Author: JojoMojo
Title: A Chance to Explore - 2 Rebecca again
Part: 2
Universe: A Chance to Explore
Summary: Rebecca returns and after some initial misunderstandings, she and her friend share in some more exploration.
Keywords: Mg, pedo, cons, anal



A Chance to Explore - 2 Rebecca again
   by JojoMojo  
     
(Mg, pedo, cons, anal?)



The following is completely and without a doubt a fictional account, 100 percent fantasy. That said, as I write, I reflect on the things that I experienced as a child, what felt good and WHAT DID NOT. Ecstasy is what I'm interested in, ecstasy for all involved. 

Copyright ©2009 by the author


Note to the reader:  This is the second story in a series and while I think it does stand pretty well on its own, you may want to read the first story, A Chance To Explore.  Check my webpage:  http://www.asstr.org/~JojoMojo/



Almost as soon as Rebecca headed for home that afternoon, I was overcome with guilt at what I'd done.  Although I had enjoyed pictures of girls her age on the internet for quite some time, I had never really considered acting on the feelings that they evoked.  I thought I had a clear separation between fantasy and real life.  The rest of the day I alternated between extreme arousal, guilt and paranoia induced assumptions that at any minute the police would be knocking on my door.

In an attempt to try to change my focus away from the afternoon's events, I went to my office to catch up on paperwork.  As I worked, I glanced at the massage table set up by the windows.  Soon the image of Rebecca, so soft and innocent in the throes of passion sent me to the internet in search of photos, looking for girls who resembled her.  At some point during my search, I brought my fingers to my face and caught the fading scent of her sex.  This increased my arousal and before I knew it, several hours had passed; lost in a futile search for a repeat of the emotions and feelings my contact with Rebecca had awakened.  It was hard to believe that the things experienced in a mere 45 minutes could be so powerful.

I spent a fitful night, between dreams of Rebecca and awakening to imagined noises from outside, certain that I could hear police officers gathering, ready to break down the door and haul me away.  At one point I was sure I saw flashing lights through the blinds.  I finally gathered my courage and peeked through the blinds to find the street empty.  

The next few days were spent in a similar fashion.  I tried to fill them with work, visiting clients I hadn't been to see in quite a while.  The result was positive, an immediate increase in sales.  But I was still dogged with a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop and my world to come crashing apart.  

I spent a couple of afternoons working in the garden trying to bury my guilt in familiar routine.  But, as I worked I found myself looking hopefully down the street towards Rebecca's house wishing, willing her to come and visit.  I needed to see her, to convince myself that she didn't hate me, that things could go back to the way they were before.  But I found I was also afraid that if she did come over, it would be obvious that I'd ruined a wonderful and innocent friendship.

By the end of the week, I had convinced myself that she was never coming back to visit; that what I'd done had betrayed her trust; that she didn't feel safe with me; that she was not going to tell but didn't want to be around me.  I switched between hoping that at the least she would not reveal my exploration to anyone and feeling that if she did, at least I would know how she felt.

By the time another week had passed, the paranoia had subsided and life around the house had reached some semblance of normalcy but there was an emptiness that I couldn't fill.  My forays onto the internet in search of photos and videos left me feeling even emptier.  As I gazed at the photos that before had been so arousing I longed for the feel of soft skin, the scents I had experienced.  No amount of internet browsing would fill that longing.

By the time three weeks had passed, I was desperate.  As I cast about, longing for the sweet smile I had enjoyed all those hours in the garden, I made a pact:  I told myself that if she ever returned, I wouldn't allow myself to repeat our exploration, that I would guard her innocence.  I felt like a kid bargaining with whatever power ruled the universe - "Please just send her back, I promise I'll be good."

Early the next afternoon (three weeks and a day since those fateful 45 minutes) found me working in the office, trying to catch up on email.  I was jolted out of my thoughts by loud knocking on the front door.  As I rose from my desk and made my way down the hall, the knocking was repeated, more urgently, it seemed.  All of the paranoia came rushing back.  I could feel my heart pounding and it seemed hard to draw a breath.  At the door, I composed myself, taking a deep breath, then pulled it open.  As it swung open, I had the strangest thought, "I hope I look reasonably normal in my mug shot."

