Chapter 15 - Fingering and the reluctance of Jennie
I suppose it is a debateable point but to me a girl's pudenda can be as pretty as her face - and as different from one girl to the next. And perhaps not everyone has realised just how sexy it is to see a girl being, now how might I put it, yes, fingered. It really does not matter whether the hand doing the work is male or female: indeed it can be the girl's own fingers doing the playing and, of course, that happens a lot!
You have no idea, but quite possibly the pretty but very serious woman in the sharp business suit you are sitting with at a meeting has been doing just that thing only the evening before or even that very morning. No suit, perhaps no clothes at all at the time. Yes, had her legs spread wide and her furry place all wet, fragrant and swollen whilst her fingers pushed inside her and diddled her 'little man.' Perhaps she made funny little noises when she came. Difficult to believe or even imagine as you sit there. It can be a bit distracting to muse on the topic and lose the thread of the discussion.
And of course not many people get to see the fingering for real - well, by a third person anyway - but it is different for a time stopper.
It had been a hot day and it was a hot night. I had wandered down the road for a swift pint before turning in. As usual 'The George' was busy, so I stood leaning against a wall with my pint of bitter, thinking and idly looking around. I had seen her in there before and with the same bloke. A good looking enough lass, not a stunner or anything but, you know, easy on the eye and particularly so in the cotton dress pleasingly draped around her; she showing sufficient cleavage to catch the eye. Always difficult to paint a picture but shoulder length brown hair, girl shaped figure, nice knees or at least the one I could see as her legs were crossed, sandals...
As you do, I got into conversation about the council's proposals for alternate weeks' bin collection - you know recycling one week, rubbish proper the next. The sort of interesting conversation you can have in your local with, um, a local. It was only later, when I left, that I found myself paying attention to the girl again. I had not noticed but they, she and the bloke, had gone out of the door a little ahead of me and were walking my way. Of course what caught my eye was the way her bottom cheeks moved up and down alternately under that cotton dress as she walked. It is a thing men notice, the way girls' bottoms move as they walk. Some women obviously deliberately exaggerate the movement and high heels seem to accentuate the movement. It is not so much a bounce or a waggle, though that certainly depends on the girl, but it is the sway of the hips which is just not the way men walk. The cotton just seemed to glide on her bottom as she walked: one cheek lower, one cheek higher, a tensioning of the cotton one side and then the other. I am observant, you see.
So my attention was caught, caught by her bottom moving, rubbing against the cotton. A pleasant thing to watch as I walked along and then the man's hand dropped from her waist to a cheek. How nice to see it rest there as they walked along and then they turned to each other and kissed. Well, well, well I thought, this might be the precursor to intercourse; perhaps they would not really mind if I peeked a bit or, even, joined in. Well perhaps they might!
Hanging back a bit it was easy to follow them and easy to slip past them out of time when they came to their destination. Easy to check out the lie of the land i.e. nobody else in, no dog likely to come and find me and suitable hiding places. I was becoming adept at this sort of thing.
They settled in the lounge, which was at the back, on the settee having first made coffee, drawn the curtains and turned the television on quietly. Have you ever looked at the curtains drawn across the patio windows in your home and had the sudden feeling there was somebody standing behind them? Well they did not seem to have that feeling but nonetheless there was somebody there - me!
And as I peeked through the gap in the curtains I received a bit of a surprise. The girl's dress had ridden up a little as they kissed and she was not wearing panties. She had been in the pub, as far as I could judge, with nothing on under her dress the whole time. No wonder the cotton had seemed so moulding of her shape!
As I watched the bloke's hand came down and pulled the dress a little further up and then she slid a little further down the settee. I was treated to a grandstand view of her sex through the curtains. Her legs a little open, a fine patch of curly light brownish hair, smooth thighs terminating at their tops with the mounded roundness of her outer lips. I could see them, full and lightly coated in hair and curling over to that interesting divide that runs upwards, up to the now revealed bush. And as her thighs moved there was just the hint of protruding pinkness within the aforementioned patch of curls. A fine view and my penis reacted appropriately, indeed as a compliment to her. Luckily I was still fully dressed otherwise it might have poked out from between the curtains disturbing the peace and repose of the couple on the settee!
Naturally his hand had not simply gone down to pull her dress up a little and let some cooling air in. No, it rested on her patch of curls. How nice for a man, or woman if that way inclined, to rest a hand there on that wonderful mound women have over their pubic bone. So soft and rounded, sometimes with hair and sometimes without, but either way with that intriguing little slit that leads downwards. And I was not surprised to see his index finger start to make that journey down the slit. It was one I was already very tempted to make!
