Chapter 8
The shower was icy as it streamed in tiny rivulets down her flesh, rolling off her soft poppy-like nipples and down her silken belly. Marsha leaned her head back and felt the spray slam into her face. Already her body had cooled from the afternoon's fucking and sucking, though a deep throbbing within her youthful cunt still reminded her of the exciting things that had been done to it. The shower only served to add the finishing touches to her languorous wind-down from the pleasure peaks she had climbed with Elisabeth and Vicki.
She twirled the shower knob and gave it one last firm twist to stop its protesting drip, then climbed out onto the tile floor and toweled her nubile young body dry.
Staring into the mirror at the wet tangle of her hair, Marsha reflected on what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. Much had happened to her-the loss of her virginity to her brother Robbie, the lesbian experiences with Elisabeth and Vicki this afternoon, the hard rubber cock she'd been fucked with. All of these things had happened to her, and in the process of their happening had somehow transformed her, had moved her out of her once completely naive, innocent world.
What most troubled her was the new set of attitudes she found herself presented with, and the wholesale acceptance came somewhat hard to her at times of reflection like this. When she merely reacted, as she had done with Robbie, as she had done with Elisabeth and Vicki, she was not troubled by them. It was only afterwards, when she was no longer horny or busy fucking and sucking that she found herself plagued by tinges of guilt, or a feeling that she had become an outcast, lacking any sense of morality.
She wrapped a towel about her wet hair and traipsed across the hallway to her room. There was no one in the house. She knew where Robbie was now occupied, but she wondered where her mother was. She wished she could feel free enough to confide in her mother how she felt, to discuss it with her, to question her about all the things that troubled her.
Marsha caught the jangle of the telephone, and frowned at the sound.
She sighed greatly, and plopped her naked ass down on the suede cushions of the chair beside the telephone stand. The pineapple-yellow material at first prickled her delicate ass cheeks, and then she nestled into it, and it was invitingly soft, like the soothing touch of a cat mewing and rubbing one's leg.
"Hello," she said demurely into the receiver, a bit breathlessly even though she had not walked more than a dozen feet in reaching the phone. It gave her voice a sex kittenish sound. She looped one leg over the arm of the chair, and felt the cold touch of the telephone cord, trailing along her thigh. Between her thighs the wheat-colored pussy hair, as soft as corn silk, gleamed wetly, limp from the shower she had just finished. She let her free hand trail to the very edges of her muff, and ever so softly twirled the hairs about her fingers.
"Hello. Marsha, is that you?" queried the voice on the other end of the line.
She recognized the husky voice of Jack and smiled to herself.
"Why, Jack, I'm glad you called. I've been telling myself I was going to call you sometime today."
Her long fingers had entwined themselves in the thick patch of cunt hair, and one finger nipped at the top of the inviting pink slit.
"You were? That's great."
He paused, and in the long awkward silence she heard the first patter of raindrops on the window behind her, and turned her head to watch the tiny beads gathered on the glass.
He went on.
"Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I guess I overstepped my bounds. I hope I didn't embarrass you with ... uh . . . well, what happened afterwards."
She had turned back from gazing out the window, and realized, as Jack's apology registered, that her ass had tilted lower so that her cunt was more open, and that her finger had trailed along her gash in slow, liquid strokes which warmed her cunt with the delicious probing.
Marsha thought back to the sight of Jack stroking his lust-thickened dong, hunched avidly over it in the front seat of his car. She felt a bit of shame float over her, not at what she had seen, since she had already learned to appreciate the sight of a male dick, erect and ready to fuck, but rather at what she had ridiculously put him through. She had been so silly, yes, even childish.
"No, I wasn't embarrassed. And it should be me who does the apologizing. After all, what you did was only natural."
Her finger had lunged into her slit at the thought of what she had so foolishly passed up the night before, and she thought of the sheer waste of the fuck cream which had poured into Jack's hand. There was a better depository for it, and given a second chance, she would actively seek the thrilling explosion of Jack's hard cock in her horny cunt.
Jack was silent on the phone, digesting her words. As if to fill the void, the sky thundered angrily, a mighty belch of a clap, and the heavy beat of rain on her window tapped out a solid rhythm on the pane. At the same time her finger explored her cunt ever deeper in a rhythm of its own.
Jack seemed to be puzzled, as the awkward lapse from his end of the phone told her. She wondered exactly how he was reacting to her blatant message.
"I'd really like to see you again," he said softly, as if he were afraid that he had misread her.
Marsha had a sudden vision of herself going down on Jack.
She was surprised at that thought. As of yet, she had never had a cock in her mouth, and suddenly the thought of sucking a prick, of licking it from stem to stern, sent a warm wave flowered through her damp cunt, with her finger insinuating itself ever deep into her hole.
She found herself grunting from the agitated pressure of her finger on her gash, and the erotic fantasy of cock sucking she was now having.
"I'd like to see you, too," she told him, and then grunted, her breathing growing ragged as she increased the rate of her diddling. "I think . . . we might have a more enjoyable evening than last night. Oh! At least if you're still familiar with a good place to be alone."
Again that pause, she wondered if he knew she was finger-fucking all the while they were talking. She could mentally see him tugging at his crotch. Already his prong must be thick and ready, and it was too bad the telephone separated them.
"I'm not sure I'm hearing you right, Marsha. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
His voice had gotten even huskier and lower in volume, almost a conspiratorial whisper.
"I mean, baby, that you won't have to beat your meat tonight. I've got a better way to massage it. Oh, Lord!" she moaned, expelling her breath in an erotic sigh.