Standing on the porch was Rebecca with her mother close behind.  Her mother's face seemed clouded with anger.  Time seemed to stretch into slow motion as I looked down at Rebecca.  She met my eye for a brief moment, winced and looked down at her feet.  I looked back at her mother and was met by a steely gaze.  I could feel beads of sweat break out on the back of my neck and my stomach started churning.  I fought down the urge to vomit, somehow found my voice and invited them in.  

"That won't be necessary," was her mother's cool response.  She looked down at Rebecca, "Show him," she commanded.  Rebecca raised her hand, palm up; fist closed but kept her eyes downcast.  

"Show him what I found in your room under your pillow," her mother demanded.  Rebecca slowly opened her hand to reveal the frog she had coveted.  I could feel the color drain from my face and had to work hard to keep from shaking.  The urge to vomit was overwhelming.  I looked up from the frog to her mother and could see her visibly shaking, with anger I assumed.  I was sure I knew what was coming next.

"Is this frog from your yard?" she asked, voice cracking with emotion.  I nodded.  "Rebecca tells me that she earned it."  My blood froze.  I was tempted to try to lie my way out of this, or maybe slam the door shut and make a run for it.  As I searched wildly for some explanation for what I had done, I happened to look down.  Rebecca was looking up at me with pleading eyes, a tear forming in the corner of one.

Rebecca's look helped steel my resolve to stand there and take what ever was coming.  I looked back at her mother doing my best to meet her gaze.  "Yes she did." I replied, trying to sound much calmer than I felt, hoping that the conversation would not go where I knew it would.  

Her mother drew a long breath through pursed lips, then released it slowly as if she was trying to control her anger.  She looked down at Rebecca who was still holding the frog on her palm, then back up at me.  "Go sit on that bench, Rebecca, we need to talk about some grown up things," she said softly.  I was feeling light headed, fighting the flight response coursing through my brain.  I did my best to stand calmly and wait as I watched Rebecca head to the bench, just out of earshot.

Her mother leaned towards me, eyes on Rebecca and related in quiet tones that she had been having trouble with Rebecca stealing things and not being honest during the past year.  She told me that when she found the frog, Rebecca had been evasive; then tried to convince her she the frog had been hers for a long time; then made up several different stories about where it came from; finally admitting under pressure that it was from my garden and insisting that she had earned it helping me.  It was my turn to take a deep breath and slowly release it.

I felt almost giddy, and turned to see Rebecca having an intense conversation with her frog.  I explained that of all the kids that hung around when I was working in the garden, Rebecca was the most likely to offer to help and I felt that she should be rewarded for all the help.  I apologized for any confusion I caused in their home by not checking in before giving her a gift.

Her mother shrugged off my apology as not necessary then thanked me for straightening things out and for being a positive influence on Rebecca.  She called Rebecca over, took her hand and turned to leave.  In the transparent way that only children have, Rebecca stopped and pulled back.  "Now that I'm not in trouble, can I stay here and help some more, Mom?" looking back and forth between us as she asked.

Her mother shook her head and started to scold her for asking, but I was yearning for Rebecca's company.  I told her mother that I would be glad for the help and Rebecca was welcome to stay and color while I finished my emails.  Noting with a wink and a smile to her mother, that I was sure I could find something for her to help with waving my hand to take in the flower beds adding I knew she liked to do art projects.

She paused, then shrugged her shoulders.  "As long as you promise to send her right home if she's any trouble," she said with a sigh.  Then turning to Rebecca, "You mind now, you hear?"  Rebecca nodded, pulled her hand from her mother's, grabbed mine and followed me up the walk.  

As soon as the door closed behind us, I felt a mixture of relief coupled with desire.  I was almost light headed, having Rebecca near me.  She rushed in ahead and placed her frog carefully on the kitchen table.  We walked back to my office together and I dug through my desk looking for the crayons and paper I had stashed there the last time my nephews had visited.  As I pulled them from the drawer, I caught Rebecca stealing a glance at the massage table.  When she saw me looking at her, she blushed and looked away.  

I grabbed my laptop, the crayons and paper and set us both up at the kitchen table.  Rebecca was soon busy drawing a picture of her frog.  I worked hard to finish answering emails.  As she drew I told her I'd missed her during the last weeks.  She told me that her family had gone to visit cousins a few hours away and she had not had a chance to stop by to tell me as they left early the morning after her last visit.  Noting in a little girl voice as she looked at me with big brown eyes that she had "really missed" me, drawing out the words for emphasis. 

