Little Red Numbers

Once upon a summers dawn...

I wake, opening my eyes just a sliver, I see the moon reflecting off the lacquered wooden bed stand. 'It's still dark?' I wonder foggily, dragging my eyelids open. I feel a tremor in the bed. I don't know what time it is. And half-asleep, I only know vaguely where I am, or even who I am. Yet one thing the--only thing--I know for sure is I am not alone.

I blink, banishing the paranoia from my mind. I AM alone. I must be. This is my bed. I can see the familiar wooden bedposts, still showing nicks and scratches from my tabby-cats claws.

The clock says 3:15 in bright neon red.

I stifle my yawn. I don't want to get up this early. No one in their right mind would. I close my eyes, and whisper "sleep," trying to force the word to have physical meaning. Still exhausted from dinner and dancing, my body accepts this mock wizardry as the genuine article. My head starts spinning, turning the black world behind my eyes into something stormy grey with streaks of blue lightning.

But just before I drift away, I feel it: a slow shift in my bed, a tickle up my thigh and a set of fingers curling between my legs. The elastic band, holding my cotton underwear to my waist, pulls up slowly with his fingers hooked underneath it. The fabric stretches impossibly, forming a cotton sail that appropriately enough catches the wind and directs it down between my warm lips. Am I dreaming I wonder? I wince as his fingers lose their grip, and the elastic band snaps suddenly back into place. No, I can't be dreaming. All my dream dates are suave and coordinated.

This is reality. I tremble and wiggle backwards. My legs brush against someone else's. The hair on (his?) legs raise goose bumps on mine. The person shakes softly behind me. Is he scared, I wonder. Is he someone I know? Prime suspect number one is my father. But...

Huh?

My reverie is shattered by an experimental thrust against my bum. I bounce limply forward, then wiggle back into place. His hand cups around my waist, pulling me back to spoon with him. Definitely a him. I feel the bulge against my butt, pressed into the pocket formed where my legs begin to curve into cheeks. He wiggles against me, his breath spilling out in hot gusts over my shoulder.

A soft moan hangs on the tip of my tongue. I bite it. I'm not going to moan for just anyone. Who is he? After all, it couldn't be my father. It just...

His hand brushes over tummy, tickling my bellybutton, and then sliding to my waist where he feels for the outline of my underwear. I shiver anxiously. He's moving so slowly! His fingertips, slowly push underneath the top of my underwear, and grip the elastic band, hugging my waist, with more grace than before. Practice makes perfect, and my cotton panties curl against his fingers, pulled out of place without any trembling haste this time. He moves so slow it's as if he knows I am awake, and is teasing me deliberately. As he slides the band off my waist and down my thigh, I shiver. The downy hairs curled between my legs record the distance in tickles. One millimeter. Two millimeters. Three...four...five, and moving faster. A quick jump to ten millimeters and his fingers slip underneath, moving quickly to spread before my panties snap back into place, only held down by the grip he released from around its elastic top.

My eyes flutter open. Half-asleep, the room is washed in grayscale like the image from a cheap black and white television.

3:28, the clock declares. Its bright red is the only color I see.

I want to turn around. I should. Shouldn't' I? After all, this...whatever you call it...it's... it's wrong. It can't be anyone but him. Right? Yes?

I sigh. Maybe, I'm dreaming. What's happening is impossible to explain otherwise. Yes, it's true, I do tease him occasionally. It's true... I have pranced around in underwear that was too faded and tiny to qualify for rag duty. Yes, I've curled up on his lap wearing aforementioned negligee and demanded a good night kiss. A wet one. I'll admit it. The towel did not slip by accident. My nipples were soft and pink that day. I was feeling radiant, and I wanted to know if even he would notice. I was happy that he gasped, and I took my sweet time blushing in "embarrassment" before hesitantly picking up the towel. To tell you the truth, I'm a pretty big tease. But... still... I never...no... never ever... wanted him.

A moan bubbles in my throat. Why? My eyes turn downwards, and I see the sheets shivering. Slowly, my senses piece back together, and I feel his fingers waffle across my lips. The tickle is almost unbearable. I can't help but shiver back against his hand. A single digit splits me tenderly, running its tip just underneath my first fold. It rubs slowly down my slit, and when it pops out again it leaves a sticky splotch on my thigh. A second finger follows the first, and my breathing quickens. At the third finger, I swallow hard, twice, not quite clearing the reluctant lump from my throat. The third finger, his middle finger, probes deeper than the first two and touched spots further down inside than anything else had reached before. This was virgin territory, and from the looks of it, he was wearing down my defenses to conquer me more fully later. Sigh. Didn't he know? Scared as I was, I'd probably welcome him with open arms, legs, lips, and whatever else he desired spread before him.

