Between the Lines Ch. 03 - Origins

Now it's time for the girls to tell their sides of the story. All characters are 18 years or over.

NATALIE'S STORY

Well, I guess you've read my Dad's version of our story. So it's only fair that Allie and I have a chance to give our side of how we got into this situation.

It all started one day when Allie and I were sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, talking about masturbation (as you do!) Actually it was almost the first time we'd talked about it, cos it was a bit, you know, embarrassing. But also a bit liberating to have someone to share this part of myself with and exchange techniques, although we didn't really know the right words for it yet.

"You think about any boys when you do it?" Allie had asked. I shook my head. "Girls?"

"I don't think about anything, I guess. I just...do...it."

"Hm. Sometimes it is like that, yeah. But sometimes I think about boys - or girls."

Allie then asked if I could maybe show her what I meant with the bent-fingers-thing, my own personal technique that I had mentioned to her, but I shook my head resolutely - we could talk about it - but not share it - that was something else entirely. Still, later that night, when I found myself with my hand down my pyjama pants, I imagined I could see Allie, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching me quietly and seriously, and this made me speed up my motions and bite into my bedsheets to stifle my soft moans.

And the next afternoon as I stepped onto the school bus, I felt my cheeks burning, remembering the night before, and tried to make myself smaller, uncomfortably aware of the gathering wetness under my skirt. Quickly, I pulled out my phone and sat down in an empty seat by the window.

There was a message from my dad, informing me that food was in the fridge and that he would be home by six. And that he loved me. He always included that. Somehow, it made his messages seem both more formal and more personal. There were messages from Allie as well.

- wanna do the english homework together later?

- I can come over

- I'll bring chocolate cake

I quickly replied.

- sure

- 3?

I didn't have any other plans, and was happy to not have to do the essay on my own. When I looked up I saw one of the boys from my school staring at me, almost as if looking through me. I rolled my eyes at him but he didn't seem to notice, just kept looking at me. Boys did that a lot recently. Especially in class. They hardly ever seemed to notice when I noticed, only sometimes they quickly looked away. I did like part of it, the realisation mostly. It made me feel pretty and wanted, and I wasn't naive enough not to reflect on that. Then, it was embarrassing to want to be wanted. Plus - and more importantly - after having noticed it, it made me feel uncomfortable. There was a difference between being watched and being seen. I also didn't understand why they stared at my chest so much. I barely had any. A lot of the other girls in class had started to develop way earlier than me, and had much more to look at. But the boys stared at them, too, and even I found myself transfixed by some of my classmates' arching blouses from time to time.

As I opened the fridge to look for the food my father had left me, I realised that I wasn't really hungry yet. The wetness in my panties, that hadn't gone away for the whole bus ride, was a much more pressing matter. I closed the refrigerator door and sighed. What was happening to me? The feeling of estrangement crept up on me again, of being separated from my own body. I had already masturbated in the shower this morning, as well as in the girls' bathroom between classes - the first time I ever did that, but It was becoming unbearable and I hadn't been able to concentrate on class at all - and now, again, my whole existence seem to revolve around the space between my legs. Better get it over with then.

I leaned against the fridge door and pushed my skirt up, slid one hand down my panties, which I found soggy and crumpled, and slowly followed the outline of my vulva with my index- and ring fingers, pressing my middle finger softly in between, sliding in between my wet labia, pressing down more firmly and rocking my finger, reaching for my swollen button. I whimpered a moan as I touched it and my knees gave out for a moment, making me slide down the length of the fridge until I slumped down on the kitchen tiles, my slim legs spread wide apart, now both hands fumbling at my sex. I bit into my blouse's collar as I quickly pulled down my panties to give myself more room to work with. With one hand, I slid in and out of my vagina, bending it upwards whenever I was deepest, with the other hand I circled around my clitoris and along my folds. My juices were dripping on the kitchen tiles as I alternated between soft grunts and muffled moans.