I glanced at her from time to time as she worked on her picture, drinking in the dark hair, pulled back into a pony tail with a pink scrunchy.  She was wearing a white ribbed top with pink flowers on it that ended in a pink piped hem just above pink terry cloth shorts showing a hint of tan skin between.  She kicked her legs as she worked, bumping Hannah Montana shoes against the chair, intent on her drawing.  I finally gave up trying to work and sat at the table, just watching, enjoying her beauty.  She rested a cheek on her arm as she worked, hair falling across her shoulder and down her side.  

She looked up and caught me watching her, and smiled, holding up her picture for me to see.  It was amazingly good, but to be honest I would have loved it if it was stick figures. I congratulated her exclaiming at how artful it was.  She shyly held it out to me.  "I made it for you," she said softly.  I took it, hopped up and stuck it on the refrig, which made her beam.  As we stood admiring her work, I felt her hand slip into mine.  The touch of her skin, small fingers wrapped around my hand erased the previous week's worries and paranoia.  I was happily wrapped in a world that only contained the two of us.

"How about we have a little ice cream before we work outside?"  I offered, slipping my hand from hers and opening the freezer.  I served us each a scoop of chocolate, her "all time most favorite flavor," she informed me.  We headed into the living room and I flipped on the TV, sinking into my chair as she sat primly on the couch.  "Mom won't let me eat in the living room," she stated matter of factly.  I smiled and reminded her that her mom wasn't here, which elicited a giggle and a vigorous nod.

When we finished our ice cream, she gathered the bowls and took them to the sink, returning to stand beside my chair.  She touched my arm and looked at me, glanced down at her feet for a moment, then back at me.  She opened her mouth as if to speak, then swallowed, gathering her courage.  "Did you turn in my test?" she asked quietly, looking back at her feet.  

Now it was my turn to blush.  "Yes," I lied, "they thanked me for getting it for them.  I think you did a very good job."  

She paused for a moment, seeming to gather her courage.  "Do they need any other tests?" she asked, making a not too subtle hint.  I could feel my arousal awaken as she looked at me, eyes hopeful.  I was tempted to make up another test, but remembered my promise and thought better of it.

"No, that was the only one," I said, watching her face as it fell.  "Did you want to earn another animal from the garden?" I asked, hoping to steer our conversation into safer waters.  She shook her head "no".  "Why do you want to do another test?" I asked, my breath catching slightly.

She looked down, picking at imaginary lint on the arm of the chair, then said in a voice so soft that I leaned toward her to hear, "'Cause it felt really good.  I've been waiting the whole time we were at my counsins' house to get home so I could come back to see you."

In that moment, my resolve to keep my pact dissolved.  The combination of her closeness; the realization that her absence had been out of her control; and the fact that she had enjoyed what we did, pushed it out of my mind.  I touched her hand and patted my lap.  She climbed up and settled back against me with a sigh.

As I held her, I was immediately aware of a combination of scents that during that summer I came to recognize as uniquely Rebecca's.  The smell of soap from her hair, a hint of little girl sweat that clung to her on summer days, the scent of fabric softener from her clothes all combined in a heady mixture that even today makes a lump of longing rise in my throat.  As she leaned back against me, I could feel the softness of her hair against my chin, her pony tail tickling my neck and arm.  

Her legs fell slightly apart as they dangled off my knees.  I wrapped one arm around her waist and with my heart in my throat, began to stroke her thigh, reveling in the softness of her skin.  I could feel my own reaction to her closeness as I continued to stroke, up to the fabric of her shorts and back down.  

Before long, she wiggled in my lap and let her legs fall open a little bit more.  I ran my fingers up her exposed inner thigh and slipped them under the leg of her shorts stopping their upward trajectory at the elastic of her panties, brushing along that boundary, exploring.  I was still not sure if she really wanted me to touch her and I could feel my heart pounding, knowing the chance I was taking.

My question was answered after the first caress as she spread her legs, placing her knees outside my legs.  I moved my fingers further, caressing her sex through the thin fabric of her panties.  I was aware of different sensations at my fingertips a mixture of firm and soft as my fingers made their way across her labia, touched her clitoris and followed the cleft down all the way to the opening of her vagina.  

The sensation of the cloth separating me from her skin heightened the eroticism and I continued to explore, eliciting a response from her as she flexed a little to meet my touch.  I was suddenly aware of the noise of the TV intruding and lifted my hand from her waist long enough to turn it off.  I reached down and extended the footrest to support our legs, pressing us back into a semi-reclined position.  