She held the phone between her ear and shoulder, since she had moved the hand that formerly held it to her boobs, pulling at her stiff nipples while she diddled with the other hand.
Jack grunted with pleasure. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Ohhh," she moaned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"It sounds great, whatever it is. I'm getting horny just listening to you."
"You should be. I'm finger-fucking myself. I'm sitting here naked, imagining that I've got you here, and that you're fucking the shit out of me. Do you hear that?"
"Yes." His answer was more a sudden release of tightly held breath than anything else.
"Does it make your dick hard, baby?"
"You know it. It's throbbing right now."
She leaned back, her eyes closed, her mind whirling from the excruciatingly delightful pain she was inflicting upon herself.
"Put your hands around your hard-on."
"I already have," he answered, tongue thick with the lust he transmitted over the telephone wires. Little electric pulses seemed to be going off in her cunt.
"Are you stroking your cock, Jack?"
His breathing had matched her own raggedness. "Yes. God, are you really naked?"
She wriggled her hips while she jabbed into the pink, hair-ringed hole with two fingers now, while her thumb rested on her clit and bit down into it with every jab she made.
"Naked as a jaybird."
"Ohmigod, I wish I was there!"
She moaned long and low.
"Me, too."
"Describe yourself to me. What are you doing now?"
"I'm massaging my tits, and my clit. My cunt' is so creamy that your prick wouldn't have the least bit of trouble sliding in."
"Go on."
"And my nipples are so hard-I can't tell you how hard they are from wanting someone to kiss them. Would you like to kiss them, lick them?"
She tried to bend her head forward and capture one of them in her own mouth, but it was physically impossible. She lost the phone from its cradle as she did so, and could not hear Jack's reply, but she knew that again it was affirmative.
She snatched the phone and replaced in between ear and shoulder.
All that came to her ears was heavy breathing, and she knew now that Jack, too, had begun to masturbate.
She thrust ever so rapidly into her quivering cunt, her fingers acting as though they had developed a mind of their own, seeking like a homing torpedo the erect clitoris, massaging it with a feverish intensity that sent ever stronger ripples of pain coursing through her body, up into her belly, the warmth of her inflamed cunt like a savage forest fire that could not be brought under control.
"Ahhhhhh," she moaned, wriggling her taut ass cheeks. "If this is good, I'll bet your cock is super"
"You know it. Christ, why don't we get together . . . tonight. Can you imagine how much I want you?"
"Not any more than I want you."
Which was true, she very much wanted him, and right now, despite the thrilling explosions building up in her ripe cunt, there was nothing like a cock. And right now that cock was in Jack's hands, being forcefully stroked, while she lay there simulating the very act that both of them had admitted that they wanted so much.
Jack was right. They would have to get together tonight for a fuck. But right now there was something else to concentrate on, one very wet pussy and one rock-hard prick, both perched precariously on the edge of self-induced orgasm.
"Oh, Jack, imagine that it's me you're laying the dick to. Imagine we're naked, our bodies pressed close, your cock so deep in my cunt, can you imagine that?"
Through his heavy breathing, she heard him mumble his reply, "God, what else could I be imagining?"
She had draped her legs over the arms of the chair to give herself a better access to her cunt. Already cunt juice had gathered at the lower edge of her sex slit, while her cunt lips had gorged with blood and stood puffy and eager. Her clit was straining forward with each thrust of her stiffened fingers, taking the brunt of them on its tip, and causing her to tighten her hips and hunch forward as she stroked the eager pleasure button.
"Fuck it, Jack! Go, baby!" she yelled as she felt the imminence of her own orgasm.
He did not answer with any other than ragged grunts as he worked methodically at his cock.
"It's me, baby! You're fucking Marsha. And tonight we'll try it again. Only then it won't be a dress rehearsal. It'll be . . . REALLLL!"
Marsha felt her cunt quiver as the impact of her orgasm shivered its way throughout her body. She threw back her head and let escape a delicious moan. As if in reply she heard Jack scream out hoarsely, "Shoot it all off! AAAHHHGGG!!"
For long moments they lay, each spent. Marsha held her eyes closed, so that she might concentrate on the warmth and calm that washed over her after her orgasm.
"Jack?"
"Yes."
"I meant it about tonight. Do you think you can find us a place where we can be comfortable and alone? Somewhere besides the back seat of a car, I want to get completely naked when I fuck you."
"Don't worry. Somehow, I'll get a place. I think my friend Jerry Pierce has an apartment at the Kensington. Eleventh floor, I think. Lord, I'm getting another hard-on just thinking about you."
She giggled. "Well, save it. Your hand doesn't deserve this one. It belongs to me. Right, baby?"
"Right."
"Tonight, then. Good-bye."
"Yeah, tonight. Good-bye."
Marsha hung up, and leaned back.
Eleventh floor of the Kensington, wasn't that where Uncle Al lived? Yes, she was sure of it. What a coincidence. What would her uncle think of her? Knowing him like she did, he would probably approve. Wouldn't it be funny if she ran into him? He was bright enough to know what she would be there for. Well, let him.
Another taboo had been broken. She had been the aggressor during the phone call, the one who made the overtures. And why not? It was as much desire on her part as it was on Jack's. She had finally decided that she wanted to fuck him, and had flat out told him so.
Was there anything wrong with that?
She gave one long sigh of anticipation which stood as her answer.
Not one damn thing wrong with wanting to get fucked.