He Said She Said: Hers

An Erotic Collaboration by

Vegas Neon

and SpecialK

Note to the Reader: This story came about quite quickly. Vegas Neon expressed an interest in writing a story together and shared with me the idea he had come up with. Ironically, I had daydreamed a similar fantasy just the night before. We began to write, and voila, the story was born. Read on to see what she said and then, if you haven't already, what he said. Enjoy!

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Part Two: She Said

I look around the room. There is something comforting about being in the home I grew up in again. Comforting, but also a bit frightening. As I look at all the familiar things, I remember how eager I had been to leave this place and be out on my own. Now, after having been gone a few years, the novelty has worn off and being home is now the novelty.

I wonder if my boyfriend is comfortable here. This is the first time we've come to my parents' house to stay for an extended period of time. I'm sure it certainly isn't what he is used to. For one thing, my parents forbid us to sleep in the same room. They are terribly old-fashioned that way. And since we aren't married, my father has declared there is no way we are going to sleep together under his roof, regardless of the fact that we live in an apartment together.

Of course, living with strict, old-fashioned parents had made me a sneaky teenager, and while I had never really been a bad girl, I did know how to get around oppressive situations. So sneaking into the guest bedroom to pay my sweetheart a midnight visit last night was not especially difficult. I smile, remembering his worried reaction. "What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your mind? Your parents are just in the next room! They can wake up at any moment!" I just grinned and kissed the worrywart.

"Well, I know we're going to be here for a whole week and we probably won't get much time alone.... I just wanted to give you a little something to hold you over until we get back home. Just lay back and enjoy. This is going to have to last." Despite his protests, he was glad to see me. I felt that. And damn it felt good! My nimble fingers curled around his expanding shaft as it swelled in my hand. I stroked his familiar hardness and lightly caressed the nuggets beneath. My ministrations took his mind off worrying about being caught by my parents and he relaxed to enjoy the attention I was giving him. It's a good thing one of us isn't afraid of living a bit dangerously now and then.

My reminiscent moment past, I take the remote and sit on the loveseat. I curl my legs up and make myself comfortable. It is nice to relax amidst the bustle of visiting and the holidays. I click the remote with my thumb and flip through the channels for something to watch. No one else is around; my parents had turned in for the night, being the typical old-fashioned, early-to-bed types that they were; my kid sister had gone out with some friends after dinner; and my man had gone out to pick up some groceries for breakfast the next morning. I found a tv movie which had just started and became quickly engrossed in the romantic drama unfolding on the screen.

When my sweetheart returns and sits beside me on the loveseat, I scarcely notice him. Except for the blast of chilly air he had brought in with him and the feel of his thigh against the bottoms of my feet. He put his hand to rest on my thigh. It is comforting having him beside me, resting his hand on my leg. I love his touch. And by now, I am used to it. His touch belongs to me. It is as familiar to me as my own skin. So, I don't respond to the individual occurrence of his hand on my thigh.

Perhaps that's why he feels the need for some attention, some connection with me, a greater reaction on my part. He begins to stroke my thigh gently, unobtrusively. That feels really nice. Even through the jeans I am wearing my skin reacts to his soft strokes. And while I notice this, and like it, I continue watching the movie on the television. I guess it doesn't seem as if he wants or expects me to say or do anything.

Next, he encourages my right leg upward. The way I sit, with both feet tucked up to my right, my right leg lies on top of the left one, both bent at the knees. So, by slipping his hand between my thighs, it isn't hard for him to coax my legs apart. Then, he begins stroking the inside of my thigh. And this is when I realize he is indeed up to something. He knows damn well how sensitive my inner thighs are. They are probably one of my strongest sexual trigger-points. Trying to act nonchalant, I continue to watch the tv. I know that if I even glance at his hand caressing the inside of my thigh, it will be my downfall. Feeling his touch is sweet torture enough. The gentle, ticklish touch of his fingertips against the inside seam of my jeans is maddening. And he knows it too.

