Sneaky-soft, a breathless murmur, just like that. Kiss it a little maybe? Kiss my ass? Was that what she wanted to do? It staggered me just a wee bit. Not noticeably, though, and I remained upright without any undue swaying, almost grateful now for the droopy skirt and panties down around my thighs. The outfit wasn't exactly chic but still a snug fit where it counted – right in the equilibrium, a steadying influence for sure. I was steady enough to shrug and come up with an answer, anyway. Not that it required much study. Or presence of mind. Just a little aplomb, nothing more.
"Like I said, sweetie, whatever turns you on."
She giggled her pleasure, a silvery sound, and I braced myself for the worst – or the best? – glad now of my earlier decision, my choice of the passive role. It was paying off in suspense at least, if not in explosive sex-thrills. But I knew better than to leap at conclusions, of course, and it would be foolish to expect this child's sexual prowess to equal her enthusiasm. For that matter, I was pretty much figuring on just a lot of feathery kisses, the same worshipful touch of her lips that she had offered with her hands. My well-developed and evidently much-admired bottom could hardly be any more kissable than it had been caressable, could it? And any kid who still called it a tush well…
Uh-huh. Her palms were stroking again, skimming lightly, just like before. Only there was an added contact now, one that I could hear as well as feel, the smacking of primly pursed lips – about as sexy as a society matron exchanging greetings in the Little Theatre lobby and trying to preserve her makeup. (I was an usherette one season, kind of a Junior Deb thing, no pay but a real high honor!) Pigeon kisses, pretty much as expected, very respectful – a tribute to my judgment, only I didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. Oh shit, who needed respect and such, how about a hot sexy tribute to my ass? Wasn't there some way to coax all those prim-lipped caresses into one pulpy melting-pot?
Almost instinctively, I softened the lines of my straight-arrow pose with a hippy curve here and there, flawed but more voluptuously fleshed-out, more appealing, more apt to pick up and reflect the gleam of an inattentive eye. Or so I surmised, based on past experience. Funny about that, very recent past experience – and with the wrong gender, too. Only since my body truly began to develop was there any purpose in practicing new poses and postures, trying out different struts and sways and swivel-hipped shuffles; and who would I test them on but the boys at school? Anyway, even just come to grips with my lesbian self – now and forever! – the practice time in the school halls wasn't wasted. I had learned the tricks of the trade, the technique of bodily flow and flux, the invaluable art of knowing when and how to inject a tincture of scarlet slut into the coldly chiseled white marble of virtue. And if it worked on boys, why shouldn't it do equally well – except for the jealousy factor, perhaps – with girls and women who leaned in that same direction? So I had a fairly good notion that little Jackie would sniff out and react to the change, maybe even unwittingly, aware only of the changes inside herself, a seductively compensating change to put her in rapport with mine…
"Mmm, I love your beautiful tush."
"Of course, dear. Love it, love it. But stop a minute and look, just look and see how beautiful it really is. See? Maybe now you'll love it even more. Don't be afraid to show your true feelings, love is beautiful, too. Now pet it, kiss it, love it, love my tush!"
I used the childish word deliberately, her word, calm enough to suppress any laughter evoked by a sense of the ridiculous. But somehow, surprisingly, it had an opposite effect on me, matching my erotic level to hers like the lock of a canal opening at exactly the right moment, allotting us one and the same ebb-and-flow. And I couldn't help but realize, although somewhat vaguely, that the capacity for compensating change was probably a universal trait, a built-in mechanism in all mankind. One to a customer. Something like that was sure as hell working inside me!
Once again my judgment was vindicated; the kid had returned to her kissing exactly as predicted, landing unerringly on the nice smooth hip-curve that I had jutted into prominence for her. Only it sounded much sexier now, little half-throttled sobs of passion burbling audibly, and no more of that dreary lip-smacking, thank heaven. Her open-mouthed kisses moved only in a glide, never leaving my skin, the parted lips moist and warm around her busily dabbing tongue-tip. And meanwhile, even in my freshly charged excitement, I was putting my body through some slowly rippling contortions designed to present a new and different kiss-surface for our mutual pleasure, each motion tiny but nonetheless tangible, a feat to do a belly-dancer proud. Except that my belly was just an also-ran in this unhurried gyration, yielding to my buttocks in importance to both of us now. Even the craving in my cunt had become secondary, all but overwhelmed by the sensation of that feverishly obsessed young mouth practically worshiping my ass.
