Sandy Ch. 03

"Good idea," and then added: "You see, mine aren't so terribly important."

She remembered to take her pill while I used the toilet, and then watched me wash myself. Back in the bedroom, when I picked up our glasses, she immediately took hers, holding it up slightly, waiting for me to respond, so we drank, she with a motion that suggested that she was going empty her glass, so I emptied mine, wondering if we were sort of clearing the deck for action. We were.

Sandy put down her glass and waited for me to do so, and then stood closer to me, finding both my hands, and looked up and said softly:

"I want to lie on you; I want you to suck my breasts."

"See, a real good idea, I have been wanting to, too, but it just didn't seem to happen."

She grinned at me, squeezing my hands as she replied:

"I had hoped so. ... Maybe I'll want you to kiss me, too."

"If you want me to; just tell me. I like it when you tell me what you want."

Sandy snorted, and I lay down in the middle of the bed, and then she almost dove down on top of me, reminding me of my sister's impulsiveness. Her face was close to mine, and I thought she might want to start with a kiss, but she started to crawl up on me, murmuring:

"No, my boobs first," and presented one to my mouth as I clutched her ass and boosted her a little higher.

Her nipple was already a little aroused, but quickly became more so as I sucked on it, flipping its stiff tip with my tongue and then circling it, arousing goose bumps around it, and then sucking as much of her breast into my mouth as I could, more - it seemed - than with Martha's or my sister's.

"Mmmm! Yes, that's what I wanted," Sandy encouraged me, and her hips moved under my hands, pressing her mons to me. She let me suck and nibble and bite it for a while, purring, gasping when I let her feel my teeth - but not complaining - just gasping and grinding her mons into me, relishing the slight pain, making me wonder what the erotic sensation was like.

My cock was pressing against her closed thighs, and she opened them to let him rise, clasping him between them. And then she rose up slightly and offered me her other breast. As I took, I brought my hand up and found her wet nipple with my fingers, scratching and pinching and pulling it as my mouth sucked onto the other one, and her hips moved - now almost rhythmically - her thighs spreading, releasing my cock, that sprang forward, and sliding down next to my hips and clutching them. My hand slid straight down between the cheeks of her ass, easily reaching down to find the back of her pussy, a finger slipping between her slippery lips and trying pull on the soft inner skin, while one scratched on the hard place above it, and my index finger rubbed over her asshole.

Sandy was more growling than purring: insistent, aggressive sounds. Having her nipples attacked seemed to arouse her in a different way, obviously very aroused - her cunt all moist, maybe frustrated by not yet getting what it wanted. But Sandy still wanted me to hurt her nipples, and her asshole was moving - her cunt, too? When it moved again under my finger, she demanded: "Do that!" and I did, and she growled in appreciation as her asshole relaxed and then tighten, almost drawing my finger into, doing it again and again, and then, as I expected, she cried out: "Fuck me!" and forced her body back on me.

The first time my cock touched her, it slid up to my fingers. The next time I rocked my hips up and held my fingers to catch it and guide it into her, having to pull on the one in her asshole, but then he slid straight into her as she shoved her body back to contain him completely, grunting as he did. Her cunt clutched as her asshole clutched my finger. She held her hips still and lowered her head and kissed me aggressively, thrusting her tongue in my mouth, and then almost chewing mine when I got to put it in hers, sucking and holding it as her tongue swilled around it.

When I could retrieve it, she murmured: "every fucking hole," and then began to fuck me, her cunt and asshole clutching as she tried to kiss me again, but the motion of our hips was too strong to keep our mouths together, and the intensity of the sensations on my cock was too all-absorbing to allow me to help. Like the night before, she muttered: "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! ..." in time with her hips coming down on me as I met her with thrusts of my own, her cunt clasping him tight, a series of clutches that grasped my finger, too, and then she was coming, spurting, her love juice flowing down on my balls, making me come. I know I came real good, but somehow it was lost in the desperate intensity of Sandy's continuing motion and orgasmic noises, forcing me to continue to thrust him up into her descending cunt.

Finally, with a cry of "Oh Fuck!" she slumped down on me with the full weight of her body and lay there gasping for air as I caught my own breath.

When she stirred at last, he slipped out of her, falling wet on my thighs. I jiggled the cheeks of her ass, knowing it was one of those repetitive acts, but it's really about all one can do in that position. Sandy took a deep breath and after a less aroused "Oh fuck" moved off me, flinching slightly as her nipple rubbed on my chest, and then was lying on her side next to me.

"I've been using that word too much."

"Well, it makes it clear what you want, ... and what you're doing."

"Yeah, for sure, but ..., you know ... Yeah, ... it's all I can think to say then ... and want to, to use four-letter words, but ..., you know. ... I didn't use to, ... I think."

Sandy immediately snorted and added:

"But maybe I didn't fuck like that either."

