Little Things Ch. 03 of 04

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

There's excitement even now, in the memory of that hot August afternoon, and it kicks at my pulse as I find another seat among the bales. Another nest, half-enclosed by piles still higher, the layers of the surrounding hay making it a warm and quiet place. My eyes track David as he approaches and settles down beside me, and with the avenue of my thoughts, something he said before is called to mind. "You know," almost idly spoken, as I look over with a quirked smile into those soft blue eyes. "We never finished our conversation the other day, did we?"

"Which one?" He asks with honest curiosity. His head cocked just to the side, hands planted with splayed fingers on the bale where he sits.

My eyebrow lifts, a touch of mischief. "The one where you were telling me what you thought about doing with me." My hand sneaks over and slips atop his, pressing warm above his knuckle.

He glances away again, a minor retreat, and for a moment I feel a stab of disappointment. That he still won't do it, won't tell me what my prying mind wants to know, what went on in the depths of his imagination. But our time together in the past few days - and what we've done with it - perhaps has helped to loosen his tongue; he shakes his head and smiles with uneasy self-consciousness as he replies. "It's...I mean, jeez, what do you think? It was sex stuff." A simmering pink on his cheeks at the confession, his gaze still kept averted.

"Well, obviously." A brief giggle escapes my lips, a thrill leaked from the greater mass which arcs along my spine. "But I want to know the details. The specifics." My hand pressing slightly forward, grasping at his wrist there atop the hay. So many things we can't do...but we can talk. We can always talk. And the word carries a glimmer of the deed, a trace of its feeling. "Did you fantasize about bending me over the kitchen table?" I egg him on, my voice teasing and excited and perhaps a little hungry. "Fucking me in the shower?"

His face burns brighter, his gaze locked to the straw-strewn ground. "Probably, yeah," he croaks out weakly. "I mean, you know. I thought about a lot of things."

Adorable as his innocent hesitation is, this is getting a bit frustrating. I squeeze gently at his wrist, trying for his attention, and when he glances up I hit him with half a smile and an eyebrow expectantly raised. Finally, he seems to take the hint. "Um," stammering out, "I think...I mean, I guess there were a couple things I thought about a lot, that I...um, that I sorta went back to." His voice is high and tight, nervous and embarrassed; I squeeze again at his hand, comforting, and hope my smile is encouraging. "There was...I think I dreamed it, the first time, but...I imagined that I woke up in my bed, you know, except you were in there with me. Kinda on top of me, with your arm around my shoulder. And you smiled at me, and said good morning, but then, um...well, you kissed me, a couple times at the top of my chest."

Softly. "Like this?" With my free hand, I tug open the top of his jacket and lean in to lay a few gentle kisses there at the base of his neck. Wanting to make him feel better, to put him at ease.

David's smile only flickers, but he nods, his voice coming a little stronger. "Anyway, that's when I realize that we're both naked." His eyes touch worriedly onto mine, as though afraid that I'll react badly to this revelation - only after he's reassured by the encouraging curve of my lips does he continue. "Um, I start to say something, but when I open my mouth you kiss me there, with your tongue. I can't speak." A little pause, glancing half-expectantly into my eyes - this time, though, I let it pass. Acting out his fantasy could quickly end up somewhere we can't go. After a moment, he proceeds. "It lasts for a long time, and while it's going on you kinda slide on top of me. And...I can feel you, all the way down my body, so soft and so...I mean, it's almost scary, y'know, but at the same time it's like, just this wonderful, warm feeling..." He looks a little less abashed now, easing into the telling. "Um, and then you lift up, sitting on my chest, and you reach back and grab hold of my thing..."

"Oh, don't call it that," I interrupt with a wince, my nose wrinkling in mild distaste. I was just getting into his fantasy, but this tears me right out. "It sounds so...childish. God, you're not a five-year-old."

David pauses, pained, and bites briefly at his lip. "Well, then what...?"

"A cock." My heart flutters in a faintly wicked thrill. Maybe I am corrupting him, a little. Or his vocabulary, anyway. "You have a cock. I saw for myself." A touch of mischief on my tongue.

