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Message-ID: <36688asstr$1023055806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "An Episode in the Affair" (MF, rom, cheat, voyeur; mm, ds; mast, oral, anal)
Date: Sun,  2 Jun 2002 18:10:06 -0400
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"An Episode in the Affair"

H. Jekyll


*  *  *  *  *

Story Codes:  MF, rom, cheat, voyeur; mm, ds; mast,
oral, anal 

Copyright 2001, 2002 by H. Jekyll. Permission is
freely granted to post on any site that does not
charge for entrance, as long as full attribution is
given to the author. The story should not be read by
anyone under the legal age to read sexually explicit
stories, or by anyone in a location where it is
illegal to read such stories. 

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms,
and I promise to respond to them. Please send them to:
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

The H. Jekyll stories are archived in the Alt Sex
Stories Text Repository, at: 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

This is a revised version of a story originally posted
at "Ruthie's Club" (http://ruthiesclub.com/), where
the formatted and illustrated original can be found.

*  *  *  *  *


Afterward, each of them would remember their first
sighting of the boys as the moment the change
occurred. They shared this perception though they
didn't later discuss it, and in fact both were wrong.
It was a silly memory on the face of it, because it
treated the boys as though they had some strange power
to transform when in fact they were just youths. The
true power lay elsewhere, and the change wasn't as
quick as all that.

Perhaps the Jardin Botanique itself played a role. Who
knows what affects our desires? The gardens didn't
necessarily conspire, but they were so awash in
flowers and so filled with plants exotic to their
eyes, even the grasses different from those back home,
that the ordinary state of the world was undone. It
may have made a difference that they were in Montreal,
exploring the city without any knowledge of French and
together only because of the unbelievable coincidence
that had brought their meetings here simultaneously.
It had to have helped that they could play for four
days with no chance of discovery. When her husband had
let her know he wasn't interested in seeing Quebec
with her, she had thought both 'of course' and 'thank
goodness.' Her lover's chore had been larger --
convincing his wife they should travel together some
other time when he wouldn't be in meetings all day.
Both were becoming practiced liars.

When they first saw the boys, their sun was rising
bright and pure and they were simply happy. They were
nothing special, just ordinary lovers, ordinary
adulterers, sweet, affectionate, still unused to
living across the line from faithfulness. Their
relationship surely would have wound down from the
early intensity toward routine and comfort. The
process had already begun, though they didn't
recognize it. 

They had, to that moment, done all the ordinary things
lovers do, walking everywhere hand-in-hand, stopping
to kiss boldly at street corners, feeling each other
under the table when they ate at sidewalk cafes. They
did that afterwards, too, but it was different. 

*  *  *  *  *

Because it was cooler than in the Carolinas, cool
enough for her to wear sweaters in the mornings when
they walked down to the old town for breakfast, he had
gotten to hold her close often. They'd been separated
only when each had called home and the few times each
absolutely *had* to attend a session. They'd rush back
to the little place she'd found on St. Denis, just
outside the Latin Quarter and far from his room
downtown, for romance. 

Such nice sex they'd shared. The first evening they
had played until he was close to orgasm. He wasn't a
fool about how often he could come, and so he'd
interfered when she wanted to bring him over too
early, the better to pleasure her properly afterwards.
They had stopped to take a hot shower together,
soaping one another and keeping each other bothered.
After that she had stood under the heat lamp while he
spread lotion all over her, ostensibly against the
drying of Canada's winds, but really to extend her
desire until they retired to the bed and crawled under
the covers to continue their tryst.

The second day there had been soft love early in the
morning, before breakfast, then separation for
meetings in the afternoon. In the evening they had
lain in bed kissing in front of the TV for a long time
before she climbed on top of him so they could
sixty-nine and then fuck. He'd awakened around three
a.m., surprised to find he was erect and horny again,
but when he had tried to rouse her she hadn't even
opened her eyes before saying, "Not now, darling, I'm
so sleepy," and turning away.

Morning brought their last full day.

*  *  *  *  *

They were not actually boys, at least not young ones
though not yet adults, slim like boys, dark clothed
and eyed, one appearing almost a man, the other little
more than a child. When he first saw them the boys
were walking side-by-side along the roadway that
circles inside the gardens, their hands so close they
touched every few steps but not so close that they
couldn't deny their sexuality. He pointed them out and
whispered that she should be worried they'd steal him
away from her. 

