"Now, how hard was that?" she whispered.
Her hand blazed against the back of mine. Under my fingers, the cotton of her shirt was warm but not as warm as her hand. My fingertips rested along the top of her bra. The soft mound of her breast fit perfectly in my palm.
"Not hard," I whispered, my eyes fixed to the hand resting atop her breast, "soft".
She moved her hand and rested it against my chest. When she moved her head forward, I met her, already missing the feel of her lips on mine, of her tongue dancing inside my mouth. I knew how to kiss. I wasn't afraid of that.
Her fingers began to knead my chest, very softly. She pulled away from my kiss. "I'll show you what to do." Her fingers closed a little tighter on my chest. "Do that to me," she whispered into my mouth. I found her lips first and then did as she instructed, slowly. What she was doing to me felt fantastic but I didn't have boobs. I didn't want to hurt her.
Sensing the hesitation in my tentative touch, Jill whispered against my cheek, "It's okay. You can do it a little harder. You won't hurt me."
Her fingers clutched at my chest and mine echoed the movement.
"Um, that's right. That's perfect. Keep doing that," she murmured against the side of my neck, causing goose bumps to blossom on my arms.
I arched my back and began to kiss along the side of her neck as my fingers grew bolder. I kissed the hollow of her neck and she pushed the side of her leg against my erection. I kissed the cotton fabric where it stretched across her cleavage. I moved my hand and pressed my lips where I imagined her nipple to be, hidden beneath her shirt and bra.
I searched her eyes, looking for guidance. Her stare was easily as bold as my hand or my lips. I balanced on one elbow and tugged at the bottom of her tee shirt, pulling it from under the waistband of her jeans. I leaned over and resumed kissing her, while my hand reached around her waist to free the back of the tee shirt. Without taking my lips from hers, I slipped my hand under her tee shirt. The skin on her tummy was cool. I brushed my fingertips across her skin and she shivered. Her hip pressed against me again.
She had wondered if I wanted more. I wondered if she knew how much more I wanted. Surely, she must, I remember thinking. She did not push my hand away. She did not tug her shirt down. She did not mutter "no" into my mouth.
I moved my hand higher and re-discovered her boob. The bra was a thin cotton bra, no padding. I wanted to look, wanted to see the nipple my palm was feeling. I drew my hand back slightly and brought my fingers together to stroke around the skin I could feel beneath the bra. Her tongue darted more aggressively in my mouth. Her fingers clenched on my chest. I trailed my fingers upward and let them rest on the warm skin above her bra cup. Whatever worries or cautions had held me back in the past melted away. I hooked my fingers under the top of the bra and pulled it down, freeing her breast. Now, I did free myself from her mouth in order to gaze at her.
She did have small boobs but I didn't care. They looked perfect to me. She rolled, slightly, on her right hip. Her unrestrained breast sloped toward the middle of her chest. The nipple pointed directly at my face. Her nipple was hard and stood out from her boob, surrounded by a pink areola. A triangle of lighter skin outlined the size of her swimming suit top. Her tee shirt was bunched under her chin.
I pressed my hand over her breast and began to move it in circles. Jill moaned softly, low in her throat. I pulled my fingers up, exactly as I had before, but this time there was no bra between us. My fingertips surrounded her nipple. Her back arched and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, they glowed. She pushed away, sitting up. I tried to hide my disappointment. I started to tell her how great that was, to thank her, when she began to pull at my shirt. She pulled it over my head and off my right arm. I was leaning on my left. She used both hands to pull it from under my left elbow before tossing it to the floor. I remember having a hard time processing the sight of her hands tugging her own tee shirt over her head. But the vision of her reaching to unclasp her bra and drop it on the floor has never left me.
She sat there for a moment, looking embarrassed, looking as if she wanted to cover herself with her hands, but she didn't. Thank God. Her breasts sat high and firm on her chest, as only a young women's can. I watched the newly freed right nipple grow taut under my gaze and the cool kiss of the air conditioned air. She rolled to lie flat on her back. She pulled her right leg to her chest, passing it in front my chest and face and pushed it between my body and the back of the couch. Now, she had me between her legs. Her breasts slipped slightly off to each side, looking so white against the deep tan of her skin, a gift of her Italian forefathers and the sun.
I moved toward the middle of the couch, kneeling now between her legs. She opened her arms. A second invitation was not required. I lowered myself on my hands, and then rested on my elbows. My forearms slid beneath her arms and my hands cradled her head. When I leaned forward to kiss her, I made no effort to keep my erection from pressing into her crotch. I lowered myself a bit more and felt her nipples kiss my bare skin.
I moved my body back and forth, dragging my chest atop her nipples, and earned my second throaty moan of the afternoon. As we resumed kissing, her crotch ground into my erection. Her nails began to dance across my shoulders and down my back. She drew them upward, over my sides and it was my turn to shiver and moan.
I kissed my way down her neck again. This time when I kissed between her breasts there was no fabric between my lips and her skin. I discovered the pleasure of erotic teasing that day. I kissed underneath her left breast, around to her side, and repeated the sequence under her right breast. I kissed across the top of her breasts, my lips and tongue trying to erase her tan line. She pressed her crotch against me. She arched her back. Her hands clutched at my shoulders and then pulled and pushed at my head, but I ignore her nipples. I ignored them and I when I kissed my way back to her lips, she growled in frustration. I settled for a quick peck on the lips, arched my back, dropped my head, and sucked her right nipple into my mouth.
She hissed in surprise, not pain. I flicked her nipple with my tongue, doing to it the things my tongue normally did to her tongue. When I pulled away, I plucked softly with my lips and she hissed again. I pressed my hand against her left breast, trapping her nipple in the space between my splayed thumb and index finger. I licked around her areola. I swirled my tongue around her nipple as if it was the world's smallest ice cream cone. I laved her nipple with my tongue and when it was slick, I plucked at it with my fingers and her body nearly bucked me off the couch.
I licked my way to her belly button. I pushed the tip of my tongue in it. I sucked the rim of it between my lips. All the while, my hands massaged her breasts, played with her nipples. She saved me the trouble of wondering how much further I should push by reaching between us and unbuckling her belt and unbuttoning her jeans. I sat back on my heels and hooked my fingers in the top of her jeans. She raised her butt and I slipped them over her hips. Her panties came with them. She pulled her legs up and held them straight in front of my chest. I leaned my head to the side of her upraised legs and gazed at her pussy as I helped her pull the jeans off.
She dropped them atop the pile of clothes by the side of the couch and lowered her legs. If she retained any of the embarrassment she felt when I gazed at her breasts, it wasn't apparent. Her hair was dark brown and grew in a thick, perfect triangle above her pussy. The hair was not as thick over the lips. I could see her slit. It was wet and shiny. Her clitoris was perched above her slit, a leopardess guarding the entrance of her most precious place.
I stared, fascinated, heedless of the passing time. Jill's fingers crept across her belly and her fingertips began to draw circles over her clit.
"Don't you want to take your pants off too?" she whispered.
I did, of course, and badly. I pulled my eyes away from the sight of her playing with herself, to look at her.
"I don't have any rubbers," I replied.
"You don't need them," she whispered. "I'm on the pill." I couldn't tear my eyes from her face. "Do you want to?" she whispered a moment later.