As I returned my hand to her waist, I slid it down over her shorts until it was almost on top of her mons.  Feeling the motion of my other hand as it moved inside her shorts and the sensation as she flexed, tensing and relaxing as I touched her was intoxicating.

I would have continued rubbing her through her panties for hours if she had not half whispered, "It feels best on my bare vava."  Those words, almost breathed rather than spoken were like electricity coursing from my ears through my body, causing my head to buzz.  

I slipped my hands to her hips and hooked the thumbs under the elastic of her shorts gathering them and her panties in my grip, then ran them around to the front to give me better access.  She brought her legs together and lifted her buns off my lap, then waited.  I was not expecting this invitation, but followed her lead and slid her pants and panties down.  She brought her knees up allowing me to push them all the way to her ankles.

Rebecca leaned over, slipped her shoes and socks off and dropped them on the floor with a thud.  As she lay back against me, she kicked the pants and panties off, letting them drop to the floor as well, then spread her legs, draping them on either side of mine. From my vantage point I could see down her torso to where her shirt ended.  Below the pink piping was tan skin that gave way to the creamy white that had been covered by her bikini bottom. The darkness of her tan made me think that she had spent a lot of time swimming at her cousins' house.

Beyond the tan line the bulge of her mons and the beginning of the split between her lips was evident.  I slid my hands slowly up the outside of her thighs enjoying the softness of her skin, uninterrupted by shorts or panties.  I continued across her hips and finally arrived at her vulva.  I framed her vulva with one hand, spreading the lips gently between my fingers and used the other to begin languidly exploring her.  I slipped my finger down one side on top of her lips, across and back up the other side, paused at the top, then ran my finger down the inside gently circling around one side of her clitoris and back up the other.

As I moved my finger back up, she tensed, pushing to meet my finger.  I pulled my hand to the side resting it where her thigh met her torso, gently squeezing, massaging her thigh.  I used my fingers on the other hand to explore, enjoying the sensation of the bulge of her mons, the softness of her labia, the slight moistness between them, the soft bump of her clitoral hood and the promising void of her vaginal opening.  I was in sensory overload, not concentrating on any one place, just enjoying slowly running my fingers randomly over her sex, cataloging all the sensations.  

Rebecca tensed and relaxed occasionally as I passed my fingers between her labia.  I looked down and her eyes were gently closed, her full lips parted slightly.  I felt her hand on top of mine and she guided me down the open cleft between her labia using her fingers on top of mine.  "It feels best if you rub up and down the middle of my vava," she said, her voice a little hoarse.  I followed her lead and she began to move her hips slightly following my motion.

She raised her fingers to her face and sniffed softly at them before placing her hand on her thigh opposite my hand.  I moved my hand back to her vulva, spreading the lips slightly giving me better access, enjoying the feel as my fingers passed each other. 

At one point, I paused at the opening of her vagina, pressing gently.  She pushed her hips up and my fingertip entered her.  She let her hips fall, drawing my finger out.  I pressed again and she pushed up, letting the tip enter her a second time, no more than a centimeter at most.  I continued to press, careful not to push too hard.  Soon, she brought her hand up and began rubbing herself in earnest, brushing my fingers as I held her open, hips moving up and down, my fingertip teasing her vagina.  It was all I could do to keep from pressing it in as far as it would go, but I didn't want to take a chance on hurting her.

I entered a place where time seemed to stand still, focused on all the sensations washing over me, my fingers against her labia, her mons pressing into my palm; the feel of her fingers brushing mine as she masturbated; the sensation of my finger barely entering her vagina; acutely aware of her buns pressing against my hard on, wanting to hump against her but resisting the desire, afraid I would scare her.

I felt her increase her motions, then after a sharp intake of breath, stiffen as she pressed her sex up into her fingers, letting the orgasm overtake her.  If I could have, I would have shifted her to one side and masturbated wildly, I was so close to my own orgasm.  Instead, I moved my hands up to her stomach, caressing her, whispering soft little words in her ear.

She eventually relaxed, settling back into my lap.  "That was even better than when we did the test," she said dreamily.  We sat with my arms wrapped around her for a while, just enjoying the closeness.  She eventually turned onto her side and drew her knees up, pulled my arm across her like a blanket as she curled up like a cat in my lap, her cheek against my chest.  I let my head drop, feeling her soft hair against my cheek.  I couldn't help myself and kissed her on the top of her head.  She lifted her face to look up at me and I planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I wish I could be your little girl," she said wistfully, "You really love me a lot and I wouldn't have to share you with my brothers and sister."  I cupped her buns in one hand and squeezed her in a hug with the other arm.

