Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 02

Had Barbs stopped now? I wasn't going to! I wanted it! Wanted to feel it squirt in my mouth; wanted to hear him moan when his hips twitched. His cock was already. I couldn't lick much, but my hand was clutching his cock and moving with my mouth on it, fucking him with my mouth and hand! "Uhnn!" His hips twitching, fucking his cock in my mouth. Shoot! Squirt! I want it!

He grunted, and his hips thrust harder. Good thing that I had my hand around it, since his cock thrust even deeper in my mouth - that gag reflex - and I felt it shoot deep in my throat. I nearly bit his cock, having to swallow. But I couldn't taste it, but I knew he would come again and again, enough for me to taste, if it all didn't land back in my throat.

It didn't, as he grunted and moaned a few more times. Success! He had come, and I had my mouth full of it, plus his cock still, of course. Barbs didn't know what she was missing. It was like the cheese and oysters; I liked it now!

He sighed with long moan and rubbed my ass, and then began to arouse me again. Oh, this was good, taking turns, and now I could enjoy what he was doing. I had to move my tongue to slosh it back in my throat to swallow, trying not to close my jaws on his cock. It was a little softer now.

While I was enjoying what he was doing, I guess I gently sucked on his cock. It was there, like a child's pacifier, the head of his cock now back in the front of my mouth, where my tongue just unconsciously moved on it a little.

That about the pacifier only occurred to me much later, letting me wonder if cock-sucking was just a natural extension of what suckling babies did. I could remember having a pacifier, but not the sensations of using it, but I was delighted with my idea that pacifiers were training for cock-sucking. Was there any training for pussy-licking? French kissing?

I wasn't thinking about that right then, although now, recalling what he was doing, I could have thought that what his tongue was doing on my sensitive little button couldn't have been learned from kissing, but maybe there, when it thrust in my wet hole. My pussy couldn't suck on it, but it tried to hold it tighter. Did that remind me that his cock was still in my mouth? Nice.

Its head was softer, when I licked it consciously. I consciously sucked. Did he chuckle? His hips rocked up. It was a little soft in my hand; I had to hold it straight to make it move in my mouth. He did chuckle. I sucked and licked, and he licked and nibbled, nibbled where it felt most arousing. I moaned. His cock seemed to like that, now stiffer again.

Then I was completely distracted by what he was doing, moaning more and then gasping, but his cock wasn't distracted, all stiff again. I was hardly aware of it, however, gasping and moaning louder, wanting my orgasm.

I got it; he gave it to me! With wet noises, he gave it to me. I moaned and sighed. Before I had really recovered, his cock moved in my mouth again. In a reflex, I sucked, and it moved again. Oh, yes, we had talked about its being arousing to give each other an orgasm; he was aroused again. For sure, his cock was, moving like that. Did he -- did it -- want me to make it come again? Could he again, already? If it wanted, why not? I loved to suck his cock, love at first suck!

He had relaxed a little, his mouth no longer on my pussy, but when he understood that I was really starting to lick and suck again, he nodded on my thigh with emphatic "um-hmm," and kissed my pussy.

Oh, this was good! Now I knew how to do it better, and we were both sure that I wanted to make him spurt in my mouth again. No more learning, experimenting, that was all we both wanted. With my new-found experience -- also his -- we did. He was encouraging me with his moans, and I was encouraging him with my own. Then his moans were just aroused ones, and then uncontrolled grunts, as he came again and gave me the spurts of his throbbing cock.

It was better than the cheese or oysters. I had liked it before, but now I knew that I wanted to taste it this way as often as I could. As I was savoring it, it occurred to me that it might be even better for him, if I could lick that so sensitive spot. How? Kneeling down between his legs. It didn't matter that he couldn't lick my pussy that way; we had already discovered that it was better taking turns.

He fondled my ass, then slid his hand up and fondled my breast. We had missed out on his sucking them -- another time.

"You really wanted to," he murmured.

I just nodded emphatically, since his wilting cock was still in my mouth. I swallowed and gave it a final lick and let it slip from between my lips, then replying:

"More than I thought would; it was so good."

