The Sick Zak Course of My Life Ch. 04

'So what'll you give me?'

What does he mean?

'What do you mean?' I ask, trying to push on his forearm, trying to close my legs, but electrically aware that a stranger has his finger in my knickers, and is arousing the bejesus out of me.

'What will you give me in return?' he says, as if we're discussing the film.

I shake my head, but my thighs have contracted around his hand and my pelvis is starting to curl off the seat. 'I have nothing to give,' I say, sounding more dramatic than intended.

'Whatya mean, nothing to give. Okay, this'll do fine,' he responds, and a second broad fingers slips into the leg band of my panties and onto the flushed heated skin of my labia lips.

'Whatdya want,' I gasp, sliding down the seat, flaring my thighs round his fingers and hand.

'A breast?'

I think about that. My breasts are sensitive, especially the nipples, particularly when gently scratched with a fingernail -- one of Zak's specialities. (It drives me wild!) But it couldn't be as bad as having his fingers where they are now. Down there. Where he is causing me to tighten up and start to gasp.

'Ngaaaar!' He does it again. I do it again. A sudden surge, a sudden rush of feeling, rockets through me.

'Okay,' I gasp, agreeing. To any bloody thing. Anything has to be better than this ... this torment he is putting me through. I feel his other hand dropping from my shoulder down the front of my chest. I almost reach up to stop him, but remember the deal we just made. I glance to my left. Yanti is lost to the man's hand inside her shorts, which themselves are now well down her hips, knickers too. I can clearly see the fingers where they disappear between her legs, working on her hungrily. How he can do this, while so heavily involved in the heated tryst he is having with the woman he came in with? Kissing and caressing his wife with one hand, groping my Yanti with the other.

I feel the hand on my breast. It has started to gently squeeze me. It generates a strange feeling, a bit like molasses being poured all over my chest. Then his mouth comes onto my ear. 'D'you like that, pet?' he whispers. I wondered how old he is. I would have said thirties, but his voice sounds older than that. I guess he's Uncle Zak's age. Mid forties, somewhere there. I don't respond. Next thing I know I have his tongue in my ear and he's sucking on the lobe. 'Do you like that, pet?' he asks again, (a man of few words,) breathing the question in my ear.

'Ngaaar!' I gasp, and jump, then plunge my thighs at his fingers. He hasn't relinquished my pussy. He was meant to! I want to object, but the hand between my legs is driving me nuts. And the one on my breast is starting to have its usual effect. I realise, there and then, that I have to put a stop to this. It's getting out of hand. But my mouth has opened wide and I'm suddenly gasping for breath. (My defence is in tatters before it's got started!) I turn my head again, looking to Yanti for help. To see that the hand from her shorts is pushing up her t-shirt. Yanti does nothing to stop him. Then I have three fingers in my panties and they are starting to do serious damage to my self-control. I turn back to my neighbour, now half over the armrest that's meant to be keeping us apart.

'Please,' I say, about to appeal to his better nature, but before I can get out the rest of the request I have his mouth over mine. And he's starting to kiss me. When his lips hit mine I drew back my head back, but his arm round my neck pulled it back. Now we are lips to lips and he's practically forcing me to kiss him. 'Hot little honey,' I hear in my other ear, as a second hand snakes over my shoulder and makes for my uninvolved breast. With a start of horror I realise it's Mr Shut-the-fuck-up from the seat behind. The big one, with the girl-friend on his lap. I find myself wondering, kinda vaguely, if the hand he has just closed over my right boob is the same one he had up his dolly's knickers. Then I am kissing my neighbour back.

The effect of the hands -- where they are and doing what they're doing -- has me wanting to kiss someone. Preferably male. Ideally hard. So I do. Something inside me makes me. Even with this complete stranger! Pretty soon we are French kissing more deeply than I do with David. It's how I kiss with Zak. (Zak is sorta gifted in that department: the reptilian tongue makes the difference.) With this guy next to me it seems to be all about opening the mouth as wide as you can and letting the juices mix and the tongue work hard.

By the time I realise I am dangerously hot, and extravagantly flushed, and intimately involved in something I really don't think I want to be involved in, with people I don't even know and will probably never see again, my blouse is open and one of the hands on my boobs has found a way under my bra. The other still moulds and squeezes, happy at the feel of me in cotton. But that doesn't last. The clip at the front is located, by one of the guys who's hands explore me -- or maybe even his girl-friend -- and I feel my boobs come free.