He said that because the sun had just slipped out
after a cloudy early morning, and her delight with the
gardens crowded out her delight in his contact. He
wanted to stop and kiss her, holding her from behind,
but she would stand only for a moment before saying,
"Come on, darling," and pulling him away to the next
shrub or herb or flower. She did that in the tulip
garden first, then in the others as they came to them.
Not in the rose garden, since the roses weren't yet
blooming, but there she broke away from him to run
through some long, soft, grass filled with dandelions.
No one in her neighborhood would suffer a dandelion to
live, but she loved them, and here they were legion.

When he threatened her with boys, she had just run to
a row of lilacs that followed the perimeter fence and
was smelling the flowers to pass the time while she
waited for him to catch up. She glanced at the boys,
but they couldn't compete for attention with that pink
scent.

Oh, she wasn't unloving, just distracted by other
things. It was, after all, their third day, and the
edge had been blunted enough to let her be drawn to
other passions. 

In the Chinese Garden they saw the boys again. It was
hardly a coincidence worth mentioning except that the
couple had climbed the rock tower in the middle of the
garden and, looking down, she saw them kiss.

She looked, and then she looked again more slowly. She
drew in a massive gulp of sweet air, grabbed the rail,
and leaned outward. She knew gay men did that, but
she'd never seen it, not really. She'd seen actors
deep kissing once, in "Angels in America," and had
been embarrassed by it. The boys' mouths were open and
she could see everything. She had never really thought
about it, not once, but now she could imagine the feel
of mouth on mouth. She was possessed by the thought
that each must taste like her lover. 

So that's what it's like.

She turned away, paused, turned back. Their tongues
must be caressing each other. Did they feel to each
other like her lover? Were their tongues like his?

"Look," she whispered, pulling him by his hand.

The boys had stepped behind some yews and
self-consciously looked around until the older-looking
one again pulled the other's face to his. No one would
have been able to see them from any direction except
up. No one but the couple could see that the younger,
slighter, more hesitant boy tried to pull away, and
that the older one pulled him back and made him --
made him! -- kiss open-mouthed, while rubbing a palm
slowly over his fly.

Her lover made a move to draw her away but she shook
her head and held the rail tightly.

"Just a minute, sweetheart. Wait." 

She continued to watch them. Her mouth was slightly
open but she was almost holding her breath. Had the
boys looked upward they would have seen her peering
into their little sanctuary. Just how much would they
have seen? Her lips forming an oval? Her eyes fixed?
Her sex pushed into the rail?

The entire scene couldn't have lasted more than a
minute or two. The boys parted and left the Chinese
garden, walking northward, but not before the older
boy had put the younger one's hand on *his* fly and
said something that brought out a look on the other's
face that was not exactly excitement but not exactly
anxiety either. From the distance and the angle she
couldn't tell.

"Okay, we can go," she said brightly, as though she
were finished looking at an interesting specimen of
iris. But her eyes had changed. 

They left the tower and walked this trail and that,
pretending to still explore the gardens, but her lover
noticed how she no longer lingered at novel plants and
that she always led him northward. She tried to cover
her new preoccupation, a valiant, losing effort. She
couldn't keep her attention on what she was saying,
and she started to lose her sentences half way
through. 

*  *  *  *  *

The man found the boys first. They were off to the
left, hand-in-hand, walking a path between hedges,
looking around to see if other people were anywhere
nearby. It was obvious what they wanted to do. He
whispered, "There they are, love" in a tone that let
her know he knew she was hunting. That brought her up
short. She blushed exquisitely and turned away, taking
a red that was brighter than the windburn on her
cheeks.

After a moment: "Was I that transparent?"

"You were that transparent."

"Oh God." Then, "Oh God," again. 

She looked around to him shyly, shy for the first time
since they had broken their vows a month back. He was
looking at her, then in the direction of the boys,
then back at her, and she was so afraid of what he was
thinking that she asked, "Do you think I'm
disgusting?" 

"I think if we're going to stalk them, it's best that
we move ahead and beside them, not trail behind." 