"Couldn't have been as good as it was for me -- twice."

"And good for me, twice, plus what you did."

"Um-hmm, and I like that almost as much, too."

He crawled back around, and we moved up on his pillow, embracing and kissing, and fell asleep.

As I was waking up, I wondered if I had been dreaming, but then realized that I was actually lying in bed with a man, our arms still around each other. Then I was wide awake, it all coming back to me, lying in bed with my brother. Thank God our parents' room wasn't next to ours; they could have heard us moaning, could not have overheard our moaning! At least, it was still pitch dark, still in the middle of the night. I murmured:

"Hey, wake up! I shouldn't be here."

I was already getting out of his bed, when he mumbled:

"Oh, yeah. No, you shouldn't be. But it was so good."

"It was, and how, and sleeping with you. Go back to sleep."

"Um-hmm, you too."

I found my way back to my room in the dark. Lying in bed, I moved my tongue in my mouth, recalling the sensation of having his cock in it, and then did fall asleep again.

In the morning, I waited until I heard him finish his shower before I joined him. He just greeted me softly, and I, him. Neither of us said anything else, which didn't surprise me. The less said the better; we didn't need to refresh our recollections of all we had done before going to breakfast.

Of course, we did it again, every night, the last few before he went back to college. After that night, we closed the door. His cock seemed to fit even better in my mouth, doing it the other way, and I had been right about its being even better for him, when I could lick him there. If it was better for him, it was better for me. What he did couldn't be better. We avoided falling asleep like that again, both complaining that we wished we could. Stuffing my blankets between my thighs was a poor substitute.

When we both had done it, we talked, wondering how he could suggest to Barbs that she do more. He couldn't tell her that I had with him. And I had told them everything about my friend, so I couldn't write them that we had and enthuse about how much I liked it, not until I had, but we didn't know how I could do it to my friend. Oh, we knew how I could, just not how I could make it happen, certainly not by telling him that I had, even with someone other than my brother.

A couple of times, his cock was very close to my pussy, knocking at the door, so to speak, when he was sucking my nipples. He had given me rubbers, but we didn't use them, managed not to. When he once said: "we shouldn't," we both chuckled and agreed that we wouldn't -- reluctantly. We both, however, admitted that we were tempted to -- with the head of his cock trying to probed between my pussy lips. We kind of congratulated ourselves on our self-control.

The last night before he left, we took turns, as usual, and then just had to do it again, both at the same time. Like the first time, he came first, and then I did, and then he did again. Three times for him! We were both impressed. Very early the next morning, I was surprised to be awakened by his slipping under the covers with me. He had never been in my room before. Of course, we did it again, both of us, this time coming pretty much together.

Then he was gone; I only had my fingers, but with fantasies like never before, but not as good as what he had done. Three fingers were a little better, well, I wanted to think they were, waiting for the night when my friend's or my parents wouldn't be home. Most of our dates ended with our hands in each other underpants.

Then it happened; my parents were invited out for dinner. I told them that I didn't have date, that my friend was having to do something. Mom and Dad had only driven off, when he knocked. We went straight to my room, my opened bed waiting, and took off our clothes.

There was nothing spontaneous about; we had been had been waiting for the opportunity too long, not finally to consummate an emotional relationship, to have sex. Maybe he felt differently, not about its being emotional, but because it was really the first time for him. It was for me too, of course, but I knew so well how good it could be, too well, even if Pete and I hadn't done what we were getting naked to do. I was spoiled.

Barbs had said that what Pete did was sometimes better. Oh, it wasn't bad. It was very arousing finally to have a cock filling my pussy like my fingers never could. Knowing what I was wanting also helped, but maybe more her advice, tempering my expectation that I could have an orgasm. I didn't, also because he had his so quickly. Of course, I said that it was good, and embraced and kissed him. It was good to be again lying naked with a man, more a boy.

When I suggested that we do it again, he was surprised. I had been about to say "try again." But that was also a little frustrating for me, when we had our hands on each other. I wanted so much to suck his cock instead. Forgetting how I could have explained that to him, he would probably have come in my mouth even faster than he had in my pussy, but maybe I would have liked that better.

