Kelly settled back into a corner of the sofa, suddenly aware of her nakedness again, which had become the least of her shames while she had acquiesced in Malcolm's audacious suggestion that she get on her knees and give him head while he watched TV. Let alone that he had then picked up the phone and called her
brother,
of all people. Her big brother, oblivious to the fact that his precious little sister was running her tongue up and down the veiny underside of his best friend's thick cock.
But now Malcolm was kicking off his shorts, which had been around his ankles, and unbuttoning his cotton shirt to reveal his broad, hairless chest, and grabbing her by the backs of her calves and pulling her down on the sofa and climbing between her legs.
This was more like it. This is what they had agreed to. Just sex, not games, but most importantly, not expectations and obligations. Just the pleasant sensation of skin on skin, of a hard thick penis gliding smoothly in and out of her, of satisfying mutual orgasms. She knew she and Malcolm weren't "dating," and never would be. He was engaged, for crying out loud; but that was his problem. She hadn't been dating anyone when they had started doing this a few months ago, and for a while at that point she hadn't wanted to date anyone. She had grown tired of the suffocating neediness and jealousy of her previous boyfriends. But she missed the sex, so Malcolm had been just what the doctor ordered.
And then she had met Rory, and Rory had promise. He was boyfriend material, with the potential for the kind of relationship that she knew she wanted eventually. Smart, funny, cute; sensitive, attentive but not desperately eager. But he wasn't on campus this summer, and he was taking it slow, not pushing her for intimacy and not making any demands about exclusivity, yet; and so she could tell herself that she wasn't breaking any rules by agreeing, week after week, to one more exciting encounter with her big brother's arrogant but well-endowed buddy.
Malcolm was lowering himself onto her now, nuzzling at her breasts. She was plenty ready for penetration, but she didn't mind having her nipples stimulated as part of the foreplay.
Suddenly, though, she felt his lips moving off her nipple, taking the soft flesh just to the side of it between his lips and sucking, between his teeth and biting.
"Hey!" she blurted out, and cuffed him on the side of the head.
"Ow!" he responded, more startled than hurt. But he released her and looked up at her with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Don't do that!" she scolded. "You'll leave a mark!"
"Uh huh," he agreed.
"Well, don't! I don't want a hickey!"
He sat back on his haunches. "Why not?" he challenged. "Who's going to see it? ROR-ee?"
Kelly scowled at him. She couldn't get comfortable with Malcolm's fascination with the other young man she was getting to know, even though some part of her found it titillating, too.
"So, Rory's made it to second base!" Mal chuckled. "So maybe he's not gay after all."
"Fuck you, Malcolm," she scowled.
"Good idea," he laughed, and grabbed her by the backs of her knees, and twisted her. She understood what he wanted, and rolled over onto her belly, then got up on her knees and presented herself for him, to take her from behind. It wasn't her favorite position; but she knew Malcolm liked it, and her time on the floor between his legs a few moments ago had put her in a submissive mood.
Instead, however, Malcolm put one hand in the middle of her lower back and pushed her down, so she was lying on her stomach on the sofa. He got his knees in between hers, then stretched out on her, his chest pressed against her shoulderblades, and his cock nestled between her buttocks.
"Mmmm," she heard herself responding. She wasn't quite sure what Malcolm was up to, but she found his weight on her quite pleasing.
He scooted down, then, and she felt his cock sliding down through the cleft between her cheeks; past her puckered anus (thankfully), until the fleshy underside and then the spongy chin of his helmet dragged across her perineum and settled against the bottom of her vaginal opening.
Hmm, Kelly thought; she had never been penetrated in this position; she hadn't even realized it was a possibility. But Malcolm, of course, knew otherwise; and suddenly it wasn't just a possibility but an inevitability. Instinctively, she arched her back and tilted her pelvis to give him better access.
And then he was pushing into her, slowly, a bit at a time; stretching her the way he did, not completely comfortable; never sliding into her as easily on the initial penetration as it would become on subsequent strokes after he had buried himself in her and started to draw out her inner lubrication.
"Mmmph," was all she could utter.
"You okay?" he asked, as his pubic hair began to flatten out against her soft bottom.
"Uh huh," she confirmed. She had her head turned to her left, so she could see him over her shoulder; his left hand was gripping the front of the cushion on the narrow sofa, straining to keep them from tumbling off. His right hand came up and drew her hair over her left ear, tucked it behind; and then he was nibbling on her neck and her earlobe.