I closed my eyes and saw the boy again, staring at me in the bus. It confused me and made me stop my motions for a moment. Allie had asked me if I ever thought about boys while doing it. But I didn't really think of him. The image was just sort of there. Him, staring. Me, noticing. Now, I was thinking of him. I imagined myself back in the bus, spreading my legs and hoisting my skirt for him, letting him see my plain white panties, while no one else on the bus looked. I almost screamed in pleasure as the orgasm pulled me in, my legs quivering uncontrollably as I imagined pulling my panties to the side and showing the boy a glimpse of my smooth mound. I squirted and collapsed to the side, my legs still shaking. I breathed heavily, staring at the white ceiling, trying to collect my thoughts. Seeing, not watching. I thought. But what I had thought about was clearly being watched. But not passively. In my fantasy, I had been in control, teasing the boy, making him watch. I smiled but felt revolted at myself at the same time. Clearly, this had been more than just pleasuring myself. I had fantasised. About something I wanted. But why this boy? I didn't even know his name, only that he was a year above me at school and took the same bus home. I heaved myself up, still confused, and collected my underwear from the wet floor.

In my room, I changed out of my uniform, into a simple blue dress and new panties. My stomach rumbled. I had been hungry after all, just too horny to notice. Back in the kitchen, I heated up the casserole and cleaned my cum off the floor while waiting. I guess it doesn't have to be this boy. I thought. The microwave beeped at the same time as the doorbell rang. I opened the front door and smiled back at my friend, who was holding a chocolate cake, wearing basketball shorts and a white t-shirt. Allie walked in and past me without waiting to be asked in.

"You cooking?", she asked as she put the cake on the bench.

"Just heating up something. My dad cooked some casserole."

"Your dad's so sweet." Allie smiled, jumping up on the kitchen counter, "cooking for you before he goes to work and stuff."

I blushed. "I guess. I can cook too, though"

"Maybe you should."

"What? Cook? But there's food here." I took it out of the microwave to prove it.

"Not now. For him, you know. On Sunday or something."

"Oh. Yeah. Maybe." I sat down at the table and started eating, looking at my friend. "Sorry, you want some?"

Allie jumped down from the counter and sat down with me.

"Nah, thanks. As much as I'd love to taste your dad's ... cooking, I just ate. At home."

"Fine by me."

"Wanna do the essay thing now? Get done with it, you know."

"Hm," I said between bites, "yeah let's. Any ideas?"

"What's something you'd like to do, but never did?" She recited the task, then gave a mischievous smile. "Maybe I'll write about fucking your dad."

I spat out my food, revolted. Allie watched my reaction.

"Eww, gross, Allie. No!" I burst out.

I hadn't really considered fucking, having sex, or any sort of sexual interaction, let alone with someone as old as my father. The closest I had come to connecting my increasingly frequent masturbation sessions with the desire to do something else - with someone else - was thinking about the boy on the bus, just a few minutes ago. The masturbation itself had been the be-all end-all to me, had been having the cake and eating it, too. Lately, it rather had become a recurring necessity, like having to pee or brushing your teeth. Of course, I knew what sex was. They had spoken about it in biology class and my father had had the talk with me as well. My aunt, too. Of course, I knew, somewhere, in the back of my mind, that my recent activity was somehow tied to this knowledge, but I had never thought about a boy's thing entering me when I slid in my finger or a boy's kiss when I caressed my folds. Until today.

The connection was made painfully obvious by my friend's usage of the vulgar term, suddenly and violently, and again, I was overcome by estrangement and confusion. My father!

It seemed Allie had thought about boys' things and boys' kisses, and girls' things, which she could imagine better, and girls' kisses as well. And she had thought about a man's thing, a very particular man's. She wasn't too descriptive in her thoughts yet, as she didn't have any experience or material to work with, that I knew of anyway, but she imagined the shapes of bodies moving, entangled. She knew the term fucking - which was very different from just saying fuck - from her older brother, and she knew that grown-ups used it when they meant sex. And since my Dad was a grown-up, it seemed appropriate, even though she knew she was saying something incredibly dirty. And further: even though she really didn't quite know what she was saying at all, watching me go through a heap of emotions all at once still amused her, and she chuckled.

"He's so-o-o old," I complained.

"Oh not that old. And he's really nice." Allie's cheeks reddened.

"You're only 18, though."

"So?"

"Do you even know -" I broke up.

"Not really. I bet your dad knows. He would be a good teacher" Allie giggled. "You still don't think about boys...when you do it?"

