A Helping Hand 55

It all happened so fast I didn't have a chance to stop it. Not that I would have. But, given the chance, with all of my wits about me, it might have turned out different. I'm glad it didn't. So glad.

He turned up at my door around Nine AM. Sunday morning. As I lay there in bed, listening to the racket of the bell chiming through my skull, time after time, I gritted my teeth and wished him away.

But he didn't give up. He kept ringing.

I kicked off the covers, slipped my dressing gown over my shoulders and, with a dull ache throbbing through my temples, and my mood growing evermore taut, I headed downstairs.

He smiled at me as I opened the door. I glared. He stood back a little, picking up on my body language, no doubt.

"Sorry if I woke you."

It's a bit late for that now. I glared all the more. Stepping from one cold foot to the other, as the winter air gushed through the open door and climbed up my limbs like icy vines.

"Can I come in a moment?" His smile faded, twitched, but he battled to keep it etched across his thick lips.

"Jamie isn't here," I said, my teeth a little too tight, causing the words to sound a lot more disdainful than I intended.

"I know." He lowered his gaze, shuffled his feet, and managed to meet my eyes again. "I wanted to talk to you about something." His line of sight dropped again.

I watched him for a few seconds, not sure what to make of it. Somewhere in my head I was still asleep. I sighed. "OK." I moved aside to let him in.

"I'm really sorry," he said, making his way into the living room.

I sensed something off in his tone. Worried? Afraid? I motioned for him to sit down, and plonked myself into the armchair, pulling my feet up under my legs, to try and get some warmth back into the blueing flesh.

As much as I hated him for getting me out of bed so early on a Sunday morning, I couldn't help but feel a little concern for him. I saw a bit of my own son in him. They were best friends, after all, and I'd known the boy for a good five or six years. Since he was about fourteen.

"What's up?" I shivered, and pinched my shoulders into my neck, half inclined to switch the heating on.

He fell silent. His years whittled down by the second, as he sat there, slumped, nervous, no longer the six-foot tall lad, with the raring cockiness of youth still on his side. I almost moved across to comfort him.

"You're a nurse, aren't you?"

"You know I am. What's up?" My mind started to fill in the blanks, each of my conclusions worse than the last. Bad news from the doctor? One of his parents ill? Dying? Dead?

"I found something this morning." His jaws tightened as he clamped his teeth shut.

"Found what?" A lump? I pulled myself to my feet and moved across to him. He didn't look up. I sat down beside him, slid one arm around his shoulder, and patted him on the back. "What is it?"

"A bump."

"OK. You know," I said, trying to think ahead and keep things positive. "It's perfectly normal for us to get little lumps and bumps. Yes, they can be a sign of something bad, but in most cases, they turn out to be completely benign." I told him the truth. And hoped it would be right in his case.

He lifted his head a little. "I can't go to the doctor."

"Why not?"

He sighed, and his cheeks flushed.

Oh boy. It clicked. I imagined my own son in the same situation. Boys will be boys. Afraid to go let someone take a look because it's in an embarrassing place. I smiled at him. Where is it?"

He remained silent.

"Is it on your genitals?" I surprised myself with my boldness. I guess somewhere deep down, I wanted to get the situation sorted, and if that meant me taking the steps he couldn't, then so be it. Just as if it were my own son.

He nodded. His eyes were almost burrowed into his crimson cheeks.

"Would you like me to have a look?" I regretted the words as soon as they left my lips. I didn't mind taking a look, or even having a feel, if needed, it's my job after all. But, the whole thing seemed a little rushed. I didn't want it to get out of hand.

"He turned to face me. His head nodded but his lips stayed closed.

"OK." I glanced around me for ideas of how to do this. I considered running upstairs for my bag, or at least a pair of gloves. But he seemed vulnerable enough, already. No need to make it more scary than needed.

"Lie down on the floor, David." I moved myself down along side him, on all fours. My own cheeks flushed a little. Too late to change your mind now. I lined myself up with his hip as he straightened out on his back.

He closed his eyes and filled his lungs with short, ragged breaths.

"Just relax," I said. I rubbed my hands together until the palms heated up against each other. That's when the moment turned very real indeed. I hesitated. I'm about to see my son's best friend's bits. My heart fluttered in my chest. He's the same bloody age as my own son. And I'm going to not only look at them, but touch them.

I winced and cringed.

He lay still and rigid.

