Honest-Honest Ch. 01
Unlikely pair find each other at annual reunion vacation.
Note: Many thanks to shygirlwhore for her editing prowess.

***

When I found her, she was sitting at the end of the dock, alone, slowly rocking back and forth on a bench swing, gazing at the lake under the stars.

I didn't take the place beside her; I sat on the dock a few feet away, looking at the starlight on the water and listening to the tiny waves lap against the floats. I turned and watched her. I decided to say something nice, something honest.

"Amy?"

She didn't even turn.

"Amy, any man who saw you right now—the way I see you—would have to say that you're beautiful. I'm looking at you, and you're beautiful."

She stopped swinging. I couldn't read her expression for a few seconds, and then she leaned towards me, her face filling with fury. "Fuck you! You're just like the rest of them! You play like you're the nice one, but you're a fucking asshole, too. Leave me alone!"

Her eyes were red with tears. I started to respond, but she overrode me.

"And even if you were trying to be nice, I don't need your fucking pity, and I don't want it, loser!"

She rose and stomped away.

The next morning, all the families packed up and traveled back to their homes. Another annual Jones family reunion was over.

***

Every summer, our extended family got together at Big Rock Lake. We rented out four cabins from a resort there and stayed a week near the end of July. There was Nana and Big Pop in one cabin, my family in another, my Uncle Deke and his family in one, and Aunt Cyn and her family. In all, there were seven cousins, including Amy and I.

Amy had it rough.

She was Aunt Cyn and Uncle Scott's kid, and they had two daughters. Amy's older sister, Katy, was an absolute knockout. Both girls got their height from their dad; Uncle Scott was 6 feet 9. Katy was right at 6 feet, a leggy, well-proportioned blonde. Amy, a brunette, was closer to 6 feet 2, and she had a few tricky features.

She got a feminine version of Uncle Scott's nose, sloping and long, ending in a big cherry of a tip. Amy didn't get her sister's softball tits; she had baseballs. Finally, Amy had a strange, disproportionate ass. No one knows where that thing came from. It was like a round shelf hanging off her lower back and squashed up by her super long legs.

With an older sister like Katy, it came as no surprise to me that Amy was a resentful bitch. Katy was fun; Amy sucked. And the two of them came every summer to see their five other cousins, all boys.

Uncle Deke's sons were the oldest, and they tormented Amy. As a little kid, Amy was always "Amy Nose." Any time someone asked a question, one of Deke's sons would answer, "I think Amy nose." She'd stomp off crying.

After Amy developed into a teenager, though, Deke's kids were relentless on Amy's ass, too: "I don't know, butt Amy nose." My older brothers, closer in age to Deke's sons, joined in. I didn't.

Amy and I were the closest in age. She was a year older than me, and I was the youngest of all the cousins. As such, I was always partnered with her. Who am I tubing with? Amy. Who do I sit next to on the roller coaster? Amy. It got so the boys would just call her my "wife."

"Mikey, where's your wife? We need to go."

"Mikey, your wife's nose hit the water before her ass even went down the slide."

I felt bad for Amy, but a part of me always thought she asked for it. She was always negative, always cautioning, always ready to be angry. Nothing satisfied her. My pop would be pulling us on a tube. I'm laughing hysterically; Amy's screaming to get off. Pop would stop for her, and my ride would be over, too.

We'd all be playing some game the older boys invented on the sand volleyball court and Amy would say, "This is stupid." She'd storm off, and one of my brothers would tell me to go with her. It really wasn't until high school when I started wondering what came first, the bitchy attitude or the persecution. I knew the answer, really. I felt bad for her.

I had meant what I said to Amy that night on the dock. When she was serene, neither happy nor sad or angry, she could be very pretty. It was too bad that, on those rare occasions when she smiled, it just made her nose seem longer.

I thought her big bubble ass was very sexy. I'd bet the others thought so, too, but they just wouldn't admit to it. That butt hung out so far from her back and legs. I remember as young teenagers when her ass first showed up, she would regularly bump into chairs with it and knock things off tables and shelves. I also remember times when I could very easily have gone around her, but I decided to squeeze past her and drag my front along her back. I wanted her, cousin or not.

My compliment to Amy that night on the dock was not just about me trying to be a nice guy. I was kind because it tended to work for me with girls. My approach was to be nice, be quiet, and to surprise girls. It was a trial and error thing, and I had made some huge blunders. But, it didn't suit me to be a prick like it did some of my friends.

One of my best friends was a total asshole to girls. So, he lost as many as he got, but the ones he got were often better looking than mine. Problem was he burned bridges. I tended to have longer relationships that ended better by being sweet and surprising.

But, what I was doing with Amy was not so much about getting laid—even though I thought a lot about her every time we came to Big Rock. It was more about guilt.

The other cousins may have treated her much worse, but I always hated and cursed her in my heart. In that sense, I thought, maybe I was worse than the rest of them. I was like a double-agent. I acted the part of her ally because I was always stuck with her, but every time the boys got after her, made fun of her, dismissed or ignored her, my heart filled with a terrifying, awful joy at her misery.

I think my passage though puberty, fraught with social blunders as it was, taught me to see Amy in a new light. I began to feel like I needed to make up for my heart's betrayal of her.

* * *

There was an age window where cousins quit coming or only came for a short stay—maybe a couple of days. When people hit about 19, they didn't come as much or at all. At 24, they started coming back. I was 17 the summer Amy ripped into me for complimenting her. She was 18.

I was surprised when she came back with her family the following summer; Katy hadn't come after she turned 19. That next summer, neither of my brothers came, nor the youngest of Deke's sons. His older son came with his new wife, and they got their own cabin. So, really it was just Amy and I representing the grandchildren.

I did my best to avoid her that first evening after we arrived. Almost everyone was upstairs, drinking and playing cards. I went downstairs to catch up with friends and screw around on my phone. A few minutes later, Amy came down and sat on the lazy boy adjacent to mine. She didn't say a word.

After a minute or so, I turned to her. "Amy, I'm doing my best to stay out of your way. We've got an entire week to get through, and you know our parents are going to make us do shit. Your coming down here isn't helping."

"I wanted to ask you something."

I looked back at my phone and sighed, "What?"

"What you said last year—on the dock—did you mean it?"

I put my phone down and searched her eyes. Was she getting ready to hammer me again? It didn't seem that way. "Yes. I did," I admitted, finally.

"Honest? Because if you're making fun of me again, I...," but she couldn't quite finish.

"Yes. Honest," I told her, "Look, if we're going to get along for this week, I think for starters we probably ought to be honest all the way."

Something in her face told me this appealed to her. "Absolutely no lies?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know about none, I mean..."

"Not even little ones," she said, firmly. "Not even white lies to be nice."

"Really?"

"Really. Can you?"

"Is that what you want?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Okay, fuck it. Yes. No lies, whatsoever."

"Okay. Prove it," she declared.

"What?"

"Let me ask you something. To see."

"Go. Ask."

She started, then stopped. She had a question ready, it seemed. She debated it, and then she asked, "Have you ever tried to suck your own penis?"

"What!?"

She burst out laughing. I did, too.

"Amy, where in the hell did that come from?"

"Answer it, and I'll tell you."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes. Answer it."

I shook my head. "Well...yes."

"Really?"

I started laughing again. "Yes. Fuck! Now tell me why you asked that of all questions. Shit."

She kept laughing, wiping a tear from her eye. "A friend of mine back home said once that to find out if a guy is a liar to ask him that question. She said if he says yes, he's telling the truth and if he says no, then he's a liar and you watch his face to see what he does when he lies."

"She might be right. Shit, I didn't see that coming."

We both started laughing again, me from shock, her probably from having been so shocking for once.

"I'm sorry," she said, still giggling a little.

"You know this is a two way street. If I have to be totally honest, then you do, too."

"No lies?"

"None. The truth, even if it hurts."

"Okay. What do you want to know?"

I thought for a second. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"When was your last boyfriend?"

She shook her head. "You're not talking about a friend-who-is-a-boy. You're asking about a guy I did stuff with?"

"Yes."

"None."

"But, you're in college! Isn't that part of the whole thing?"

"If you're a girl who parties on frat row, it is."

"Girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "It would be a boyfriend."

"Okay. Just an honest question."

She nodded.

I asked, "Why haven't you?"

"Had a boyfriend? I don't know. I think guys are intimidated. I'm taller than most of them."

"Nah, that just means there's more leg to wrap around you." I said it and a second later realized that I'd said it to my very leggy cousin. Shit.

She smiled. In that moment, I couldn't help but think that her smile had gotten better and better with each passing year. That nose wasn't like it used to be.

I got up and grabbed a beer out of the storage fridge. "Want one?"

"Are you drinking? They might come down here. They might know one's missing."

"Have you looked in this thing?" I asked, pointing to the fridge. "That'd be like finding out a pine needle is missing from the Christmas tree." I cracked it open. "So, do you? Want one?"

She shook her head. I shrugged and took a pull.

"Honest question, honest answer?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Have you ever thought about me...you know...that way?"

"Yes."

"What did you think about?"

I sighed. "Amy, I'm a guy. I think about things. Do I really need to give specifics?"

"Yes."

"I thought about your legs; I thought about your ass."

"What about my ass?"

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I thought about touching it, feeling it, rubbing up against it, kissing it..."

"Okay, that's too honest."

"It's honest."

"But, we're cousins!"

"But that doesn't stop me from seeing you as sexy; it just makes it..."

"Wrong," she finished.

"I don't know."

"It would be."

"Okay, now it's my turn. What about you? Have you ever thought about me?" I asked.

She hesitated, and then muttered, "Yes."

"Tell me."

