A Week to Remember Ch. 01byChris Cross©
Chapter 1 of 8
Samantha moaned gently and lifted her thighs up and off the bed, knees spread and toes pointing. I circled my first and second fingers around in her sticky pussy and lapped at her left breast, teasing the saliva-slick flesh with my teeth. Sam gasped and circled her hips in time with my fingers, her pussy gripping and relaxing as she moved. Flicking the tip of my tongue over her hardened nipple; I was rewarded with a deep moan of pleasure. Excited by Sam's slow writhing and the scent and squishing sounds coming from her pussy I wanted to get a good look at what was going on down there.
Shuffling backwards and to the side, my fingers slid from her body's embrace. Sam slipped both hands down to her crotch, pressing her fingertips against damp flesh and stretching her labia wide open for me. The pink folds of skin glistened wetly, swollen with exquisite sensitivity. I moved my hand, making a pyramid of the three longest fingers (noting the thick strands of pussy honey clinging to them) and penetrated her again. Sam cried out quietly, turning her face to one side as I circled inside her, squelching and pressing against her hot, ribbed inner walls.
The warm August sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains lit up Sam's pretty face. Her features were drawn in an odd expression of concentration as her hips began to gently rock back and forth, humping at my hand. Her lips pursed and she groaned louder, beginning to move more urgently. I quickly withdrew my fingers and replaced them again with only two, probing deeper into her and twisting to caress the hot bump of her g-spot.
Carefully plucked eyebrows drew into a frown as Sam started to breath quickly and heavily through her mouth, panting and thrusting harder against my hand. Her breathing came faster and faster, hips rocking, breasts shuddering back and forth, until she hardly seemed to be drawing in any breath at all, exhaling in a nearly continuous series of gasps until finally
"Ah! Ahhhh! O-OH!!"
Her slightly chubby thighs clamped together around my forearm, pussy contracting and relaxing as her orgasm hit. She bit at her bottom lip for several seconds as the sensation coursed through her, finally slumping back against the bed with a sigh, eyes closed and breathing heavily.
I waited about a minute for some other reaction, watching the rise and fall of her breasts before slipping my fingers out of her, provoking another moan. My cock clamoured for her attentions, the feeling of her soft hand, the hot and tight confines of her body. However, when Sam's eyes opened she merely sat up, flicked her hair out of her eyes and swung her legs to the right, off the bed, walking (a little awkwardly) over to her bookcase and the box of tissues on it. Pulling some free she turned to face me, going up onto tiptoe with knees slightly bent to wipe her sodden pussy clean. She smiled and after another wipe, walked back over to the bed. Hope still burned inside me, but was soon smothered as she sat and reached down to the carpet for her knickers, slipping them over one small foot and beginning to pull them back on again.
I sighed inwardly. Yeah, all this bringing your girl to orgasm might sound great, but Sam hadn't touched me at all. In fact I'd been down here in Shrewsbury visiting her for three days now and this was the most we'd done so far. And my train home was in three quarters of an hour. No sex, just goodnight kisses before rolling over to face away from me and Sam finally conceding to allow me to bring her off just now without her even touching me. Not even rubbing my cock through my jeans. Her kisses were still (almost) convincing, but I knew something was up, as even on my last visit three weeks ago, Sam hadn't shown any interest in sex. I'd noticed one of her housemates; Ian, taking an interest in her though; looking at her from across the kitchen and smiling at her when he thought I wasn't looking. God, what a smug idiot.
To be honest, I'd thought Sam was seeing someone else (guess who) for well over a month now. I suppose I'd pretty much resigned myself to the fact. We'd been apart (Sam on sandwich placement for her degree and me still living in Leeds, having just finished my own degree and having moved out of student accommodation and into my own digs) for just under 11 months now and I'd noticed a gradual slide in Sam's affections, both over the phone, through the letters she didn't send me and when we were together.
Some of my friends told me they reckoned she was cheating on me and encouraged me to follow up when a girl in the pub or club showed interest in me. I didn't want to believe my fears were true and (in addition to having turning down some very pretty and seemingly 'up for it' girls) decided not to confront Sam about the situation just yet. I guess I was being a coward, but rejection's never easy to handle, is it? I decided to let things go one more time and make up my mind after my next visit at the end of the month. Now with her jeans pulled on, Sam leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek saying
"That felt nice. Fancy a cuppa before you go?" I grimly thought that I wasn't Boy George and would much prefer sex to a bloody cup of tea, but instead manufactured a smile and said that I'd love one. And 'nice'? Bloody hell...