I concentrate on the tv movie with a bit more effort. After about ten minutes of this sweet torturous action, he ups the ante. His fingers trail upwards, to the junction of my legs and my pelvis. He is a persistent man, I have to give him that. From one trigger-spot to another.

"What are you doing?" I drawl slowly, my eyes still on the television.

"What? Uh... Nothing. I... I mean, I don't know what you're talking about?" he stammers.

Right, I think to myself. I roll my eyes and turn to look at him. "I think you know exactly what you're doing," I reply as I lay my hand on top of his wandering one. "And as soon as this show is over, and I'm sure everyone is asleep, we can play." I give him a meaningful glance before turning my eyes back to the tv.

I hadn't resumed watching the movie for more than a few minutes when I feel his fingers again running along the crease of my pants, now with a bit more insistence in the motions. I involuntarily sigh. I can't bring myself to push his hand away. His touches feel too good. And somehow, my concentration is moving further and further away from the couple on the tv screen and more and more to the couple on the loveseat in my parents' living room.

Normally I am the more adventurous one, especially when it comes to sex. So no wonder I am surprised when he starts feeling me up in the middle of my parents' living room! My brain fast-forwards to where this will undoubtedly lead. He won't be content to merely stroke the denim of my jeans. Nor will I. Of course, if we happen to get caught, I'll be the one looking like an idiot with my pants undone, and a blush on my cheeks, panting like a dog. Yet, when he smoothly undoes the button of my jeans and slides down the zipper, I am powerless to stop him.

My rational good-girl brain chants to me, 'Stop him! Either one of your parents could come waltzing down the hallway. Your sister could walk in the front door.' Yet while this message is drumming away, my body sends its own messages to another part of my brain: the irrational bad-girl part of my brain, which longs for pleasure and can't turn it away. Some other unbiased part of my brain already knows which side is going to win.

I stare at the television screen but nothing that is happening on it is even registering with me. I can only think about one thing: his hand, his wonderful strong yet gentle hand rubbing against the material of my panties. His palm cups my mound while his fingers trail along my slit and tease my thighs.

Next I feel his lips gently nuzzle my neck. I can feel his breath on my skin. He whispers, "Do you want me to stop?"

I close my eyes for a lengthy moment. I gulp. My lips feel dry and my tongue darts out to moisten them. When I open my eyes I stare down the hallway. From my spot on the couch I can see down the entire length of it, all the way into my sister's room at the end. My sister's room, right beside my parents' bedroom, where they currently sleep, unaware of the actions taking place on their sofa. If one of them even gets up to go to the bathroom, which is across the hallway, they will see me.

I chew on my bottom lip a bit nervously. My hand disappears down into my open jeans and covers the hand of my dear, sweet lover. My intent is to pull out his hand, to stop him. Somehow though, the message I send from my brain is misinterpreted and instead of pulling his hand out of my pants, my index finger lines up against his and pushes it into my slit, pushing the cotton fabric of my panties in along with it.

I can feel as my moisture hits my panties and quickly soaks through the material. Can he feel that? Surely he can feel how wet his touches have made me. And now, how wet I have made his touch. My hand moves along his, urging his to do something. Even as my eyes dart down the hallway apprehensively, I know there is no turning back now.

He lets his fingers tease along my slit, the wet fabric slipping more and more between those soft, hot folds. He teases me so slowly and so thoroughly. He pauses teasing that panty-eating slit long enough to tease along either side. First the left, where one finger curls underneath the elastic of the leg hole of my panties and his hand runs along the entire accessible front. That one finger, which has slipped inside my panties, teases my skin, so soft and sensitive on the sides there. Next his hand moves along to the right, and teases me there, again that one finger slipping beneath the fabric to make contact with my flesh.

