Miss Darling

I think that I probably would have frustrated enough to break up with her by New Year's Day if not for what happened after a faculty Christmas party in late December. It was nothing terribly dramatic, but to me it was enough of a change in the status quo to keep me hanging in there for a little longer.

The party was over at Greg Rollins' house and the rum-spiked eggnog was flowing quite freely that night. Amy drank five or six of them and was soon quite flushed and tipsy. Though she was not a teetotaler by any means this was the first time I'd ever seen her consume more than a few glasses of wine or a couple of beers. She became extremely affectionate during the party, giggling at things and constantly cuddling up to me. Several times her breasts rubbed against my arm as she held onto me; rubs that seemed accidental but that I strongly suspected were not. She gave me a long, passionate kiss under the mistletoe at one point, her tongue just briefly flitting out and touching the edge of my upper lip. As I drove her home to her apartment she rested her hand on my leg, something that she had never done before.

I walked her up to her door, as was the usual routine, but this time, instead of a simple hug and a brief peck on the lips as the parting affection, she wrapped her arms around me and pressed her full lips against mine. Her tongue slid out again, this time probing into my mouth. It tasted of rum and cinnamon as my tongue slid up against it, twirled around it, caressed it. Her fingers scratched delicately at my back and her legs pushed firmly against mine. My hands stayed demurely at her waist, the way I held her when we danced. The kiss lasted for well over a minute, during which time I could feel her passion and her wanting rise. When we finally broke free she was flushed, almost glowing and my cock was as hard as a piston in my pants.

"Goodnight, Tom," she breathed, as she disengaged herself from me. "I had a very good time tonight."

"Goodnight, Amy," I replied, taking her keys and opening the door for her.

We came together one last time before she stepped in the door, our tongues once again meeting for a passionate duel. How I wanted to push her into her apartment and lay her down on the couch, put my body atop hers, grind my hard-on into her. But I did no such thing. I knew it wouldn't be welcomed.

She entered her house a minute later and I went home, my cock throbbing the entire way as I replayed the incident in my head. I was barely able to get my pants off before I started stroking myself and I came after less than a minute. I shelved any thoughts of breaking up with her for the time being. I just had to kiss that sweet mouth again sometime.

My next opportunity came on New Year's Eve. Again the scene of the festivities was at Greg Rollins', who was considered the guru of after hours partying. And again, Amy had a little more than her usual share of alcohol intake, putting away no less than six margaritas and two glasses of champagne. She wasn't bombed as I took her home that night, but she was more than a little tipsy. As had been the case at the Christmas party, she had spent the entire night clinging to me, rubbing against me, even kissing my ear a few times and as a result, I was as horny as a moose in rutting season by the time we pulled up in front of her house.

We shared a long, passionate kiss at the door, our tongues once again reaching out and dancing together. As we broke apart I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth for just an instance, making it stretch out and swell. She was panting a little, her eyes glazed as we stared at each other.

"Do you want to come in for a little bit?" she asked me a little breathlessly.

"Sure," I said, with just the right hint of casualness, carefully hiding the glee I was feeling. I had never been invited into her apartment after a date before.

We sat down on her couch in front of some old movie on cable television and soon we were kissing again, out mouths grinding together greedily, our tongues going deeper into each other's mouths than they ever had before. Her fingers caressed my neck, my back, my shoulders, moving from one place to the other with nervous assurance. My own hands were busy as well, rubbing over her back, across the material of her pants on her thighs. My cock was a solid spike in my pants that begged to be touched.

"Oh Lord, this feels so nice," she breathed into my ear at one point as we broke apart for an instant.

"Yes," I panted, kissing her bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth.

"But we shouldn't be doing this," she said, without much conviction.

"We're not doing anything wrong, Amy," I told her. "Just enjoy it."

She seemed to accept my argument—at least for the time being. I put my mouth back on hers and we kissed some more, our tongues resuming their duel, our saliva flowing from one mouth to the other. I kissed my way down her chin and onto the front of her throat, trailing the back of my tongue downward, tasting the salty tang of her flesh and the faint remnants of the perfume she'd dabbed on earlier. When she didn't stop me I began to move sideways and was soon nibbling on her slender neck.

