"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:  
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/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.