"Your pecs when we were swimming last year. I wanted to suck your nipples, you looked so hot."

"Really? Okay, so we're both wrong."

"Maybe."

I took another big drink, and I said, "Amy, maybe you're not looking at this right. Maybe that were cousins makes it better."

"Exactly how?"

"We don't live under the same roof; it's not like were brother and sister. We're not going to be boyfriend-girlfriend or get married. We'd just be..."

"Learning," she finished. It wasn't the word I was planning on using. When she said it, everything I suspected was confirmed: Amy was a virgin. Not only that, but it was also likely she was completely inexperienced.

"Yeah, and having fun and knowing that at the end of the week, we part our ways until next summer. No awkwardness. No nasty break-up. No weird phone calls or messages."

"And we still have to be honest all the way?" she asked.

"Totally."

She rocked the chair slowly for a while, and then shook her head. "No, we can't. We're cousins. It's crazy. We'll get caught." She rose and made to go back upstairs.

I decided to go bold. "Amy," I said. I jumped out of my chair and got in front of her. I offered my hand, and she took it. I drew her to me, cradled her cheek and chin in my other hand and kissed her as softly as I could. Then, I let her go.

I had stunned her. She looked at me like she'd never seen me before.

I smiled and said, "See you later?"

She nodded and left.

I sat back down and thought about what to do.

***

Later that night, my pop called me upstairs. The party was breaking up; Amy had already left.

"On the deck. Aunt Cyn wants to talk to you," he informed me. He looked toward the deck door and shrugged.

I nodded. And gulped. Aunt Cyn is a tiger. She was looking out over the lake when I closed the door behind me.

She turned on me, smiling and closing the space between us. "What do you think you're up to, Michael?"

"What?"

"You've got something just awful planned for Amy, don't you?"

"Wha—No! Shit!"

She slapped me; it was lightning fast. "Don't you dare curse; you don't even know how."

"I'm not doing anyth..."

"She told us she wanted to come this year because of you. So, what torture do you have in mind this time? You've got her fooled, and you're just waiting for the right moment to crush her. Tell me. Out with it!"

"I don't...I'm not gonna..."

She was less than a foot from me. "If I hear one peep about you mistreating my little girl, young man, I am going to rain hellfire down upon you, you hear me?"

"Yes, Aunt Cyn."

"You will burn."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I can't take any more of this. Now, you promise to treat Amy right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Promise, now!"

"Yes, Aunt Cyn, I promise."

She raised a finger right next to my nose. "Remember: hellfire. You will burn."

I nodded.

"Go on, then, Michael. Good night."

I left.

***

At two in the morning, I snuck into Aunt Cyn and Uncle Scott's cabin through the screened porch and the sliding glass door in their basement. It was a strangely cool night, and I was glad to be back indoors.

All the cabins at our resort were the same: two-story jobs, a huge main level with a giant deck, and a basement level with a screened porch underneath the deck. The master bedroom was on the main floor, other bedrooms were below.

I knew where Amy would be, and I knew the doors would be unlocked. As kids, we snuck out at night all the time, creeping into each other's cabins to gather up everyone. Nobody locked anything.

I crept across the cool tile floor and pushed open Amy's door. She didn't hear me, and I closed the door behind me and knelt beside her.

"Amy," I whispered. "Amy."

She opened her eyes and sat up with a start when she saw me.

I whispered, "Hey, I thought I'd sneak over and come hang out, like old times."

Amy smiled.

"Scoot over," I said.

She gave me a suspicious look.

"To talk. Come on. It's cold tonight."

She scooted over and I slipped into the warm spot she made. "You're crazy, Mike. My Mom thinks you're up to something."

I nodded. "She does."

"What?"

"Before she left, she gave me a warning."

"What'd she say?"

"She said she was going to rain hellfire on me." Then I imitated Aunt Cyn's voice, "'Hellfire. You. Will. Burn.'"

Amy burst into laughter, and I covered her mouth. "Shit, Amy!" I whispered.

After a bit, she regained control, and I drew my hand away. "You sounded exactly like her," Amy whispered.

I nodded. "Scoot closer. You're warm."

"Mike, you can't be here. It's sweet, but..."

"I'll go, but help me get warm first. Get over here."

She sighed, and then rolled on her side and backed into me. I put my arm around her and pulled her close.

That big ass was up against me. My body began to react.

"Truth, Amy?"

"Okay."

"Have you ever been like this before?" I asked.

"No."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

"Me, too."

She shifted her ass, and my dick rested snugly between her cheeks, nearly hard. She turned slightly and whispered, "Is that...is that 'it,' what I feel?"

"Yes." My cock was now rigid, squished up against Amy's ass.

"It's like that for me?"

"Yes. It likes you."

She giggled. "Can I look at it?"

I sat up, pulled off my shirt, pushed the blanket down, and pulled down my shorts. Then, I propped up my pillow and laid back down.

Amy turned over and looked at it. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"It's just..."

"What? Honesty, now."

"It would hurt, is what I was thinking, to put it in."

I decided to shut up. She looked at it, and I liked seeing her study it. She reached over and ran two fingers down it. "Oh, it's warm." Then she grasped it and drew in a short breath. "It's so hard," she whispered.

She moved closer and lifted it and let it snap back to my belly. "Oh, shit. Sorry."

I shook my head: it's nothing.

Amy sat up a little more and looked at my balls. She reached for them.

"Gentle down there, Amy. Sensitive, those."

She ran her finger over my scrotum and felt each ball. "This is just weird."

I looked up at her.

She said, "You're so hard here," grabbing my cock, and then finished, "and so soft here," touching my balls.

I nodded.

She turned the head toward her and touched the tip. "The top is shiny. It's wearing a glossy purple helmet or something."

We grinned at each other.

She snapped it back again. "How do you pee standing up when it's like this?"

"You don't."

She sat up and crossed her long legs; I looked at her white panties. She quickly tugged some sheets over to cover them up. "What do I do?" she asked.

"Whatever you want to, Amy." I put an arm around her and slowly rubbed her lower back and ass through the sheets.

She put her fingers around it and began to slowly jerk me off. Problem was, she was running her hand up and down over the skin, not gripping the skin and running it up and down the shaft. I put my hand over hers and helped her get the right grip, and then I led her hand up and down a few times before letting go. She continued, and I took in a deep breath.

"You like it this way?" she asked, smiling.

I nodded and closed my eyes.

"How long does it take?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I want you to cum." She kept pulling on me, and it was amazing.

"Not much longer this way, Amy." I said, and then a thought occurred to me and I stopped her.

"What?" she asked. "I want to see it."

"Yeah, no, I just...what do you want to do about the cum?"

"Will there be a lot?"

"Maybe. It could get on your bed."

"Oh."

"Here," I said, and I grabbed my shirt and laid it across my belly and chest. I nodded.

Amy grabbed my cock and began tugging it again. She looked at me and sped up. "Do you like it faster?"

I nodded. She pumped it and watched.

"Amy, do you like it?"

She nodded.

"Will you touch yourself, too?"

She stopped jerking me when I asked. She hesitated, and then put her hand inside the sheets.

This surprised me. "You won't let me see?"

She shook her head, and then began. The sheets moved around her crotch. I saw pleasure wash across her face, and I knew she really was fingering herself under there.

When she looked back at me, I grinned, and Amy started tugging on my cock again.

"That feels so fucking good, Amy." She moaned after I said it. "When it comes, don't stop."

She nodded, touched herself, and watched her hand pull on my cock, waiting to see my cum.

It was happening.
I grunted, "Amy," and then every muscle in my chest contracted. I pushed down with my feet and squeezed my ass together, pushing my dick through her grip. The head of my cock began throbbing purple in her fist, and I felt the surges: Nothing. Nothing. A drop. A flow. A torrent. And then a shot, and more shots followed.

My shirt had pools and splotches of cum all over it, some as high as my chest. Amy's fist was covered in it.

"Oh, shit," she said, "that was...lovely."

I panted, "Incredible, Amy. That was awesome."

She smiled appreciatively, and then she turned her attention to my cum. She rubbed her fingers together. She touched a pool of it on my shirt. "It really shoots," she whispered.

I nodded.

"And it's sticky," she said and she smelled her fingers. "Have you ever tasted it?"

I shook my head.

"Honest, now?"

"Nope. Never."

"I'm going to," she said and she sucked on one of her cum-soaked fingers. She swallowed, and I couldn't read her face.

I watched her, waiting.

"It's not good...," she said, and I started laughing and trying to be quiet about it. She did the same.

When we settled down, she said, "What I was trying to say was that it doesn't taste good, but...shh, listen! It doesn't taste good, but it's sexy. I don't know. It means I'm sexy, so I like it."

I nodded. "You are definitely sexy." I took my shirt and wiped down my cock; Amy wiped her hand with it. I set it beside the bed. She curled up next to me.

"Can we do this again?" she asked.

"Now?"

"No. Later. Tomorrow."

"I'd be very disappointed if we didn't."

"You really think I'm sexy? Honest-honest?"

"Very. Honest-honest. And, I hope, when we do this again, that you'll let me touch you all over."

Her gaze turned downward, and she hesitated. "Can we just...maybe tomorrow, yes."

We lay together in silence.

"Mike, are we wrong?"

"Probably, but I don't want to stop."

"What if they figure out what we're doing or if we get caught?"

"We'll have to be careful."

We held each other in silence. After Amy fell asleep, I took my shirt and left.
Honest-Honest Ch. 02
Seeking to help Amy, Mike takes a big risk.
Note: Again, my gratitude goes to shygirlwhore for her feedback and editing.