It was almost in slow motion. They were kissing away and his finger was gradually making its way downwards. Lovely to see her literally jump as his finger slipped over her clit, paused to tickle her pee hole, before moving on. Her legs moved a little wider and there was his finger right on her entrance. Would he? Would he push it in her body? Well, would you?
Of course he did, just a little at first but there undoubtedly was a finger in the girl's sex and again she jumped and I think over the television I heard a moan as he entered. Out it came and in it went again a little deeper. Nice to see, a man fingering a girl. Really nice, really erotic. A hand at her sex and the girl open and accepting the liberty. The finger stirring a little and then a second finger entering.
It would have been so nice to have joined him. Two men sitting on the settee either side of her and fingering; sticking their fingers in together and discussing what they were doing and the girl. Seeing just how many they could get in. Finger fucking her together as she lay back and surrendered herself to the men; letting them do what they would with her, so enjoying the feel of fingers running freely about and in her sex. Such a matey thing to do for the men - best with a girl each of course but why not share if not?
A third finger, and then the motion of intercourse. Wrinkled finger joints slipping in and out, touching the labia as they moved; the pleasing sight of fingers inside the girl between her legs in that wonderful place men just don't have.
Again over the television I could hear the moaning. Clearly this was working her up really well but there was no sign of reciprocity, no girl fingers moving to a zip and bringing out the undoubted erection to be fondled and manipulated, perhaps even brought to orgasm with all that entailed. No, just the one hand and the kissing.
The fingers kept moving in and out of the girl; yes in and out of her delightful and pretty sex; I could see her excitement just by the wetness of his fingers - such a nice feeling for him and, of course, her! The fingers were slipping in and out just so easily and then there was the thumb playing with that sweet little bump. Yes, I could see it, the little erection, even from my vantage point - standing proud; anatomically related to the item straining in my boxers: just so much smaller!
The cotton dress all rucked up, the girl's sex so wonderfully displayed and she was pushing against him, her hips thrusting against him; a girl in heat pushing against the invading digits as if they were a penis.
And of course they could be.
At the very moment she was coming – and coming she was just on his fingers - I stopped time and stepped out through the curtains. It was a shame I was still clothed as I rather liked the theatrical imagery of coming through the curtains. Not so much Shakespeare's 'Exeunt, pursued by a bear' as 'Enter man prominent with erection'. Of course divesting myself and hiding my clothes away was easy enough though always somewhat strange to be doing so with others present: not that they said anything, of course.
So nice to take a closer look, nice to move the man's fingers in and out, but even nicer to remove them altogether and there I had it, yes all to myself now, this lovely pudenda all prepared for me, all wet, hot and surprisingly open. Yes, without the fingers, and with time stopped, the secret entrance to her body was very much open and potentially welcoming. Of course I tried it with my own fingers. Having been watching the man's hand at work it was inevitable I would want to do the same and how nice it was to be able to do just that - move my fingers together and push them into this girl's sex. Lovely and wet, lovely and soft, lovely and hot. The sheer pleasure of time stop sex in being able to touch and play with the girl of your choice's sex at will!
Was I satisfied with fingers? No!
Again with time stop sex no need to worry about the other person's needs, no requirement to fumble around in the dark, everything can be out in the open and, with men being so very visual in their sexual makeup, so easy to see the approach of the erection and watch the knob push in.
Not that I hurried. So pleasing to kneel and bring my knob close and observe the juxtaposition of soft yielding wetness and firm masculinity. And just how fine my swollen knob looked, proud and potent, before I brought it closer and closer and then touched. The lovely wet feeling, so warm, so slippery, so feminine. Rubbing my knob on her clit, yes feeling the little bump on the sensitive skin of my penis head.
The acorn shape of my knob at her entrance. Lovely to feel my primitive excitement, feel my erection standing taut and ready, feel my balls hanging loose and free; and lovely to see it all!
A little push and the knob was in, a little further push from my hips and in I slid all the way, up beyond the reach of her boyfriend's fingers, amazing to think as I looked down at our mingled curls that my knob was actually somewhere up inside her, behind her tummy button.
And so we fucked. I suppose it was more me than she as she was completely unaware of the slippery sliding and the quiet squelchy, sucking noise of intercourse. Our pubic hair becoming intimate on every stroke. Lovely!
