Third Time Getting Lucky

"Good."

I rocked happily on his solid hand. I felt I could have done that all day, but eventually my stomach muscles were too fatigued. I had to lie still.

"Tell me, how's this?" He lifted his hand away and licked two of his fingers, clearly liking the taste of my crotch, which was the filthiest thing I'd ever seen. My pussy pulsated excitedly. He replaced his hand between my legs, wriggled it upwards, and carefully stroked my labia to figure out a path between them. I lay back and tried to tilt in a helpful direction.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, a finger approached the opening of my vagina and ran round the edge. Even more slowly, that finger came inside, where it should have been all my life. I went "aaaah!" in satisfaction.

"More?" I begged. "Please?"

A brief panic when I thought 'more' might be interpreted as his cock, but then the finger came back, and it brought a friend. The second finger had to squeeze in. It stretched me, exquisitely, and I couldn't help making noise.

It was the best thing I'd ever felt. Technically, it wasn't a new thing; Ed had done the same to me and it had been wonderful too, but being so comfortable with a man, knowing he was enjoying what we were doing as much as I was, not thinking about possible next steps yet, me looking forward to making him feel equally good just because I wanted to -- all those circumstances made it even better. And being sober.

Though the best part was simply that this filling of my cunt was happening right now. Right here. Pressing on all sorts of good areas -- I dismissed the theory that the G-spot was a myth and guessed I had at least three -- knuckles hitting around my clit but not hurting it -- pure bliss. I could, I thought selfishly, have stayed put for the whole weekend.

A third fingertip crept to try to join the others. It was almost fantastic, but somehow it meant discomfort. "Uh-uh," I said, shaking my head. The finger went away again. I relaxed. Then there was warm air over my clit, and the thump of the duvet hitting the floor, as Tom put his face down into the palm of his hand.

A touch of his tongue on my clit was too much. "Too sensitive there!" I squealed, and the tongue retreated slightly, obediently. Of course then my contrary body wanted more, so I tried to position myself under his tongue again.

"Wozzup?" he mumbled, then lifted his neck so he could see my face when I answered.

"Want it... but it's too much, too," I complained, not very helpfully.

"Mmm," he hummed in the general area of my clit, making me want more again. "Squeak if it... that won't help... 'no' for too much, 'yes' for g-good, OK?"

My outer lip was being sucked.

I'd never really imagined that. The mags one found in park bins didn't ever have pictures of such things. Nice.

Inner lips -- ever such gentle licking: nice, but then too much.

Sudden wetness over my clit: I supposed a mouthful of spit should have been off-putting, but it felt so good.

A tentative move of his tongue towards my clit again, and then a definite lick.

I yelled, bucked him off me, then howled in disappointment that he'd stopped.

Tom sat up and stared at me, 'Seriously?', all eyebrows raised.

Embarrassed, I squirmed. Didn't meet his gaze.

"Was that good or bad?" A calm voice, like you'd use for diagnostics of anything else. Maybe my software was buggered?

There was, at least, an easy answer to his question.

"Both."

He rolled his eyes. "OK, I can do something else, don't worry."

"But..."

"?"

I got the words out by rushing. "Could you please do that again but sit on my legs so they stay still so it can keep being too good, please?"

A pause. Had I shocked him? I'd certainly never felt such a dirty slut in all my life.

I needn't have worried. Tom took a moment to parse the sentence, then nodded, satisfied, as if he'd found the right part of the instruction manual.

He pulled my ankles together, knees wide apart still, plonked his chest on top of my feet, and put his face down back where he'd had it earlier. And then two fingers back inside me. And then his tongue.

I grabbed a pillow and clawed it to my chest with both hands, nails digging in. I clung to the pillowcase even as I held the pillow over my face, muffling my uncontrollable screams and moans. Tom gripped my thighs firmly and persisted.

It was amazing, aside from the bit where I got bashed by his nose, and I continued to bite the pillow until I had to collapse, shattered. Tom slid up to lie alongside me and removed the pillow, and we pulled each other into an enthusiastic kiss. Odd, tasting myself so strongly, a bit sweet, bit musky, slight background of urine, but I really didn't care.

"Yurra difficult woman to please," he commented. "But worth it."