***

Amy and I exchanged a secret smile during breakfast at Nana and Big Pop's cabin while the old folks were drinking coffee and reading the news.

I asked Amy if she wanted to go kayaking. She said, "Sure."

Aunt Cyn darted me a look, suspicion in her eyes.

***

We paddled out and over to an undeveloped cove nearby. It had a little beach, and it was out of site of our cabins.

We set up towels next to each other.

Amy wore a light swim shirt over a black bikini top and swim shorts over her bottoms. I gazed at her long legs, so smooth and skinny. Nicely tanned.

We kissed a little, and she let me feel her breasts through her top. She was nervous about it, but I loved them. They were firm, more massive than I expected, and her nipples pushed hard against her bikini.

She reached down and grabbed me, almost like she was checking. "I like that you get hard for me."

"Can I come to your room tonight?" I asked.

She smiled and nodded.

***

Amy's night light was on, and she was waiting for me. I could see her tummy and a black bra covering her breasts. When I climbed under the covers beside her, I saw her black panties.

"What does it feel like when it gets hard?" she asked.

I told her it felt like a muscle was slowly flexing on it's own, and I told her it felt like it was being filled, like a water balloon.

"Is it soft now?"

I nodded.

"Can I see it get hard?"

I shoved the sheets down and pulled down my shorts. She sat up and looked at it.

"Oh, gosh."

What?

"It's so small..."

"Hey!" I snapped at her, smiling.

She laughed, "I mean compared to last night."

I nodded.

"It's going to grow that much?"

I nodded. "If it gets excited." Then, I asked, "Will you take off your bra?"

She shook her head. "I'm not ready. Please don't ask me, Mike, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

She snuggled up into my shoulder, watching my cock. I reached across my body and caressed her tit through her bra.

My cock began to grow.

"Oh, I see it."

It lifted slightly and the added girth caused it to flop to the side.

"It's so lovely."

That was the second time I'd heard her use that term—"lovely"—regarding my cock. It's not a word that I would have expected to excite me, but coming from her, it was right. It was honest.

"Can I feel it?"

I nodded, and she reached down and cupped it. Soon, my dick was pointing back at me and rising up off my stomach.

"Oh, shit," she whispered. Her fingers were wrapped around the shaft, and it was angled up to the headboard. "That's amazing."

"Feel this," I said, and I contracted my muscles down there. The head of my cock blossomed purple and shiny, and the shaft lurched in her hand.

"Oh!" she said, surprised. "How did you...?"

"It's like flexing, I don't know."

"I love it. I love how it does this for me," she said, grasping the firmness.

I nodded.

"What if I...can I put it in my mouth?"

"Yes," I said, and I felt her beginning to move toward it. I held her. "Amy, first, honest-honest, why don't you want me to see you and touch you?"

"I don't want to ruin it, ruin things."

"How?"

"Everything has been perfect this way. I knew I would like you. But, I don't know if you'll like me."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"What if I'm weird? What if I feel funny or smell or look funny? I just...I want to keep things perfect."

Her face showed the depth of her fears, infusing her cheeks with pink, reddening her eyes.

"But, I think you're amazing. I know I'm going to love your body. I mean...look at my cock, doesn't that tell you how I feel about you?"

"I'm just not ready. Please, Mike."

"Okay. Okay. I'll shut up about it."

"Thank you for being patient."

I smiled.

"Can I do it?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Tell me when you like it?"

"I'll be honest-honest."

She smiled and lowered her head. Her head blocked my view, and I touched her shoulder before she even started.

"It's better when I can see you do it."

She smiled and climbed between my legs, covering her body with the sheets until she got comfortable. Without looking at me, she grabbed my cock and brought it to her mouth.

First, she kissed it. Then, she kissed it again. She opened her mouth and closed her lips around the tip.

"Shit, Amy, that feels good."

She pulled away and looked at me. "Should I lick it?"

"Licking's nice, kissing's nice, but it's best when it's in your mouth and you're going up and down."

She turned back to my cock and went for it. Her lips rode the shaft, back and forth, and I loved seeing her long brown locks down there, swaying back and forth, dragging on my tummy and legs. I also kind of liked telling this older girl how to suck my dick.

"Will you look at me while you do it sometimes?"

She looked up at me when I spoke, and oh, baby. Seeing her big eyes with my dick between her lips was so sexy. "Amy, you're amazing."

She pulled off. "What else should I do?"

"Nothing. It's awesome."

"Come on, honest-honest."

"Okay, you can use your tongue more, you know, when it's in your mouth."

"Mm-hmm, what else?"

"Don't choke yourself, but it feels really good the deeper you go."

She smiled. "I'll try."

She began by licking from the bottom of the shaft to the top, and then she took me in her mouth again. This time, I felt her tongue slide side to side and swirl circles on me. Damn. She drew back up to the top and began a slow descent down the shaft, gathering more and more of my cock into her mouth. I groaned.

She looked up at me and I smiled. This got her laughing, and she pulled off. "You really liked that?"

"Shit, yes. Amy, I can't wait to do it to you, too."

She ignored my second point and took me in her mouth again. She let her tongue loose again, and she took about five inches of me, but couldn't get the rest. I buried my fingers her hair and gently held her there, deep.

A thought occurred to me, and I let go. She looked up.

"We should have a plan."

She popped off. "A plan?"

"Like last night. What do we do about the cum?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"What do you want to do?"

"Honest-honest?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"There is nothing better, and I mean nothing, than when the girl swallows it, but I'm not asking you..."

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Really?"

She nodded. "But, don't get mad if I can't, okay? Have your shirt ready."

"I'm going to run out of shirts, Amy."

She giggled. "Were you close?"

"Shit, yes."

"I'm good at it?"

"Oh, hell, yes. Unbelievable. You know how lucky I am?"

She smiled, a big, beautiful, open-mouthed smile, and then she dove down. Half of my cock disappeared through Amy's lips, and I gasped. She had confidence now.

"Look at me, Amy."

Her eyes locked on mine. I liked how her jaw gaped, but her lips pursed around my cock. She had a good pace, not frenetic, not sluggish.

I was moaning, and Amy liked it. Her eyes smiled at me, and I held her head and led her up and down. Soon, I felt the build up.

Amy sensed it, and her pace quickened. Up and down she went, her lips clamped around me.

"Amy, I'm coming."

I clasped her head with both hands and my ass clenched. I held her about half-way down me, and then the convulsions began.

When the first surge loosed into her mouth, Amy grunted. I have no idea what happened after that; my eyes were closed, my head tilted back. I just clutched Amy's hair and let fly inside her.

I think I felt her swallow once, but I wasn't sure of anything until I heard a choking cough.

When I opened my eyes, I saw my cock completely drenched in semen. Amy had cum spilling out of her nose and more running down her chin.

"Amy, what..." I began.

She kept coughing. "More than...I expected."

I grabbed my shirt and, in the act of passing it to her, knocked her clock off the nightstand. It clattered on the wood floor.

"Geez! Sorry!" I whispered.

She took my shirt and wiped herself clean, and then she started cleaning my cock.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded. "Better now."

"I'm sorry if..."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," she insisted. She had pretty much gotten everything off me, but my shirt was totaled.

I grabbed her. "Amy, stop. Stop."

She looked up.

"Someone's upstairs!"

She heard it, too: footsteps on the wooden planks above us. Shit!

I shot my finger to my lips. Amy's held her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in terror.

The footsteps continued, making a path toward the stairs.

As silently as I could, I grabbed my clothes. The door upstairs opened.

I was trapped. The stairs landed at a place between Amy's room and the screened-in porch, my exit.

Amy pointed me out of her door, whispering, "Katy's old room!"

I nodded and slipped out as one of Amy's parents continued descending, closer. In Katy's room, I slid under the bed and tried to control my breathing.

I could still see Amy's light on and Aunt Cyn's feet, rounding the bottom of the stairs and turning down the hall towards Amy's room.

"Amy? What on Earth are you doing awake?"

"I had a nightmare, Mom."

"Well, I thought I heard something."

"Did I make a noise?"

"Mm-hmm. Are you okay now?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Well, what was it about?"

Amy didn't answer directly. She hesitated and then said, "The boys." And by that, I knew—and I'm sure Aunt Cyn knew—she was referring to the torment she received from Uncle Deke's sons and my older brothers.

After a pause, Aunt Cyn asked, "Is Michael treating you alright?"

"He is, Mom."

"Alright."

"I'm going to try to sleep now."

"Okay, sweetie, good night."

Then I heard Aunt Cyn walk away and march up the stairs. I didn't move. Aunt Cyn was tricky; this could be a trap. I was going to wait her out.

So, I stayed there, unmoving, for at least ten minutes. Amy waited, too. She knew her mother. After enough time had passed with complete silence in the cabin, I slid out and dressed myself as quietly as possible, everything but the shirt. I crept back to Amy's door.

Amy turned her light back on.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault," I whispered.

"No, it was an accident."

I shrugged. We looked at each other for a beat. Man, she was spectacular. "Amy," I whispered, smiling, "I think you're perfect. I loved it."

She smiled, "I did, too."

I waved and left.

***

The next morning, after breakfast, Amy and I went down to the dock together. Some other folks wandered by, loading their boats with fishing tackle or getting ready to tube the lake, but we mostly had privacy.

"You were so sexy last night," I told her.

She smiled.

"Are you sure it was ok? The mess and all?"

"It's fine. I just didn't expect so much. I though I could wait until you were done and swallow it all at once, but..."

"Yeah, sorry."

"No, I'm sorry I ruined another one of your shirts."

"This is my last one, so we should be careful."

"Are you..."

"Just kidding."

She giggled. "We do need to be more careful, though," she said.