They are not free for long. I am gasping and grunting into the mouth of this guy, when I feel my panties being pulled past my knees though I don't remember them coming off my hips. I lift a knee to slow things down. I wrench my face away. 'Please,' I gasp, reaching for the hand between my legs, trying to stop my thong travelling any lower than it already has. It is my red one. The one I've taken to wearing around the house. It makes me feel ... Me. (It is probably my favourite.)

As I am contemplating this, my favourite article of clothing leaving its authorised position, my head is moved left, and another man's mouth comes onto mine. I murf an objection into this new mouth, but a tongue, quickly into mine, soon stills my objections. Yanti I notice, while I start to kiss this new guy -- the huge guy behind me, or so I believe -- also has more than one hand on her now. And the new one belongs to the wife! It is stuck between her legs, moving on her hungrily, and causing Yanti to buck and writhe in her seat. Her shorts and knickers are discarded on the floor. Both Yanti's pretty breasts are exposed, one of them deep in the fingers of a large man's hand, being thoroughly mauled.

I stick my tongue in the big guy's mouth, partly because I wanted to feel what it would be like to do it: because he was so huge. I wanted to see if his tongue was as thick and as long as it seemed to be, and partly because ... I just sort of did it, (without a lot of planning or forethought).

My favourite thong was now below my knee and my neighbour's hand was back between my legs. This time it was causing mayhem, and a jumpy concern. (Was there some sort of sign you got when you were past the point of no return? Some sort of alarm that went off, caused you to blink, or set up a buzzing in the ear, to say that you had to stop things now or the outcome wouldn't be good.) A part of me was hot and excited and bothered, impulse driven by all that was happening: the bizarre situation; the public place; the people being strangers; Yanti getting similar; four hands, maybe six, wandering all over me, looking for arousal points, private parts, sensory buttons to press or stroke ... fondle ... caress ... Ngaaar! ... or even nip. My pelvis pulsed in the air, off on a trip of its own. Clitoris brushed, then brushed again. Swollen hood attacked. A thorough, yet gentle attack. Drawing the feeling out and up as if it were syrup. Curling it back and stoking it. Then erupting it again!

I wanted to call out for help, but didn't know who I should call to. All of those closest appeared to be involved. Involved already. Involved with us. The two innocent ladies, from home, who had strayed back here, where the bad girls went. Who'd wandered inadvertently into bad boys' territory. Maybe that was it. Maybe the reason the wilder girls, the badder girls, came up here to the back was because this is what happened when they came up here. Other people played with them. Older strangers played with them. Perhaps that was the point of coming up the back? To be played with like this.

Did I want to be taken 'all the way', I wondered, almost compliant with all that my neighbour wanted. All that he wanted to do, with me. All the parts that he seemed to have such a need to explore. The naked, private, bits. Of me. To stroke, caress. Squeeze and lick and kiss, and gently bite. (He wasn't vicious. Not at all. I'd heard they were -- that was one thing at least to be thankful for!) My blouse and bra and cardigan were off to either side or rucked beneath my chin. My breasts were bared. There was a hand involved with each. Testing, checking, caressing, fondling the glands, if such they were -- they felt like plump swollen clumps of sensory nerves! Hard wired into my soul! Hot wired into an agonizing core of lava-like arousal! As if an animal inside me was being played with, and all I could do is stand on the periphery, and watch.

'Graaaagh!' I groaned, as one and then two fingers worked their way inside me. It made a slurping sound. Was I so moist? Had my juices lubricated me to that extent? Which is when I realised my pelvis was lifting off the cinema seat and angling towards the fingers that invaded me, and that I was kissing 'shut-the-fuck-up' as enthusiastically as he was kissing me, and that my tongue was as deep in his mouth as his was in mine, and that the fingernails around one of my nipples were much too long to belong to a man.

I managed to open my eyes -- a belated attempt to bring some rationale to events -- to note that Mrs wife-of-Yanti's-neighbour had slithered along the seats and was now on her knees between Yanti's legs, her face planted firmly over Yanti's lively pudenda. 'I think,' I said, my mouth my own for a brief few seconds, before shut-the-fuck-up gave into the whining entreaties -- so that's what that sound had been? -- of little Miss sit-on-his-lap-with-his-hand-in-her-pants, and let her kiss me.