His bulge throbs behind me, worrying itself against my butt. I can't ignore it, and shift my weight away. As I roll, his hand cuddles further under my cottons; the underwear twisting taunt to bind him there. I force my eyes closed. It's all right. Everything is going to be okay, I assure myself. Just go to sleep. After all, there's nothing to see but murky night, moonlight puddles, and the flashing digits of my digital alarm. I pant anxiously, still feeling him toy with me. My eyes squeeze tighter together, and I wince, imagining myself from outside my body. I see myself in bed with him, spooning with eyes scrunched shut and his fingers dipped between my legs.

Oh my!

My eyelids burst open of their own accord, urged to action by the vivid sensation of a thousand fingers fluttering over my skin. I blink awake, looking for the desperate hands I feel. With my eyes already adjusted to the darkness behind my eyelids, I see nothing but black, and hints of grey...

Wait!

I peer down, my eyes heading to where I feel the feathery touch. Squinting, I see the bed sheet being pulled away. I keep watching, knowing surely he must be too. His eyes seeing what I do: my breasts swelled underneath my nightgown. My nipples erect and outlined under the silk by faint silvery moonlight... my bellybutton curved in a tear drop... and finally a light coat of red hair, glistening like dying embers, with his hand bulged underneath my panties as if to smother that fire.

For the first time, I hear him. It's only a quick gasp, but I know it's him. No doubting the tenor of that voice. It's family, it's my father.

His hand stops moving, staying deathly while the bed sheets reveal my body.

I sniffle. I must be dreaming. I must be!

I feel a pinch. His fingertips close around my clit; brushing the hood up with an expert's ease, and closing like tweezers around my wet bump. I gasp and spasm. His hand moves away.

It isn't until some adventurous breeze wafts between my legs, that I finally notice I no longer have underwear. I blink in surprise, and look down for my eyes to confirm the impossible truth. All I see his hand, outlined by some stray rays of moonlight, with three fingers buried inside me and the remainder bracing my legs slightly open.

When'd he have time to take off my underwear? Is this a dream? Or am I simply going crazy?

He turns his hand to the left and rests his palm on and invisible pedestal in midair. His fingers hook downwards and tickle between my lips, the length of his fingers held away so both he and I can see my lips swell. My eyes flutter, and I fight not to quiver. My juices pull back on his fingers, and smear just on the outside of my open pussy lips. Downy red hair starts to glisten in the moonlight, and then suddenly, without warning or preamble...

I cramp at a sudden pressure.

I nibble my lip to keep from responding with a moan.

The feeling deepens.

My breath catches in my throat, held still for a moment before finally spilling out in a gasp.

I blush invisibly; hair shading me from the moonlight. Slowly but surely, realization comes to me; creeping to the forefront of my mind and supplanting my other racing thoughts. My croak, knowing now what is splitting my lips open. My legs spread, and without a word of warning, he sinks into me. My lips wedge open, trembling and slippery--an easy path for his cock to walk down.

I yelp, nearly screaming but managing to bite my tongue at the last instant.

He stops, and the whole world pauses with him. I hold my breath, and I hear his. Heavy gasps in a rhythm of metronome precision. Ten seconds tick by, marked out by ten evenly spaced inhales.

3:57, and I'm dying from the wait... literally, but I keep holding my breath. The whole thing reminds me of a "tunnel wish." Legend has it, that if you hold your breath while driving through a tunnel, what ever you wish for will come true. My face feels pink, and I can almost feel my freckles standing on end. A half minute later, I gasp for air. I hope my wish comes true. I hope he doesn't stop now, when I'm so close.

3:58. I squirm, feeling him throbbing inside me is too much for me to hold steady against.

3:59 -- Another minute of inactivity. Will this never end?

4:00. I hear a sigh, and he starts to pull back. His movements come in surges and stops, nervously hesitant.

The pull excites me, and I gasp again, bucking lightly backwards. My lips squeeze tightly to his shaft, suckling while it sinks slowly to a new depth.

I can almost hear the internal debate raging in his head; his thoughts cascading from the paranoid through the passionate:

Should I go on?

Is she awake? Will she be mad?

Does she want it? Shouldn't she want it?

She's so wet...

My god, she's dripping so deliciously.

Do I dare?

Will it be better to pull out? Or stay in... till she's asleep. Or... Should I...?

My god, she's so wet.

My juices flow around his cock, then trickle tiny streams down my own leg. The warm milk cools along my thigh. The sensation is too much for me. I quiver, and my fingers tighten against the sheets, clutching the woolen threads to ease my anxiety. My breath quickens, pouring hastily from my lips. Gasping heavily, I'm still light-headed.