"I know. Do you want to sneak over to my cabin tonight?"

"Can we do it again?"

"Yeah, sure, but what about you?"

She didn't say anything.

"Amy, I think you're beautiful, and I want to see and feel your body, too. I want to make you as happy as you made me."

She curled hair around her finger in silence for a few moments before responding, "Give me some more time."

I smiled. "Okay. Want to go swimming?"

She nodded.

***

I decided to go bold.

The old folks were out looking at houses for sale—every year they threatened to buy a big cabin—and Amy and I had just finished swimming. She said she was going back to take a shower. I was going to go visit her.

Go bold or go home. The meek only prevent losses; the bold win victories.

I considered this a chance to show Amy how sexy her body was, and free up her inhibitions.

I snuck in through the back screened-in porch, as always. I heard the basement shower running.

The shower stalls at this resort are pretty nice. The owners renovated them a few years back, and they put in clear glass doors and walls around the tub.

The sound of the water cascading down her body and splashing on the tub floor drowned out everything. I opened the door just slightly.

There she was. One look, and I was lost.

Her body, as a whole, best resembled a life-sized brunette Barbie doll. She was incredibly slender, especially through her hips and waist. Her legs, stunningly long and sleek. I didn't fail to notice that she had shaven herself down there. The uniformity reinforced the Barbie doll comparison.

Her tits were definitely bigger than I imagined. For years, I had thought they were small for her body. Not true—perfect, I would say, for her body. They were round and perched high on her chest, protruding firmly. The areolas were circular and medium-sized, but the hard nipples were like the tip of a pinky finger. Not sharp-pointy, but rounded off and sizeable.

The only aspect of her body that defied the Barbie doll comparison was her ass. Yes, she had a slender waist and hips, but fuck her ass was big. From the side, it was like an enormous bubble emerging from her back. It was not one of those low asses with a small crack. No. It was bulbous and meaty.

I wanted that body.

I stepped onto the threshold and let the door open. She caught the movement and screamed, covering herself.

"Mike! No!"

"Amy..."

"What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here!"

"Amy you're..."

"I can't believe this! Mike, go! Just go!"

"Okay, okay. I will. Just first, can I tell you something?"

Her eyes were reddening, and I had to say it right. I knew I could. I was not going to blow this.

I shook my head in wonder and said, "Amy you're...FUCK!"

A tiger just ripped my fucking ear off—that's what I felt. Blinding pain. I would comply with any instruction whatsoever to stop this pain. I think Amy screamed again. I pinched my eyes shut and grimaced, but I knew.

Aunt Cyn clenched my ear. "Michael, you little fucking shit!"

She dragged me out of the bathroom. But, probably not before she saw her daughter covering herself in fear, not before she saw the tears welling up in her daughter's eyes.

I just grunted, "Fuck." I must have said it thirty times. In between, Aunt Cyn let me have it while she dragged me out of the cabin.

"You promised me, Michael. You! Promised! Me! Oh, I knew it. I fucking knew you had it in for her! Well, this is the end for you, you little shit! Ogling my daughter! Embarrassing my Amy! And your own cousin, you little pervert!"

She threw me out the screen door. I could hear Amy yelling, "Mom! Mom!" but Aunt Cyn wasn't listening.

Aunt Cyn raised a finger. "Do you realize, Michael, that Amy has been telling us how nice you've been? She came this summer because of you! And all this time, you're setting her up for this embarrassment! You're a hideous thing, Michael. I don't want to see you around here ever again!"

She turned and let the door slam shut behind her.

I couldn't say a word. My fucking ear.

Go bold or go home? Bad idea.

***

My parents came in my room about 15 minutes later. I heard it all upstairs, Aunt Cyn crying, my parents consoling and incredulous. Then, I heard the door open and the footsteps on the stairs.

Before that even happened, though, I worked my phone, getting the information I needed.

They didn't even knock. I sat on the bed and looked at them.

My Mom led off, sternly. "Michael, Aunt Cyn was just here telling us that you were..."

"Before!" I yelled, "Before you say anything else, I need you to hear me, and then I will shut my mouth, and you won't hear another peep outta me."

They stared.

"I am not going to deny anything. I am not going to admit anything. You've got only a very small piece of the whole picture. Everything is out of context, and I am not going to say jack shit until someone, not me, decides to clear this up. So, say what you have to say. Do what you have to do, but know that you do not have all the information."

"Then, tell us, for Pete's sake! What the hell happened?"

"No. I will not say anything."

They stared. Stupefied.

"Look, Mom, Pop, do what you need to do. This is family. You need me to go, I'll go. But, I'm done talking."

They looked at each other. My Mom turned back to me and cried, "Michael, we don't even know what to think of this! We need time to even think. This is just so..."

My Pop just shook his head. "A peeping tom? On your own cousin? A peeping tom."

"We need to think. This isn't over," my Mom added.

They left. I heard them carrying on upstairs, and then they left, presumably to go talk to Cyn, Scott, and Amy.

I threw all my shit in my bag, including two cum stained shirts, and left, silently, out the screened-in porch. I hiked along the path by the dock toward the homes on the next cove over from our resort. I hit the street and kept hoofing it until I made it to the highway junction, about a half mile away.

Uber picked me up about ten minutes later.

Twenty minutes after that, I was at the bus station. I didn't answer my phone.

Three hours later, I was on my way home. I didn't answer my phone.

After eight hours on the bus, a friend of mine picked me up and drove me the rest of the way to my parents' house. I didn't answer my phone.

By the afternoon of the next day, my room was empty. I boxed up all my shit, and stored it in the basement. What I kept, I would need at college, and I packed it in my car. I cleared out my bank account and drove three hours.

Still, I didn't answer my phone.
Honest-Honest Ch. 03
The consequences cripple Mike, but he gives it another shot.
Note: Thanks, again, to shygirlwhore for taking the time to edit and offer feedback.

*****

I fucked up. Big time. Amy was mortified. My parents and her parents thought I was some kind of pervert. Hell, everyone else in the family probably knew by now. I had left before talking to Amy, but I had to. I could not have remained another minute in that situation. But, it was a pussy move. I should have at least talked to Amy before I left.

And what made it all worse? During the glorious few days Amy and I had together, I never once took the time to get her number.

Fuck.

My college plans changed. Had to. I was going completely independent. I told the football coach I wasn't going to play, and he was pissed. I lost the partial scholarship. I switched my course schedule from full to part time. I got a job waiting tables at an Olive Garden and another job cleaning up an industrial factory floor. I rented a shitty apartment.

I took three classes and worked my ass off, and I didn't talk to my family.

The independence—the freedom from everything and everyone—saved me. I burned with embarrassment every time I thought about that day at the cabin. Worse was the anger. I was so fucking pissed off.

I hated myself for acting without thinking and screwing everything up. I hated Aunt Cyn for her assumptions about me. I hated the idea that—now that everyone probably knew—they all thought I was some kind of pervert and that I was, maybe, the worst tormentor of poor Amy.

I didn't know what to think about Amy. A part of me hated her for being so fearful about herself; another part understood. Would she tell her family that we had been fucking around? Was that even worse, even more humiliating? What could she tell them instead? Was there any way for her to protect me? I needed to talk to her.

My parents emailed me, and sometimes I responded. I asked them for Amy's email, and they sent it, along with Aunt Cyn and Uncle Scott's home email. My parents' note included a word of warning: I needed to apologize and show how I'd learned a lesson. I didn't respond to that, but I definitely wanted to. Shit.

So, I wrote Amy. She never responded.

I figured out which dorm she was in and called that. They wouldn't help me, other than taking a message to her, which included my phone number. Amy never called.

In April, my parents wrote me to say that the family was, once again, heading to Big Rock in July. They said it was probably best, since I hadn't apologized, that I not come.

I worked and worked and studied, got 24 credit hours done by the beginning of July. Then I asked, for the first time, for time off—a week.

***

While most of the family was driving to Big Rock, I drove to Uncle Scott and Aunt Cyn's home. I assumed Amy wasn't going with her parents. Took me thirteen hours. I arrived on Sunday afternoon.

I parked on the street, took a deep breath, and went up to their door.

Katy, beautiful as ever, opened the door to me, and then she closed it, giving me the finger.

I rang the bell again. And again. And again. And again.

Katy finally opened up. "Asshole! Can't you take a hint? Go away!"

I gutted my pride. "Hi, Katy. Is Amy here?"

"She doesn't want to fucking see you," she said, looking past me and seeing my car. "So you drove all the way here, huh?"

I nodded.

"Best get ready to drive on back."

"Please, Katy. May I speak to Amy?"

She scrutinized me for a moment, shook her head in resignation, and then turned away—not closing the door.

I waited.

A minute later she let me in and escorted me into the kitchen. Amy stood behind the island.

"Hey, Amy."

She stared at me, and I looked at Katy, who was leaning against the pantry door with her arms crossed. I turned back to Amy.

"Can we talk alone?"

"She wants me here," Katy declared.

I nodded. "Amy, you look great."

Katy butted in, again. "You would know, peeping tom."

"Katy, will you please let me talk to Amy?"

"She's doesn't want to talk to you."

I turned back to Amy. "Amy, please can we speak alone? I've got things to say to you, private things..."

"Oh, I know everything, Michael."

I turned to Katy. Her eyes said everything. She did know. Shit. Whatever.

"Do your parents know?" I asked Katy.

"No. I told her to tell them, but she wouldn't. I told her that the whole family needed to know just how disgusting a person you actually are."

"But..." I was confused. I turned to Amy, and she stared at me coldly. I turned back to Katy. "But, then, you know that it wasn't just me. It was us," I said, gesturing to Amy, "and..."