"My good luck. You sure seemed to know what you wanted, asking me to suck your breasts."

She snorted again:

"Oh, oooh! And did you ever! They're going to be sore. But you're right, that really turns me on, ... I wanted it. As you said, somehow we'd missed that till now. But I won't forget."

She smiled up at me and rubbed my chest and then slid her hand down and found him, fondling him. I could feel that he had stuck to my sack, and Sandy did too, suggesting:

"I guess we need another shower."

"Yeah," I agreed, glancing at my watch.

Under the shower, we washed each other again, this time without soap, and then dried ourselves and went back to the bedroom. Again she watched me dress. Sitting on the bed, she felt the wet spot from her two orgasms with her hand and smirked at me:

"I guess I'll have to sleep in the sofa-bed tonight to let this dry out; she comes in the morning."

"Are you going to tell her about us?"

"I don't know, ... well, no details. ... Yeah, I guess I should thank her for letting us use her bed, ... maybe if she asks, ... no, of course; she'll know her bed has been freshly made. Yeah, I'll tell her, ... maybe not that we could have used it two nights."

"Wouldn't want her to get envious."

Sandy snickered with a nod. As I started to put on my pants, recalling the previous evening, she also did, remarking:

"I'm going to stay like this."

"Lucky you. Remember to sit on a towel if you watch TV."

"Yeah, of course. ... Oh, that reminds me, ... uh, ... next week, we ... I can't, even if she's away, ... you know?"

"Oh, ... right, of course. ... maybe we could go out instead."

"Yes, that would be nice, ... if your training schedule allowed."

"It will. What day?"

"Oh, I don't know. Do you want to meet her? If we went out an evening that she is here, you could meet afterwards. And, yeah, that would be good too, giving her a little more free time. We get on well, but we don't need to spend all evening every evening together when she isn't flying. I'll tell you when I know. Okay?"

"Fine. Yes, it would be nice to meet her - after sleeping in her bed."

"But only with me! ... Oh, I better warn her, too, so that she is properly dressed; ... not that she runs around undressed, just so that she isn't surprised."

"Good idea," I agreed, and we both smiled.

Sandy handed me my jacket, and we went to the door - like I had with Martha - and then we kissed, embracing her nude body to my clothed one, and then I was on my way in good time, this time with no complicated thoughts about Sandy.

At home, my sister greeted me almost at the door, gushing happily:

"You've got to read my letter. Mom and Dad think it is real nice."

"Yes, I want to," I agreed, more curious than I could show as we joined my parents, and I greeted them, who also expressed their delight about the letter, without saying directly that was more about the fact that my sister had almost volunteered to write it. When my sister asked if we could go to her room to read it, I was a little surprised - that had never been a question before - but our mother replied with a smile:

"Yes, of course, dear."

In her room, I asked softly - the door was open:

"What was that about, asking if we could come here."

"Oh, I am not sure why, but this morning - while I was writing - she came and told me that I shouldn't ..., should be more careful about what I wear around the house, a bathrobe - 'now that I am growing up' - and that bedrooms are the private area of the person who sleeps there."

"Oh, do you think she ..., last night?"

"Hm-umm, I doubt it. At least, she didn't mention it, more probably the way I was when I said good night yesterday. Yeah, and probably assuming that I didn't wear one - a bathrobe - when we were on Fire Island."

We both suppressed a snicker, exchanging glances, but the situation had been too serious to smirk about it now. Then she handed me the letter, mentioning that she had made a draft first - "maybe too little subtle. I tore it up and put it the garbage shoot when I went out."

Her letter was very good, and her writing about how much she appreciated that Martha had been able to spend the week with her on Fire Island and how much she had enjoyed her company just sounded like teen-aged gushing, even when she went on to say: "especially the last weekend with my brother. It was more fun with you there than the week just the two of us were out there."

My sister was watching my face, waiting for my reaction to that passage. I chuckled softly and glanced up with a smile, and then finished the rest of the letter. She grinned at me, when I looked up again and said in a louder voice:

"Yes, that really is a good letter. I think you expressed just what all of us would have wanted to say."

She held her hand over her mouth for a moment, almost giggling, but then replied:

"I'm so glad you like it."

Then we went back to our parents, and she said:

"He likes it too."

"Yes, really good," I confirmed.

"Of course," my mother agreed, then adding:

"but maybe you shouldn't have suggested that you two didn't have such a good time together."

"I didn't," my sister countered boldly:

"I said that we had a better time with Martha. We had a good time, didn't we?" and she glanced at me.

"We certainly did, a lot better than I had expected, thank you," I agreed, taking my sister's lead with the thought that she had a better feeling for situation, having spent more time during the days with our mother.

"Well, I am glad to hear it," our father interjected: "that you both agree on that," and smiled at us.