Next thing I know I am tasting lipstick, and peppermint. A womanly scent and taste comes into my mouth with her tongue. Much gentler than him, I note, as my lips give up the sentence they were trying to get round, and meld with Miss hand-in-her-pants. Then, (and it was funny how it happened,) just when I thought it would be nice if it ... wasn't ... all ... so ... rushed ... Miss hand-in-her-pants eased off, a tad, and her lips became all gentleness.

My own became the same.

The only girl I'd ever kissed before was Yanti, and only that one time -- under urging and instruction, as it were, of Uncle Zak. But this was sorta different. This was kinda ... serious ... if you know what I mean. As if, being strangers, this was just about the kiss and nothing else. And that being the case we should try to impress. And I think we both got into it.

The lightest touch of lips. Held together but not pressing hard. Her lips were pretty nice, and plump, and mine are girlish, full and pleasantly thick (my Uncle Zack's description) . It was quite a feeling! Four gentle lips held close, all moist, no tongues involved, just the lips themselves, against each other, moving gently, rolling around each other, brushing against each other, enhancing the feeling, the touch.

Then -- at last, it seemed -- her tongue came out. Like a little animal peeking between the gentle warmth of contact. Tentatively touching. Lightly licking my, by now, quivering lips. Then, as if by a signal, all four plump lips slowly opened and both tongues came out and touched -- like animals rubbing noses, sort of thing. Then, as if the whole orchestra now needed to become involved, everything opens, and spreads, and the little meek animal tongues suddenly grow up, and set about entering, and pretty soon ravishing, the other mouth and tongue. Signal for mayhem. Signal for loss of control. But I couldn't ... lose control. So I murmured instead, between my groans, to the effect that perhaps this had gone on long enough.

But my girlfriend from the row behind didn't seem to be hearing me. Quite the opposite, in fact. I seemed to be having the sort of effect on her that other parts of me were clearly having on the two men involved. Why did I have this effect? What was it about me that caused three presumably pleasant human beings when out on the street, to become so needy and wanting when put at the back of a cinema, with the lights turned down? Was it, like butterflies, something to do with pheromones?

I felt it before it went in. What Zak call's 'my friend'. (His prick, my friend -- who is he kidding, the rat!) I violently wrenched myself away from the lips I was growing to enjoy, (the fingers that were doing things to my breasts that were hugely different from anything I'd ever experienced before,) and the lower movement (the one that concerned) where unhygienic practices could lead to serious trouble. 'No. No. No.' I yelped, my eyes, surprised, staring up at the face of quite a pleasant young lady who could not have been too much older than me, leaning over from the seat behind -- still on her boyfriend's knee, still with his hand in her panties!

'Whatisit Sweetie?' asked my latest girlfriend, rotating her hips calmly in response to what the hand was doing inside her panties.

'No,' I said, my eyes I sense as large as saucers.

'Worried?' she said, a ripple of concern floating onto her brow -- though her eyes looked pretty spaced.

Had I done that to her? Or the hand in her pants?

'Yes,' I agreed. Clutching at the ridges of concern across her brow.

'Don wan im bareback, huh?' she smiled, stroking my cheek.

I was turned in my seat, facing my neighbour, upper leg over his, lower stretched out beneath the seat in front, neighbour's lower parts between ...

'Hey Gabby,' she said, head turning to her man, 'Giv the girl a sheath, there's a daling.'

I had it in my hand. Small and slim and square. I stared at it dumbly. Of course I knew what it was for, but Zak never liked the things. Neither does David. And all the guys in college put it on themselves. Shit, I'd never even handled one before.

But it seemed my neighbour had!

It was out of my hand. I was listening to foil rip open. Then there was a bit going on between my legs. I was looking back at Gabby's girl, trying not to stare at what Gabby's hand was doing inside her panties -- although she didn't seem to think it strange. As if that's what you did back here. Have men play with your private parts as you sit, glazy eyed, and take it. Get it off with someone else at the same time to heighten the ... excitement ... or something.