I joined Sam in the kitchen, my hard-on now nothing but a distant memory and was amazed when I managed to keep my cool and a pleasant demeanour when she asked
"Would you mind walking to the railway station on your own? Sharon and I are going to aerobics tonight at the sports centre." Funny that this was the first I'd heard about Sam and her housemate having planned this. Still, it was a nice day outside and after a brief internal struggle I said that no, I wouldn't mind. If anything, I thought to myself; it would give me chance to clear my head and decide what I was going to do. After finishing the mug of tea, I started collecting my belongings from Sam's room as she slipped into skin-tight cycling shorts and a t-shirt.
I watched her, feeling a pang of sorrow at having such a great-looking girlfriend and not having made love to her for weeks, nearly months. I missed feeling her soft warmth underneath and around me, hearing her gasp and moan, watching her face contort in pleasure as she orgasmed. Feeling solemn I gathered my belongings and we left her room, moving into the hall and to the front door. Sam kissed me goodbye on the doorstep, asking me to give her a ring to let her know I'd got back safely. Aw, bless. I smiled cheerfully (an Academy Award deserving performance, I can tell you) and said I would, turning and walking away.
I waved goodbye as I rounded the corner of the street and had got about 100 metres on when I went to turn on my MP3 player. Which wasn't there. Crap! I suddenly remembered that I'd left it on top of some books on Sam's bookcase. Aware that the amount of time I had left to catch my train was rapidly ticking away; I quickly headed back for Sam's house. As I turned the corner onto the garden path and got halfway down it I glimpsed in through Sam's window. Her room was on the ground floor, with Ian and Sharon's' on the first. Except that I knew Ian wasn't in his room. I'd just made him out through the net curtains; sitting on Sam's bed next to her, with his paw on her breasts and his tongue apparently down her throat.
I was so stunned I actually stopped dead in my tracks for a moment, feeling incredibly hurt despite my all my recent suspicions. I mean, hell, I'd been gone for what, two minutes at most and she was already making out with her other guy!? Aerobics my arse, now I knew why she was in such a rush to get rid of me. Anger kicked in and I quickly and quietly moved up to the front door. My mind raced. Should I bang on the glass and wave in at them and watch their faces? Ring the doorbell, then storm in when someone answered, go straight up to Ian and punch him in the face? I felt like doing both, but I stood frozen by indecision. Maybe I'd imagined it? Perhaps she'd pushed him away angrily only moments after I saw them, telling him that she wasn't interested?
Carefully lowering my backpack to the path, I edged forward and crouched, peering round the edge of the window. The sun now glinted off the glass and I frowned to see through the net curtains. My heart sank to my boots. Ian was lying back on Sam's bed, with her sat on top of him, giggling and smiling as she tossed her long hair and he clutched at her bum and breasts. As I watched, she bent forwards to kiss him, wriggling her groin against his. Ian closed his eyes and put his head back on her pillows, pulling her down against him. Her auburn hair shone in the sunlight. The soft flesh of her buttocks dented where his fingers pressed. Her tongue looked so pink and wet as she licked the tip of his nose. I moved back from the window anger flaring again, briefly overshadowing the pain. I wanted to raise a scene, to let them both know that I knew what they were up to and to finish with Sam in an explosive fashion. But why bother? I now knew Sam wasn't worth any more of my time and effort.
Before I realised I'd decided to do it, I had stepped to one side and knocked loudly on the glass. Sam turned to look who had done this and jumped clean off the bed to her feet. Ian's face went from looking puzzled to highly-worried in about point five seconds when he turned to see me grinning wolfishly in at them. The look of horror on Sam's face made some small nasty part of me deep down inside rejoice. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Ian just gawped.
Speaking loudly to be heard through the window, I apologised for disturbing Sam's 'aerobicising' and told her I'd left my MP3 player on her bookcase. Could I have it back please? Sam stood frozen.
"I'd like it now, please, I've a train to catch." This jerked Sam into action. She walked to her bookcase, frantically looked it up and down and then spotted my MP3 player, picking it up. With a very nervous glance in my direction she headed towards the door to the hall. As she left my line of sight I shot Ian a threatening look and felt a small moment of triumph as he failed to meet my gaze, looking away. I stepped to one side and in front of the door as I heard Sam rattling at the latch.