He made a soft smile and she jumped him, circling his
neck with her arms, laughing in her relief and
excitement, and making him stagger.

"Thank you, darling. Oh I love you so much! I don't
know what it is, what's going to happen, but I have to
see it. It's so... I don't know exactly. I've never
seen anything like that."

"Well come on then."

So it was that they circled ahead of the boys,
hurrying forward, finding protected spots to spy from,
as the boys walked further north into the area of the
gardens devoted to trees and forests, the area that
would be all but deserted. They spoke in whispers,
waiting for an opening before sprinting hand-in-hand
to the next hiding place. She was laughing under her
breath at the wickedness of it all, and gasping from
the running and from the odd passion sweeping through
her. At each stopping point she hugged him and kissed
his neck or all over his face or his chest. One time
she knelt to mouth his penis through his slacks, then
they were off again.

*  *  *  *  *

They had gotten far enough ahead that it was time to
stop again, but there was no more cover, not for a
distance. The trees were scattered, the earth between
filled mostly with grasses and more dandelions. They
couldn't go further and watch unobserved, so they
stopped at the last really good bit of cover, a
boulder of some sort with two enveloping junipers. He
leaned back against the rock to wait, and she leaned
back against him.

He had his left arm around her waist and his right
over her smooth chest. He enjoyed feeling her hard
breathing and her heart pounding through her nipple.
She lay her head back on his shoulder and he kissed
her neck. He didn't give a damn if the boys came all
the way up here, but something special was going to
happen in any case. He lowered his left hand to the
front of her pants and massaged her vagina through the
cloth. She spread her legs, melted further back into
him and leaned her cheek to his head, as close as they
could be without fucking.

Finally there they were, the boys, still walking
northward, still hand-in-hand, the older almost
continually reaching down to touch the crotch of the
younger, now and again pulling the other's hand back
to his crotch. 

She pushed back into him harder. It had to happen
soon. 

A sudden fear. She turned her head to his ear and
whispered, "There aren't any other hiding places! What
if they come to ours?"

"If they do, turn to me and we'll pretend we're making
out. They should appreciate that. I know I will."

On they came, ever closer to the couple, while she
whispered to herself: Don't come here, not here, not
to our place. Don't ruin this. Her lover's hand was
steady in its massage, palm and fingers rubbing past
her fulcrum, down and up.

The boys didn't invade the lovers' nest. They walked
past, and she whispered to herself: Stop now, do it
now. Don't walk away from us! Her pleasure was rising.
She wanted it to coincide with whatever the boys would
do.

And they did stop. It almost seemed that her thoughts
commanded them. She felt her neck hairs rise, those
lovely, fine, downy hairs her lover enjoyed nuzzling.
They stopped at some kind of small tree, a birch or
something, with branches that shot from the trunk
about five feet up. The older boy grabbed the
shoulders of the younger and twisted, twirled, pushed
him to the tree, so his back was against it and he was
facing the older one. This was where it would happen.

"But they're out in the open! Anyone can see them!"
She was so excited now that it was hard to whisper.
Her words were almost masked by her breathlessness.

"Yes. I think that's part of the thrill, that they
could be caught. Not that there's anyone way out here
to catch them. " 

No one but them. He moved his left hand back down to
her vagina again and began fiddling. Not just rubbing,
no, but feeling for lips, for a crease, for her slit,
and massaging with two fingers and a thumb. She spread
her legs a bit farther open and moved her hips just a
little, but in a minute she whispered, "No. Not
there."

She grabbed his hand and positioned it better, over
her clitoris, and pushed his fingers down to where she
wanted him to rub.

"Do it there, like this," and she moved his fingers to
show him.

During all of this her eyes stayed on the boys. There
was nothing else in all the world.

*  *  *  *  *

When the older boy grabbed the younger one's arms and
pulled them up to two branches, she leaned forward,
pushing against her lover's arms. She would have
pushed forward further if he hadn't held her, but he
helped by leaning forward himself. The boys weren't
more than forty feet away. The older leaned his face
to the younger and spoke, and they were so close that
the woman could hear them. She cursed herself for not
learning French. The boys were as intimate as the
adults, whose faces touched, cheek to cheek, while his
fingers played with her sex.