"Can you-" My tongue tied itself in knots in my mouth. I coughed, sucked a deep breath, and tried again. "Can you just pull down your trousers?" The words stabbed at my sensibilities. Too informal? Inappropriate? I couldn't think of a better way to phrase it, but it didn't matter, either way. It was done.

His hands trembled as he dipped his thumbs into the waistband of his jogging pants. He held them there.

"Just roll them down to your thighs," I said, my eyes glancing back and forth between his movements and the carpet beneath us.

He lifted his bum off the floor and tugged at the material.

I moaned a little, too low to be heard. I hope. The pale flesh of his thighs appeared. Big and muscular. I hovered above him, still not sure where to look.

He grunted as he flattened himself out again.

"The boxers too," I said. My words rattled and crackled. God, I hope he didn't notice. I caught sight of the bulge in his underwear. His testicles pressed against the white material, with a small dent nestled in the middle. A little higher, and off to his left, I saw another rise. Long, thick. I held my breath and clamped the back of one hand against my mouth. Oh Christ.

"What?" he replied, at last. He didn't move.

"You'll need to pull down your boxers, too." I waited, getting breathless.

He groaned and pulled them down in one, swift, yank.

I gasped and coughed at the same time. God, I hope it was at the same time. I put on my best, awkward smile, and blinked hard.

"Now, just lay back," I said. I'm not even sure if the words left my lips. I didn't hear them. My nipples stiffened and, between my thighs, I turned wet and sensitive in an instant. A worm of doubt wriggled through my skull, but I put so much effort into appearing calm and collected, I don't think it had a chance to take root.

The boy's penis lay across his trimmed pubis, flaccid and fat. My mouth dried out and my tongue stuck to my throat like Velcro. I licked my lips, and tried to swallow. What the hell am I doing?

For his part, he kept his eyes closed and his body straight. That gave me the strength to carry on.

"Where is the problem?" I looked around his genitals with half-glances, my nerves jangled as I moved farther and farther away from my comfort zone.

"On my c-" He coughed. The whites of his eyes appeared for a split second, beaming bright above the dark flush of his cheeks. "On my penis."

"Where?" I allowed my gaze to investigate the full length of him. I found nothing irregular. He almost said cock. I worked hard to ignore that. So hard. But a warm glow formed in the pit of my belly and crept lower.

"Here," he said, his forefinger moving down to the very base, where the underside of his penis connected to his scrotum. He pointed out a tiny red bump.

I moved closer for a better look. I released a long breath. Nothing to worry about. Bloody ingrown hair. Best double check, just to make sure, though.

"Can you just hold it out of the way?" I hovered my hand a few inches over his genitals, waiting.

He did nothing.

"D-" I cut the word short as I looked up to see the humiliation blazing in his cheeks. His eyelids twitched from being shut so tight. Cut the boy a break. I swallowed hard, licked some moisture into my lips, and set about my work.

As soon as my fingertips made contact with the thick shaft of his penis, a lightning bolt shot through my senses. I'm not sure where it started, but it ended between my thighs. My clitoris throbbed and I feared I was so wet it might dribble down my legs. I focused myself on the task at hand. For the most part.

I pulled it away from his testicles, and rested it against his tummy. It twitched. I yanked away my hand, as if it might bite. He moaned and the sound lingered in my ears, like the voice of temptation itself. I moved my attentions lower down, to the little red bump. With gentle care, I prodded at the pimple-type thing.

He pulled away and winced.

I touched around it, slow, careful. He didn't move, so I continued. I sighed aloud. All clear. Definitely an ingrown hair. I looked up with a big, bright smile, and swallowed the good news with an audible gulp.

No mistaking it. His erection bobbed against my hand again, as if to affirm it. I glanced at it, and jerked my eyes away. Oh Christ. It remained behind my lids. Fat and hard. No longer a lad's penis. I couldn't think of a way of dealing with this. It tapped against my wrist. A cock. A large, virile cock, at that.

I sucked a deep breath through my nostrils and released it between my dry lips.

"Sorry," he said, his voice little more than a whimper.

"It's OK." I steadied myself. My eyes roamed back to it. It must be a good eight inches. My fingers twitched. I moved them closer to it, then away again. No. I can't.

"I should go."

"Don't be silly. This happens all the time. I'm used to it." I thought I was. Maybe the smell of chemicals and plain, white walls and clean sheets helped to make the whole thing a lot less real life. I'm not used to this. At all.

"Is the lump bad?" His tone lowered into a hoarse murmur.