So we did it again, a little better, because he didn't come so soon. With great willpower, fantasizing about what my brother could do, I even had a hint of an orgasm. He was pleased - and proud that he had come twice. Of course, I made appropriate comments. When we kissed, I missed the taste of my pussy that I was accustomed to find around my brother's mouth. We had done it; I wasn't a virgin, not that I considered myself to be one, after all I had done with my brother.

He had to leave, since we didn't know when my parents would return. That was just as well, I thought, since I didn't have much to say to him. He probably didn't either. Terms of endearment, or whatever one was then supposed to say, weren't part of our vocabulary.

We got dressed. After he left, it was still earlier than my usual bed time. For lack of anything better to do, I immediately started a letter to Pete, another progress report. When I started the letter with that expression, I wondered if it was appropriate when one had reached the goal. It was pretty much my stream of conscious thoughts, since the "action" had been very simple. When my parents came home, I greeted them and said good night and returned to my letter. Reading it, I realized that he couldn't share it with Barbs, not with all my thoughts about how it had been with Pete. I wanted, however, to let her know that her advice had been helpful. Tomorrow.

When I got undressed again and was about to go to bed, I discovered the two rubbers and then the foil they had been in. Shit! What did one do with them? The toilet? But not flushing tonight, and not having them swimming in the toilet bowl. Was that all there was in the rubbers? Surely he had come as much as Pete did. It just seemed like so much more in my mouth or rubbing it around on him? Hm-hmm! What did his taste like? Oh, I knew already, licking my hand; I didn't have to squeeze it out of one of the rubbers, also not to test if it seemed like more in my mouth.

In the morning, I flushed it all down the toilet, hoping nothing floated. Nothing did. After breakfast, Saturday morning, I said I should do some homework. I should have, but I started another letter that Pete could share with Barbs, leaving out references about him and expanding on my thoughts about her. With a red felt-tip, I wrote on the top of the first letter: For your eyes only!

A week later, he wrote back, just thanking me for my letter. There was slip of paper from Barbs, saying that she was pleased to have been able to help and wishing me better experiences in the future.

My friend and I did do it again, and it was better, a lot better, but still not as good as my brother's licking my pussy. Maybe it was better that it wasn't emotional. Oh, I liked him, but if I had been madly in love with him, or just thought I was, it would have been difficult to tell him that it hadn't been so good the first time, and he sort of apologized that he had come so quickly. Of course, he wanted it took take longer, like I did. This was about trying to have better sex, not about physically expressing affection. On that note, we could try harder, and it was better.

Pete and Barbs got a letter about that too.

Before Easter, my friend and I got to do it a couple of times more, but it wasn't much better. I still wanted to suck his cock - of course! And I wanted him to lick my pussy, but I couldn't figure out a reason for my suggesting it. It was a little perfunctory; we were doing because we could. We didn't say anything about that, but after the last time, we thanked each other for everything, and it was pretty evident that we wouldn't again. After we parted, I thought: you don't know what "everything" is, but hoped that he would find out.

I had been right at the beginning, that it was good that we hadn't been emotionally involved. I didn't miss him, and didn't really miss the sex with him; I knew it could be better. That let me think that it was especially good that it had been with my brother. I loved him as my brother, and it was very special that we had had such wonderful sex with each other, but he would always be only my brother; we couldn't break-up, like happened to some of the moping girls in my class.

Pete had made the varsity track team and didn't come home over the Easter break, training for the spring season. He appreciated my letter about how it ended with my once friend, and also my thoughts about how it was with him, agreeing on a slip of paper.

Over Easter, my fingers were very busy. They had been before, of course. They could usually do it better than my erstwhile friend's cock. When they couldn't, it was because I was worrying about something, trying to distract myself, but not being able to.

Spring term, I was "back on the market," dating several guys. To be honest, I was dating almost any guy who asked me for a date. If it was a second date, we were necking, and those guys had no problem with letting me feel that their cocks were aroused in their pants. A couple even drew attention to it by reaching down and help it stand up. They sure didn't mind that I rocked my hips against it. One was then embarrassed, however. He didn't say anything, but I knew that he had come in his pants.