"I'd love for you to be my daughter," I said, "but that's not the way it is.  Is it?  I guess we should be happy we get to be friends."  While I was in heaven with her in my lap, the feel of her bare buns in my hand made me painfully aware that I hadn't gotten the release that she had.  I tried to ignore the arousal that was demanding attention but felt it building instead.

I began to rub her buns, running my hands down the inside of her thighs, pressing my fingers between her legs a little as I drew them back up, enjoying the sensation as they slipped between her buns.  I could feel her respond by shifting her legs a little, giving me more access.  As I rubbed, I leaned down and whispered, "Can we rub your vava some more?"

I love the way kids say exactly what's on their mind without worrying about how it sounds.  She responded, "OK, but sometimes if I rub myself too much, my vava starts to sting."  

"I can fix that, I think," I said.  I slipped out from under her.  "Stay right there, I'll be right back with something that will keep things from stinging."  I winked at her as she lay curled up in the chair.  I adjusted myself, hoping to hide my erection as I walked down the hall.  I slipped into the bathroom in my office and grabbed the lubricant I had used for the thermometer "test".  As I was leaving, the digital camera on my desk caught my eye.  I thought for a moment about trying to talk Rebecca into letting me take some photos, but decided that would be asking too much.

When I walked back into the living room I was greeted by the most beautiful sight.  Rebecca was still curled up on her side, eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought.  I drank in the nakedness of her buns and legs accentuated by the fact that her top was still on, the pink piping of the hem resting on her tummy.  The contrast of the tan on her legs folded under her pale white buns mad her bottom seem especially "off limits".  Her hair pulled into the pony tail with the pink scrunchy made her look so young and innocent.  On the floor, the pile of shoes, socks, shorts and panties contrasted with each other, painting the picture of what had transpired in the chair.

As I stood there lost in the moment, she glanced up giving me a pensive, almost embarrassed look that made me wonder if I might be pushing things too far and too fast.

I knelt down in front of her, cradling her face in my hands.  "If you're not in the mood to do any more stuff, we can stop right now," I said softly, looking deep into her eyes, trying to read what she was thinking.  She sat looking back into my eyes, not saying anything, her mood veiled.  "You know that you never have to do anything that you don't want to, even if I want you to, right?"  At this she slowly nodded.  I kissed her on the forehead, then impulsively pulled her to me wrapping her in a hug.  

As I held her, I was reminded again how little she was, her tiny frame felt so light.  She slowly slid to the edge of the chair until I was supporting most of her weight.  "I want to do some more," she whispered, "I just felt embarrassed sitting by myself with no pants on.  It made me remember when my mom said I was a bad girl for rubbing my vava.  I was sitting here wondering if you think I'm a bad girl.  I don't want you to stop liking me."  She finished with a little quaver, as if she might start crying.

I squeezed her tightly and whispered back to her, "I think what we did is something special, something that is just for you and me, not for anyone else.  Some people may think that it is bad, but I don't and I don't think you are bad.  You are my special friend and nothing will change that.  I like to make you feel good.  Making you feel good makes me feel good, too."  

I paused for a moment hoping that what I said would sink in.  After a moment I continued with a question, "Do you remember the secret I told you last time, about when I was growing up?"  She nodded into my neck.  "Then you know or sure that I don't think it is bad.  I did the same things when I was a little boy.  The sad thing for me is that I didn't have someone to help make me feel good, so this is extra special."

I slid my hand under her knees and stood, cradling her in my arms.  She looked up at me with a shy smile.  "So, do you want to do some more, or should we stop for today?" I asked, looking down at her.  

She looked at me, then buried her face in my chest.  "More," was all she said.

"Let's move onto the carpet, I think it will be more comfortable," I said as I knelt down and gently lowered her onto her back.  I reached up to the couch and grabbed a couple of throw pillows, placing one underneath her head.  "Can you show me what feels best on your vava?" I asked softly, "I don't think I do it exactly right."  

She lay there, hands on her stomach, legs slightly apart and gave me a questioning look.  I could tell she wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of me sitting and watching while she masturbated.  So, I lay down on my side next to her, cradling her head under my forearm, resting my weight on my elbow.  From this position, it felt to her that I was right next to her, but I would still have a pretty good view of what she was doing.