"Oh Lord," she moaned, a shiver working its way through her body.

Using my fingers, I pulled the collar of her blouse to the side, exposing the top of her shoulder and her white bra strap. I kissed my way down to this unchartered territory, putting gentle licks and sucks on the junction between her shoulder and her neck.

She shivered again, almost violently this time, and then her hands were on my chest, pushing me gently away from her. "We have to stop," she panted at me. "Oh God, we have to stop. This is going too far."

This time, her voice did have conviction. I almost screamed in frustration but bit down on it, knowing I had no one to blame for this but myself. I had known this would happen going in.

"Okay," I told her, having to take a few deep breaths of my own. God, my cock was hard. As hard as it had ever been before.

"I'm sorry," she told me. "Its not that I'm not enjoying what we're doing. In fact, that's the problem. I'm enjoying it a little too much."

"Its okay, Amy," I reassured her. "Really, it's okay."

I left fifteen minutes later. My cock throbbed painfully the entire way home.

*****

Things remained status quo between us for the next six weeks. We continued our routine of dating on the weekends and occasionally seeing each other on school nights. We went to plays, movies, skiing trips. We had dinner at each other's house. Occasionally, though a bit more frequently than before, we would make out on the couch, or in the movie seat, or in the front seat of the car. These sessions were nice, but none of them approached the passion of what we'd shared on New Year's Eve. I feared our physical relationship had reached its peak. Once again I began wondering if I really wanted to continue with this affair. And once again, a timely escalation of the situation kept me hanging in there.

It was Valentine's Day and I went over to her apartment early that evening, a bottle of nice wine and a wrapped present in hand. She made dinner for me; roasted Cornish game hens, wild rice, artichokes (which must have been hard to find since they weren't in season), and sautéed mushrooms. We ate everything like gluttons. During the feast we consumed the entire bottle of chilled chardonnay and half of a second bottle she'd had in her refrigerator. We then opened our presents. She had gotten me a new leather wallet. I had gotten her the thing guaranteed to make any woman melt on Valentine's Day: diamonds. She opened the little black velvet box and found a half-carat pendent inside. That, coupled with the syrupy-sweet note I'd penned in the card, did indeed cause a meltdown.

We retired to the couch, obstinately to watch a little television, but within minutes we were in each other's arms, our tongues probing and sliding and tasting. I could tell from the onset that she was particularly aroused on this evening; whether it was from the romantic nature of the day or the gift giving or the alcohol or some biological impetus, I knew not and cared not. All I knew is that she was hot, pushing her soft body firmly against me as her tongue invaded my mouth, her hands traveling up and down my back and even, in a daring escalation on her part, going underneath my shirt to touch my bare skin.

I attacked her neck with my mouth again, kissing my way across it, sending those delicious shivers through her body. This time, however, she made no protest of my actions, neither feigned nor serious. I then attempted my own escalation of the festivities. My right hand was resting on her waist as I began to nibble on the lobes of her ears. Slowly, inch by inch, I began to move it upward, along her flank, until my fingertips were almost resting on the side-swell of her left breast. I then began to move inward, seemingly accidentally, until I was cupping that beautiful swelling through her sweater. I had trouble breathing for a moment as the tactile sensation made its way to my brain. Jack Balentine was right. It was the softest, most squeezable tit I'd ever had the privilege of touching. She either didn't notice my touch or pretended not to for the longest time. But as my hand began to put more and more pressure against it, began to feel it in earnest, I knew she knew what I was doing. Her nipple hardened under my hand, becoming erect enough for me to feel it even through her bra and the thick wool of her sweater. She moaned against me, a genuine, unmistakable moan of full-blown sexual arousal.

Since she offered no protest to my touching her through her sweater, I upped the ante a little bit more. I brought my hand downward again, until I was touching the hem of her sweater. Moving slowly but deliberately, I let my hand go underneath it and start moving upward. I felt the waistband of her jeans and then the smooth, soft skin of her stomach. She gave another shiver and then put her hand on mine, covering it through the sweater.