The door opened just enough for Sam to peer out, but not enough for me to squeeze through. An eerie calm had settled over me. As Sam started to blurt
"Steve, I...I..." I raised an eyebrow and held out my hand.
Sam faltered briefly, then opened the door a little wider and extended
a hand holding my player. I resisted a sudden urge to snatch it from her and instead; briefly ignoring her proffered hand, unzipped my jacket pocket. I slowly took the player from Sam's (slightly trembling) hand, put it into my pocket and moved the earphones around my neck. At least a dozen things to say or shout at her whirled through my mind, yet I managed to hold on to my eerie sense of calm. Looking levelly into her eyes, I put one earpiece into place followed by the other.
Maintaining eye contact I said
"Enjoy the rest of your life, Sam." Pressing 'play', I looked into her wide, glistening eyes for two or three seconds and then turned on my heel and walked away down the path, not looking back. Halfway to the station, my emotions seemed to kick in again. I fought back angry tears and concentrated on the odd feeling of satisfaction I had about the way things had ended. The look of horror on Sam's face, the worry on Ian's, my calmly spoken words.
I spent the train journey back to Leeds alternating between feeling upset and angry, listening to music and finally settling on relief that at least I knew where I stood, mixed with vague excitement about what the future could hold. When I got back to my flat at West Street it was after 10.00pm. Judging by the lights that were on, all four of my flatmates (Adele, Neil, Sheila, and Ruth) seemed to be in. I plodded back up to my room and unlocked the door.
We each had our own self contained bed-sit with separate kitchen and shared bathroom and toilet facilities. It wasn't palatial, but for my first non-student accommodation, it was just fine. Sheila and I had the rooms next to each other on the first floor, where in addition, there was a bathroom and toilet. Neil and Ruth were downstairs with a second bathroom and loo and Adele was up in the largest room in the attic. There was no communal living room but we frequently gathered in one another's rooms, usually mine or Neil's. Being at the front of the building they were slightly larger than the others for some reason and it saved us trekking up the narrow staircase to the attic and Adele's room, although it was by far the largest.
I stayed in my room and settled down for a good think. I didn't really feel up to talking with anyone tonight. Well, I didn't speak much to Ruth anyway; we didn't really get on, due to a clash of personalities. But I got on just fine with Neil, who worked for BT; Adele who was studying for her Masters at Leeds University (and had a gorgeous girlfriend called Jane many a man would love to bed!) and Sheila, who had recently landed herself a new job and was going to be moving out on Wednesday. I quietly fancied Sheila something rotten and knew she liked me too. With it being a hot summer (for once) Sheila was often out in her cut-off denim hot pants, which showed off her slender, long legs and lightly tanned skin. She had a slim figure, not too much in the way of hips but a nice handful of bust, rounded buttocks and cracking legs. Her soft Geordie lilt did my head in too.
In truth, if Adele was straight I'd be quite interested in her as well. The old assumption that there's a more feminine and a more masculine girl in a lesbian relationship just wasn't the case with Adele and Jane. I mean, okay, Jane was better looking than Adele; in fact she was drop dead gorgeous. Neil and I would regularly lament man's loss in the world with Jane being a lesbian. Jane was tall and slim, with good curves, long dark hair and striking looks. Not that Adele wasn't attractive herself though. She had a pretty face with sparkling eyes, was of average height with brown hair and a fuller figure. Not overweight or fat, I'd seen her in a bikini and she didn't really have flabby or wobbly bits, just a curvy, voluptuous figure; think Charlotte Church.
She told me that her and Jane were often both chatted up when they were out and that if she had ten pounds for every time a bloke's face had fallen when he found out they were a couple, she would be quite well off by now. As it was, I didn't really give her too much thought on the lust front. I mean, it was pointless. There was always the old 'heterosexual male converts lesbian', or the 'man and two women' fantasies to fall back on, but I got on well enough with Adele as a friend, although I secretly thought that Neil might be keen to have a crack at 'converting' her.
I made myself a cup of hot chocolate before I went to bed. The tap in my kitchen was still dripping and just wouldn't turn off properly, so I made a mental note to ring my landlady about getting it fixed. I drank my chocolate and then turned off my bedside lamp. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if Sheila just might be interested to hear I was single again...
(To be continued...)
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