Even with the couple that I dated more times, it never got beyond that and their holding my breasts -- in my bra that let them feel my nipples. I didn't want to start anything with any of them. Oh, I wanted to, but I didn't; I was going off to college. I had been lucky that my once friend had understood that it wasn't emotional; I didn't want to let the others think it could be.

Besides, I had my brother, who was coming home for a few days in June. After Easter, he had written me that he and Barbs had broken up. Over Easter she had found a new friend. His letter to our parents didn't mention that. I consoled him in my letter, only indirectly referring to what I had written about us before. I could have shown Mom his reply, but between the lines I understood that his words about looking forward to being home again and seeing me, suggested more -- like seeing all of me the way he had at Christmas.

It was still many weeks till June, however, more dates. When I came home from school one afternoon, Mom was about to leave to play bridge. She asked if had a lot of homework, then explaining that Marsha's mother, who also played bridge, had said that Marsha was despondent about her boyfriend's breaking up with her and had said that it would be nice if she had a little company.

Marsha and I had known each other since we were almost toddlers, since our mothers were good friends. She was an only child. After grade school, we seldom saw each other, although in the same high school. She was rather quiet, definitely not outgoing. I was a little surprised that she had a boyfriend -- had had one. She wasn't unattractive, just didn't do anything for her looks. We had been in the same sports class the year before, seeing each regularly, also afterwards in the showers. She had a nice figure, better boobs than mine, but she didn't wear anything to show it off, almost trying to hide it, it seemed. Of course, I agreed to visit her -- an old girlfriend -- and to please our mothers. Mom was going to pick her mother up, and we drove to their house.

Marsha gave me a wan smile, saying that it was nice to see me. I didn't know if she knew why I was there, what our mothers had talked about. I replied as cheerfully as I could, and our mothers left. Marsha asked if I wanted a soda pop, and we went to her room. The furniture was the same as years before, but there were now a couple of posters on the wall, movie stars, but not James Dean or other men, like in the rooms of a couple of other girls I had visited.

We kicked of our shoes and sat on her bed, like we had when we were in grade school, and drank from our cans of pop. She still had cheerless expression. I asked innocently:

"So, what's up? What's new?"

She gave me a very cheerless little smile and murmured:

"We broke up; he broke up."

"Oh! That's a pity. Sorry. It happens to others, to all of us."

She almost had tears in her eyes, nodding, replying:

"But he was my first boyfriend."

"Uhmmm, yeah, that's worse."

"Very!"

She looked like she was about to cry. I wasn't used to embracing other girls, but she looked like she needed to be. I nodded and murmured:

"Come here," and moved closer to her. She immediately did, nodding, when I put my arm around her shoulders. She gave me a little smile.

"Want to tell me? What happened? I asked softly.

She didn't reply, shaking her head slightly. Her upper arm was touching the side of my breast from the way we sitting. It moved against it, just a little, unintentionally when she crossed her arms under her breasts. I murmured:

"Maybe it would help, if you could tell someone."

"Hmm? I don't know. ... Thanks for holding me, nice."

I gave her a little hug. Her arm moved on my breast again, when she uncrossed her arms. Then it moved again. I wondered why, since her hands didn't move again. I gave her another little hug, recalling that I had read that people unconsciously crossed their arms to show that they didn't want to talk. That fitted with her having shaken her head. Now she had uncrossed them, suggesting that she did?

What happened?" I murmured again.

She turned her head to look at me, and then her arm moved again. Did she know that it was rubbing my breast? The thought that she might, made my nipple pop out. She looked back across the room and took a drink from her can. I took one from mine. Without looking at me again, she murmured:

"You want to know?"

"Only if you want tell, not to satisfy my curiosity."

"Hmm! Not sure."

"That you want to tell?"

Her arm moved again. Was that part of our conversation? I gave her another little hug. She nodded slightly. After a long pause, she murmured:

"Can't tell anyone else. We've known each other since forever."