"No," she whispered. "You can't." But she didn't pull my hand out.

I caressed her tummy with my fingertips for a few moments while my mouth went back to kissing her. I sucked her tongue and nibbled on her lower lip, making it swell. Soon, she abandoned herself to the sensation and I pushed my hand a little higher, reaching the bottom of her rib cage. My knuckles were now rubbing against the silky cotton of her bra.

"Tom," she breathed against my mouth. "You shouldn't be doing that."

"Mmmm hmmm," I agreed, and let my fingers probe a little bit further, until they were touching the bottom wire of the bra.

I let them dally back and forth along it for a few moments and then, with one firm thrust, slid them underneath. The fit was a little tight, but within a second my entire hand was in there and that beautiful, soft breast was bare against my palm. The nipple was as hard as a rock and pushed insistently into me. She moaned again as she felt this, her head going back in submission. I put my mouth to her neck again and began to gently squeeze and palpate her.

I felt her up for the better part of five minutes, until her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were glazed over with an expression of lust. She was as turned on as I'd ever seen her, her body excreting sexual excitement that was almost palatable. I too was as excited as I'd ever been with her, as excited as I'd been since the first time I'd felt a girl up in eighth grade. Unlike in the eighth grade, however, there was no way I was going to hold in place with mere hand contact. Amy was hot and lustful, her body shivering in her excitement. It was time to make her even more excited.

It's an instinctive maneuver, one that any guy worth his sexual salt knows well. My hand was already under her sweater and bra, and in such a position, what is your forearm but a perfectly situated lever? With the right kind of lever, you can move worlds, or open up new ones. I pulled my mouth away from hers, leaning back just a bit. At the same time, I pushed my elbow upward, operating the lever. Her sweater rucked up to her neck, baring her smooth tummy. The bra cup my hand was under pushed neatly upward as well, baring her breast. It was beautiful, without a doubt the finest natural tit I'd ever laid eyes upon. The nipple was small and pink and very hard, just begging to be suckled. It didn't have to beg long. Before she even had a chance to realize what had just happened, I leaned forward and dropped my head, putting my mouth on her nipple. I sucked it gently between my lips, applying just the right amount of pressure, my aim to overwhelm her with pleasurable sensations.

She shuddered almost violently for a second and a strange, mewling sound came from her lips. She put her hands on my shoulders, undoubtedly to push me away but the warding off gesture died before it even got properly started.

"Ohhh, Tom," she groaned. "Ohhh."

"Mmmm," I hummed, sucking a little harder now, using my tongue to feel the rough surface, to swirl around, to set her nerves on fire.

Soon she was pulling me harder against her chest, her fingers entwined in my hair. She was panting as I suckled her, her voice emitting soft growls and moans that had probably never come out of her mouth before. With my left hand I slid my fingertips under her right bra cup, getting a firm grip on the breast that was still covered. Another quick leverage operation and that one was open for my ministrations as well. I took my lips from the left nipple and switched to the right.

She continued to moan and mewl and twist her fingers through my hair as I sucked and slurped her nipples like a man who needed them to live. Soon I had them engorged and an angry shade of red, as hard as nipples could be. I let my hands slip down to her waist and then I began to move my head southward. I kissed along her rib cage, bringing goose bumps to her skin. I let the back of my tongue trail downward, to her belly button. I stuck my tongue inside of it, causing a little giggle to burst from her mouth. And then I began to kiss lower.

I came very close that night. My mouth was on the junction between her silky soft lower belly and the waistband of her jeans. Her pelvis was rising up and down unconsciously in the age-old rhythm of lust. Her legs were open in a suggestive manner. I fancied I could smell her aroused musk permeating into the air through the crotch of her jeans. I knew if I touched her there she would melt for me. I knew if I could get my mouth there I would own her. Unfortunately, she seemed to realize the same thing. Her hands came down on my shoulders again, this time with conviction. She pushed me away, speaking the words I hated so much to hear from her mouth.

"We have to stop, Tom. This is going too far."

I looked up at her, seeing her pretty face framed by her bare breasts and hard nipples, with her sweater and bra bunched up around her neck. "Do you really want me to stop?" I asked her.

