Amy turned to her brother. "how come you're not going along to drive me car back from the airport, Alex?"
"They're driving to Vegas. They missed their plane."
"Oh, really? How did they manage that, pray tell?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Search me. All I know is that when I came in, they were both in the bathroom and I could hear some weird sounds, even with the door closed. Maybe they took a long bath."
"Mmmm-hmmm," Amy nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. She smiled coyly. Her parents screwed a lot, for such old people. Well, it was nice that they could still have urges, at their age. And they were so obviously in love with each other, even after – what was it? Eighteen years of marriage? Eighteen? It had better be at least eighteen, thought Amy, or that makes us bastards.
She'd been so busy with Steve that she'd almost forgotten about Dad's convention in Las Vegas, and she was glad she'd gotten home in time to kiss her parents goodbye. They'd be gone all weekend, living it up in Sin City, Nevada.
While she had to come to grips with a very fundamental decision. Steve kept getting more insistent about it. He wanted to fuck her. And Amy wondered if there was any real reason she shouldn't let him. A night of heavy soul-searching lay in store for her. No doubt about it.
Alex tapped her on the shoulder. He was a big strapping boy, as tall as Dad already, and just as good-looking. We're a good-looking family all around, thought Amy, without a shred of false modesty. Why should she be shy about the truth? They were all dark and sun-kissed, with good, strongly chiseled features, warm brown eyes, athletic trim bodies just eager average beautiful suburbanites, she thought. The epitome of the American dream.
She and Alex were twins, Amy the elder by about eleven minutes. They looked very much alike. His body was well arranged, with broad shoulders and narrow hips – very nicely masculine – but his face bore a deceptively sweet cast, and there was a gentle, almost feminine expression in his eyes and mouth. Amy was five and a half feet tall, the kind of lean, limber, leggy girl with rounded high breasts and provocative ass who seemed to be everywhere in California but especially on the beaches. She met her brother halfway, for her girlish features were strong, but they pleased Amy when she looked into a mirror – and that was very often.
Amy and Alex were emotionally close, though they'd been much closer when they were younger, before the family moved here from Bakersfield. Well, Alex was smart. No denying it. He'd taken some tests, and the school had allowed him to skip ninth grade altogether would she have gone to the woods with David Freeman after the ninth-grade party if Alex had been there? Amy didn't think so, somehow, so that when school started again this fall, he'd be a senior and his twin sister only a junior. Maybe it was better, for the twinnish bond had been severed to some degree and Amy and Alex had been compelled to operate as individuals, making new friends, adjusting separately to their new home.
She wished they were still close, as close as they had been, so that she could talk to him, about Steve, about herself. Maybe he could give her a man's point of view on the subject. More likely he'd just laugh at her. He loved pretending that he was so much more mature than Amy, now that he was a grade ahead of her in school. He called her "Peanut" all the fucking time, and he acted as if he were her big, wise brother instead of her eleven-minutes-younger twin, and sometimes it bothered the hell out of Amy.
"Listen," he said, "I'm going up to take a shower. Been helping Jay with his bike, and I'm grease from head to foot."
It was true. His t-shirt, stretched tightly by the spread of broad shoulders and chest, was splattered with dark oily patches, and he was smeared in the face too, like an Indian painted up for a burning at the stake, but on Alex it seemed cute and very masculine. She saw no need to bolster his growing ego by telling him that.
Instead Amy nodded and watched as he went up the stairs. She'd have to take a bath soon too, for the musky smell of sex was strong in her nostrils. Bathe in the warm spray from the adjustable shower head, rubbing her body with aromatic soap; towel herself dry with the fuzziest, plushest towel in the house, then dab all over with sweet-scented baby powder. Mmmmm!! The very thought was bewitching! She flopped down on the sofa, stretching her legs out to the coffee table, and she leafed idly through a magazine, not even noticing what it was. In a moment she'd put it down and taken a look around.
Upstairs Alex was busy in the shower. She could hear the water running, hear him singing too, in a rich thought slightly out of tune voice.
Her eyes fell upon a small family portrait on the coffee table, and she picked it up. The photo was several years old, taken before she'd started developing a figure, and the Amy who smiled from the glossy surface was a skinny-legged, flat-chested little nerd with pigtails. Yuck!! she grimaced. Well, Alex looked pretty nerdy in that shot too. Some consolation! Mom and Dad, though – just gorgeous people! She looked at their faces in the photo, noting as always just how much they'd grown to resemble one another. Wasn't that the way with married couples, though! Live with someone long enough and you even start looking like them. God, there was nearly a family resemblance between Mom and Dad – by the time they were old, they'd look more like twins than Amy and Alex! She made a mental note to herself. When she married or moved in with some guy, he'd better be damned good-looking. Amy had no intention of getting symbiotic with anybody ugly.
