my dear," he said quietly and without threat, "we've come far too far to stop now. Only a few more steps and we can relax."

She stared at him, shocked, her eyes wide, her fingers at her mouth. His penis reared red and angry from beneath his shirttail, a thick cluster of short ginger hairs at its base and below that his scrotum hung creased and ugly.

"What do you mean, 'a few more steps'?" she asked eventually when she could find the words but he ignored the question, still holding his shirt up at his stomach, his erection waving dangerously in front. She scrambled up into a sitting position and he let the shirt drop.

"Which hand do you use?" he asked and she looked at him, slow and confused, her mind trying to make sense of the question, her eyes fixed on the head of his penis which was still poking through the front of his shirt tails.

"What?"

"Which hand do you write with?" he asked deliberately as though talking to a small child and still confused she slowly raised her right hand. "Good," he said and without waiting he took hold of her wrist, pulling her hand towards him.

"No!" she shouted suddenly realising what he was about to do and she pulled back trying to wrench her hand out of his. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears and he let go of her, realising that he was moving too fast. He sat back on his heels as she curled back against side of the tent, her arms defensively wrapped across her chest again.

"I'm sorry," he said. suddenly conciliatory, quietly reassuringly, "I thought you had seen one before," he said indicating his penis which still poked out from under his shirt. "But you haven't have you?" and she shook her head briefly, the tears now glistening on her lashes.

"He's quite friendly," he said holding up his shirt again for her see. He took his penis in his other hand and shook it like a stick, "not dangerous at all see?"

She watched as he played with his own penis, moving it up and down, waving it from side to side, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the purple bulbous head, until she began to smile at his antics, her interest slowly piqued. He kept talking throughout, trying to make her laugh, innately recognising that curiosity would lead her where he desperately wanted her to go.

"Come here," he said at last, letting his shirt fall and holding out his hand to her but she remained stubbornly just out of reach. Smiling reassuringly he placed his hand causally and easily on her thigh, re-establishing the all important physical contact; softly stroking, all the while talking quietly and encouragingly to her.

Slowly she began to relax, he could see the tension beginning to drain out of her, her body less rigid, her hands slowly unclenched. She stared at the head of his penis still poking out almost comically from under the front of his shirt tails; so he bounced on his knees making the head bob lazily, disappearing momentarily beneath his shirt before reappearing like a character from a Punch and Judy show and she laughed.

"See," he said, lifting his shirt to show her his still erect penis, "there's nothing to be frightened of with this little chap. He's quite harmless really."

"He?" she asked, leaning forward a little to look at it, moving closer, her interest growing. Be careful my dear he thought smiling to himself as she leaned in for a closer look, it was curiosity that killed the cat.

"Of course it's a 'he'," he said and took it in his hand again, "what else could it be? Look at him! He's the very epitome of masculinity. What could be more masculine than a penis?"

She looked at it carefully, keeping her distance as best she could, just in case it still proved capable of biting. He leaned forward and taking her by surprise he reached up between her legs and placed his finger against her sex.

"And this is the most feminine part of a woman," he said quietly, stroking his finger against her. "And it's always called 'she'."

Pat closed her eyes for a moment as his finger pressed softly between the lips of her sex surprised at how she could so instantly be turned on again. She opened her legs a little to grant him access and running his finger higher he quickly found her clitoris, exposing it, rolling back the hood with his newly found expertise and she sat back with a softly breathed 'Oh God!'.

"There," he said quietly as his finger drew lazy little circles over the suddenly erect nub. "I thought you would like that."

Pat closed her eyes for a moment as his softly reassuring voice washed over her, the individual words passing unheard but the timbre of his voice calming, his finger exciting as it circled softly on the sensitive centre of her sex. He body began to instantly vibrate, despite her recent climaxes she was already turned on, being naked was obviously helping keep her high, she was meant for it. His free hand reached up and cupped her breast and she opened her eyes to voyeuristically watch him brush his thumb across her nipple, it was already erect and waiting for his touch. Now familiar sensations raced from her nipple to her sex signalling her readiness to cum again if the stimulus continued

.

"Such beautiful breasts," he said quietly as his thumb stroked her. Her eyes clouded over as he fondled her, his hand moving slowly and indecently from one beast to the other. His finger was still at her sex. Slowly her pupils dilated and her eyes closed and she once again surrendered her body to the newly discovered salacious opiate of sex.

"Do you really think so?" she asked quietly, almost dreamily. The sensations like a drug washing through her body, "are they really beautiful?"