I decided, while this was going on, and as I appeared to have been presented with a window of opportunity, to take Yanti and get the heck out of here, before I had to experience things I hadn't experienced before, as it were. I turned my head. Yanti was now two seats away, astride the man she had been next to, him with his pants round his knees. She was easing up and down on top of him with a motion that seemed to pass pain to her face, eyes closed, mouth open, head angled towards the darkness overhead. The wife, or maybe girlfriend, was down on the floor, somewhere -- her feet were under mine -- forcing her head behind Yanti's buck naked rear end, doing something with her tongue.

'Ngaaaaar!' I grunted, taken off guard, swung back around, pelvis suddenly flaring as a now appropriately dressed penis, that belonged to my next door neighbour, went into me a darn sight more hungrily that Uncle Zak ever did, even at his most desperate, (as when he first gets his hands on me after six months apart).

You can't do much of anything when a thing like that, goes in there, as Yanti and I had discovered already with Zak in the attic. So when hands sought to reposition me astride my neighbour I didn't make it particularly difficult for him to achieve what he wanted to achieve. Pretty soon I was in the same position with my neighbour as Yanti was, with hers. The only difference, I guess, is that I didn't have a girls face and lips and tongue waiting for my ass to descend on the down stroke, like Yanti had. Which is when Gabby's girlfriend's lips sought mine, to make a second difference.

Leaning over the back of the seat, Gabby's hand doubtlessly still in her pants, (she seemed to be happy with it there,) she found my lips with hers, and my tongue, and some of the back of my throat. She reached over me and cupped my naked butt, thrusting up and down with a rhythm that seemed to be inbuilt, or instinct, or something like that. Her fingers started looking for my anus. (Why did I want her to find it? )

I started to moan into her mouth, and curl and coil my pelvis in a way that took as much advantage of her wandering hands on the skin of my butt, as it made it easier for my neighbours sheathed knight to thrust ever deeper inside me. The in ... and out ... I found, was nice ...Into me ... then partly out ... then into me ... then partly out ... then into me.

GRAAAH!

I was slavering out of the side of my mouth. Something to do with my taste buds?

My row-behind girlfriend noticed, and hungrily licked it off. I was becoming more and more aggressive towards my ride -- for that, I think, is what it properly was; especially seated like this, moving up and down on top of him like this -- my feelings towards my girlfriend from the seat behind became the opposite. And not just her. Even her boyfriend, in fact -- his hand still fondling my nearest breast, although it must have been uncomfortable, sitting as he was, hand-in-pants on his lap.

She leaned forward to get at my lips. He leaned after her to get at my breast. My relationship towards them seemed to be growing more gentle. Almost loving. As if our relationship was based on mutual respect and gratitude. (They had, after all, provided the 'sheath' as she termed it.) The relationship with my neighbour, on the other hand, the one I was now astride, riding quietly -- we couldn't make too much noise as this was, after all, a cinema, a public place, quite possibly with children not too many rows in front of us, (out for a treat with their grannies, though I'm not sure the film would be their sort of things, either the children, or grannies,) -- was based more on mutual satisfaction. Satisfaction where both of us ...

Ngrrrrrah! ... I orgasmed violently! (I loved to do that. No getting away from it.)

I heard groans from Yanti. I knew them well. When Zak had done his work with her Yanti's voice had changed. Become high pitched and lost. Almost like a baby's cry. Little squeals, high pitched and rhythmic. As if she was urging the orgasm out. It came in little steam-train-puffs ... and then ... (There it was now!) ...the mewling, plaintive cry as the orgasm ripped through her innards and swelled and filled her with slick bright purple light. (That's what it sounded like, at least.)

I glanced at her, still bouncing up and down and starting to grunt -- as I tended to do when getting close -- to see Yanti's lovely face as she came. It was beautiful. As if all her cares and worries had been swept away, and all she knew was a flood of love for all the world. I was pleased to see they were being gentle with her. The man, I guessed, had come as well.

Then I had other things on my mind -- funny how my girlfriend from the seat behind instinctively knew I was coming again. She stopped kissing me, knowing I probably had better things to do with my mouth. Like stretch it wide open and get all the air that I needed to ride up this peak I was aiming for.

Why I always approach orgasm as quietly as I do -- compared to Yanti I was quiet as a mouse -- I have no idea. But when it hits I moan so loud and long that Zak, first time he heard me, thought I was dying. He really did! And in a way I was, I suppose. That 'little death' of mine. Though sometimes, when it hits, it feels anything but 'little'!