She put down the picture with a sigh. For a moment she'd forgotten about Steve, but here it was – flared up against inside her head. And she had no more idea now what her decision would be than she had out in the canyon.
"It's a big step," she said in a half whisper. "I mean, it can only happen to you once. Cherries aren't for just throwing to the winds. I mean, they don't grow on trees!"
She touched herself, giggling at the simile, and her fingers came to rest upon bare thigh, just below the short hem of the tennis dress that hadn't seen the courts today. Her skin was smooth, very warm, and there was a nerve in her thigh which seemed to lead directly to the hair-fluffed between Amy's legs. If she touched that nerve…
Her eyes enlarged and she said "Whoooo!" in a squeaky, almost embarrassed tone. Same reaction every time. It was a perfect test of her reflexes, and a lot more fun than getting banged on the knee or elbow with a rubber hammer. For good measure she stroked her thigh again, shivering as the response bubbled through.
Alex was still singing, and the water still running. Did she dare? Here? On the fucking sofa? Oh, hell! Amy thought impulsively. She lifted the hem of her tennis skirt, eyeing the little white strip of pantycrotch that attempted to cover her twat. A few auburn pussy hairs were sticking out on each side of the strip, and the panties fit so tightly that her puff of beaver and even the crease of her slit itself were outlined in the fabric. She put her fist on that outlined indentation and rubbed vigorously two or three times, sighing with delight as the good vibrations clung and maintained.
"God, there must be something better than diddling," she whispered, "but I'm afraid!" And as if to underline the word itself, Amy began to pummel harder with her fist, grinding the tender swell of her pussy until she bit her lip in response and muttered a soft, hoarse "ohhhh!"
It wasn't an orgasm – not a real one, anyway – but it was a sign that a climax was at least within her reach. She cupped the pubic bulge, fingers digging at the skin through her panties wispy baffler, and she could feel the tight-lipped snatch open and close under her touch. Opening and closing like a pert pink mouth, drooling out a little froth of juice that dampened the panty fabric and her fingertips as well. Her nostrils filled with an Amy-fragrance, and she touched her cuntal crevice more passionately, her fingertip pushing wet panty-nylon into her puss-mouth.
Amy's lips curled upward into a little smile of pleasure, and the die was definitely cast. She couldn't stop now. She listened moment, assuring herself that Alex was still in the shower, and then she hurried to pull down the front of her panties, baring the tuft of auburn fuzz and its delicious hidden treasure. For a moment longer she feasted her eyes on her moist, juicy cunt.
It was a lovely one indeed. She found it aesthetically pleasing, with its thin coating of hair, its trim, tightly-sealed lips, the inner pink showing modestly when her fingers parted the slit. There were girls at school – she'd seen them in the shower rooms – whose inner labia stuck out grossly, as if someone had taken pliers and tried to pull their pussies inside out. Her own cunt was pink-sliced, the inner sleeve visible but demurely contained, and it had an almost classical simplicity and symmetry that convinced Amy Messenger her body had been a custom job by God.
"Pretty," she said, narcissistically but truthfully, and she put an index finger on each side of the little bumped-up ridge of her nil. Pressing the fingers together, she sighed at the pleasant responsive feeling, and she knew without looking or touching that her clitty was up nice and hard, ready for a quick jerkoff.
Oh, it was a little dangerous to be doing herself there, in the living room, with Alex just upstairs. Sure it was. But she was absolutely positive she couldn't wait to get up to her own room, so she'd just have to take the chance. It was always this way after a date! She only went so far with guys, and they reciprocated as best they could, but that best consisted usually of giving Amy a handjob similar to the ones she loved to give herself. A couple of guys had used their mouths on her, but never very well. She was pretty sure it was their technique, not her responses, because she could come to hell and back when she got her fingers into her crotch.
And she couldn't satisfy herself just eating peter.
Sure, she'd orgasmed the first few times a guy shot off in her mouth, but the novelty of that was long gone. Now, it seemed, the hotter the date and the hotter she gave him, the more eager Amy was to get into bed and finger herself to blinding relief.
Maybe she should fuck Steve. It was pretty damned pathetic for a girl her age and cute to be relying on her hands for sexual satisfaction. She could give that satisfaction to a guy, and in spades. Maybe – maybe – Amy shook her head, caressing her twat. She just wasn't sure.
