Living The Life Of Lust

CHAPTER ONE-2

Jill looked at her glass and was surprised to see it was empty. "Uh, no," she decided. "That was a long ride. I'm feeling kind of tired."

"Kick off your shoes and he down if you want," Bill suggested, fixing himself a second drink.

Feeling slightly giddy, Jill stretched out, then carefully arranged her short pleated skirt. She rested her head on the covered lump of his pillow. Drink in hand, Bill came over and sat beside her.

"Hi, Jello," he said softly, using his pet name for her. They hadn't been together since their tearful, passionate parting late in the summer.

"Hi," she answered softly. Her heart was beating very quickly. She was lying on her back, looking up at him. She had her hands folded on her flat stomach. Her ankles were crossed primly.

"I'm glad your folks let you come," he said fondly.

"Me, too." She reflected that if they had known she would be here, like this, alone with him in his room, they would never have given their permission.

"You haven't ... kissed me yet," she pointed out softly, wetting her lips with just the tip of her tongue.

"There was kind of a crowd at the bus stop," he said lamely.

"That didn't stop most of the guys. You used to kiss me in public."

"Yeah."

"We aren't in public now," she urged tensely.

Setting his drink on the floor, Bill leaned over her. She closed her eyes as she felt him drawing nearer and nearer. She felt herself tensing up, and fought to relax. She didn't change her position, but kept her fingers laced together on her stomach, her ankles crossed.

The lips that touched hers were burning with a heat she had never felt before. She let her mouth open slightly, and his tongue eased between her lips, softly, shyly. The tip of his tongue explored her partially parted teeth. She met it with her own.

His hand touched her below her right breast, pressed against her cotton blouse. The kiss went on and on, their breath mingling with a soft sensuality as their tongues sparred gently. His hand slipped higher, touched the bottom of her bra. Hesitantly, it eased up to cover the gentle mound of her breast, as shyly and delicately as a breeze. It was almost as if he had never touched her there before.

She held herself rigid, afraid to move. The core of her being was a cyclone of unfamiliar sensations: blazing need, fear, and hope. Everything she had ever felt before was a pale reflection of what she was feeling now. The kiss became deeper, wetter, hotter. The hand on her breast became more firm, more anxious. The lace cup of her bra wrinkled uncomfortably.

Almost without willing it, Jill unlaced her fingers and put one hand around the back of Bill's neck. She held him to her, feeling the softness of his curly brown hair, the pressure of his chest on one breast, the heat of his hand on the other. She squirmed her legs against each other, trying to scratch the itch deep in her crotch.

Bill's hand left her breast, moved to the top button of her blouse. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she should stop him. It wasn't that they hadn't ever gone this far before. It was that this time, she knew, there was nothing to stop him, or her. This time there was no chance of the harsh glare of a policeman's light shining in the car window, or the sound of someone coming down the stairs as they necked in front of the TV set.

The button slipped through the hole. She kept one hand on the back of his neck, the other palm-down on her stomach. She felt his fingers touching her skin, then fumbling with the next button.

The kiss went on, and on, and on. Their lips were slippery and wet, their mouths wide open as their tongues battled. He was bruising her lips against her teeth as he continued to undress her.

His hand was on the next button of her blouse, easing it through its hole. Then, hesitantly, as if he expected her to stop him, he slipped his hand inside her blouse, up and over the soft, wrinkled lace cup of her bra. She felt her n****e harden from the touch. His hand was separated from it by only one thin layer of material. The lace scraped over her tit as he circled his hand around on her breast. Then he probed his fingers along the edge of her bra, seeking an entrance.

Encouraged by her lack of resistance, he abandoned her breast and began working on the remaining buttons of her blouse. Her hand was still on her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. She could have stopped him right there, just by keeping her hand where it was. She could have kept him from reaching the last button of her blouse, kept him from opening it.

She eased her hand down to her side, and dug her fingers into the mattress as she felt the last button being undone. She felt her blouse pulling out of her skirt as he eased it aside to expose her torso and the white, tantalizing lace of her bra.

He broke the kiss and drew back. His eyes focused on her chest. His pupils widened with appreciation and his face flushed as he studied her.

"God!" It was more a croak than a word. He touched her bra-covered breasts hesitantly. Then he eased her blouse back over her shoulders. She lifted herself and let him slip it down her arms and off. When she settled back, his hands were trapped behind her back. His arms were around her, drawing him down to her.

Now, without her blouse being in the way, she could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. Their kiss quickly rebuilt to the same searing level of heat that their previous one had had. She felt his hands squirming under her. His knuckles and fingers were digging into her spine. He fumbled awkwardly with the hooks of her bra. Neither of them dared break the kiss to make it easier. Both of them were desperately hiding in the searing hot wetness of their osculation, pretending what was going on behind her back wasn't really happening.