What was the older one saying? She was trying to pick
out words, watching the younger boy grab the branches
and hold them tightly, arms over his head, while the
older one used a hand to pull his mouth open and lick
him all the way around inside his lips. She saw them
kiss wide-mouthed and the older pinch the child's
nipples. He made a cry she could scarcely hear because
it went into the other's mouth.

Her lover pinched her pants, catching her labia, then
moved the bundle about in a circle. She grunted, a
whispered grunt. She felt pleasure, and heat from the
friction of cloth moving against cloth, cloth moving
over flesh. 

The older boy unfastened the little one's pants, baggy
American-style pants, and yanked them down to his
knees, letting his erection spring out. Such a sweet
thing, not brown and red like her lover's but pale,
without many hairs at the base. Not small, though, not
as she'd imagined, a little boy's penis. No, he could
fuck her with it. That knowledge added to her store of
excitement and unloosed a quiver that was new to her,
one that began far down inside her, beneath her labia,
and spread out across her underbelly. Oh God, she
thought, oh please.

She felt her lover unfasten her pants and pull them
down from behind. She shifted her hips to make it
easier for him. He had to take his hand away from her
sex for a moment to push her pants all the way past
her knees, so she could spread her thighs for him. She
was cooled by the air from hips to knees, and she felt
open to the world. When his hand returned he moved it
down to find her slit and began masturbating her
directly, his fingers moving through her lips,
slipping smoothly as though oiled. She was panting and
trying not to moan, afraid she'd give them away. 

The older boy looked different to her now. He seemed
almost a man, and for a second as she forced her eyes
from the boy's penis to the young man's face, she
wondered how she ever had considered him anything
else. It was a man masturbating the boy, kissing him
deeply and whispering something intimate. She
couldn't, wouldn't look away as the man's hand grabbed
the penis just behind the head and pulled it out and
back. The boy's eyes were almost closed and his hips
twitched. Her hips were twitching to her lover's hand.
She thought: We're the same, we two, being done by our
men. 

She was still trying not to groan, breathing fast,
shallow breaths, and was getting close when she turned
her face back to her lover's again and whispered, with
luxurious breaths and squeaks for punctuation,
"Darling, I wish that were you. I'd like it ... oh!
... I'd like it if you did that to a boy and let me
watch. Oh! Oh! Don't make me come yet. Please! Not
yet. Oh God. It isn't what I expected. I know I'll
dream of it later. I'd get so excited if I saw you
doing a boy."

He didn't respond at first, not verbally, but he
slowed his hand almost to a stop. Then, in her ear,
"You *are* a perverted slut, aren't you? My slut."  

He took her earlobe in his lips and bit it softly,
circled her ear with his tongue, then probed his
tongue into her ear canal, all the while watching the
boys and moving his penis up and down, feeling her ass
through his pants. He was almost as close as she was,
as the boy was.
 
*  *  *  *  *

At exactly that moment there was a change in key. The
sky didn't change, or the colors, or the bird songs.
Only their private world changed. The almost-man moved
the hand that had been holding the boy's face, moved
it all the way down below the hand he was using for
masturbation, to his scrotum. The couple both knew
what he was going to do before it happened. The woman
didn't trust her insight, but she knew. The young man
grabbed the boy's testicles and squeezed them hard.

She jerked straight upward, almost dislodging the
fingers her lover had been pushing up inside her. He
jerked too, and forgot to stroke her. His penis
pressed hard against his clothes. He thought: My God!
Domination! Then: Oh goddamn it! This will disgust
her. Don't get turned off honey.

He needn't have worried. 

The boy writhed, stamping his feet on the ground,
twisting, screaming aloud, then he let go of the
branches and tried to free his balls. He was no match.
The other let go of the erection and used that hand to
slap his face, two, three times, fast, first one side
then the other, then back. He put his face right up to
the boy's and said something in the most intimate and
conspiratorial tone she had ever heard, and the boy
grabbed the branches again.

"What's he doing? What's he doing?" She could hardly
talk.

Her lover couldn't answer right away. Finally, "He's
hurting him, love, making him submit." He had trouble
saying it because he was short of breath too.