I reached out and touched it again. A searing heat radiated from the centre of my being and leapt through my veins. My nipples ached as they ground against my nightshirt, and my pussy begged for contact. My own, if not his.

I used one hand to press his hard cock against his belly. With the other, I stroked around the pimple, and the surrounding area. He grew harder, bigger, and it spasmed and jerked to my touch. He's enjoying it. I grinned, but twisted it off my features quicker than the gallop of my heartbeat.

He moaned and his hips squirmed. I kept massaging with the pad of my fingertips. My lips parted, and in that second, I longed to take it in my mouth. It's wrong. So bloody wrong. I pushed it tighter against his stomach, and squealed with glee inside, as it throbbed against my skin.

That's all it took. I'd stepped over the line.

"David, I'm not sure. Would you mind if I licked my finger, and see if it reacts to the moisture?" I struggled to get the words out, and when I did, it left me breathless. His body reacted before his mouth. His cock stiffened further, until it flexed against my hand like iron. It almost pried its way out from under my touch. I leaned down harder against it.

"OK." He opened his eyes, looked right at me. His features appeared to flash between a mixture of emotions. I couldn't tell which one called the shots.

With my nerves teetering on their jangled edges, I ran the pad of my forefinger over my tongue. It remained dry. I did my best to muster up some saliva, and tried again. With my skin wet, I moved the digit down toward him. Toward it. My entire arm wavered from side to side.

He mumbled beneath his breath. Unintelligible.

I made contact. My senses hazed and I bit down on my bottom lip, almost drawing blood. Jesus Christ. So wrong. I don't care. So wrong. I applied more pressure. My spittle oozed out over his rigid flesh. Glistening. Alluring. God, I don't care if it's wrong. I really don't. My clitoris burned white hot between my thighs. I wanted to touch it. In front of him. Maybe for him. Wrong or no wrong, it doesn't matter anymore.

His hips moved. Gyrated, I think. I pushed against the shaft of his cock until it jostled against me. He ground against me. I didn't waste a single second. Without even thinking about it, I wrapped my other hand around the base. Tight. He pulsed within my grip, and a little droplet of pre-cum trickled from the tip, reached the ridge around the head, and disappeared underneath. I leaned forward, my lips open, but bottled it just in time to stop myself. I cleared my throat and offered him a restrained smile.

He didn't even see it. His lids remained clamped shut.

I want to taste it. I rubbed the little lump, treating it the way I longed to treat my own clitoris. For a split second I considered risking it. He won't see me anyway. I moved my other hand up and down. Slow. Almost imperceptible. I hope. Masturbating him, without making it obvious. Delighting in the the dirtiness of the moment. I want it in my mouth.

"Is it OK?"

My whole body jerked. As if being awakened from a dream. I straightened myself up, lifted my gaze to his, and nodded, my mouth too dry to speak.

"The lump is OK?"

I nodded again. I didn't let go of his cock. It remained solid in my grasp. Hard. Erect. Jesus Christ I want to suck it. I want to make him come. And I want him to make me come. "Yes. It's all good." My fingers didn't stop. I continued to masturbate him, and play with that little red lump.

He watched my features. Without a word. I could see it in his eyes, that the whole thing made him uncomfortable. But something inside me knew he wouldn't say no. He won't put up a fight.

I shocked myself. So much so, that I gasped aloud as I moved. I lunged at his cock with my mouth. My lips rolled over the moist head, and I sank myself half way down the shaft.

His limbs turned rigid. His eyes shot wide open. He didn't complain, or even acknowledge it. He froze.

I sucked deeper, harder, faster. My whole body erupted with wanton lust. I pawed at his balls, squeezed and fumbled them. The sound of my own slurping drove me into a frenzy. I reached one hand down to the bottom of my nightshirt, yanked it out of the way, and pressed my fingers against my bare pussy.

"Oh, God," he whispered, his voice heavy, deeper than I'd heard him use before.

I licked my way up and down his thick, swollen shaft. My fingers spread apart my pussy lips and I slid one inside my seeping hole. I frigged myself senseless, my own utterances nothing more than raging, sharp breaths, that flared through my nostrils, and wet moans that rumbled against my lips and his wonderful cock.

My clitoris cried out for attention, and I gave into it. I pressed the heel of my hand against my pubis, so that the erect little nub nestled in the middle, and rolled it back and forth with my efforts.

David bucked his hips against my face, his breath heaving toward a crescendo. I sucked him harder, tightened my lips, and bobbed my mouth up and down the shaft until my neck ached.