"It was you, Micheal. You played your game. You got your rocks off. Don't you dare say Amy was part of this!"

I looked at Amy, confused. Her eyes were red, cheeks puffy. "Amy, what did you tell her?"

Katy said, "Did you think you could trick her into another blowjob by driving out here and pretending to be sorry? Is that what you thought?"

"Amy, they're turning this into something it's not. You know it was never like that."

Amy turned her back to me, crying.

"Get out. Now," Katy ordered. She walked to me and began shoving me out.

"Amy! Don't let them change what happened."

"Go!" Katy shouted.

I rounded on Katy. "I am going," I hissed through gritted teeth. I stepped around her to the threshold of the kitchen. "Amy, I'm sorry about the shower. It was a stupid idea, but I'll never be sorry about anything else. You're beautiful, Amy. I wanted to tell you that day. Honest-honest. You're amazing and beautiful."

Amy's body was shaking; it was too late.

Katy grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me back. I let her, yelling, "Don't let them change this, Amy! Don't let them make you think you aren't beautiful!"

Then, Katy shoved me outside, and the door slammed shut.

I stood in front of the house, stunned by how the truth had been twisted and marred.

What even was the truth anymore?

Fuck it. Go bold and go home. Again.

***

First cursing Katy, and then Aunt Cyn, I drove back to my apartment. At the halfway point, I directed my fury at Amy—not for hating me, but for being so fucking insecure. I made it back in twelve hours.

What a waste. I flopped onto the mattress of my shitty apartment and slept.

I woke up to the sound of someone knocking on my door. Terribly groggy, I hovered in semi-consciousness for a few moments until I realized the knocking had been going on for quite some time. My clock read 11:47am.

I had gotten about five hours of sleep. I felt like I needed at least ten more.

I rose from the bed, yelled at the door that I was coming, and walked over. I turned the lock and opened the door a few inches.

I couldn't believe my eyes; I rubbed them and looked again.

"Cynthia."

"Hello, Michael. May I come in?"

I blinked a few times, and then I said, "You're the first person in the family to visit me here, but the last person I ever expected."

She pursed her lips. "Michael, may I come in?"

I looked her over, considering her request, and then I said, "Are you here just to chew me out? Because if you are, then no."

"I am not here to chew you out."

"Then, why are you here?"

"To talk to you, ask you some questions. It's about Amy; I'm concerned."

I sighed and opened the door. She walked in, and I closed it, asking, "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, Michael." She looked over the apartment, standing in the entryway and holding her purse with both hands.

I went over and stood behind the kitchen counter. "Did you just drive up here from Big Rock?"

She nodded.

"What's going on?"

"Amy is not at home. She packed up a bag and left in her car this morning. She didn't tell Katy where, and she's not taking our calls. Katy called me and told me this morning. She told me about your visit. So, I drove up."

"You think...you think Amy's coming here?" I asked, incredulous. When Cynthia didn't respond, I started chuckling. "This is the last place on Earth she would go. I'm afraid you just wasted about four hours of time and fuel."

"What did you and Amy talk about?"

"You already know; you talked to Katy. She was there the whole time, wouldn't let me see Amy alone."

"Michael, I know how people can...can twist things to support their own agenda. I want to hear it from you."

"What did Katy say?" I asked.

"Michael."

"Come on. I'm not saying anything until I know."

Cynthia sighed and said, "She said you barged in, insisted on talking to Amy. She said Amy asked her to stay and that you half-apologized, made up some excuses, and wouldn't leave when Amy asked you to, so Katy had to kick you out."

I guffawed.

"Michael, tell me your side."

"Nah, I don't think so." Before Cynthia could protest, I added, "But, I'll tell you why I drove thirteen hours from here to your place: out of respect for Amy. I've been trying, since last year, to talk to her, apologize, and explain myself. I owed that to her—not you. Her."

"What happened last summer, Michael?"

I shook my head.

"Why won't you tell me your side of things from yesterday?" she asked.

"Because I don't care what you think."

Her eyes widened. I couldn't tell if it was offense or shock or both.

I continued, "You and Katy are free to think the absolute worst of me. That Katy's version of the events from Sunday is filled with lies doesn't really bother me. The only opinion of me that matters is Amy's. Everyone else can butt out and fuck off."

I caught movement and stepped back. Cynthia's flat palm cut through the air in front of my face. I knew it would come.

She looked pissed. "Michael! Do you want me to..."

"You've got no leverage here, Cynthia."

Cynthia's eyes were murderous. She wasn't used to missing her slaps, I guess.

I said, "Everything I have is owned by me, paid for by me. My car. This apartment. The clothes I wear. The bed I sleep on. The food I eat. No cosigners. Nothing. I am completely independent. I pay for college—some of it—the debt is in my name and no one else's. I have two jobs, and I take classes part time. I gave up my scholarship, and I'm not playing football. I work; I study. I'm free. No one can tell me what to do."

As she listened, she appeared to calm herself. She looked around at the apartment. Evidently, my parents had not explained the situation to Cynthia. When I finished, she turned to me. "I'm impressed, Michael. And, I'm sorry I tried to treat you like a child."

I shrugged.

Cynthia said, "I'm worried about Amy."

"Why?"

She looked at me like I belonged in the padded room of an asylum.

I said, "Look, Cynthia, Amy's smart. Is she hurting right now? Sure. My bet is she's driving down to Big Rock to be with you and Scott and Big Pop and Nana. Either that, or she's going to hang out with some friends for a while. She's fine."

"I need to know where she is," she stated.

"Cynthia, has it ever occurred to you that Amy doesn't need your protection? That your protection is possibly one of the reasons she's hurting right now?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I think you and Katy are feeding her low self-esteem. Last summer, I was trying to build it—her confidence in herself. What I discovered was that Amy was really fun and really cool. We had a great time together. You caught me supposedly doing something mean, but I wasn't trying to be nasty; I was trying to help her."

Here, Cynthia moved like she was going to interrupt me.

"No, no, no, no, no, no. I'm not done talking. So, I went to your house Sunday to apologize, and I did, but what I learned there was that you and Katy have changed—warped and twisted, really—Amy's mind about our time together last summer. You've made her think it wasn't something joyful, but some kind of long con where my goal was to hurt her really bad. That is totally, totally untrue. But she believes it because her mother and her sister can't understand how anyone might actually be nice to her. All your protection really does is feed her low self-esteem."

"You would dare criticize how I raise my daughter?"

"She's raised! You're done. And, she's amazing—congratulations."

This took her aback.

I continued, "You're not going to like this, but I think Amy is surrounded by people who have assumed that since Katy is beautiful, Amy must not be attractive; since Katy has tons of friends, Amy must not be friendly or likable; since boys love Katy, then Amy must be unlovable. None of it is true, but your convincing her that I was trying to fuck with her has made her start believing those things again."

"Damn it, Michael! Tell me what is going on!"

"No."

She huffed a few times like a fighting bull, ready to charge, and then she said, decisively, "I think Amy is coming here, and I intend to wait for her."

"Well, you may not."

"Excuse me?"

"You may not wait for her here. Go somewhere else."

"Michael!"

I raised my hand and said, "Two things. First, Amy left this morning, so, on the one in a million chance she's even coming here, she's not going to be here until seven, eight, even nine o'clock. You can't hang out here for the next nine hours. Second, Amy hasn't responded to you because she's not ready to talk to you. So, if she's actually coming, you being here would defeat the purpose."

"Let me wait for her here."

"No."

"I'll call her. Just wait a second, Michael."

"No. Go somewhere else and call her."

She squinted for a moment and then left in silence.

I locked the door behind her.

On the whole, I was happy with how I handled Cynthia, but I was exhausted. I walked to my bed and sank down.

Then my cell phone rang.

I had left it in the kitchen.

Fuck.

I got up, walked over, and saw that it was my Dad.

"Hey, Pop."

"Mike, am I right in hearing that you just kicked Aunt Cynthia out of your apartment?"

Fuck. "No. I let her in. We spoke. She tried to slap me. I dodged it. We spoke some more. She wanted to stay in my apartment. I told her she couldn't. She left. No 'kicking out.' Just asking to leave."

"Still, Mike, I think you need to show your Aunt some more respect. I mean she is your Aunt and all, and after last summer..."

"Pop. Butt out. It's not your business."

Silence.

I said, "I'm tired and I'm going to bed. Talk to you later."

I didn't give him a chance to respond. I walked back to my bedroom, put my phone on the nightstand, and slid back into bed. The cool sheets felt amazing.

What if, I wondered, Amy really was coming here? Wouldn't it be incredible? It might mean I somehow got through to her—that my trip up there wasn't a total waste.

She hadn't spoken to her family, yet. What did that mean?

Could be good for me.

I slid my arms under a pillow and began to imagine it—Amy coming here.

It was a ridiculous notion, but I didn't mind envisioning it as I slipped back into sleep.

Then my phone rang again.

Fuck!

I pushed myself up, grabbed the phone, and looked: Katy.

"Now, what the fuck," I mumbled. Then, I answered it. "Hello?"

"Mike?"

"I didn't kick your Mom out. I asked her to leave, and she did. She fucking tried to slap me."

"I wish she'd kicked you in the dick, you little shit."

"Katy, I'm tired. Is that it?"

"No. I'm going to call my Mom back and tell her you're letting her stay."

"Fine. Whatever. As long as she doesn't come here until, like, six. I need to sleep and there's no way in hell Amy gets here—if she even is coming here—before then."

Nothing.

"Katy?"

I looked at the phone. She'd hung up.

Whatever. I dropped my phone, rolled over, and before I shut my eyes, I saw the clock. It was 12:32pm.