She looked at the boys, then to her lover, then back.
She squirmed for a minute, pulled her arms tightly to
her chest, and pushed herself even closer to him, as
though shielding herself, after which she had eyes
only for the boys. She tried to control her breathing,
to slow it, but it came out in bursts, like a machine
gun.

Only a month before she couldn't have thought she
would ever take a lover, couldn't have guessed her
guilt would evaporate, that she would be at peace with
herself. Now the maw yawned for her and she let
herself slip down easily, like an oyster, hypnotized
by the sight of the larger young man squeezing and now
twisting the balls of the boy, his arm tensing and
turning, the muscles and tendons in his hand and wrist
showing the strength of the grip, the boy jerking his
face back and forth, moaning but holding onto the
branches, his face red and shining with tears,
grimacing, trying to cry quietly.

Finally the older one relaxed his grip and began to
masturbate the boy again. Slowly. The pale penis had
drooped, half drooped, but he played with the foreskin
and the head and after a few minutes his magic hand
brought it back. Its owner had stopped squirming, but
she could still hear him gasping. He made little
cries, too, high pitched boy's cries. His penis
swelled and, after a minute, he pushed his hips
outward. His chest and belly rose and fell, deeply and
quickly, though they couldn't hear his breathing
anymore, and he leaned his head back against the tree.

Then the squeezing of the balls again, along with
masturbation. It was sudden and the boy cried out
again, until the pain was taken away while the
masturbation continued. His penis swelled up more.
Then a squeeze, then none. On and on it seemed. Every
time the boy's balls were squeezed the woman pushed
her feet hard against the earth and moved her hips,
pushing her sex to her lover's fingers, not wanting
him to go slowly anymore. She couldn't help making
little sounds. Her lover refused to accelerate. He
moved his hand so very slowly, she thought, and he
whispered to her, "You're going to come when I let
you, bitch. When I say."

She was on the brink in any event, so he took his free
hand from her chest and placed it over her mouth. He
felt her mouth moving under the hand and her breath
bathing the skin on top. His other hand, from thumb to
index finger, was spread against her sex, spanning
more than the length of her labia, and he moved it up
and down in slow repetitions, up and down her slippery
pussy, trying not to push his penis against her
because he was so close himself.

The older boy masturbated his victim faster. His hand
moved out and in, almost a blur to her. She begged in
her mind, do me faster.

Then the boy started to come. He made a different cry,
closed his eyes, and tried to push his penis toward
the older boy. The woman could see spurts of semen
shoot upwards and away from him, then fall to earth.
As soon as he saw it start, her lover quickened his
masturbation and she too started crying out and closed
her eyes and pushed her sex to her lover's hand. Her
orgasm would have been loud except for the hand that
held back everything but squeaks. She didn't see the
boy move his hips, out and back, or gasp for air. She
thought she couldn't hold herself up and she began to
sag into her lover. She was so caught by her bliss
that she missed the boy feeling his balls squeezed
again, missed his cry of pain, missed seeing him start
to collapse. She pushed her hands down against her
lover's hand, pushed it harder against her vulva,
pushed her feet into the earth in front of her, and
held her head back as far as it would go. 

Finally the boy let go the branches. His knees spread
to the sides. He seemed to be held up only by the
grips on his balls and penis. He sobbed and turned his
head back and forth, put his hands to his scrotum,
then to his face. The older boy let him go and he fell
to the ground, where he cradled his balls and cried.
The woman pulled her lover's hand away from her sex
because now the sensation was too intense.

*  *  *  *  *

The next events had dream qualities. She lay against
her lover in such lassitude, gasping, gasping,
floating, not even holding herself up any more,
trusting her lover's arms, feeling him nuzzle her
neck, still interested in the boys but as one is
interested in something distant. Pleasure still flowed
through her, like a vibration.

The older boy had waited. Now he acted. He said
something to the boy, something in a commanding voice.
The boy looked up, tried to rise, fell back and held
his balls again. The older one grabbed his hair,
pulled, and up rose the boy to his knees, still
holding himself. The older one pulled his own pants
down and brought his dick to the boy's face.

It was a dark penis, she saw, a man's rather than a
boy's, one that curved upward.