His eyes rest on me uncertainly for a long few moments, lightly troubled. Clearly not an unfamiliar word, just one that he's avoided in his earnest, natural gentleness. But finally he nods, dropping his gaze back down near his feet as he resumes the telling. "So, um. I - you grabbed my, my cock." Another softly encouraging squeeze at his wrist. "You stood up on your knees, and moved back on top of me, and when you dropped back down you held - you guided my cock inside you." He swallows, his face flushed. "And then we were, y'know...we were having sex, and I...I mean, it was..." Flustered, embarrassed, he falls silent, unable to find the words to convey the feeling of his fancy.

Good enough. An honest try; affection pulses softly in my heart, a humble warmth amidst the nervous, electric tingle of excitement that seems to fill me. Even simple as they are, there's a sexy, powerful feeling, listening to David's fantasies of me. I want more. "What else have you thought about?" My voice slow and inviting.

"What else? Jeez." A tone of faint chagrin - but he doesn't really seem to mind that much, beginning now almost immediately. Perhaps getting to like these confessions himself. "I thought about, um. Well, it doesn't really have a 'where,' just...the two of us, sitting down somewhere. A little bit like this. Except all you have on your legs is a pair of socks...totally bare aside from that, smooth, and just so beautiful..." He glances up at me, and there's a touch of humor in his eye. "Have I told you yet that you have really pretty legs?"

I grin back at him, amused and delighted. "I believe you may have suggested that before, yes." My left hand tracing inches on the side of my thigh.

He smiles as well - and this time, doesn't take his eyes away as he resumes. "Well, it's true. I felt like...I feel like they should be shown the right attention, y'know? So I decide to kiss them. To kneel down in front of you, slide off your socks...starting at your feet, um, little kisses on the bridge, and on your ankles, and then moving up slowly on your leg. Imagining what you would taste like, if I licked them a little bit." Embarrassment painted on his cheeks, but he's still looking at me. Still meeting my gaze.

"Kissing my feet, huh?" I tease him a bit, an exultant smile on my lips. Amused and excited, with more than a touch of arousal. "Like a bondage thing? Did you call me 'Mistress Samantha?'"

"What?" His brow furrows, seeming genuinely bothered by the implication. "No, it's just...I just thought, you have such lovely legs, beautiful feet, that I should...that it would be good to..." His head shakes briefly, his eyes unhappy on me. "It's not weird, is it?"

"No," I reassure him quietly. A little pause, as my smile quirks up at the corner. "No weirder than having the hots for your sister, anyway." My thumb strokes again at his wrist. "Go on. I want to hear the rest."

"I guess," he agrees weakly. Trying to shake off his worry as he resumes. "Um. So I kiss my way up your legs. Kinda slowly, carefully...on your knees, and then on your thighs. Jumping back and forth at the end, from one to the other. And then I look up and I see that you don't have on any underwear, either. And I can see your..." Trailing off, he looks at me imploringly. An actor, waiting for his line.

"My pussy." A tingle in my throat, in my spine.

His blush briefly deepens, but he nods. "Your pussy. And it's...I mean, I haven't seen it for real, but I'm sure it's the most beautiful, the sweetest...the softest..." His eyes drift closed as he continues to speak. "And I kiss there, too, so slowly because I'm afraid you won't like it, and just...smell you, taste you, feel you with my tongue..." His eyes open again. Questioningly. "When a guy, um, licks a girl, a girl's pussy...?"

I smirk slightly. More vocabulary. "Cunnilinguis? Carpet munching? Eating out?" My middle finger tracing at his wrist, infused with nervous energy. God, if he could...if we could...

"Yeah..." Softly spoken, slightly abashed. "We - I do that." Falling suddenly silent. An anticlimax, disappointment in this quick resolution. I had been getting into it, imagining it could be real. Imagining his mop of golden hair between my legs, his tongue exploring gentle and loving the folds of my flesh.

"Have you ever?" I ask suddenly. "I mean, for real?" Looking up curiously into his eyes. His answer comes as a slight shake of the head, and I make a little moue. "That's too bad. It's a useful skill for a guy to have. Better than sex, for a lot of girls."

"Really?" His expression is genuinely surprised.

"Oh, yeah," a quick, affirmative nod. "I mean, it depends a little on the guy, of course, but some girls can't even get off with regular sex. A guy who knows how to use his tongue...he can be a real treat." I smile slightly, a tight surge of ambiguous, conflicted feeling squeezing at my heart. Faint satisfaction, warm and contented, just from helping him in this way, teaching him about the realities of sex. And a soft pain, because...

"Is it bad that I haven't done it?" He asks after a moment, quiet and low. Saving me from my thought. "That I don't know how?"