__________________________

It was the second night of our weekend together. A walk across the Downs had whetted our appetites, so I'd splashed out on a pub dinner. Tom exemplified the manners his family had clearly ingrained in him by being quite forceful about paying his way -- we both knew we were on exactly the same salary after all, and his car maintenance probably cost most of what I was paying in rent -- but I told him what I'd read once: splitting the bill implies there wouldn't be another date.

He thought a moment, then put his wallet down. "OK. Are you coming to mine next weekend, then?"

"Won't your parents mind?" I couldn't imagine parents who welcomed partners of their children. The horror of my mother having met young gentlemen who were only friends of mine was something I aimed never to repeat. My dad probably would be little better if he weren't off in South America. I hoped I could wangle staying in college during as much of my university vacations as possible.

"Not at all! They love people. If you mean, 'oh god, young Thomas has a girlfriend...'? Well, they've got used to both my sisters and their blokes. Brother-in-law and fiancé, now. If you're worried about anything, it'd be my s-s-s-isters! Very protective of their baby brother, they are... " He grimaced.

"You can assure them I have only pure intentions... Oh."

"They'll be fine. Really. They'll like you."

"OK."

"There's only single beds in my room and the guest room, though, so it won't be quite like this weekend."

"OK. Sure."

I was curious to see what he was like in his natural habitat, as it were. I squeezed his hand and we returned to his car to go home. I was getting very used to navigating, this year.

We joined in a couple of the games being played at mine, and hit upon the genius idea of having a bath together rather than sequentially, to guarantee enough hot water. It wasn't quite as much fun as we'd hoped, even once we'd folded our legs around each other and managed to avoid the taps, but certainly good to be both warm and clean!

Back in my room I dried my hair, instinctively went to put on pants or pyjamas, realised it was surplus to requirements, and joined Tom in my bed. As I lay down, I felt his cock move against my leg, of its own accord.

Which reminded me about the possibilities: naked in bed with an enthusiastic naked man.

Did I want to have sex?

Well, anything that might feel as good as his fingers, definitely!

And he'd probably enjoy it more, too.

Decision made, but no hurry. We had all night.

So there was more cuddling and kissing and discovery of ways he liked to be touched -- that line down the underside of his penis was a very good place to run my finger down, apparently. His nipples, not connected to any nerves, so far as I could tell. Sucking his cock was fun, until my jaw got sore from holding my mouth open, but nibbling that beautiful soft skin of his shaft was just as good for both of us. Though he couldn't do much for me at the same time.

There was an obvious answer.

I caught his eye, looked down at his cock, looked questioning at him.

He raised his eyebrows very slightly, 'are you sure?'

I nodded my chin a little: 'yes'.

"I l-l-l-left the c-c-condoms in my bag..."

I opened my top drawer and tossed him a box of Mates. What I hadn't learnt yet was to have a new box ready-opened -- I didn't want to look like I'd used any, I suppose, too -- so Tom spent the next couple minutes cursing the cellophane and the stupidly well-sealed box, erection dwindling by the second.

Still, no hurry and not like I couldn't rekindle his interest in another couple minutes, so I chalked that one up to experience.

"Hold me?" he breathed, indicating the base of his shaft. It was ridiculously easy to stiffen him again, and the condom rolled on neatly. It didn't make the penis look any more odd than it did to start with. I suppose if you grow up with one you're used to it, but trust me, to women, their looks really aren't attractive. It's what you do with it that counts.

So: dressed and ready.

Tom played with me with his fingers for a moment, and then I lay back to receive him, classic missionary style. That seemed like the place to start.

He pulled himself up on top of me to the approximate position.

I felt the tip of his dick on my cunt, and with that and the weight of him on me, it triggered a flashback of a much more unpleasant time in a physically-similar situation.

I think I screamed, at least a little high-pitched sound, but I definitely threw him sideways off me and curled up in a protective ball, shaking in terror.

I don't know how long it was, but eventually I was aware of Tom giving me a cautious hug and putting the duvet over me. He lay next to me, above the duvet, nervously stroking my hair.

"Sorry," I said. It seemed necessary, if inadequate.

"'S' OK," he said. "Um... did I cause that?" He looked concerned, as well as confused.

"I don't think so." My fear seemed unreal, already gone far away again. "Want to try again?"

He looked sceptical. "Now? Really? I don't want to hurt you..."

"You didn't. Please?"