Her lover caressed her hair as the boy used one hand
to pull the penis to his mouth, still holding himself
with one hand and listing to one side. He licked, then
sucked in the head. He jacked it with his hand. The
other said something and when nothing happened he
slapped the boy again. The boy whimpered. She could
hear him again. He raised his other arm from his
crotch and used that hand to caress and tickle the
older one's balls, gently, lovingly, while he fellated
him. She saw that the balls were large and hairy. They
were a man's too.

He let the boy suck him for a few minutes before he
began fucking his mouth. It became like a dance. The
older drove his hips in and back, pushing at the boy's
mouth. The boy moved his head and shoulders, trying to
be good without gagging, trying to close his lips
around the big cockhead, jacking and caressing. They
couldn't see much of his face because the older boy's
ass blocked the view. She wished he would turn a
little to the side.

Dreamlike. There was almost no sound at all, at least
nothing human. Birds, wind, something unidentifiable
at a great distance. The young man broke the silence
with a loud groan and pushed his prick as far in as he
could and it was clear he was coming. The boy took as
much in as he could, still caressing those balls and
jacking the thing, and after a minute it was clear he
was swallowing. One could see his throat move as he
did it.

When the boy was finished swallowing the young man
simply pushed him away, so that he again fell to the
ground. The older one pulled his pants up, putting
away his man's penis. He zipped and fastened his
pants, turned, and walked away to the south as though
nothing had happened. He went right past the couple's
hideaway with his hands in his jacket pockets. 

The abused boy was slow to move, but gradually he
rose, again holding himself protectively. He was slow
to fasten his pants. When he was finished he lurched
after the other in a half-stagger, one hand wiping his
face, the other held at his crotch. His head was down
and he was whimpering as he passed the couple.

*  *  *  *  *

They stayed still until the boys were completely out
of sight. Not completely motionless. Her lover kept
caressing her hair. He had moved the hand he'd used to
masturbate her up to her waist to hold her against
him. She might have folded to the ground otherwise. He
ran his lips along her eyebrows, her cheekbones, and
the side of her neck.

When she had recovered enough she pulled out of her
lover's arms, turned around, and sank to her knees.
She didn't bother to pull her pants back up. Neither
said anything. She unfastened his belt, unsnapped his
slacks, and unzipped him. She looked up and down: up
to his face, down to her task. She pulled his pants
and underwear down, starting to hurry. His penis was
dark and red, like the young man's, but his hair was
shot through with gray.

She pulled the prick to her mouth. How had the boy
done it? She took it in mainly with her lips, tried
stretching her lips across the head all the way to the
ridge, though the head was really too large and meaty
for that. This must be about right. She rubbed it with
her tongue. She didn't hurry, just rubbed as hard as
she could with her tongue, first on the top, then on
the underside, and at the same time jacked him and
sucked. She wished she could know exactly what the boy
had done. He must know so much more about this than
she ever could.

As she tasted his meat her lover moaned, a new thing.
He'd always been such a quiet lover, enough that she
had to rely on his breathing and body to tell how much
pleasure she was giving him. First a moan, then he
said something in a heavy voice.

"My sick little slut. Suck it, slut. It's what you
want. Suck it!"

He put both his hands on her head, on the sides, near
her jaw, and began moving his prick in and out of her.
They danced the dance of the boys, he pushing for
depth while she tried not to gag or be asphyxiated.
She tasted the silky skin below the head and kept
sucking him, trying to give him the most pleasure. He
said, "Suck it" as he exhaled. He groaned again and
began moving his dick fast, and then he shot a spurt
of semen so strongly that she coughed when it hit the
back of her throat, though she managed to hold it all
inside her. He kept saying "Suck it" until he was
finished.

*  *  *  *  *

All the way back to the hotel they were solemn. They
didn't speak as they walked back down the garden road,
arms around waists. They looked to each other, then
away, as though each was ashamed at being found out.
They didn't speak in the car until he took a wrong
turn, and then the words were few and perfunctory.

She bathed. 