I pulled the lube from my pocket and lay it on the floor using one hand to unscrew the cap and squeeze a blob onto my fingers.  It was awkward work, but I didn't want to sit up and pull my other hand from under her head.  I held the gel in my closed hand for a few moments to warm it up, then reached down and gently spread it onto her vulva.  

"That feels weird," she said, wrinkling her nose and looking up at me for assurance.

"It's slippery," I said, "that way your vava won't sting from rubbing it.  If you need more, just tell me and I can put more on."  She nodded, I could tell she was still thinking about my request, not sure if she wanted to masturbate with me watching.  The realization that what I was asking her to show me was very private, made it all the more arousing.  I wiped my hand on my pants, then took her hand in mine and placed it on her vulva, gently pushing her fingers into the cleft.  "It's ok," I whispered, "I'll be right here beside you.  Just relax and make yourself feel good."

She looked at me, clearly conflicted.  I gently rubbed the top of her hand to reassure her, then took my hand away and placed it on her thigh.  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and began to slowly stroke her vulva, running her fingers up the outside of her lips.  It seemed almost absent minded at first, almost as if she was still trying to up her mind.  

Then she sighed, turned her head towards me, nuzzling into my arm and slipped her fingers between the lips and began to rub in earnest.  She began to rock her hips slightly as she was rubbing, her finger slipping up and down.  After a little while she stopped and her eyes fluttered open.  "It's not working very good," she said in a small voice, "sometimes it feels better if I am on my tummy."

I helped her turn over, placing a pillow under her hips.  She lay with her face away from me, eyes closed and moved her hand down, raising her hips off the pillow as her hand moved underneath.  The motion began again and even though I couldn't see her hand working, the motion of her hips, her buns moving up and down was extremely erotic.  

I began to rub the small of her back, then moved my and down to rub her buns, concentrating on one then moving to the other.  "Is that better?" I asked softly, not wanting to break her mood.

"Uh huh," she replied in a breathy voice, "I like it when you rub my bottom."  I took this as encouragement to try a little more and began running my hand across her buns, then sliding my fingers down her crack, pausing as I felt the pucker of her anus, running my finger in small circles around it, enjoying the feel of the wrinkled skin.  Rebecca started breathing a little faster.  

"You know when you did that last test?" she asked softly, not waiting for an answer.  "I liked the way the thermometer felt inside my bottom.  It made me more excited.  I wish you had that thermometer now."  She let her voice trail off.

I continued rubbing at the opening of her anus and said, "Let's try something that might feel just as good.  OK?"  She nodded, continuing the motion with her hips.  She slid her other hand underneath her.  I was dying to see what she was doing.  Without stopping my attention to her bottom, I slowly slid my arm out from under her head and moved down until I was behind her, still lying on my side.  

I was awarded with an amazing sight.  She had her index finger pressed into the cleft of her vulva, the tip hooked so that it was resting at the opening of her vagina, moving the finger so that the motion of her hips stimulated the whole cleft.  The index finger of her other hand was slipped in from the side, disappearing beneath the first, rubbing her clit.  The scent of her excitement was evident as I moved closer, my face just a few inches from her.

I watched for a moment or two, then stopped rubbing her bottom long enough to squeeze some gel into my finger tips.  After giving it time to warm up a little, I rubbed it in and around her pucker soothing her with my voice.  As I rubbed it in, I pressed against the pucker gently with the pad of my little finger.  It slipped easily inside half way to the first knuckle.

"Does that feel ok?" I asked, receiving a nod in reply.  "Does it feel good?" I asked softly.  She nodded again.  "I'm going to push it in a little bit at a time.  You tell me when to stop.  OK?"  She nodded, increasing the motion with her fingers.  I began slowly pushing my little finger in past the first joint.  The feeling of her anus squeezed tight around my finger was amazing.  The sight of my finger in her bottom as she continued to move her hips, her fingers working her vagina was rapidly bringing me towards an orgasm.  I pushed gently, sliding my finger in stopping just past the second joint.  

As I held it there, Rebecca said in a small voice, "That's kind of hurting my bottom a little bit."  I pulled my finger slowly back to the first joint and asked if it felt ok there.  She nodded, then said, "Move it in and out, but do it real slow and not so far inside, 'cause it hurts when it is way inside."  