A small war seemed to take place in her face, a war between the devil and the angel. It was a short, violent skirmish. The angel just barely came out the victor. "Yes," she told me with a nod. "I really think we should call it a night. Things are getting out of control here."

"Sometimes it's good to get out of control," I suggested.

"I can't," she said. "I've never wanted to as bad as I do right now, but I can't. Not without... you know..."

"I know," I said, not allowing myself to sigh. Not without a wedding ring.

I went home that night with the worst case of blue balls I'd ever had. I didn't even make it into the house. I was forced to jerk off in the front seat of my car. It was as I was cleaning up the semen from my seat and my seatbelt and my steering wheel and my windshield that I decided enough was enough. This was some form of torture. How could someone so beautiful and so desirable be such a tease? Well I'd had enough of this shit. I wasn't going to take it anymore. A man simply could not live with this sort of frustration.

I went to bed that night going over my break-up speech in my head. But the next morning, when I saw those green eyes, that intimate look, I couldn't do it. When she asked me at lunch if I'd take her to a movie on Friday night I asked her what she wanted to see.

*****

A few more weeks went by and while there was no repeat of the lustful encounter we'd enjoyed on Valentine's Day, Amy did seem to get a little freer with the affections she was willing to share. We tongue kissed more often, our sessions longer and more passionate. She would even allow me to stroke her nylon clad legs if she was wearing a dress (though not to put my hand under the skirt), or to caress her breasts lightly over her clothing. She loved having my mouth on her neck, kissing it, licking it, nibbling it, and she even took to returning the favor on occasion, although she did, much to both of our embarrassment, accidentally give me a hickey one night. Thoughts of breaking up with her out of sexual frustration remained in the back of my mind. It's not that I wasn't frustrated, because I was. Every date with her saw me arriving home with a throbbing in my testicles and my underwear damp from leaking pre-come. What kept me hanging in there was the thought of my mouth on those beautiful nipples, the thought of that bare tummy with my lips kissing down across it, the memory of that faint smell of her musk through her jeans. I had managed to pry the door open just a little bit. Hopefully, now that it was open, it would continue to widen. It was a theory that turned out to be a correct one.

On a beautiful, spring-like Saturday afternoon in mid-March, Amy borrowed her seven-year-old niece from her sister and we took her to the Heritage County Zoo. We spent the day looking at lions and tigers and bears and monkeys, eating outrageously priced hot dogs, and generally just enjoying the day. All three of us had a great time although, had I been asked, I would not have said there was anything inherently romantic or arousing about the day. Apparently Amy felt differently.

After dropping her niece off at her home I took Amy back to her apartment, expecting to just hang around for a little, maybe get a few kisses in, and then to go home and whack off like usual. Instead, we had a few bottles of beer and were soon heavily engaged in a make-out session on her couch. Amy was particularly passionate, her tongue actually attacking mine, her lips and teeth going enthusiastically to my neck. When I dropped my hand onto her breast through her white, button up blouse, she moaned and pushed harder against me, encouraging the exploration.

I squeezed and caressed her soft mammaries until her nipples were solid points tenting out her blouse. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed over, her breath nearly a pant as she broke the latest kiss. "I really liked it," she almost whispered, "when you... you... you know?"

"When I what?" I asked coyly.

"When you... put your mouth on my... my..."

"Your what?" I asked, not letting her get off without saying it.

"My breasts," she finally blurted. "When you sucked on my... my nipples."

I smiled, moving my hand from her tit to caress her cheek. "Would you like me to do that again?"

She nodded, her eyes looking downward shyly.

Who was I to turn down such an offer? I reached for her and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. I spread it open, revealing her swollen breasts bulging out of a lacy, white bra. I ran my knuckles over the tops of them for a moment, relishing the softness of her skin and sending shivers through her. I then reached around behind her and found the clasp that held her bra in place.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," she said softly, but made no move to stop me as I opened her bra and let it fall free of her breasts. There they were again before me, two gorgeous orbs capped with pink, erect nipples, the epitome of perfection—proof, some might say, that there is a kind and benevolent God who loves mankind.