She came out of the bathroom in panties, her body
slightly damp. Wet strands of hair clung to her chest
and back. He told her to stand there while he used a
large bath towel to dry her the rest of the way,
rubbing briskly even over her nipples. When he
finished the nubs poked out from her chest. He had
packed baby powder. She lay on the bed, first on her
stomach, then on her back, while he powdered her from
feet to neck. He pulled off her panties to powder her
vagina and ass, but he didn't concentrate on them, not
just yet. He hadn't undressed.

Finally they talked. With her cheek resting on his
shoulder she put her lips close to his ear. "Darling,
I've never had an experience like that. In all my
life."

"I could tell. And me too, love." After a moment, "If
I'd known that was lurking in you I'd have ordered up
a helping of boys long ago."

"Well, if I'd known it was lurking in me I'd have
*told* you to order up a helping of boys long ago. But
don't tell me they didn't excite you just as much as
me. You turned into such a monster."

He ignored the last sentence.

"They didn't excite me. You excited me. Damn, you did!
Not the boys. You know you won't get your wish of
seeing me fuck one."

She smiled and stretched, running her feet as far down
his legs as she could reach. She felt sexy, being
naked and powdered while he was still dressed, and
talking about what had happened.

"You're a big liar. You can't tell me you didn't love
watching them. Especially watching the big one hurt
the little one."

"Uhn-uh, sweetheart. I liked your watching them and I
loved sexing you while you did it. I'd like to do it
again."

She could see he was erect under his fly. She ran a
hand over it lightly. Oh my. 

"Am I going to get lucky again, my sadistic,
homophobic lover?"

"If you play your cards right, sister. And I'm not
homophobic."

"You can't fool me." 

She made up a rhyme: "Homo-phobic, Homo-phobic, really
wants another dick," and she sing-sang it until he
started tickling her, which led them to wrestle.  He
got her arms behind her back and kissed her to shut
her up. They kissed for a few minutes, but when they
pulled apart she wasn't finished. The moment her mouth
was free she teased, 

"You know, I bet you'd really rather be sexing a boy
than me."

"You know, with these teeny tiny titties of yours you
could almost *be* a boy."

"Oh you bastard!"

She pounced on him and they wrestled across the bed,
rolling almost off the edge, then back. She was wildly
enthusiastic, and he was afraid of hurting her, so it
took a few minutes before he was atop her, his face
almost touching hers, her hands trapped beside her
head. Now that he had a good look he saw that her eyes
had that look from the Jardin, desirous, almost
desperate. She was panting, not just winded from the
wrestling. She was afraid to tell him what she was
thinking, but she forced herself.

"Darling, you could do it," she said. "You could if
you wanted to. You could treat me like the boy. I'd be
a little toy for you to use." 

He stared down at her and didn't say anything at all.
He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her neck,
never letting go of her wrists. She thought he was
going to find a way to change the direction of the
conversation. No.

"If you were my toy I'd make you do things."

She stopped breathing entirely for a moment, then her
chest pushed against his, up, down. Her neck and chest
grew red. What would she say? His weight smothered
her. Her hands were useless. She was helpless, small,
somehow close to tears, and her chest and stomach were
filled with that strange moving current. She swallowed
and blinked before answering in a tiny voice,

"I'd like ..." She hesitated, reconsidered her words.
"I'd have to do anything you told me."

"What if you hated it?"

Almost breathlessly, "You could make me do it anyway.
I wouldn't have a choice."

A silence while he kissed her sweetly.

"If you were my toy I'd fuck your ass and make you
like it."

Another silence. These weren't empty words. They gazed
at each other, exploring each other's faces. Finally
she whispered, "Tell me what I have to do."

*  *  *  *  *

Her head was almost to the headboard, resting on a
pillow and turned to the side. She had drawn her knees
as far up under her as she could. He was smearing
antibiotic ointment around her anus with his right
hand. It was the only grease they had between them.
With his left hand he played with her vagina, his
thumb deeply in her and his fingers strumming across
the front.

He pushed his right thumb into her ass and moved it
back and forth. A twitch was her only sign of
noticing. Next, two fingers. He turned the hand
clockwise, then counterclockwise, masturbating her
with the left hand all the while. She said "Oh," in
what was mostly breath, and held the sheets beneath
her tightly, so tightly that her knuckles went whiter
than her fingers. Three fingers inside her. She
whimpered and turned her head this way and that. Her
knees began sliding down the sheets.