She felt the band of her bra tighten, then loosen. She clung to him, tightened her arms around him. She felt as if she were being shredded by fear and excitement as the two emotions battled for control of her body. His hands wriggled out from behind her back, and then one squirmed between them. She felt his fingers burrowing upward, pressing her loose bra upward, digging into the soft flesh of her breast, then attaining the peak. The touch of his fingers against her bare n****e rocked her to the core.

When he broke the kiss and pushed up and away from her, her muscles were too weak to stop him, to keep him close. So she let him slip away from her. She kept her hands on him, as if touching him provided an anchor point in the storm-tossed world. She had her eyes closed. She let him untangle her from her bra, strip it down her arms and off. She heard him suck in his breath at the sight of her bare breasts, her pink n*****s, and creamy pale flesh. Then his fingers brushed over her t**s again, setting them ablaze, match heads rasped by sandpaper. Flame fire-balled out through her and triggered a flood of moistness in her crotch.

"Ooooh, Billy," she groaned.

"God!" he choked out softly.

She felt him moving, lowering himself. Then his lips touched her n****e and she thought she was going to die from the searing pleasure that tore through her whole body. Her hips shifted restlessly on the bed. He sucked on her n****e, rolled it against his teeth and the roof of his mouth. Her knees bent and flexed, her ankles uncrossed.

Fingers touched one knee, jolting her, terrifying her. But her body, a blazing pool of searing need, refused to obey her command to resist. Her knees sagged apart, and she felt his fingers slip higher on her leg, stroke the smooth, sensitive flesh on the inside of her thigh. Goose bumps spread along her legs from his feathery, scratchy touch.

He shifted his lips from one n****e to the other, leaving the first hot and swollen, setting the other afire by rasping it with his tongue. She curled her fingers in his hair, but there was no strength in her arms. She couldn't push him away or pull him hard against her.

His fingers moved higher and higher on her thigh. Her skirt slid slowly upward, baring her. Then fingers were pressing against her humid pantied crotch, caressing the soft steaminess of her p***y through the soggy lace. The touch opened her floodgates, and a hot, sticky wave of lubricant poured from her cunt. A towering wall of lust seared through her body, wrenching a soft cry from her.

She felt his fingers exploring the leg opening of her panties. Then, worming under the tight elastic, they pushed past her soft hairy labia, and probed her hot grotto, pressed into her slick folds, exploring ground they had never before been permitted to touch. Her hips writhed and twisted on the bed as wave after wave of passion engulfed her.

It wasn't enough. She had to have more, more, much, much more. The hesitant probing of her p***y by the fingers squeezing through the leg hole of her panties was triggering a roaring hunger in her. Prying her fingers loose from his hair, Jill reached for the button and zipper on the side of her skirt and unfastened them. Then, with awkward, writhing desperation, she heaved her hips up off the bed and struggled to get her skirt and panties off. She felt his hand pull away from her crotch as she struggled to bare herself to him as she had never ever before bared herself to any male. Writhing frantically, she kicked free of her skirt, panties, and loafers. Then she was naked except for her knee socks and the delicate gold chain around her neck. She felt cool air touching her entire body. Bill was staring at her hungrily, admiringly. Then a hot, rough hand stroked down her bare belly, and big clumsy fingers combed and tugged through her soft brown pubic hair, and a finger slid into her dripping, scalding slit. Her knees bent and her legs slid apart as his finger probed into her dripping hole.

"More," she sighed. "Put two in me."

A second finger eased into her tight v****a, increasing her pleasure. Her vaginal walls were stretched slowly wider. The pressure on her c**t increased, but not enough. She reached down and put her own small, dainty hand on Bill's big hairy one, and urged him into her body, urged him to press on her c**t.

There was an agonizing itch deep in her guts. And the touch of his hand, the probing of his fingers, made the screaming itch worse. Instead of scratching the itch, everything seemed to be making it greater.

Bill ripped his hand away from her hot, sticky p***y. She jerked and heaved as if she had received an electric shock. He pushed away from her and stood up. She was suddenly terrified. He was leaving her, he was going to leave her here, writhing with desperate hunger, naked and abandoned and humiliated. She blinked away her tears and looked up at him, pleading with her eyes.

He was standing next to the bed, staring down at her. His face was flushed and shining with sweat. He was panting visibly. His mouth was open as if he had just run a long, hard race. He was unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it back off his strong shoulders, throwing it aside. Then he was unbuckling his belt, unfastening his pants, shoving them down his thighs.