"That's... nice," she murmured. And it was. She really didn't like being on her hands and knees, or her knees and elbows or her knees and shoulders. She didn't like the term "doggy style" or the implied symbolism of that position. But this was different. Being on her belly, with Malcolm's stomach filling the curve of her back, and his thick phallus beginning to slide out and back into her with increasing ease... and his lips on erogenous zones that he normally ignored... suddenly felt even more intimate than when they were face to face and would suddenly find themselves swirling tongues. And she didn't like feeling intimate with Malcolm. Until she did.
"Mm hmm," Malcolm agreed, moving slowly. And just when she was starting to feel something like affection, he whispered, "You think Rory is fucking his old high school girlfriend like this right now?"
"Damn it, Mal," she exclaimed; even as she realized that she was clenching down on him. No, she was quite sure Rory wasn't fucking an old girlfriend right now, in this or any other position.
"Nah, of course not," Malcolm agreed, maintaining his measured thrusting. "He's probably a virgin."
"Huh," Kelly grunted, stopping herself before she violated Rory's privacy. It was none of Malcolm's business. Rory had told her he wasn't a virgin, but he just didn't seem like the kind of guy who would be courting one girl and banging another on the side. The way Malcolm was.
Malcolm, who was right now introducing her to another new sexual experience, in this position that she didn't even know existed. It felt good, but it wasn't giving her the stimulation, either against her clitoris or against her g-spot, that she needed to build toward an orgasm.
She always felt bad, thinking about Rory while she was fucking Malcolm. Bad, as in guilty; and bad, as in bad girl. She had figured out, by this time, that Malcolm knew that, and that's why he kept bringing Rory up.
She really liked this position, though. She liked the way the textured fabric of the worn sofa stimulated her nipples. She liked Malcolm's hot breath on her neck, his lips and teeth nipping at her earlobe.
She began to rotate her hips, consciously, intentionally, creating that sensation that drove her wild, that she had only had with Malcolm... the sensation that he was scooping out her insides like she was a tub of ice cream.
Jesus, she thought. Why couldn't any of her three previous boyfriends make her feel this way? She liked sex. She liked the closeness, she liked her orgasms. But all of her boyfriends had gotten it all tangled up with need and expectation and possessiveness and something like resentment.
"Touch yourself," Malcolm whispered into her ear.
Really? She thought. God, she wanted to. She thought back to how previous boyfriends had reacted negatively to that, while they were thrusting into her in missionary or with her on top or even taking her from behind. Like it belittled them. Malcolm didn't care. Malcolm just wanted her to cum. Feeling something like gratitude, she snaked her right arm down beneath herself and started to rub her clitoris, feeling her fingertips graze against his scrotum as he sawed himself in and out of her, feeling his balls swing forward with every stroke, heavy and full and potent. And then she started seeing sparks behind her closed eyes, erupting into fireworks as her orgasm overwhelmed her.
***
Rory ran a stop sign on his way to band practice.
Fortunately, there were no consequences; but his head was not right. He knew that as soon as he got to Carl's house and he pulled the strap of his cheap Stratocaster knock-off over his shoulder and they started working on their new Tom Petty song, he would get into that groove. But for now, he was just thinking about Kelly.
He wasn't sure why his parents' rather gentle questions about her had rattled him so much. He wasn't sure why his mother's apparent disdain for Kelly's course of study mattered. Perhaps, because he really did hope that eventually they would meet her and love her. Perhaps, like his mom kept telling him, he
had
chosen a date who would make a good mate.
Tomorrow, he would see her. Tonight, he would be horny. But he would not masturbate to images of her. That was against his rules. You don't sully the girl you adore with the squalid squirts of a shameful, self-induced orgasm. So he would sully the big-breasted strawberry blonde who worked at the miniature golf course. Or the tiny little dark-haired, olive-skinned pixie behind the counter at the ice cream stand. Tonight, one of
them
would be the recipient of his selfish, wicked wasted release. He didn't want to have an orgasm while thinking of Kelly, until he was
with
Kelly.
But that didn't mean he couldn't think about Kelly, with admiration and adoration, in the meantime. As long as he was just driving through the cornfields on the way to band practice. As long as he didn't
use
her for a cheap thrill that left him spent and satiated and guilt-ridden. So he let his mind linger on memories of her beauty. How spectacularly she filled out her faded blue jeans. How much he longed to pull them down over her hips. How glorious it would feel, to run his hands from her slender waist to her succulent thighs, first over her panties, and then under them. How glorious it would feel to finally be inside her.