"Steve's nice," she said aloud, "but he's nothing special. I mean, will I even be dating him this time next year? God, even in six months? Like, is he entitled…"
And then she stopped talking to herself, that busy finger prying open her right pussy and paying slow careful attention to the risen bud of her cunt. Her love button was hot and hard with anticipation, and she rewarded its patient waiting with a few swipes and passes that had her wanting to scream aloud within seconds. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she was smiling broadly; her eyes half shut, as she made loving circles round and round her sex trigger.
Tiny tremors and shudders, like the preliminary warning of earthquake on the way, passed through Amy's body as she flogged her button, and her heels thumped on the coffeetable. Amy threw back her head and let her finger do some walking through the valley of her cunt, straight toward the hungry mouth of her pussy hole.
"Careful," she giggled. "You don't want to break anything fragile." And her fingertip pressed into the vaginal opening. In spite of her cherry she could stick herself very deeply with the slim digit, and she was prepared to do precisely that.
The finger wiggled around in the slick mouth, slippery from the goo it drooled, then pushed deeply but gently. She closed her eyes as the finger battled her cuntal tightness, and she wondered again if she could really endure taking a man's cock in her snug slot. Pricks were hard and long and very thick, like Steve's. Her finger was slim and slender and quite flexible. And sometimes it seemed so fucking enormous, when her climaxing vagina snapped shut and tried to entrap it forever. "Ohhhh," Amy shuddered deliciously, trying to imagine the feel of a dick piercing her.
But she was wet and receptive, and her pussy widened noticeably as the finger slipped deeper, and Amy reminded herself that a cunt was made to pop out full-sized babies; it could easily handle any sized cock. "Just a little bit of practice," she told herself soberly, "and they say that's the best part."
They say. Oh, why did it have to be "me" and "they"? What the hell was she saving herself for? A knight on a white home? This was [missing text] kid, and they were few and far between nowadays. All the other girls fucked around. They didn't have to worry about whether or not it was special. Why couldn't she? Amy moved her finger in her twat, wishing to hell it were the penis she denied herself, and her eyes misted over with tears of frustration. Be realistic, Amy, she counseled herself. You'll do it eventually. Why not now, when you're still young enough to appreciate it? Do you want to be twenty-one and still a virgin? Or even eighteen?
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. I'm going to do it!"
"Do what?" asked a voice, and she looked up in horror. Sometime in the past minute or two, while she'd been busy fingering herself, Alex had apparently finished his shower and come downstairs. And he was eyeing her from the foot of the steps, while she sat with legs twitching, tits heaving beneath the white tennis top, and one hand clamped to her exposed cunt.
"Oh, Christ!" Amy wailed, hauling down the tail of her skirt in a vain effort to keep him from seeing what he'd already seen. Her right hand was still glued to her twat; trying as she might, she couldn't seem to pry it away. She was afraid that he'd… that he'd… that he'd what? She didn't know, but she couldn't let go of her pussy, either.
Alex was wearing a short, Oriental-style bathrobe, one she'd gotten him last Christmas. It swished silkily as he walked across the room and planted his bottom on the chair facing the sofa. Blushing furiously, Amy put her legs together so he couldn't peek up their long columns.
"Do what?" he repeated blandly.
"None of your Goddamned business!" she snapped, livid with embarrassment at being caught in such a ridiculous position.
"If you mean diddling yourself," he went on, "it looked like you were already doing it. Of course, that's nothing unusual. The wall between your room and mine is pretty thin, and sometimes I have trouble going to sleep for all the noise you're making next door. A kind of…" he made a gasping, racking sound "sorta like a train you know?"
"You bastard!"
"It's perfectly normal, Peanut," he replied. "Didn't Mom have a little talk with you? Growing girls have so much energy, and they can't get rid of it all, the normal way, so… anyway, don't let me interrupt you. Just go ahead and do your thing." He didn't even snicker, though Amy blushed scarlet. Alex picked up a magazine and began to shuffle through it.
Damn him! she thought angrily. Sometimes he could be such a pain in the fucking ass with his smug, know-it-all Mr. Big Shot routine. Like right now. Here she was, caught in the act of playing with herself, her face blood-red with shame, her hand still glued to her cunt, and Alex sat there, pretending that he wasn't sneaking peeks of relish at her discomfiture. How could he keep from laughing? Especially when he went through that number of inviting her to go ahead and finish up…
As if he really thought she would! As if he really, truly thought – Mmmm? What would he do, what would he say, what would he think if… Oh, have I got a surprise for you, hot stuff! Amy thought with an explosion of smugness. See how long you can keep on playing Joe Cool now! With a sniff of disdain she shrugged he shoulders, then pulled up her skirt again. Alex's eyes flashed at her, and she saw doubt in them – as if he weren't sure of what he was seeing.