I shifted in my seat, taking my time chewing and swallowing.

"Maybe" I finally admitted, really not knowing if we were talking about the same thing. Not wanting my friend to ask any further probing questions, I quickly changed the subject.

"I'll write about football. I wanna play footy, maybe."

Allie was disappointed, but decided that she, too, would be better off contemplating her homework instead of my dad's penis, for now.

"Okay. That's cool. You wanna try footy? I mean for real. That's cool. I didn't know that."

"Yeah for real. I haven't told my dad yet-" I trailed off, remembering what Allie wanted to write about. "You don't write about fu.. my dad," I said, a little too harshly.

Allie laughed.

"No-o-o, pretty sure that would be illegal or something. I'll write about cheering you on when you're playing your first match. I've never done that. But I'd like to."

We both laughed.

When Allie actually wrote about cheering me on, I was surprised, and a bit embarrassed, too, especially at the description of how cute I would look with the team shirt and all. I myself focused less on the looks and more on the thrill and the balance of body and mind. Which was evidently more difficult, since I was still writing when Allie had already put her school stuff away and was lazily swiping around on her phone. Now and again she looked up to me, checking if I finally finished. After what seemed like ages, and after she had scrolled through her instagram feed twice, I laid my pen down and skimmed over my writing one final time. Allie snapped it out of my hands and put it away under the saltshaker, which was the best thing she could find. She put her head in her hands, elbows on the table, and looked at me really seriously.

"You think your dad likes me?" It sounded like she had waited to ask for a while to ask this.

I was startled by the seriousness and the equally disturbing absurdity of my friend's fantasy, which I wanted no part of.

"Why don't you fuck your own dad?" I blurted out, surprised to hear these words leave my mouth, seemingly before I had even thought them.

Allie looked hurt.

"That's weird, Natalie. He's not nearly as sweet as your dad." That was true, I thought. "You want him to yourself, Natti?"

"Ew, no! No! Could you stop already?"

Allie had struck a nerve. I did want him to myself. Not in any sexual way, surely not. But I was happy with the way it was, my father and myself, just the two of us, living together. No girlfriends.

"I think he'd like me." Allie whispered, raising her eyebrows at her friend suggestively.

"Sto-o-o-o-op it."

Allie grabbed my hand.

"I'll stop," she gave in, all serious again "if you show me how you do it."

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks and in my loins. Allie squeezed my hand, waiting. I had thought about this, earlier, on the kitchen floor. Back then, I had decided that I would show her. Not just because I wanted to let my friend in on a secret technique, but because I wanted Allie to watch me, as I had imagined the boy on the bus watching me. I didn't want to admit that to her, so I had to pretend it being about the technique.

"It's really not that hard," I said, as casually as possible, but the redness of my face betrayed me. As did my dampening sex, but that, at least, Allie couldn't see. Yet.

"You're so cute, Natti" Allie whispered and pulled me up gently, leading me to my room.

Two minutes later, I was sitting on my bed, feet propped up on the edge, spreading my legs to form a tent with my dress, revealing my red, swollen sex to my friend, who was sitting cross-legged, just as I'd imagined, leaning against my wardrobe. My panties were lying on the floor between us.

"You're real beautiful, Natti," Allie admitted, just as flushed as me.

"I said no talking!"

I pulled my dress up to my stomach and slowly moved my hand in between my legs, sliding along the inside of my leg. Having Allie watching me, I really was the most embarrassed but at the same time excited I had been for a while. I remembered that I had to just show her the finger thing, and quickened my movement. I brought my index finger in between my labia, spreading my pussy lips with the other hand so Allie could see. I slid my finger in, up to my knuckles, and bent my finger outwards, hitting the spot. A tiny squeal escaped my lips. Allie opened her mouth a bit, and closed it again. Then, I slid my finger out again and presented the motion to my friend on the outside, bending my finger in front of my pelvis.

"You just do this. When you're all the way in. There is a spot there, somewhere." I whispered, strangely out of breath, my belly and chest heaving.

Allie nodded and crawled closer.

"Can I try?" she asked quietly and locked eyes with me.

"That's why I'm showing you, right?" I said, and Allie didn't hesitate.

She stooped still a bit closer, almost in between my legs, and put her hand softly on my swollen mound. I squealed in surprise. That wasn't what she was supposed to do!