***

I opened my eyes at 12:41, nine minutes later. Fucking Aunt Cynthia was knocking at my door.

"Stupid fucking whore," I hissed to myself. "Come back at six!" I yelled.

I could hear her voice, faintly, through the door. She said my name and knocked again.

Something about how she said my name and how she knocked was different. There was hesitancy and respectfulness.

Maybe Katy had told her that I was going to be sleeping. Maybe Cynthia meant to be apologetic.

"Fuck it," I mumbled, and I got up. "Coming!"

I walked over to the door and opened it.

She smiled.

I stared for a second, dumbstruck. Then I stepped across the threshold, saying her name: Amy. She leapt into my arms. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I held her ass. She kissed my lips, she kissed my cheek, she kissed my forehead, she kissed my neck, and she kissed my lips again.

In between, when I had the chance, I said, "What...how did...Amy...when did..." Then, I just started laughing. She did, too. We laughed and kissed.

She drew back and took my cheeks in her hands. "Do you love me?" she asked. Her eyes searched mine; they were on fire.

"Honest, honest," I said, "I love you, Amy."

She tilted her head back and yelled, "I knew it!" Then, she screamed. There was joy in it. There was release in it. Twenty years of angst and frustration poured out of her in that scream.

Her soft, bare neck was there, in front of me. I attached my lips to it, and she laughed and screamed again.

I heard doors opening in the hallway. I glanced up and saw one of my neighbors peek out at us. Amy looked over at another of the voyeurs and burst into a new fit of laughter.

Doors closed and she clasped my face, pulling me from her neck and looking me in the eye. "Tell me again, Mike. Please."

"I love you, Amy."

She kissed me. And again. And three, four, five times. She drew back and said, "I knew it. I knew they didn't understand. I love you, Mike."

I had been putting things together in my mind. I asked, "You flew?"

She nodded.

I asked, "You forgive me?"

She nodded. "I love you."

I kissed her.

She said, "Mike, do you forgive me?"

"For what?"

"For letting my family make me doubt myself, doubt you."

"It's over."

I dropped to my knees, and in moments we were kissing on the floor in the hallway of my apartment building. She was on her back. My body was between her knees. She'd never looked more beautiful—even compared to that moment on the dock two years before. The difference was joy. Amy was incandescently happy.

We kissed, and when we weren't kissing, she told me she loved me, and I said the same to her.

"Amy!"

We both turned towards the voice.

Amy's mother stood at the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway, staring at us, mouth agape.

We stared back.

Cynthia began to speak, but stopped herself. She tried again, glancing alternately between us. Her hands were up by her chin, fingertips pressed together, almost as if she were praying. They slowly split apart and fell to her sides.

She said, "Amy, I'm glad you're safe."

Amy nodded and said, "Mom, I'm always safe when I'm with Mike."

My love for Amy tripled the moment I heard those words. My mind screamed in exultation. It was sweeter than any revenge I could have fathomed.

Cynthia smiled weakly and nodded once. Then, she turned and left. Amy watched her for a moment, and then she turned to me with a very serious look on her face and declared, "Mike, we have to fuck, like, right now."

"Here in the hallway?"

"No, silly. Take me to your bed."

I had a hundred questions, but they could wait.

***

A six feet-two inch human—even a sleek, young, female one—is a hefty hunk of flesh. But, it didn't matter. I picked her up, kicked the door closed behind me, and carried her to bed, almost running.

We kissed and laughed and tugged at each other's clothing. When we weren't kissing, Amy whispered, "Fuck me."

Our every movement was infused with urgency, as if the nukes were already in the air, inbound. There would be no fooling around. As soon as our lower halves were uncovered, they found each other and joined. We were both ready, me like hickory, she like hot cream.
Once together, we stopped kissing. We fucked and looked at each other, our faces just inches apart. We grunted and gasped at each other. She watched me, her eyes wide, eager and alert.

Then, she whispered, "Fuck me, I love you." She repeated it, and I buried my face in her neck, kissing her just under her jawline. "Fuck me, I love you," she cooed. I began to thrust into her, and she screamed. She cried, "Fuck me, I love you, Mike!"

I drew back from her neck and told her that I loved her.

She whispered, "He loves me!" almost like she was reminding herself of some astonishing fact. Then, with my every thrust, she cried out in pleasure and gasped, "He loves me!"

I grunted into her neck, listening to her rapture and feeling my own hit suddenly, like a rogue wave. I pushed inside her again. I squeezed us together; I mashed myself inside her as deeply as I could. It was like I wanted to push my entire being inside her at that very moment.

Then I gasped and felt my cock give everything to her, fill her very guts with all I had to give.

She cried out into my ear one last time, and then we relented.

***

I woke up.

I didn't want to open my eyes. I had been dreaming about Amy. She loved me and we fucked. The dream felt so incredibly real. I didn't want to open my eyes and look across at an empty bed.

I smelled the air—smelled her—and opened my eyes.

There she was, beside me

I reached out and touched her bare shoulder. She opened her eyes.

"You're really here," I said.

She nodded and smiled.

"You sleep, too?"

She nodded.

I began to sit up, but Amy put her hand on my chest. She was still smiling.

"What?" I asked, and I started to smile, too.

"It's just—I've dreamed about doing something with you. I've probably thought about it more than anything else."

"What?"

"Sucking your cock again."

She said it, and I felt myself move down there. "How did you imagine doing it?"

She perked up at the opportunity the shape the setting. "Well, for starters, you were usually standing up."

I climbed out of bed and stood at the foot, ready and awaiting further instructions.

"And you were wearing jeans and a belt."

I left and came back a minute later in my blowjob uniform. Amy was in her bra and panties, both skimpy and black. "What about you? Where were you?"

"I'm on the bed, on my tummy. Like this."

"So I just stand here by the edge?'

"Lose the shirt."

I took it off.

"Oh, shit, you are so hot," she said, looking over my body. She crawled to me on her hands and knees, and then she sat back, looking up at me. She worked off the buckle, the button, and the zipper. She smiled and tugged my pants down over my hips. Then, she pulled me to the edge of the bed and laid down, propping herself up on her elbows. My cock was level with her face.

She never used her hands, just her mouth. She glanced up at me, and those eyes, they were smoke. She lowered her gaze to my cock and pursed her lips. She kissed it once, twice, and then opened her mouth.

I wasn't hard, yet. I was growing.

She let the tip into her mouth. I watched her in a state of ecstatic awe.

The whole act was slow—not slow motion slow, but lazy afternoon in the hot sun slow—from start to finish. One of the thoughts that occurred to me was that she was savoring this. My cock was a warm brownie, and she wanted to make it last.

She never went deep. Half-way was about as far as she got, but I didn't care. What she took into her mouth, she treated like a delicacy. Her lips remained fat and pursed, but her jaw worked up and down. It looked almost like she was munching on it, but her teeth never even grazed my cock. The up and down motion of her jaw created soft suction and release.

When she let my cock out, she spent those moments surveying it with her eyes, and occasionally finding spots that needed to be kissed or tasted with her tongue.

There was something almost feral about her demeanor. I was the kill. She was the tigress. She ate when she wanted to. She paused and digested. She scanned for a place to next devour. She clasped onto the flesh and held there, feeling it in her mouth. She could feast languorously.

This was no rush-to-cum blowjob. My cock was on her schedule.

In her bearing there was also some aspect of nurturance. My cock seemed to be her child. Her every touch was infused with caring affection. I'd seen mothers caress their infants with the same tenderness I saw in her lips as they slid back and forth ever so gently along the shaft. My cock was her baby, and she wanted to blanket it in loving, soothing touches.

It was—easily—the most erotic moment I'd ever experienced. I don't know if I spoke a single word. I just watched her nurse on my cock and do it like it was her most favorite thing in the world. I was in a kind of standing coma. Amy had complete control over me. If she were to stop, suddenly, and turn away, I'd have promised her the world and everything in it to take it in her mouth one more time, for just one more second.

In a way, I thought, it was not even fair. This was so good, what she was giving me, that I could never repay her. A thousand orgasms would not be enough. It was an I-will-marry-you-right-now blowjob.

It seemed she felt the approach of my climax. She hummed sweetly into my cock.

It was then that I realized I had been holding my breath for seconds on end and letting it out in little grunting bursts. I also caught movement, to my right, in my peripheral vision.

It was Amy and I on the sliding doors of my closet, two of them, on rails. They were mirrors.

I gazed at them, and what I saw took me to the end.

It was a sideways view of the blowjob. I could see the rise of that incredible ass and the slope down to her lower back. I could see the line of Amy's jaw, stretched forward. I could see her eyes, closed as if in an ecstasy of passion. I could see her lips, pursed and slowly suckling the head of my cock. It was like a high def video of Amy sucking on my penis.

Then I watched my cock convulse, like a muscle, from the base up toward the tip. I could see her cheeks receive the pulse. Then, I could see her throat rise and fall, taking it completely inside her body.

I watched it happen again, like a wave starting at the base of my cock and finishing with the tiny rise and fall of her throat.

Again. Swallow.

Again. Swallow. Fuck, it was amazing.

Again. Swallow.

Then, my knees began to buckle underneath me. I slipped down to the floor and collapsed back on the carpet, gasping and cursing.

Amy laughed, proud of herself.
Honest-Honest Ch. 04
Aunt Cynthia responds to the newest developments.
Note: Many thanks to shygirlwhore. She gave me the gift of her time and insight by editing much of this work.

*****

Amy and I were in the kitchen eating cereal. I still couldn't believe she was in my apartment. She looked around, taking in the place.

"It's not all that great. Sorry," I muttered.

