"Oh, mercy, Caleb Montcastle, you do know how to get a girl's motor running," she murmured, but his lips were occupied and he didn't respond at once, so she squeezed his hand again with her thighs and snaked her hand between his legs.
"Oooo, you're still hard for me, baby," she cooed happily when she found him to be rigid and tense, and her fingers closed around him.
"Diane?" he groaned defensively at her touch. The memory of her mouth teasing him through his pants burned in his mind, and he feared the torment of another ruse.
"Shhhhhh. Don't talk, sweet boy; you made me cum, and now it's your turn."
She held him in her hand while she spoke, and squeezed him with her fingers. She moved her hand, sliding it upward and pushed the stiff cloth of his jeans along the shaft of his cock. He moaned quietly and tried to keep her breast in his mouth with the thought that the connection might inspire her to keep her promise, but her fingers consumed his attention and he lost her. He shivered in the boiling heat as she provoked his passion with deft, knowing caresses.
"Roll over," she said softly, pushing his shoulder with her free hand.
He allowed her to roll him onto his back without resistance, and she followed him with her hand clinging to his cock. She snuggled into the crook of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder with her breasts pressing against his ribs. Her arm lay across his belly; her fingers toyed with him. He was hot and sweating, and she could feel with her cheek the heavy thump of his heart as it raced in his chest. She looked down, across the broad expanse of the boy's wide, hairless chest and his flat belly to the bulge lifting his pants at the crotch. She stroked him with the tips of her fingers, and felt the urgent quake of his desire. He stared straight up, memorizing the random arrangement of the holes in the roof, his body nearly as rigid as his dick, while she tugged to release his belt buckle. She had only one free hand to work with and the going was slow, but she persisted, and, after a minute or two of awkward fumbling, she had loosened his belt and was unzipping his pants. As she opened his pants, his cock sprang up through the opening under the cover of his thin cotton briefs. She freed him of his jeans as best she could without asking for help and succeeded in pushing the front, at least, down to the tops of his thighs.
"Help me get your jeans down," she said, and he raised his hips for her and held them up while she pushed and maneuvered his pants down to his knees.
The bleached white of his jockey shorts seemed to gleam in the half-light of the loft like one of the great pyramids bathed in the faint glow of a crescent moon. His manhood lifted, straining the cloth, and pointed toward her like a tent-pole under a sheet. She touched him through the fabric with the tip of a single finger, stroking lightly, tracing the outline of him with her nail, and she could feel the pulsing eagerness of him. Her tantalizing fingers trailed across his sheltered flesh, and wherever she moved them, exquisite sensations blossomed in their wake. She stroked the length of him, taking sweet time to complete the journey, and felt his cock lurch upward seeking the rapture of her embrace.
He groaned again in agitation, and clacked the toes of his boots together like a clumsy cowboy at a high school dance.
"You like that, don't you," she mouthed with her lips pressing lightly against his nipple and her fingers tickling his rigid shaft through his shorts.
"Uhuh," the boy gasped.
"You like this better, though, don't you?" she breathed against his hot skin as her fingers and thumb closed around him and squeezed.
"Yes, yes," he whispered eagerly.
"And this?" she said suggestively pumping his flesh within the circle of her fingers.
"Oh, God," he gulped, and she teased him by relaxing her grip and letting her fingers slip up and down the soft fabric in a loose circle producing almost no friction.
She released him and heard him whimper softly in dismay as her hand slid to the firm surface of his belly. She rubbed him there, letting her palm ride the tensed ridges of his abdomen, dipping her fingers into his navel and teasing him by occasionally brushing, as if accidentally, just the tip of a finger under the tight waistband of his shorts. She lifted her head and stretched to put her lips on his while her hand described lazy "S's" on his damp skin. She pressed her lips upon his mouth and sought to entice him with her tongue, but his lips were slack and his tongue was nearly inert, and she knew that he had raced ahead of her and was lost in the thickening mists of his arousal.
His feet shifted restlessly, and his knees jerked spastically against the restraint of his pants as she prolonged the exquisite torture of his frustration. Her fingers advanced and retreated without really touching him where he wanted her most, promising relief, then denying it, and his hips bounced with hopeful little hops whenever she touched his shorts. He moaned her name again and again, remembering how she had spurred him by calling out his name, and she responded by licking and sucking his nipple and reaching down to stroke the tops of his bare thighs.
"Diane?" he whined in disappointment when her fingers passed across his shorts without making contact with him and settled on his leg.
"Shhhh, baby, I know what I'm doing," she mouthed against his wet nipple to quiet his protests.
Indeed, she did know exactly what she was doing, she thought, congratulating herself albeit somewhat prematurely. She knew how to please boys; how to make them pant and shake with adoration for her until they begged her for the salve to cure their frustrations. She knew, had always known, by intuition or by self-instruction, or both, she knew exactly how to hone the blade of a man's passion, hour by hour, until it reached that level of razor sharpness beyond which only dulling could be achieved, and she knew that, for the moment, Caleb's sword had reached the limits of its ability to hold an edge.
Diane brushed his thigh with listless fingers for an agonizing minute longer, and then, she plucked his waistband off his belly and raised the tent flap to peek inside. His cock was ablaze, flaming like a Ku Klux Klan cross on a share-croppers lawn at midnight on Jubilee Day, and the hot air of the loft rushing in through the raised flap of his shorts felt like the icy blast of a Blue norther to the boy.
"Ugh," he gurgled mindlessly when the cooling sensation wormed its way into his consciousness.
She paused, her eyes lingering on the pale, pristine protuberance of the boy's turgid manhood, and her heart swelled with emotion. He was new and pure and unsullied, and he was exposed to her in all his blushing virginity. Her eyes swept his length and breadth, discovering the untried veins and vessels, the rigid, untested shaft and the unruly, untouched head, and a surge of excited privilege coursed through her limbs. She was the first, the first woman to see him as a woman sees a man with his arousal on display and his ardor thrusting toward her like the point of a saber. No woman before her had touched him as he was then, none had felt the thick, throbbing heft of his erection or the wild, surging power of his sexual excitement. No one, ever, had given him the gift of rapturous bliss that only a woman can give to a man. He twitched and shivered under her gaze, and she licked her lips hungrily for him. Her pussy burned with a nearly irresistible yearning to take the measure of him, but she quelled her passion with the assurance that she would go to him in her time, that she would receive him then and that the postponement of that moment would serve only to magnify the pleasure of their union.