"Of course," he offered, his hand reinforcing the words as he moved from one breast to the other. "The most beautiful I have ever seen," he said as if he was an expert, "the weight, the shape, the texture, all absolutely perfect." He didn't tell her that he had only ever seen one other pair of breasts and that was when he had inadvertently caught his wife breastfeeding their son and he had hurriedly made his embarrassed apologies and left the room. He had not found the sight at all exciting, rather disgusting actually, her wet, veined and overfilled breasts leaking milk had in fact repulsed him. The act of breastfeeding too intimate.

In truth he knew he had long ago stopped seeing his wife with any form of sexual desirability. He had obviously felt his wife's breasts, both inside and outside her heavy nightie during their brief period of trying of trying to procreate their species, although now he thought about it he didn't know why they were bothering, as if his species was worth procreating. He didn't really have any remembrance of the feel or the shape of her breasts and he could not have described her nipples if his life had depended on it.

The breasts that he was now holding in his hand were the complete antithesis of his wife's; these were soft and warm and beautifully shaped, full and enticing, entirely sexual. These breasts were designed for looking at, for holding and touching, fondling and sucking on. These breasts beat his wife's drooping sacks hands down. He squeezed Pat's nipple and felt her stiffen, felt the corresponding intake of breath as the sharply exciting pain raced through her chest. There was no comparison.

She had moved forward on the bed, drawn by the finger at her sex and was sitting with one foot on the floor, the other folded back and crossed under the first, the position opening her sex wide for him. He looked down between her legs where his finger still stroked softly over her clitoris. He saw that her hips were moving in time to him, an unconscious rhythm that would eventually dance her up and into her climax. Her breast rolled in his palm and her sex moved under his finger, soft sexual rhythms and he could not help but admire the shape and texture of her, the very feel of her and his penis throbbed in anticipation.

"And the most beautiful fanny," he said, testing the word for size, rolling it around his mouth like his finger rolled over her clitoris; and despite her growing excitement Pat giggled a little like a child with a new dirty word. The very use of the forbidden was fanning the flames of her mounting desire.

"Fanny," she repeated quietly beneath her breath, trying the word in her own mouth.

"Penis," he said raising his shirt again, just enough to let her see.

"Penis," she repeated and looked at him before looking down at his penis poking out from under his shirt, suddenly looking smaller and less threatening for being named.

"Touch him," the vicar said and suddenly she looked a little pensive, unsure. "Go on," he said, "touch him, he won't hurt. In fact you'll probably enjoy it. Here, give me your hand, go on give it to me," he said to her sudden reluctance, "let's make friends with him and don't be such a scaredy cat this time"; and he reached down and took her hand in his and she let him. He just held it for a moment before slowly drawing it towards him. His hand shook as if palsied as he wrapped her soft, unresisting, fingers around his shaft, feeling cool and wonderfully exciting as they gripped his hot and fierce erection.

"My God," he breathed in awe as he watched her hand close on him, a slight squeeze, a tentative investigation. The sight drove him to an even higher state of excitement if that was at all possible. When he looked at her face as she stared at her own hand; the rapped expression of guiltless inquisitive innocence, her eyes wide, the pink tip of her tongue poking between her lips in childish concentration, he almost came immediately.

He allowed her to hold him for a few moments, her first hesitant, wary, step into the unknown. Her fingers closed around him and she glanced up at him, shy but enthusiastic and he nodded his encouragement. He took her hand and ran it around the head of his shaft, spreading his juices with her hand, gently leading her, teaching her how to hold him, quelling her fears; and she took to these uncharted waters without a qualm, sliding right in, her hand wrapped around him, leaning forward enraptured and her eyes shining with excitement.

"Lie down," he said, his voice almost breaking with repressed excitement. "Lie down," he repeated, trying to calm himself, "and let me look at you again."

Pat cast a shy coquettish glance at him before swinging her legs up onto the bed, suddenly hopeful that she would once again find his fingers back inside her and she could continue her interrupted journey back to her climax; and with an almost unseemly enthusiasm she quickly settled herself onto her back, arranging herself for him, smiling as unasked, she spread her legs again. As she settled herself she reached out and took hold if his shaft again, the dutiful student practising her lines.

"Good girl," he said smiling, "you are a fast learner," and taking her hand in his he began to move it up and down on his shaft; slow easy strokes that he realised, in his heightened state, would have him coming very quickly.

"This is my penis," he said "as if beginning a lecture at Sunday School and he laughed at the thought that what they were doing here was about as far from Sunday School as it was possible to get. "But there again I guess you've worked that out yourself haven't you" and he disengaged her hand from his shaft, pushing it between his legs and cupping her fingers around his balls.

"These are where the sperm comes from when I cum," he said letting her feel them, hold them and almost instinctively she hefted them in the palm of her hand, squeezing them experimentally. "Easy," he said laughing tentatively as he disengaged her hand from his testicles, "they're very sensitive to pressure," and he wrapped her hand around his shaft again.