I pulled my finger back until it was almost all the way out, then slowly pushed it in until it was a little past the first knuckle.  I repeated the motion several times, then pulled it all the way out, rubbed it around her little pucker, then pushed just the tip in.  I began to alternate between pushing it in past the first knuckle and just using the tip.  

It seemed to be having the desired effect.  Rebecca's breathing began getting ragged and the motion of her fingers was increasing.  I leaned closer, supporting my weight on my elbow as I rested my cheek on her bun and watched my finger moving into her bottom, immersed in the sight, the feel and the scents.  The sounds of my finger as it moved in and out of her bottom and her fingers as they rubbed were accentuated by the lube.  When I noticed the tip of her index finger dip into her vagina, the sight sent me over the edge.  

I came hard, closing my eyes while continuing to move my finger in and out, wanting desperately to drive it all the way in, but resisting.  As my orgasm subsided, hers crested and I could feel her tensing as her fingers kept up their motion.  I slid my finger out of her bottom and that seemed to send her past the point of no return.  I slipped both hands under her hips to hold her and pressed my face against her bun, enveloped in the mixture of scents, sweat, soap, her anus and her excitement.  She drew a sharp breath and held it as she pressed her vulva down hard against her hands resting on the pillow.

I let go of her hips as her orgasm subsided and she started to relax.  I moved up along side her, my heart still thundering.  I reached over her shoulder and pulled her onto her side, spooning as I hugged her close, wrapping my arms around her, bringing my legs up under hers.  She lay in my arms panting.  She felt sweaty, her hair against my cheek was damp from the exertion, her body felt so light in my arms.  We lay like that, recovering together for what seemed like forever, basking in the afterglow of a mutual orgasm.  

As the fog of the orgasm lifted, I felt a twinge of guilt creep in, realizing what I had just done with her.  I suddenly wanted to get her dressed, needed to get her dressed; wanted to do something "normal".  I sat up, pulling my arm out from under her.  She rolled her onto her back as I reached for the shorts and panties that lay discarded by the chair.  She lay limp as I helped her get dressed, lifting each leg to get her feet through the leg holes, like dressing an infant.  She seemed to barely have the energy to lift her hips as I pulled the panties, then the shorts up around her waist.  

She lay listless and watched through half closed eyes as I pulled on her socks, then shoes, tying the laces.  When I was through, I picked her up and returned to my chair, clicking the TV on.  We sat together watching some children's channel for quite some time, both exhausted. 

When she began to stir, I looked at the clock.  It had been two hours since the knocking at the door startled me.  "Do you feel ok?" I asked.

She nodded.  "My vava doesn't sting at all, but my bottom feels kind of tired."

I hugged her and said, "Well it sounds like the slippery stuff worked just like it is supposed to.  We don't have to do stuff in your bottom again if you don't want to.  I was just trying to make you feel good.

She let out a big sigh.  "It felt real good," she said.  "I'm just feel tired all over and my bottom aches a little.  I'm kind of hungry, too," she added.  I chuckled inside about the mix of thoughts that were coming out.

"How about a quick snack," I asked.  "Then you and Froggy and I can do a little work outside before it's time for you to head home."  She nodded.  We made our way to the kitchen and I ran warm water so we could wash our hands.  

As we sat eating Goldfish crackers, Rebecca seemed to be thinking things over.  "You know the way my vava makes your hands smell?" she asked.  I nodded wondering with a smile where this was going.  "Well when I am rubbing myself, it smells kind of good and makes me get more excited.  But after I'm through, it seems kind of stinky and makes me feel like I did something bad."

I nodded in agreement, trying to think of a metaphor.  I didn't want her to associate what we were doing with being a bad girl, if I could help it.  "What's the very best food smell in the world?" I asked.  

"Turkey and stuffing," she said without pausing to think.

"Well after you've finished Thanksgiving dinner and you're all full, does it smell as good as before you ate?  And, how does smelling turkey and dressing make you feel when you're full?"  I asked, continuing without waiting for an answer.  "When I'm full, that smell makes me feel kind of yucky."  She nodded, listening as she munched on the crackers.

"I think the way your vava smells when you rub yourself is kind of the same," I surmised.  "It smells nice when you are in the mood to make yourself feel good, but not so good when you are done." This seemed to satisfy her and she hopped up from the table, dusted her hands off and picked up her frog.  I stood and took her hand in mine, enjoying the feel of her little fingers as they clasped mine.  "I think there are some hydrangeas that need to be fed.  You can measure the food for me."

This was proving to be a very interesting summer.





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