I wanted to do this, to convince my subconscious brain that we'd moved on from that fear and from now on, my body was all about pleasure.

"Well, OK..."

A fresh condom, a longer time to get him in the mood again. Snuggling as we tried to position ourselves. All ready and so far, so good.

He tried to slide forward.

I bucked in fear again, slightly controlled this time, just bringing elbows and knees to my chest, but he was half-expecting it and sprang off me. He lay down by my side. "Not tonight, don't think, love."

"Love," that was new. And he had a point, and more importantly he wasn't running away from me and my being all fucked up.

That was probably when I fell in love.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be. Back in a mo."

I curled up under the covers, trying to think about nice things. It didn't really work. Tom returning from the bathroom, clearly having had a quick hand shandy, had me feeling horribly guilty, despite how he was being so nice about it.

"O, o, only me. Nothing to be frightened of here. You catch up on your k-kip and it'll all be fine."

The next morning could have been really embarrassing, including being educated on how sexual pleasure and morning wood didn't go together as well as I thought, at least not until after a quick diversion, nipping down the corridor. Once he returned to my room and I went to pay attention to his awake, clean cock, no longer with a full bladder to distract from it, I was startled by Tom touching my head gently, making eye contact.

"Karen? Love? You do know, you don't have to? N,Not like, like... trade-off, doing this because you didn't...?"

I thought for a moment, indignant because of course I wasn't feeling I must, then realising that yes, in the back of my mind, I probably was vaguely keeping track of the give and take.

"Yeah, I know. But... thanks for saying it."

He nodded, and indicated his cock. "Go on, then." His cock might not turn me on by itself, but his intense gaze into my eyes as I lowered my mouth to it certainly did.

It wasn't a guilt-offering, really, but I did try to make that blow job especially good.

The recipient was certainly satisfied.

We went down the caff for a fry-up, then back to bed for some more experimentation. We were being trained to be scientists, after all.

Our results included lots of pleasure, though it turned out I had the same panic response to being leant over or straddled, if a cock came anywhere near my face. Worse, actually. That bit at least wasn't a surprise to me, so I could spare Tom from the violence of my reactions.

If his weight was the trigger, how about doggie-style?

It was a solid hypothesis, worth testing. His fingers went deep and I begged him to bury his cock, while he stroked my arse and could reach round to my tits, squeezing them until I moaned and demanded satisfaction.

This looked promising. Experimental apparatus all in working order.

It felt even better. I pleaded with him to hurry up and fill me.

Until the tip hit my vulva and the same panic came over me again. Mixed with sexual frustration, which felt horribly unfair, I grumbled. As well as being a let-down for him.

"Really, 'top worrying!"

Eventually he admitted, "I've got hands... quite used to that..."

"Can I watch?" I sounded over-eager.

He blushed, and I worried I'd been too forward.

As usual, I needn't have feared. He took himself in hand, applied some lubricant, and held my gaze as he stroked himself firmly up and down, slowly, then faster, then focusing on the end at the head. His eyes lost focus and he started mouthing, "yeah, yeah, Karen, good, oh Karen..."

The fountain of come he showered across the room was pretty impressive. But it was watching my boyfriend saying my name whilst playing with himself that was hot as hell.

My cunt was desperate for attention, and thankfully Tom was soon happy to oblige, using those strong hands again.

I felt we'd achieved an amazingly intimate connection by the time he had to set off for home.

More to the point, I couldn't believe my luck in how understanding he was, and couldn't wait for the next week to pass.

Eventually, Friday crawled into position.

TOM: SAY KAREN When will your train get here?

KAREN: SAY TOM depends which one I catch, so I'll call you from Crewe. I don't know if I'll be able to hear you or whoever answers, but I'll be with you 40 minutes later, OK?

TOM: SAY KAREN cool, I'll give the folks a heads-up. If they're in -- Ruth & Jude will probably be at work still, and on a lovely day like this the 'rents will be out at the allotment for hours.

TOM: SAY KAREN see you soon, love you.

KAREN: SAY TOM you too. xx

I wished there were a way to capture and save the contents of the screen. Some teams were experimenting with these new WIMP environments -- a good one called OS/2 and an inferior software package with the ridiculous name of 'Windows' that appeared to be capturing more of the market. One of those machines might have been able to record my screen as an image.

I sighed, refreshed the screen, and tried to concentrate on work. Being called upon to demonstrate some non-functioning software to some foreign investors was actually a relief.