And then she let go of her pussy, hand finally relaxed enough to break its hold, and she didn't have to look at him to know that Alex was staring directly at her bare snatch, auburn fuzz matted from her juice, squashed down by her palm. She didn't have to look because she heard him gasp – a gasp of honest, unfeigned surprise. "Uh," he said, "I think I'll go…"
"Stay where you are," Amy replied, eyeing her cunt. "You asked for it, so get your Goddamned eyes full."
Who's the big grown-up sophisticate now? she wondered, closing her eyes as she slid a slender finger up and down the wet, itchy slice of her puss. It felt good – it always did – but somehow the sensation was much more exciting and fulfilling now, when she knew that he was staring, when she could hear him breathing harder and harder, when she knew that her twin was watching Amy toy with the swollen puff of her twat. She used her fingers on her cunt and shivers of delight ran up and down her backbone.
And when she dared finally to slip the tip of one finger into the mouth of her pussy again, a triumphant feeling swept overpoweringly across Amy Messenger. Sometimes she diddled herself while sucking Steve – she'd done it this afternoon – but Steve was always so wrapped up in her sucking that he scarcely noticed what she might be doing for her own satisfaction. She'd never performed like this for an audience. And from the rapid, husky tone of his breathing, Alex was definitely an interested audience. She wanted to open her eyes, to look at his face as he watched her, but for the moment Amy was too enraptured by her own reactions. Kittenish purrs trilled from her fluttering lips and she could feel her nipples stiffening beneath the white tennis top. They were stiffer, perhaps, than they had ever been before in all her life. Amy's tits ached with a swollen yearning need, and she was compelled to remove one hand from her pussy and bring it to her boobs' relief. Cupping each mound in turn, she squeezed and fondled, hoping to soothe away the aching muscle knots, still working a long, slender middle finger in and out of her juicing snatch in slow, sensuous incursions. Her tits ached, but it was a different kind of aching – an erotic passionate throb that she didn't want to quell because it felt so God damned good!
"Ohh… y-y-yyeesssss!" she moaned, legs flexing and twisting atop the coffeetable. The heels of her tennis shoes thumped now and then, and she was vaguely aware that she was also kicking magazines onto the floor. Sweat bubbled through the pores of her skin and, underneath the damp, clinging tennis atop, her tits cooked in the heated perspiration of Amy's body. She squeezed at the thin cloth and the fruitlike treasures it concealed, sighing when her lingers brushed across the unmistakable punches of erect nipples. From her cleavage, from her armpits, above all from her vagina, the air was scented with the tangy, musky scent of her self induced arousal. It's crazy, she thought, doing this in front of Alex, but he dared me and I… I can't stop – not even if I fucking wanted to stop!
"God, God, God, God, God," she chanted, jabbing her finger up her pussy with little care for the sanctity of the hymen inside. She moaned as she felt her digit bruising and abusing the tender flesh of her cherry, but again the pain was a delicious sensation which only stirred Amy to be even more ruthless with herself. Little flows of girl-cum oozed from her twat as she finger fucked it, and her clitty was so tense and sensitive now that she couldn't endure the prospect of touching it directly. Her thumb contented itself with making swift, fleeting circles round the clitoral prepuce, and the jarring shocks which regularly vibrated across her love button made goose bumps on her golden bare arms and thighs.
"Amy, for God's sake, cut it out!" he whispered from across the room – a frail, fleeting whisper, but her senses were so heightened that it sounded as if he were shouting the words into her ear. She knew that the moment was almost upon her – she could feel it building in her heart, in the churning pit of her belly – and for some reason Amy couldn't quite fathom, she wanted Alex to see the rapturous convulsions which possessed his sister when orgasm enfolded her lithe young body.
And in another moment she was past caring, past knowing. All she could do was feel the climactic explosions which rippled through her frame, radiating from the molten core of her sex. She jammed her finger up her cunt as far as it would go, snaking it between the contracting muscle spasms, and her thumb pressed down upon her button as if it were a trigger. Her ass bounced up and down on the sofa cushions, her legs stiffened, relaxed, stiffened again, as numb wooziness spread from her hipbones to toes. Amy groaned once, she moaned a great many times, and tears of salty joy spilled down her cheeks. Beneath her thumb, Amy's clit ached with a raw, ripped-out intensity, but a cunt can only feel so much before response is inadequate to the situation, and in a few morn heartbeats her entire body was humming in peaceful relaxation. It was always this way after getting off, and she knew that she was damp and flushed and glowing too. Amy basked in that feeling for a while before opening one eye to check out Alex's reaction.
"Well?" she started to say, but one look at her brother and she was unable to say anything else.