"Not. Ohhhn. Meeh." I exclaimed, but Allie's finger was already inside, bent, rubbing around searching for the spot.

"Sorry," Allie said, laying her other hand on my inner thigh, caressing it. "Should I stop?"

I bit my lip and shook my head, then collapsed backwards onto my mattress, my legs resting on my friend's shoulders. Getting touched was so different from touching myself. And Allie was real gentle, moving all slow and deliberate. She had moved in closer still, almost touching my pussy with her nose, breathing in my sweet and sour scent. Allie, too, seemed more excited than she ever had been, and slid her other hand under her basketball shorts, bending her finger, searching for her own spot, moving both her hands in unison, one in hers, one in mine. I'd never felt so intense, and we were both breathing heavily into the quiet room.

"Did I find it?" she panted "I found miiiine"

"You have it," I assured her, almost inaudibly.

A bit out of exhaustion, a bit out of curiosity, Allie let her head fall forward onto my pelvis, and pursed her lips to kiss my vulva.

"Don't" I said, faintly "that's gross."

She ignored it, and stuck her tongue out, licking along the length of my cleft, still moving her finger up and down and around my pussy. She felt me shudder and I made a muffled scream, into the mattress. Apparently I tasted weird. Not bad, but not really good either. It had to be a bit of sweat and piss, but mostly my very personal juices. A lot of them. She said later that the fact that this was the taste of her best friend made it taste good after all. She licked up again, pressing her tongue in deeper, and eventually took her finger out of herself and the one out of me as well, adjusted her position, wrapping her arms around each of my legs. Swirling her tongue around all of the places she knew, and even in some she didn't know.

I made more and more noises, now and again shuddering and squealing, but Allie tightened her grip every time. Not roughly, more as if to say: I got you, I'll hold you. She was holding me. And she got me. Good. Confused, excited, and incredibly aroused. I had already forgotten that what was happening was gross. Now, what was happening was the only action anywhere and everywhere, the only point of existence in the universe which was confined by all of it: grossness, sweetness and the soft, sweaty hands on my naked thighs. The universe was swelling and ebbing, swelling again and then exploding, rushing out of her. I lost control of my body again, my lower half cramping, my pelvis shooting upwards and my legs clamping together. I would've crushed her head, probably, if she wasn't holding me as I came gushing on her surprised face. Maybe I peed a bit too. I fell back into my sheets, breathing heavily, and started giggling uncontrollably.

Allie started laughing, too, crawled up into the bed and lay down beside me, embracing me and snuggling close. She brushed her nose against my cheek and kissed me there. I turned my head to hers, rubbing my nose against Allie's, looking into her eyes, smiling from ear to ear. Allie moved closer, but waited for me to put my lips onto hers. I did, and held them there for a while. Then she drew back again, pursing her lips inwards and licking them.

"Tastes weird." I said, and started giggling again.

It really wasn't gross, I thought, or maybe it was but it was alright to be.

"Hmh." Allie hummed. "I think I did good, did I? And I think you peed on me a little." And rubbed her head into my shoulder.

I tightened my embrace and combed through Allie's short brown hair.

"Yeah I think you did alright." I laughed. "Don't you do that when you...finish?"

"What? Peeing? I don't think so. But you can find out."

She drew her head back and looked into my eyes.

"Please." she added.

"Oh." I said.

I realised that only I had climaxed by now, and realised, too, that this was quite unfair. Allie must be horny as hell. I was still exhausted, but determined to make my friend feel as good as she had made me. I disentangled myself from the embrace and climbed on top of Allie planting another kiss on her wet lips.

"Take your pants off, then." I ordered playfully.

I hadn't even finished saying it as Allie's shorts and panties landed on the floor in front of the bed. She brought her hands back up and lay them across my neck, drawing me in for a kiss. She spread her legs and wrapped them around me as well, catching her dress at the hem with her feet, sliding it upwards. Then, she softly pressed on the shoulders to guide me down to where she needed me, sliding my dress up further through the motion, finally dragging it off my shoulders. Now nude, I slid down between her legs, on my knees, my bum propped up behind me, wrapping my arms around her thighs just as she had done with me earlier.