His word was usually the final one, and Mother nodded with her own smile. My sister went back to her room, and I sat down to read the paper like the night before, hiding myself behind it as my thoughts wandered. Eventually, my sister came to say good night, dutifully clad in her bathrobe, and eventually my parents and I went to bed, where I thought more about my sister's successfully having concluded discussion of Fire Island and Martha than about Sandy.

Thursday, when I ran into Sandy alone, with a smile she said:

"They still hurt, ... but good." The rest of the day and on Friday we kept out of each other's way, knowing that we would meet Friday after work. I was curious about what her roommate might have said - and curious about her. Late Friday, Sandy called me and suggested that we meet on the other side of the avenue. The bar was down a couple of blocks and on another avenue, so I understood that she wanted up to avoid the usual route down the avenue on our building's side.

I left the building promptly so that Sandy would not have to wait for me, and she seemed to have a similar thought, only approaching several minutes later, not drawing attention to herself by waving. I suddenly wonder if she had taken off her bra again, also a possible reason for her delay. We greeted each other, and she looked like she wanted a kiss, and got one, returning it as though we were long lost friends, letting me discover that there was no bra strap on her back. She winked at me with grin and nod when I released her, saying:

"That will have to be about all we can do this evening," which was a nice confirmation that she wanted more - when we could.

"Are they better?" I asked.

"Oh? ... Yeah, thanks, ... but maybe I should have kept it on. They're still tender, especially loose under my blouse, ... and when they get aroused.

"I'll try not to upset them," and we both snorted.

We took the first crosstown street, safely away from the others, and I asked:

"What did you tell your roommate?"

Oh, yeah. She didn't expect that I would get such good use of it. I guess she hadn't anticipated that with her offer; she knows about my boyfriend. Yeah, she was a bit surprised ..."

"And doesn't know half the story."

"Just as well," and Sandy grinned at me, adding:

"But she didn't suggest that we couldn't again, just surprised, ... and, it seemed, a little curious about who ..., whom."

She corrected herself to avoid finishing the sentence with any phrase explaining "who."

"I'm curious, too."

"You should be, ... or maybe you shouldn't: slender, dark haired, maybe French-looking, looks good in her uniform, ... or without ..."

"Oh, I am curious."

"I didn't mean it like that. I haven't seen her like you're thinking."

"Nor she, you?"

"No. I'm more liberal about that - from college - but I've gone along with her bathrobe routine. ... I haven't asked her yet if she wants to meet you, nor about her schedule."

By now, we were close to the bar and agreed that I could walk faster and go ahead alone, tacitly having understood that we didn't want to arrive together.

I hurried ahead and had a beer in my hand and had greeted the others before Sandy arrived. Confident that any flirting wasn't going to be serious, I just acknowledged her presence and let one of the other guys buy her a drink, finding it nice that he also thought her attractive. Just to keep things fair, I offered two "unattended" girls from the firm a drink and chatted with them. Apparently, my attention created greater interest in them; two guys who had joined us vied to buy them a second drink and then monopolized the conversation, which they didn't seem to mind. I got another beer and mozied over to Sandy, who also had a fresh beer. The guy didn't seem too pleased when she included me in their conversation, but there wasn't anything he could do about, also not when Sandy suggested that we all have dinner together. But he agreed - after a glance to see if there was any other girl to start a conversation with. I was rather looking forward to sparring with him for Sandy's attention, confident that she would hold up her end of it, and she did.

Sandy asked him about himself and let him talk, encouraging him by showing interest, but whenever a subject came up that she knew I could trump, she turned and innocently included me. When he told about where is family rented a place for vacation, she asked where my family spent vacation; when he mentioned sports, she got me to tell that I was gymnast, and then gushed about what great figures they had and forced me to tell how good I was - had been, before college - which genuinely surprised and impressed her, too. It really was fun, and raised my appreciation for Sandy, who continued to show more interest in him, but after my playing my high cards, he was more reticent about himself, trying to turn the conversation to other topics. Eventually we finished our meal, and he and I both offered to pay for Sandy's, but she insisted on paying for her own, sweetly saying that she couldn't let either of us show her a favor.

"Good idea," I said, and she almost grinned at me, and then we each paid.

When we left the place, he still offered to see her back to her place, but from one of her ploys, talking about where each of us lived - "off Park Avenue" for me - it was obvious that he would be going out of his way, and that Sandy and I had the same route home. We set off and then noticed that he went back into the bar. Sandy took my arm, and we both laughed at loud; it had gone just too well. I complimented her about the way she had managed the conversation, and she hugged my arm to her and replied that she had been afraid that he would ask how she knew that gymnasts had such good figures, laughing again as she admitted that she might have told him.

"Maybe I should have told him how I still work out twice a week."

"I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face, ... even if you'd left the 'how' out of it,"

and we both had to laugh again.