I am eager for his hand to be on me, to touch me so intimately, without this cloth obstruction. He seems to read my mind, to understand my needs. Either that, or his needs match my own. Maybe he yearns to touch me too. He must want to feel my raw heat and wetness without the mask of my cotton panties, as his hand rakes upwards, out of my jeans, his fingertips teasing me the whole way.

His hand is not in the cold air of the room for long. Only long enough to find the correct entrance into my panties. Meanwhile, I squirm on the couch, my butt moving forward to give him easier access into my pants. My right leg slips down, covering his on the loveseat, my calf between his legs. My left leg is still curled up, and now, my position is so that it maximizes his ability to use his hand.

He curls his fingers just a bit, so that they rake into my panties similar to the way they raked over them just moments before. I whimper almost silently as his fingertips and short fingernails trail along my skin. His middle finger is lined up just so, running along the strip of hair I have leading to my slit. His hand pushes onward and as his middle finger runs along my slit, the trapped fabric of my panties easily slips from between my folds.

He teases me, his middle finger barely slipping between my lips. His palm rubs along my patch of pubic hair. I try to keep breathing as normally as possible but it is getting more and more difficult as I get more and more aroused. My lover seems to have built up a rhythm as his finger slowly teases me back and forth along my slit, like a pendulum. Yet with each swing, his pendulous finger slips deeper and deeper between my slick folds, seeking the treasures hidden between these lips.

I gasp as his finger finds one treasure. The treasure. At least as far as I am concerned. At my gasp he pauses. I can see his face break out into a grin. A cocky grin of victory, of a target acquired. Now, instead of teasing me back and forth, his movement changes to a circular one. Around and around his finger twirls, the pad of his fingertip teasing my nubby treasure. I groan. I love this to distraction; an entire high school marching band could have pep rallied through the living room and I wouldn't have noticed.

Yet my eyes remain fixed looking down the hallway. I want to close them, to become lost to the sensations his wonderful fingers are nimbly creating as they tease that little bud that is the center of all my sexuality. But I gaze down the hallway, unseeing, knowing somewhere in the back, forgotten corners of my brain that I'm supposed to be watching for something.

His middle finger gets bored, twirling around my bumpy clit, and wanders downward. His finger bends so smoothly when it encounters that hole: it slips right in. Now I do close my eyes, just for a moment, to send a silent prayer upward, in gratitude, for giving my man such delightful hands and long fingers. I moan and he withdraws his finger, only so that he can allow another finger to join it on the next journey inward. On the next pass, yet one more finger joins the already moistened pair to venture into my dark depths. Those three fingers pleasure me, as they seek, wiggle and retreat, only to seek, wiggle and retreat again. I am so wet by this point I'm sure his whole hand must be drenched.

Suddenly I can feel him drawing his fingers out of my panties. As they trail upwards, his fingers leave a wet path along my mound and up my belly. What is he doing? How can he stop now? I am losing my mind! I look at him to read his intent, and to admonish him as well. He brings his fingers to his lips. I can see my moisture gleaming slickly on his digits. I watch mesmerized as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, all three fingers at once, devouring my sweetness from them. I watch him as he swirls his tongue between his fingers, seeking out every sweet taste of me that might be left upon his skin. Naturally, all I can think of is his tongue lapping at me, down there. Licking my sweet juices directly from the source, without his fingers serving as middlemen. I wish his tongue were so much closer. My impatient love box dribbles a few more drops of moisture into my panties as I watch the erotic display of his mouth and his fingers, knowing it is the taste of my arousal he enjoys so much. Watching his actions, combined with my own thoughts, just make me more restless.

My eyes must look quite desperate, begging him to resume where he has left off, trying to tell him that I am not finished, that I will surely die if he doesn't finish what he's started. He looks at me and smiles a bit apologetically and says, "I know. I just had to have a taste."

I whimper and without further torment, he slips his fingers into my panties again. He strokes my inner fires a few more times with his nimble fingers and then retreats back to my clit. I think he can tell by my frantic breathing that I am yearning for my release. He isn't mean enough to deny me that which I so eagerly seek. At least not while on the living room loveseat in my parents' house.