And then the network cut out. Being 3 p.m. on a Friday, we all accepted our bosses' views that this was a good excuse to leave early. I pleaded with the station barrier guard who agreed he'd make a 'mistake' and let me onto an early train. Which meant I was able to call Tom the minute he was likely to be home.

"He, he, he, hello?"

I couldn't really make out the word but no-one else had a rhythm like that. Unless it ran in the family?

"Hi, it's Karen. There was a power cut at work so I got an early train and I'm at Crewe now. I'll be at Piccadilly at 5.15, if that's OK?"

"djdjd! Hwisndksnejs..." With Inter-City trains and Sprinters both moving in the background, not to mention hundreds of people and the platform guards' whistles, I wasn't going to hear a word.

"Sorry, deafie here, don't do phones! Can you just say yes or no? Is it OK to meet me at quarter past five?"

"'ESS!"

"Wonderful! I'd best get the train then!"

I ran, inelegant as the Ugly Duckling, but caught my connection. As I emerged from the barrier at his end, I noticed Tom spotting me while thinking I hadn't yet seen him, and liked the small smile growing across his face. Followed by full-beam smile once he saw I'd seen him. I lurched over through the crowds. Our hug and kiss upon being reunited were worthy of any movie.

"Gissa your bag." He hefted it onto his shoulder easily, and held my hand which helped keep my balance as we walked about 10 minutes to reach his family home. "No-one's in, yet. Tea, c-coffee, you said you had never seen Rocky Horror, do you want to?"

So we sat on a cosy leather sofa in a den, I watched the film, and he watched me enjoying Susan Sarandon and Tim Curry and all. It was risqué rather than pornographic, but I still tensed when the front door was unlocked, just as Frank tried to seduce Brad.

"Don' worry. It'll be Ruth or Jude."

Nerve-wracking enough. It was very clear his older sisters were both protective and a force of nature. But it wasn't a sister.

It was his mother.

"And this is Reverend something. The new vicar."

Call me a coward, but beyond squeaking "Hello, I'm Karen, nice to meet you," I decided Tom could deal with this conversation.

He indicated me, shrugged to indicate I'd already said who I was, and remained silent while his mum went to the kitchen.

"More tea, Karen, Vicar? Or sherry?"

The reverend noticed there was one spare chair, so motioned to me to budge up next to Tom, plonked himself down, and pointed at the screen where Frank, dressed to the nines in corset and stockings, was in bed with Brad, in white Y-fronts and nowt else.

"Don't mind me, you can un-pause it now. Ooh, my word! That doesn't look very consensual!"

Mrs Andersen returned with tea for me and herself, a bottle of sherry, and two glasses. She and the vicar had generous amounts while Tom and I pretended to continue watching the film. My original horror abated as I slowly realised both his mum and the vicar were very familiar with the film, not shocked in the slightest, and found it very funny.

"I'm going home!" warbled the vicar after his third glass. While I admired his Richard O'Brien impression, I was rather relieved when he did.

Tom's mum apologised, saying the vicar was new to the area and didn't really know anyone yet.

I didn't mention the only other vicar I knew was still pulling that one after five years and many, many bottles of my best friend's parents' sherry. What is it with clergy and sherry?

Then Tom's sisters showed up.

"So you're the one leading my little brother astray?", one of them quizzed by way of introduction.

"No. I'm sure he's quite capable of doing that all by himself," I deadpanned.

"He'd better not be leading you astray," she threatened. Tom attempted to look insulted, but it more resembled a frog.

"Apparently his sisters are his role models," I replied.

"Ah well, you're stuffed then! Sorry!"

Tom managed to get a word in, having been choking on them during the whole of this conversation. "J-Jude's right at that. Terrible example, 'e is."

I struggled to keep up with the conversation at dinner, but it was clear this family was good-natured and cared for each other a lot, even if they did bicker and tease each other. I was landed with a pile of books to borrow and 'return next time you're up', which seemed like a good sign, as was the plan to go off hillwalking the next day with Ruth and her bloke.

Tom showed me to the small guest-room, with a single bed. "I don't think Mum actually expects you to s-leep in it, really."

"You'd know best, I suppose, but given she told me I was sleeping here, I'd feel a bit guilty not. Didn't you say yours was a single, too?"