"And that's what you're going to do for me now, isn't it?" he said and she looked at him a little confused. "You're going to make me cum, just as I did for you, just as I have been doing all morning. A little reciprocity eh?

He took hold of the hand that was wrapped around his shaft and slowly began to move it up and down on his shaft. The feeling was immediate and intense.

"Oh yes," he breathed, trying not to groan as he felt his testicles tighten in anticipation of relief, "oh yes! That's just so good."

Pat watched him very closely; she was now totally engrossed in the experiment, an active and eager participant, her hand slowly stroking the length of his shaft, rubbing from the base to just below the bulbous head. His precum began to flow copiously down his shaft and onto her fingers, lubricating, shining in the soft green light inside the tent. He hovered over her, shaking, as she watched his cock move in her hand. He could tell from the smile on her face that she was learning and liking what she now knew was expected of her.

She stroked him slowly and steadily, squeezing gently as if milking a cow, beginning to understand from his reaction to her hand the power she could exert over him. His shining face was slowly turning purple, his jowls quivering as she squeezed him lightly. He began to push against her restraining fingers, working himself as much as letting her make the running, driven by his growing need to cum. He looked up at the ceiling, looking for strength, fighting the urge to cum, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as she worked him, his penis pointing straight out from his groin like a gun.

Pat slowed, unsure of what to expect. "Don't stop!" he instructed, his voice strangely strangulated and she immediately began to stroke him again.

"That's it, that's it, keep going," he urged, his voice sounding strangled and guttural. He was beginning to bend at the waist, folding slowly over around her hand.

"Keep going," he urged again, almost frightening her with his intensity. And then suddenly he cried out, a deep elemental groan that seemed to come from somewhere near his toes and he thrust his penis forward, hard against her hand, his shaft seeming to swell and harden even as she held it.

"I'm cuming!" he called out his warning to no one in particular and his shaft seemed to explode in her hand causing her to cry out at the same time. Huge spurts of hot, milky white liquid splattered down onto her chest and stomach and his shaft jerked in her hand like a live snake.

Suddenly terrified she let go and the Vicar groaned before wrapping his own hand around his straining penis, pumping hard, finishing himself off. A second wave of sperm rained down on her and she cried out again and thoroughly panicked she tried to wipe it away, smearing it across her skin and down into her pubic hair. A third wave fell on her as he milked his own shaft, covering her stomach again and falling on the back of her hand.

"Stop," he said finally, weakly, taking hold of her wrist as she tried to wipe her hand off on the bed. She looked up at him, the frightened, startled look of a woman on the verge of tears and he burst out laughing, his reaction surprising her into inaction.

"It's just sperm," he laughed. "That's what happens when a man cums, I would have thought that you would have known that."

Shaking her head in confirmation of her obvious ignorance she looked down at her stomach and the hand that he was still holding up. Glutinous strands and pools of sperm glistened like jewels across her tummy and hung like strings of pearls from her fingers. Laughing he used the flat of his own hand to smear the creamy substance across the smooth expanse of her firm young stomach.

"It's harmless, except for making babies of course," he added with a chuckle.

"And you had better get used to it my dear because if today is anything to go by you are going to see a lot more of it from now on."

Startled she made to speak but he took the hand he had been holding and pressed it into the smeared mess on her belly. He wiped her hand over her stomach, forcing her to rub the sticky substance into her own skin.

Slowly, as he rubbed, her resistance faded and as if beginning to enjoy the experience, she rubbed herself with the flat of her own hand until the bulk of the liquid had disappeared; the heat of the day and the warmth of her skin drying it rapidly. After a time she lifted her hand and stared at her palm where small traces of sperm remained stuck to her and bringing her hand up to her face she sniffed at it suspiciously.

"What does it smell of?" he asked, his heart rate slowing and his colour coming back to its normal florid hue.

"Nothing really," she said propping herself up on one elbow and he smiled. Almost jovially he raised his shirt and showed her his deflated penis, a short string of sperm still dangling precariously from the end.

"He's shrunk," she said in surprise and he took her hand again and placed it on his wilted member. She took it in her hand without any urging, lifting it and smearing the now cold sperm around the purple head. He shuddered at her touch and his penis jerked a little. She laughed and opened her fingers, letting it rest like a bird in the palm of her hand.

"What do you think to him?" he asked, as he would a child with a new toy and she smiled.

"Not quite what I expected," she said, quite absorbed with its new state and she rolled it in her palm again. The effect was instant and his shaft twitched in her hand causing her to jump and she laughed again. He laughed with her, kneeling beside the bed holding his shirt high up on his stomach as if in a "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours" game; which in a grown up way he was.