"It's perfect. I love your apartment." Then, she turned to me and said, "At my school, they don't let freshmen live off campus."

"Same is true for us, unless you're a part time student."

"You're not full time?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have two jobs. I've got to work to pay for all this."

"Your parents aren't helping?" she asked.

"No, and I didn't want them to. Not after last summer."

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged and said, "If I had felt like I owed them, then I would've felt like I had to tell them."

"Tell them...about us?"

I nodded. "It's probably stupid logic, but I really needed my independence."

"So everything? Not just this apartment? Your car? Books? Tuition? Clothes? Food?"

I nodded throughout.

Then, she asked me about my jobs, and I told her.

"So, you can't play football, then?"

"No."

"You look like you're still playing."

"When I'm not in class, studying, or working, I work out."

"Girlfriend?"

I laughed. "No. My freshman year of college was probably more celibate than yours."

She laughed, too. "My second year wasn't much better than my first."

"No way," I said.

She nodded.

A thought hit me. "So, was that...was that your first? Earlier?"

"No."

"Oh."

"During the first week back at school—I was in a bad place, Mike—I got totally wasted at a party. I don't even really remember it."

"Oh."

"Anyways, I hated myself for it, and I quit partying the day after I started."

"I'm sorry, Amy."

"Don't be. This makes up for everything."

"You are unbelievable sexy, you know."

She grinned. "Did you think about me?"

"After last summer?"

"Yes."

"All the time," I said.

"Did you think about us, together?" she asked.

"Our times together last summer were my main inspiration."

"Did you masturbate, thinking of me?"

"Honest-honest?"

She nodded.

"A lot."

"I did, too," she said, grinning.

"Really?"

She nodded. "Making you hard, it made me feel sexy and beautiful and...wanted. Even when I was all twisted around and upset at you, I was still thinking about us together. Sometimes I masturbated, thinking about sucking on you and all of that cum."

I said, "I did make a hell of a mess, didn't I?" She snorted and laughed. "Two shirts, " I added, "destroyed."

"When my Mom came in, I couldn't help but wonder if I had missed some on my face or in my hair."

"You were good."

"It came out of my nose!"

We laughed even harder. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

There were bigger things to discuss, but I didn't want to, yet. I guess Amy didn't, either. We finished our cereal.

"I need to shower," she said. "Can I?"

I nodded.

"Is it big enough for two?"

"Maybe? I haven't put it to the test."

"Come on," she said. "Last time I was in the shower with you, we got interrupted."

***

I turned it on and we watched each other undress. Whatever inhibitions about her body she may have had last summer were now vanished. She saw my limp cock turn into a tree trunk; I watched her big ass slip out of tiny green boy short panties. We climbed in.

There was no washing, not at first. We just made out. I rubbed her pussy and she tugged my cock. I slid two fingers into her and sucked on her tits. Shit, her body was firm.

She brought my head back up and our lips and tongues locked together. I think neither of us wanted to pull away. We moaned into our kisses, masturbating each other.

She stopped, panting and gazing at me fiercely. She turned around, and my fingers slid out from her. She shoved her ass back.

I seized her hips and looked down at her magnificent backside. I cursed. It was as if the perfect female ass had been magnified by fifty percent and mounted on insanely sleek and long legs. It hurt my heart to look at Amy's ass.

"Fuck me, Mike" she uttered.

"Wait."

I knelt, bringing my face level with her booty. I placed my palms on it, one on each cheek. I watched my fingers caress it. I felt her warmth.

The curvature and the smoothness were breathtaking. I clutched her ass in my hands. The heft of her flesh was perfection—muscles to give it the right shape, fat to soften the curves.

I'd dreamed about this ass since I was thirteen. Now it was in my hands and in my face. I seized each cheek and kissed one.

I stood up and she reached back, grasped my cock, and lined it up. I held her hips, and when she let go of me, I pushed inside her.

We both cursed softly at the silky jointure.

Her wet hair flowed down to her shoulder blades. Amy's back was spectacular. It narrowed slightly as it approached her waist. Little strips and bulges of water-coated muscle shined under the shower light. Water streamed down the slope of her back, collecting like a small brook in the crevasse of her spine and running down toward her ass. It spread apart from there and spilled over each cheek.

I held her where the front of her legs joined her torso, my palms on her hips, my thumbs on that incredible ass.

Amy's hands were on the shower wall, but within minutes, they slid down. She drew them up and cupped her breasts. The right side of her face pressed against the shower wall. She occasionally looked back at me, but more often, she simply closed her eyes and moaned.

She gasped, "Never stop fucking me."

I continued to glide inside her, refusing to look down at that ass. Every time I saw it, I felt myself leap closer to orgasm.

I slid my hands up her sides, nudged her hands out of the way, and cupped her breasts from underneath, letting her nipples slip between each finger. She put her hands over mine, and she led me. She glided my hands up and over her breasts, and she flattened my palms against them, squeezing them against her. I could see the sides of her tits emerge on each side of her back. She pulled me away and had me grab them again, and then she kneaded my hands into her breasts like a massage.

She came, and it was a beautiful thing. With the right side of her face against the shower wall, Amy blew air out of pursed lips and with this came an ooh sound. If I has been watching it on television, I might have called it bad acting, but being in it, with our bodies connected—no, it was real and incredibly sexy. She oohed and blew, and she got louder.

Her pleasure took me over the edge. I thrust harder inside her. Her oohs became more like screams, and she added a "fuck" to the end of them, and I buried inside her all the more quickly with my cock.

She wound down as I went off. I gazed down at her ass and, unable to see my cock underneath her, I just felt and imagined. When the first wave struck, I pushed inside her as deeply as I could, and I froze there. The connection at it's most intimate was too perfect for me to pull back and thrust again. So, I held in place, gritting my teeth and grunting. My cock felt big and strong inside her. It squeezed like a flexing fist, flooding her with what felt like lava.

We pulled apart. She turned around, and we drew together and kissed. She rested her head on my shoulder, and I held her under the shower's hot stream for a few minutes.

After, we washed up and got out.

***

No blow drier on the premises, she wrapped a towel around her head, slipped on some panties and laid down on the bed—just a mattress and box spring on the floor with some decent sheets. I threw on boxers.

Her phone rang, and she grabbed it off the nightstand.

"Here we go," she said nervously, "It's my Mom."

Based on the time, Cynthia was probably calling from back at Big Rock. I nodded and said, "I'll give you some privacy." I picked up my own phone and walked into the living room.

No calls or messages. I turned on the television.

A minute later, my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Scott here."

"Hey." Oh, shit. Amy's Dad.

"Cynthia's on the phone with Amy right now, and I wanted to talk to you."

I waited for it.

He continued, "First, Mike, let me apologize on behalf of Cynthia, Katy, and myself for misjudging you. We were biased. We didn't have the facts, and we made some terrible assumptions about you. I'm sorry about that, Mike."

"I appreciate your apology, Scott. But, I think I'm going to wait to hear Katy and Cynthia's apologies from their own lips."

"That's fair."

I gulped and drove on. "Scott, I assume you've spoken with Cynthia and know about our...our meeting here after Amy arrived?"

"Yes."

"Then, let me tell you this: neither Amy or I anticipated this situation. We didn't envision it. We didn't plan for it. We didn't seek it out. But, it's happened."

"You mean that you're in love?"

There it was, bald and raw. I said, "Yes."

"Mike, you should know that Cynthia, well, she's laying down the law for Amy. I want you to hear it from me. Cynthia is not going to see or speak to Amy after the phone call until you two have ended this relationship."

Fuck me. "You're disowning Amy?"

"More like a moratorium. It's not my decision, but I go with my wife."

"Fuck, Scott, that's the last thing Amy needs."

"Mike, stop and think about this relationship for a second."

I waited for him to continue.

He said, "Now imagine that this all works out between you two. It's lovely for the two of you, but what about the rest of the family, Mike? You think Big Pop and Nana are going to be okay with this? You think they're going to the wedding? You think anyone in the family will go? And if you have kids, what do you tell them? How does it impact their lives? Do they even have a family beyond their own parents?"

Fuck me.

Before I could muster a word, he continued. "Now imagine it doesn't work out with you and Amy. Can we have family get-togethers anymore? Will you or Amy—and your future family or hers—ever come to Big Rock again, when everyone knows you two had this relationship? What about family weddings? Funerals?" He paused and let me absorb this, and then he said, "The bottom line is you two wreck the family, either way."

I searched for a response, and the only thing I came up with was utterly pathetic. "Like you say, Scott, if it's wrecked either way, then Amy and I might as well..."

He interrupted, "It's not too late to end this thing cleanly. But, it has to happen immediately, before this gets out."

Shit. His words were like a blinding beam of light in the darkness; they followed me. They wouldn't let me hide back into the shadows.

"Scott, I..."

"I have to go. Cynthia just hung up. Take care of Amy and do the right thing, Mikey." The line went dead.

I put my phone down and walked into the bedroom. I hadn't even had time to really understand the import of Scott's message when I saw Amy, curled into a fetal position on the bed and balling uncontrollably.

I climbed in and laid beside her, rubbing her shoulder gently and whispering, "I'm so sorry, Amy."

In halting bursts, she asked me how I knew.

I told her about Scott's call, and my news—the fact that her father was aligned with her mother against her—drove her deeper into dejection.

After a minute, I asked, "What did your Mom say, Amy?"

Cynthia's message to Amy had been similar in content to Scott's message for me...but. But, Cynthia's was of a markedly different tone. Cynthia was a tiger, and the tiger pounced. It wasn't disappointment, her tone. It was fury. And, I knew from experience: an ass ripping from Cynthia was worse than a belting by my old man.