I stopped.

"Wh-"

I didn't give him time to complete his protestation. With one swift, sweeping movement, I lifted my head away from his erection, threw myself over his legs, and hovered my soaking wet pussy over him.

He looked up at me. His cheeks roared scarlet, and his eyes blazed with animalistic need. I tried to smile, but suspect it didn't appear as intended.

"Is this your first time? I waited for an answer.

He nodded.

I eased myself down onto his cock, slow and steady. Allowing him to savour every second of his first penetration. His thick erection squeezed inside of me, stretching my pussy every glorious bit of the way. I lifted myself up and plunged back down. "Oh Christ."

I couldn't keep my eyes open. My long hair flowed around my shoulders as I threw back my head, moaning, gasping, almost breathless. I rode him like a sex-starved housewife. Not far from the truth. I thrust my pelvis up and down, grinding myself against his body. Every inch of him swelled inside me. Filled me.

I shook the sleeves of my dressing gown off, tossed it behind me. With trembling fingers I found the hem of my nightshirt and hoisted it over my head. My naked body tingled. So hot, invigorated.

He reached out. His hands squeezed and pawed at my jiggling breasts. I slowed my hips, allowed him to play. His cock continued to bury itself deep inside me. I savoured every bit of it, back and forth, fat and hard.

I leaned forward a little, offered him my heaving bosom. He opened his mouth and suckled, licked, sucked again. I whined and mewled like a cat in heat. His teeth found one of my nipples and I squealed with delight as he nibbled at it.

I longed for him to come. Inside me. But I shook my head in silence, denying myself such a pleasure.

His breathing tightened into sharp, shrift groans. I took them as my cue. Without warning, I pulled myself off him. I stood over his thighs, exposed, wet, and ravenous. "Touch it for me."

He looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise and with crinkled lines across his forehead. He didn't speak. Or act.

"Touch your cock. Touch it for me." I dropped one hand to my own swollen sex, and stroked around the edges. His gaze glued to my activities. He grabbed his cock and rubbed it back and forth. Slow. Unsure.

"Faster," I said, the word savage as it spat through my clenched teeth. "Wank it for me. Wank your cock as I watch."

He obeyed. His arm quickened its efforts. Every feature on his face turned rigid, determined.

I forced a finger into my pussy, the size nothing compared to his wonderful cock. I slid it in and out a few times, before adding another digit. They almost lived up to him, together.

He growled. I jerked my eyes from the towering mass of his erection, to the desperate hunger in his eyes. He's close. I used my spare hand to rub at my clitoris. Pinching it, squeezing it, rolling it and pressing it hard against my pubis.

He gripped himself tighter, his movements higher up on his cock, toward the head. The pad of one thumb positioned itself on the underside of his helmet, rubbing at the little sensitive spot.

My knees buckled. My legs turned to jelly. I dropped to the floor beside him. My fingers remained working hard toward my own climax. I stroked, rubbed, fingered. I wanted him to come. Now. And I wanted to join him.

He pushed up his bum from the carpet. His cock jerked in his grasp. He sucked at the thick air of the room in an attempt to feed the swell and fall of his heaving chest.

I held my breath. Hot, overwhelming waves of thrill flowed through my body. I pushed myself harder, faster. A lightning bolt of pleasure exploded between my legs, pulling my thighs together and forcing them to clamp hard around my hands. I screamed, yelped, and gasped for all my worth.

His limbs stiffened. He opened his lips wide, held his breath for a very long second, and closed his eyes tight.

I leaned back against the sofa. Almost steadied myself. My senses swirled and my joints ached and wavered. I glared at the lurid sight of him wanking his delicious cock. "Come for me," I panted. "Come."

He exhaled in one, long, loud, stream of spittle and release.

I watched his twitching hardon. The tip unleashed a thick stream of cloudy fluid. I followed it as it arced over his belly and hit him in the middle of his chest. Another landed just beside it. I moved back to the purple head of his erection, in time to see a third load. It moved to the side of him, hit my kneecap, and I moaned with exhausted desire.

His cock remained hard. He held it still. It shuddered a little, but showed no signs of deflating.

I wanted to do so much more. As I sat there, ravaged by my own lust, I imagined him back in my willing mouth. Between my heavy, full breasts. Returning to the depths of my pussy, and filling me with his hot, sticky seed. I longed to have him in my bottom, but my puckered anus quivered at the thought of something that big forcing its way in there. I still longed for it.