I can hardly stand to see the gentle, worried unhappiness that tugs downward at his features. Can't bear even to have an ounce of pain ruin that adorable face. I scootch over closer, our legs and sides touched together, and take his hand into my lap. Clutched comfortingly between mine. "Not 'bad,' no," answering back with quiet, hopeful reassurance. "I mean, it's good to have that experience...but it doesn't have to be right now. You'll have plenty of chances to learn. Plenty of girlfriends who would love to let you practice." My lips twist rebelliously as I say it, a note of bitterness taking unwelcome residence in my voice. Shocking, how much it bothers me now, the thought of him with someone else. This is just pretend, just a game I started to help him get over me. But now a large part of me doesn't even want him to. Doesn't want to let him go, to give up the ardent devotion in his eyes or the gentle pleasures of his touch.

It's not real. I have to remind myself of that, as my palm rubs tenderly at his. He's my brother; everything comes crashing up against that. Whatever idle dreams I might have, of throwing caution and inhibition to the wind...they're just dreams. In reality, the bond of family separates us as surely as it keeps us together. I mean, I can maybe straddle the edge - share kisses long and slow, allow a few close caresses, teach him what he needs to know about sex - but...

A sudden inhalation, the notion striking me with such force that my hands squeeze tight around David's. A trembling in my throat as I gaze upon the side of his face, tense excitement running down my spine. "Or maybe you could practice right here." A tone of hesitation in my voice, as if even I don't quite believe what I'm suggesting.

He turns his gaze to me, eyes wide, and doesn't need to speak for me to know his surprise. "I know, I know," a nervous giggle escapes my throat, my cheeks hot. "It's not something we could normally do. But if it's...if it isn't because we want to, if it's just to help you learn how, to teach you something you missed out on..." It makes sense, in my head. I've been there for him a thousand times, in a thousand ways; it can't be going too far to be there once more. It can't. This is something he needs...something that'll help him, anyway, help him to be a better lover for - my jaw tightening - for whoever. Could make the difference between him losing or keeping an important relationship, even. It could.

"But is that really the reason why?" He asks quietly, a trace discomfort in the tenor of his voice.

"Of course," I answer without hesitation, heart racing and eyes aflame, believing it with all my strength. "I mean, come on. You want to know how, right?"

He doesn't answer that, looking out now along the length of the barn. "What..." Nervously licking at his lips. "Um, what about the rules, though? You said we couldn't go under each other's clothes..."

I giggle again, half-madly, a delighted grin quirking on my lips. "That's easy. You don't have to go under them if I don't have them on." My fingers tickle lightly at his palm, and I expect him to laugh as well, to gift my soul with the sounds of his joy, perhaps to turn and throw his arms around me, holding me tight...but he doesn't. Just keeps staring away from me, a conflicted, uncertain look on his face, and as silence drags on I suffer a conflict of my own. "What, don't you want to?" I can't conceal the undertones of hurt, of almost anger. After everything he said...

"No, I do!" His gaze jumps swiftly back to me, his tone earnest and contrite, his hand squeezing reassuringly at mine. "I do, it's just..." A pause again, our eyes locked, his lips just parted, trying to speak. Struggling with himself. But why now? We finally have this reason, this excuse, a cause to step beyond and to do what we can't. My heart pounds as though for a marathon, my stomach twisting with the fluttering, nervous thrill of anticipation. Doesn't he feel the same?

"...I do." He finally finishes, smiling weakly as relief blossoms inside me. Leaning in now, and his lips touch to mine in a soft kiss, sweetly apologetic; I return it with hotter ardor, my fingers fumbling frantically at the fly of my jeans, the thick denim feeling suddenly an almost painful constriction on my tingling skin. I have to break the kiss, push David lightly away as I wiggle the tight cloth off my hips, only to belatedly realize that I still have my boots on.

My eyes shut for a moment's laughter. God, I'm not thinking straight...turned on and nervous and bubbling with excitement. I need to calm down a little. This is supposed to be for David, for him to learn...I should let him take action. So I smile up at him, warm and giddy into his bright blue eyes. "Want to help me get out of these?"