He knows what I want and how I want it. His fingers move a bit faster now and with a bit more pressure. As his fingers twiddle at my throbbing clit, my own hand reaches down into my panties to cover his own, to guide it and to prevent him from teasing me any longer by delaying my release. My other hand tweaks at my ignored nipples. I have mixed soft moans among my whimpers. I am so close now, I can feel it. I almost want to cry at the fear of someone interrupting now. They can't now. I am so close.

I feel the tightness begin in my belly. Ohhh! It is starting. There is no way to turn back now! Let them see me cum all over the furniture! It is taking all of my resistance not to scream out loud. "Ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" I hiss breathily. I am lost within my erupting orgasm. The fingers deftly bringing me to my release are forgotten as I cascade over the peak. My whole body twitches and I writhe against his fingers. My head thuds against the cushioned back of the loveseat. My free hand clamps on to my lover's leg, my fingernails embedding themselves into his thigh. I can't think, but I know he's there and he is coming with me on this wild journey. My love canal clenches and relaxes, releasing a whole new splash of love nectar into my panties with each contraction. My legs tense and jolt.

The last jolts of sexual energy pulse through my veins as I calm after my thunderous orgasm. My lover's fingers are gentler now, riding out my orgasm with me. They stroke me lightly. Soon he knows I will become too tender and won't be able to endure being touched there at all.

I gently touch his hand and his movements stop and he draws his soggy hand out of my panties, which are also drenched. I take his hot, moist hand in my own, holding the hand which has just taken me to such wonderful heights of pleasure. I sigh with such contentment.

Then I lean over and kiss his lips. I want to do more than just kiss him. I want to reach into his pants for the hard shaft that I know is there. I want to take it into my mouth and swallow it whole. I want to return to him all the satisfaction he has just given me. But by now I have remembered that we are still on my parents' loveseat in their living room. So, I resign to show him my gratitude through my kiss. I tease him with my tongue until he responds with his own and our tongues fight a loving duel. Reluctantly breaking our lips apart, I nuzzle my nose into his cheek and whisper into his ear, "Thank you so much."

He holds me in his arms and I lovingly stroke his chest. My sly mind really wants to slip my hand lower. I can see the bulge in his jeans and I want to release his mighty giant from its painful confines. Maybe I can give him some goodies too. After all, we haven't been caught, and that makes me a bit more daring. I make up my mind to go tame the trouser snake when at that very moment, I hear a noise coming from the other side of the front door.

"Oh man, your sister's home!" My lover hastily sits upright.

'Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit' I curse in my head while simultaneously grabbing the afghan off the back of the couch, trying to tug it loose from behind our bodies. With a deft shake, I manage to unfold the blanket and flap it over my lap. As it fell I notice my jeans, halfway down my thighs, the huge wet spot on my panties, and I swear inwardly again. At that moment, the door opens and my sister walks in.

She looks at us immediately and just by watching her expression I can tell that she is suspicious. She casually takes her shoes and jacket off.

"What's going on?" she asks, her tone sounding casual.

"Nothing, just watching some tv before we go to bed," the love of my life mumbles. I groan inwardly. He sounds so guilty! Then I glance to the tv. The movie I had been watching ages ago was long over. Now, someone is demonstrating the latest kitchen gadget and eagerly discusses what a great deal this multi-purpose machine is.

"Anything good on?" My sister asks, raising an eyebrow at me as she sees the screen. She smirks at me before turning and walking down the hallway to her room.

"No." I reply, watching her walk down the hallway. When she enters her room, and turns around to shut the door, I see her look at me again and grin.

Meanwhile, my darling leans over and whispers in my ear. "As a matter of fact, I just saw the best show. It was an interactive program. Highly enjoyable."

I playfully swat him and move the blanket to cover his lap before heading for the trouser snake I want to tame.

Also read "He Said, She Said: His"