Will he ever go on? What'd happen next? Would I twist my head around and nibble on his lip as we begin to kiss? Would our tongues dance against one another, painting a passionate landscape as we soared skyward to a splashy cloud 9? Would anything happen... or had I simply been reading too much erotica? Was anything real? Or was this...

A smile uncurls my lips, teasing dimples into my cheeks as well.

I smell myself in the air. It's like the first cherry blossoms of spring were plucked then crushed and burned as incense.

My little body takes to wiggling on his shaft. My pink lips flared out, agitated and trembling. He gasps behind me. I can feel his tight smile aimed downwards, his eyes watching my milky cheeks as they wobble down towards his waist. Before I hit the base, he thrusts forward, meeting my hips and bouncing me against his lap.

His finger tips march up my leg like toy soldiers. They tread against my soft skin, and round my curves to find my clit. The pinch surprises me, and I'm forced to gasp. My already tight slit turns to a mere sliver as I spasm. He pivots in and out of me. My body slowly jerks along his rod, tossing high and low in rhythm with each twist to my clit.

My nipples tickle on the inside of my top. The little red tips perched on rising and falling crests of my breasts. The little hills rub against on another, jiggling but just barely. My hands tremble. I want to cup them and stop their motion. I wish I'd worn a bra. I wish I could move, without telling him I was awake, and shift my clothes into a less infernally arousing arrangement. With every breath I take, my breasts brush against fabric. It's as if someone's plugged my finger in an electric socket. I can't move. I can't breath. Yet I can definitely feel the shocks coursing through my body. I stiffen, and then sigh, following my metaphor to its logical end. I know sooner or later, the current will abate... not enough to release me completely, but just enough for me to scream.

I moan softly, hiding my pleasure within heavy breaths. My eyes flutter wildly. I feel him pulse between my legs. My open thighs bang closed, and my hips jerk wildly against his. I groan louder as my back arches me forward. His hand holds my waist tightly. The fingertip still tweaks my clit as he pins me back against him. My walls spasm closed, keeping him deep; circling around every warm inch of his cock.

My wiggles send me upwards, and I nearly shimmy off his shaft. Suddenly, he surges forward, slamming his shaft back inside and spanking his hips against my butt. My eyes jerk open and a spasm bumps me against him. My body heaves backwards to twist desperately about his shaft. Impaled firmly, I toss helpless against the rising sensations. My juices stream steadily, slurping wetly as I hump downwards.

"Cum..." he whispers in my ear.

I shiver, it really is him.

"Cum for daddy..."

It's not a dream.

"Let your lily cunny explode... come on you ... you cunt."

I would never think that.

It's not my vocabulary.

I blush at the very thought.

And yet, somehow that one syllable word sends me over the edge.

My mouth bursts open in a soundless scream. I jerk silently against him, with nothing but his whispers and the sound of my slurping slit to mark the time as I orgasm.

I feel a wet splash.

Not on my thigh... it's not my juices... it's inside me...he's cumming.

I groan noisily as the second burst releases deep within me.

My slit twists tighter around him and I whimper from the painful pressure.

He groans into my ear, ..."that's it... that's it cum... milk my shaft... get it..."

He pinches my clit. Pressing hard then harder still. I scream. My body bucks.

..."that's it... milk me... yes...yes..."

I sputter, out of breath as my pussy tightens. My heat pulsing wetly around his. Our heartbeats move in time.

I feel light headed.

I feel...

So.

Very.

Blank.

.

.

.

.

.

The alarm sounds. Nudging the pillow over my ears, I flail in the general direction of the noise. Almost by accident, I hit the tiny blue button marked "snooze." The room plummets into silence. Father time ticks by unbeknownst to me, eagerly counting five minutes before triggering the alarm again. My eyes burst open and I flick my hand to silence the noisy clock once and for all.

9:45. The red numbers do not lie. It's light outside.

I pull my sheets off myself, yawning and patting between my legs. My fingers run over my blush pink underwear. Taking a quick peek underneath, I see my lips, blossomed and wet like a flower in morning dew.

Did I... Just...I thought...

I sigh and flop back into bed.

What's this?

I rub my palm against the mattress, feeling the wet spot my fingers landed on. Gingerly, I lean in and lick the damp circle.

A familiar taste fills my mouth. Its sun dried apricots. It's me.

It wasn't a dream.

My father pokes his head through the doorway at 10:05. "I made us some breakfast sweetie," he says leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Oh and... welcome back from college. I really missed my darling little girl."

I wink.