He nods eagerly, moving at once to kneel at my dangling feet. Cradling my right tenderly in his hand as he teases out the laces, working them carefully loose before easing off the boot and letting it to drop softly on the layer of hay beneath us. And now my sock, peeling it slowly off from the top, unveiling skin lightly tanned and just barely shining with the dampness of sweat. A memory swims into view - Cinderella, the prince placing the glass slipper on her dainty foot. I giggle softly, and David glances up from his work with a wordless smile. It fits, kind of, in a strange and backwards way.

My other foot soon receives the same treatment, though not before David takes a moment to run his warm fingers down the arch of my right. Not before his head bows briefly down, and I feel his lips touch gently at the bottom of my foot, just above my toes, my heart sparking with unexpected delight at this unfamiliar intimacy. I had laughed, teased him at the idea - had not thought I would enjoy it so. But already his fingers touch bare at my left foot, pinching softly at tickling skin. I wriggle slightly in his grasp, toes curling, trying-but-not-trying to get free. Waiting, still, for the next kiss, on flesh I never knew could be so sensitive. And when it comes, an inhalation deep and powerful, shocked with electric feeling that arcs along the full length of my body.

"My jeans, now." I speak it, though I know I don't need to. His hands already tug firmly at the bottom cuffs, abrading my skin ever so faintly as the rough material slides down inch by inch, slow beginnings that quickly accelerate until they're pulled off entirely to crumple down beside my boots. And how much like that second night this now feels, with his hands at rest nervously on my knees, with the delicious trembling of trespass buzzing in my mind. The same excitement of exhibition as his eyes flow to the top of my legs, setting sight on the crimson silk panties that boldly lay there, and I wonder if, secret even to myself, I didn't expect this, plan it, that I should happen to have worn this one outrageous pair today.

Silence but for our breathing as his fingers trace slowly on my legs. First downward, as he lowers himself to kiss again so sweetly at the inner top of my calf. Then upward again, inching forward on his knees, my legs spreading wider to grant him passage. His breath falling warm and moist on the paleness of my inner thigh, and still another kiss, sucking just softly at sensitive skin.

Just one covering left, one last unveiling. I feel a little shiver, a nervous pounding of my heart as David's fingers slide up the last few inches to the edge of my panties. Second thoughts suddenly worried in my head, that I'll never measure up to his fantasy of 'the most beautiful, the sweetest'...fuck, it's already a week since I've shaved. I'll be ugly, stubbly, gross. I shouldn't let him see. Should just push him away, so he won't be disappointed. Yeah.

Then his fingers catch on either side of the upper hem, his arms curling from down beneath my legs, and despite these thoughts my hips instinctively lift up off the hay to let him peel the damp red silk from my skin. A telltale trace of wetness glistening at the bottom, revealing so blatantly my desires - and he's looking at me, oh god, staring transfixed. It's my first time again, heart racing close to panic, hypersensitive to every little fault, every spot and bulge and blemish of my stupid body, just wanting to be good enough. "Um," a quaver in my voice as I dive for the safety of words. "Even if a girl doesn't...doesn't look that good, you might not want to say anything about it. It's a pretty sensitive topic." Mumbling, my cheeks flushed. Ridiculous. So ridiculous - like he'll be fooled, like I could possibly be talking about anyone but myself...

"You're beautiful." His eyes dart up into mine, so perfectly, softly blue, and I let out a tiny exhalation, a note of almost laughter. I'm not, of course. It's a lie - but I love him for lying.

His gaze falls back down again then, resting raptly on my flower. On my pussy, damp with sweat and with the slow trickling of my arousal. His thumb venturing over upon my mound, scraping gently on short stubs of growing hairs. A sea of emotions competing for his expression - hunger and fear, awe and uncertainty. His head sits at about my middle thigh, and as he breathes through barely parted lips I can feel the air fall upon my petals, tickling with soft and sensual lightness.

We stay some moments in this tableau, until I at last recall the why, the reason I have got this to happen. His instruction in the art of the tongue. As though I'm some expert on the subject. But I know what I like, I guess, and what I don't; enough to help him in the basics, anyway. "You want to start slow," a tone of false confidence, my heart still pounding madly behind a façade of certainty. "Carefully, you know, to build up her anticipation. Just a little touch, with your tongue or your fingers." A nervous smile stretched on my face. "Go ahead, try it."

Slowly - he gets that part right. Slowly, he leans forward between my thighs, eyes closed and mouth just open, shallow breaths warm and humid on sensitive skin. Anticipation. My pulse loud in my ears, not knowing quite when the touch will come, when -