He drew out his right hand and slapped her ass as hard
as he could. The sound was loud. Her cry was loud,
full of shock, but his reply was quiet. "Keep your
knees up. Do what you're told."

There was a bright pink handprint on her ass that
matched his right hand. He watched it as she drew her
knees up. She was making a tiny sniveling sound, like
a person with mild asthma, more a wheeze than a
whimper.

"Now spread them further."

She spread her knees as wide as she could, so that her
anus and her pussy were completely visible to him. He
went back to playing with them. He pushed the three
fingers back into her rectum and began twisting them
again, and she continued to make little high-pitched
whimpers, but she held herself still.

When he thought she was ready he told her to hold the
position while he got up and took off his clothes. He
took his time, to make her continue displaying
herself, and when he came back he could see that the
strain of holding herself just so was causing her to
tremble. He spread ointment on his dick, knelt behind
her, and held his dick head against her anus.

"Push out, now, like you're going to go."

She did while he pushed in, and in a few seconds the
head was inside. The feeling was so intense that he
pushed all the way in immediately, and she cried
louder and said, "Oh God!"  He couldn't believe the
sensation. He had intended to stop moving for a few
minutes and masturbate her while she adapted to it,
but the sensation was so much more intense than when
he fucked her vagina that he couldn't resist another
plunge. He pulled back until everything but the head
was out, and then pushed in again. Oh, Jesus. She made
a sound when he pushed in, something between a groan
and a grunt, with a big, breathy exhalation, but she
didn't say anything else.

Now to pleasure her. He'd brought over the vibrator,
but he wanted to save it for a last measure. Instead
of using it he reached down past her side, in front of
her legs, to her sex and grabbed the whole thing in
his hand, labia and all. Then he squeezed the folds
toward each other until they came together in a kind
of roll, a faux penis, and he began to jack her. He
wanted to treat her as much like a boy as he could. He
jerked the mass forward and back, making sure that at
the front of the stroke the mass rolled against her
clitoris. After a few slow strokes he sped up. Her
breathing was interrupted by a long "ohhhh," which
could have been either pleasure or hurt. She still
didn't say anything.

He began fucking as slowly as he could make himself,
while he jacked her, afraid that if he sped up he'd
come too soon. She changed over from occasional sounds
to those beautiful pleasure cries, which grew shorter
and faster as he jacked her faster. Her back muscles
tightened, her head drew back, and she huffed out her
first words, "Now, darling, please. Please."

Only then did he use the vibrator to bring on her
orgasm, not stifled by his hand this time, and at the
same time he fucked her in full, fast strokes and came
while she was in mid-cry.

*  *  *  *  *

Her legs had given out, sliding down the bed, and he
was lying atop her. She hadn't stopped panting when he
rolled off her to let her breathe more easily. Looking
down, he found no mess at all, but there was a smear
of blood along the side of his penis.

"Lie still, love. I'll be a second."

She didn't open her eyes. 

She still hadn't moved when he returned.

With the hot cloth he cleaned her ass tenderly,
brushing around and a little into her anus. He was as
gentle as when he had cleaned his firstborn. He didn't
find any more blood, but he held the cloth to her ass
for a few minutes to be sure and then massaged a large
glob of ointment into her with his fingers. After that
he lay down next to her, and only then did she,
barely, open her eyes. She took his hand and kissed
it, smiled at him, and closed them again. He lay next
to her, a hand on her back, and dozed.

She was still lying on her stomach when he came out of
afterglow.

He began to stroke and arrange her hair. Though most
of it flowed down her back, some strayed across her
face and a few strands were tangled. He pulled errant
hairs back and petted the lovely mass of it. Once her
hair was completely untangled he ran his fingers
through it several times and played with it gently. 

More time passed before she lifted her head a little
and yawned. She turned slightly toward him on her side
and put a hand on his chest while he slid an arm under
her head. She dozed again almost immediately. He
continued to caress her hair.

"My girl."

She opened her eyes again, once more just barely.

"You're my girl. You can be my boy any time you want,
but you're my girl all the time."

She smiled up at him and moved her hand to his cheek.

End.


=====
H. Jekyll's stories are archived at:  http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

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