Aroused to an unprecedented plateau of need, my body rebelled against the gymnastics and began a spontaneous quiver of its own, on the brink of collapse now. I held out though, no longer in control but still on my feet, still determined to let my greedy little lover have her fill of me. Only she couldn't seem to get close enough, nuzzling and burrowing fitfully, a note of frustrated anguish sounding in her whimpers of desperation. And then some flashbulb in my brain went off and lit up the whole picture for a split-second, and I knew what was wrong. My fault. No wonder the poor kid was having trouble back there!
I did what had to be done, bending down in a hurry and stripping off the skirt and panties, unlocking the bond that had held my thighs together. That solved her problem. Oh shit, I never even got to straighten up again, not completely. Bent over like that, I had practically jammed my ass into her face – and with my legs suddenly free and spreading apart, everything was wide open to her. She just wrapped her arms around me and dove right in, tightening her embrace to keep my body at that same angle. Not that I had any intentions of changing it myself, oh no, all things considered, the discomfort was only a small sacrifice.
Her breath was hot on my flesh, intimate flesh, her head bobbing up half-buried between the spread cheeks. I felt her tongue licking right along with that up-and-down movement, inside the crack of my ass, the entire length, and it shook me to the core, a thrill I had never known before. She seemed to be experimenting, exploring, searching for something with that lapping tongue of hers. I knew what it was long before she did, aware of the telltale shock every time that wet tongue slithered over it. And when she finally got herself oriented, I was sure ready. It was almost agony as those last few licks narrowed down, an agony of impatience until she zeroed in on the place. And even then I had to wait while she experimented some more, using her lips now, pursing them right there and exerting a kind of suction. That was what it felt like, anyway, a suck-kiss! – or was such a tiling possible there, was she really doing it, just using her lips?
Sucking my asshole?
I didn't mind waiting now. Even if she went no further than this, I would have deemed myself lucky. But there was bound to be more, I figured – after such freedom, that inquisitive little tongue wouldn't remain trapped in her mouth forever. Wasn't it already showing signs of unrest? Uh-huh. That fluttering sensation, what else could it be? Just the tip though, the tip of her tongue touching me in the middle of the suck-kiss. A flutter, almost a vibration, the tiny tongue-tip vibrating between those sucking lips; what a deliciously lewd sensation!
But there was method in it, too, and pretty soon the pressure increased and the suction faded – and by that tune the well-lubricated pucker of my asshole was prepared for entry. Or so it should have been, surely, but at the crucial moment I behaved like a bashful blushing virgin and couldn't prevent that part of my body from going tense and contracting nervously. With good reason, perhaps – what could be more virginal? But it happened anyway, of course, there was no stopping her now, no stopping that small but surprisingly strong tongue of hers; it came driving in, breaking through the block with two sharp jabs and a final vigorous thrust that penetrated the taut muscle-spasm and put an end to my shy virginity. And once again, for the second time on this strange night, I felt myself surrendering to a rapist.
How I loved it! That hot little tongue slithering in and out insatiably, melting my insides with its ardor, I could only stand there in a half-crouch and moan piteously fucked in the ass! Fucked in the ass by a baby lesbian! Oh sure, I knew die was only striving to please me, paying tribute to my beauty, the tribute I had hoped for a while back; wasn't this a hot sexy tribute to my ass? A tongue-tribute. Lovely. But that didn't matter now, except for the way she was doing it. Oh, it was some fucking tribute, sure enough, some fucking tribute, and now my only hope was that the kid wouldn't get sleepy and cop out on me. A weird thought for a baby-sitter, no doubt, but not without a certain self-indulgent altruism; after all, we were still playing by her rules, weren't we? Come on, you little lezzie, fuck me, fuck me, fuck my ass, my beautiful ass, fuck my asshole with that hot little lesbian tongue…