Cynthia had a way of striking at your core values in a way that just shattered them, just annihilated your own sense of self-worth.

Poor Amy. I held her and listened. It took about fifteen minutes, and a few times when I thought we were over it, Amy burst into a new fit. Finally, the waves of sobs ebbed away, and I just kept holding Amy tight. She fell asleep.

She had been sleeping about a half hour when I noticed how closely our bodies were pressed together. It wasn't the time—I knew—but, I couldn't help it. Her ass was against me, and my cock grew into a fucking sledgehammer.

Amy stirred, sniffing and wiping her eyes. She half-rolled toward me and, staring at the ceiling, uttered, "I want you to hurt me."

I was too confused to respond.

"If it has to be over," she explained, "then I don't want to remember all of this sweetness. I want misery. I want to hate you."

"No."

"Yes, Mike! I'm going to gather my stuff up and get a ride back to the airport. I'm going to fly back home. It's over. I need you to make me want to leave, or I'll never go."

"Then never go. I can't hurt you, Amy, I'm in..."

She screamed, "Don't say it! Ever again!" She didn't want to hear that I loved her.

I was stunned into silence.

She grabbed my cock really hard. "Hurt me with it, Mike. Take me and hurt me." She held it like a joystick, with her thumb up against the tip of the underside. She pulled on it in a sudden, jerking motion.

"Ow! Fuck, Amy!"

She let go, pulled down her panties, and seized my cock again. Thrusting her ass back into me, she lined me up against her asshole and let go. I could feel the dry, crinkled skin of it on the head of my cock.

I tried to gently push myself away, but she pushed back into me.

"Stop this. You've got to stop," I said. It wasn't rational, what she was asking of me. How would hurting her, at her own request, help with anything that we were facing?

But, shit, how my cock felt, clasped between her fleshy ass cheeks.

I saw her chest rise and fall twice, and then she rolled over slowly. When she faced me, her eyes were urgent and pleading, and her voice, unsteady. "Honest-honest, Mike: I need you to do this."

She rolled back on her stomach and waited.

I gazed at the profile of her body—the sunken valley of her lower back, the rolling hilltop of her beautiful ass, the gentle declivity of her long, soft thighs. I sat up, gazing at the two fat globes of her butt and the black fissure where they joined. I reached out and caressed the soft, warm skin and my guts churned with greed.

I pulled my boxers down and threw my leg over her, climbing up and straddling the tops of her thighs. Clasping each cheek, I pulled them apart and looked past my own hard cock down to her little hole.

Fuck, I wanted it.

In an instant, I had spread her legs and put myself in the prone behind her, my face mere inches from that incredible ass. I drew her cheeks apart, exposing her fully. I paused there, letting my senses absorb the moment. Feverish anticipation surged in me.

I looked up the slope of her back and watched it rise and fall with her respiration. Amy whispered, "Mike, please."

I dove down into her ass.

I felt her skin as far up as my ears—that's how big this butt was, how deep the crevice ran, how far out the globes rose from the core of her body.

She took it. Gasping and panting filled my bedroom. An eavesdropper would have made the mistaken assumption that I was laboring on her pussy, not her ass.

When it was ready—when I had drenched the thing and tested its readiness with my tongue—I pushed myself up, collapsed her legs back together again, and sat on the back of her thighs. Quietly, I spit on my palm a few times and coated my dick.

I didn't tell her anything. I didn't make a sound. I took her hands and placed them on each of her cheeks. I nudged her fingers and she pulled her ass apart for me. I tilted forward and lowered myself. Then, I wiggled the head of my cock into position and pushed.

Amy drew in a breath. My cock was primed. The fucking thing was an iron pole. It was going to overcome any barrier it encountered. And it did.

Amy opened up for me, and the fat knob sunk inside her. The shaft of my cock was collared just behind the tip. We were joined, and the nexus was extraordinarily taut. I began to push further and stopped, suddenly.

Amy had cursed.

I didn't move again until she begged me to.

I pushed, and I felt the ring of her little hole inch down the length of my cock. Amy howled, and I stopped and held my position.

"Don't stop," she huffed. "Don't stop again, Mike."

"Amy, I don't want to..." Hurt you, I was going to say.

"Yes! You have to!" she hollered. "For me. Don't stop."

Maybe, at this point, I should have done her bidding reluctantly and hesitantly. Or maybe I should have been very tender, yielding and letting her assume control. Maybe I should have gone soft, losing my erection at the repugnance of sealing the end of our relationship by causing her pain. Any of these might have been more merciful than what actually happened.

A sound triggered me.

Amy made a sound as I pushed further inside her, and the sound—it was a kind of plaintive, whining squeal—tugged forward a memory of her. It was a memory from the worst times when we were younger, when I had cursed her in my heart for being a snotty bitch.

And I embraced the memory. I reveled in it. I wasn't fucking the woman I loved. I was fucking the big-nosed, fat-assed cunt I secretly hated.

I buried myself inside Amy. I wanted her, and I wanted take it out on her. I fucked her ass like I was that fourteen-year old, hormone-raging little two-faced bastard that I once was. I fucked that ass like it was a dream come true: I get to punish my bitch of a cousin, the one with the great ass who hated the world.

I kept myself inside her as I sat back on her thighs. I slapped her hands away from her ass cheeks and seized them, myself. I wrested them apart and watched Amy's ass suffer my cock to plunge and reload, plunge and reload, time and again.

I watched my cock impale her, letting my mind frolic with memories of the Amy I despised. She grunted and groaned; she screamed and cursed.

I remembered the dock. She had called me a "loser." She'd said I was the worst of them all. She didn't want my pity, she'd told me.

The loser's cock is fucking your ass now, Amy. The worst of them all is about to fucking fill it with cum. And, no, you won't get any pity from me.

I watched my cock fire into her like a piston. My body was ready to give it's release.

I drew back to the tip and paused there. Amy panted and recovered. She'd finally stopped crying out.

As far as it can go, I thought. I'm going to make this deposit in a place where, fuck, this cum will still be leaking out when she's fifty-five years old. The fucking land of the lost is where I'm cumming.

I pushed back inside her and watched her expand. I pushed further. I clutched her hips and tugged her into me, making more headway. Amy grunted as if she'd been shot in the gut. But, I wanted more. Deeper.

I laid on top of her and slid my feet under her legs. I drew her legs apart, pushed my calves under hers, and then rolled my feet over the top of her ankles. My legs were hooked around hers, and I used that leverage, along with all of my body weight on top of her, to squeeze my cock still deeper inside her ass.

Amy cursed.

There, I thought, and I drove my cock into those depths a few times until it loosed into her. She shrieked with each pulse.

Fuck, I didn't want it to end. There was a perfection to it, a joy, being able to ejaculate inside that big, perfect ass.

But, it ended.

Still, I held in place. I didn't want to pull out until I knew there was no more pleasure to be taken from her.

Neither of us spoke for about a minute while I held my cock inside her. She continued to gasp and moan, but I felt the diminishment. Every muscle in my body had been infused with rushing blood. My lungs had been pumping air. My brain had been alight with ecstasy. Now it was gone, and I sat up and slowly drew my cock from the depths of Amy's body.
When it emerged, I watched Amy's asshole cinch closed, sealing everything inside. I released her with my hands and legs, and she sagged down flat on the bed, groaning.

I sat beside her, alternately watching her ass—utterly still like some defeated prey—and my cock, collapsing like a wounded eagle.

The soaring, awful pleasure that I had been feeling stole away. It was replaced by shame. I had fucked the living hell out of Amy's ass, and it was vengeance and anger that had driven me. She had asked me, begged me to do it, but there was no mistaking the idea that, despite my early protests, I had luxuriated in the act like some hateful devil. What the fuck had I been thinking?

I wanted her to say something, anything, even if it was anger.

What she gave me was even worse: weeping.

Ah, Shit.

I reached over and touched her shoulder.

She flinched, saying, "Don't, Mike."

I pulled away. I needed to understand what she was thinking. Was this sadness about our break up or about how I had fucked her? "Amy," I began, "tell me what you're thinking."

"What the fuck do you think, Mike?" She sniffled, and then she sat up, grabbed some clothes out of her bag and went into the bathroom.

I walked over to my dresser and put on clothes, thinking.

Did I love Amy? Could I have fucked a woman that I truly loved the way I'd just fucked Amy? When I said the words to her at my apartment door, I thought I believed them, but now I wondered.

What did I love? Her? Or the sight of her, smiling and standing at my apartment door? Her coming here had meant she believed me. I wasn't alone anymore. It meant that, back at her house, I said the right things to her. It meant she believed in herself again, and that I had been instrumental in orchestrating the change. It meant sex, and I hadn't had any in a long time. So, did I love her or did I love that she showed up? I didn't know.

And there was what Scott had said to me on the phone. Nothing he said was really a surprise. It made sense. Our relationship was a family-crushing thing. Why hadn't I considered that before telling Amy that I loved her? How could I not have contemplated the wider ramifications of our relationship? How could I be in love with my own cousin?

And there was the anger I had felt when I fucked her ass. That rage had been fresh and powerful, not something that I had long ago mastered and put aside, no way. Was I conning Amy, not in any premeditated way, of course, but subconciously? Had my anger just been waiting for the right trigger to lash out at her?

Fuck.

Doubt put holes in me like a machine gun. All of the faith I had in us spilled out.

When she emerged from the bathroom, I followed her from room to room like some stray puppy, keeping a distance, unsure of what to say, and hoping she might say something first.

She didn't. She gathered her belongings, stuffed them in her bag, and then sat down to arrange her ride to the airport on her phone.

A minute or so later, she stood up and said, "Don't walk me down."

I tried to remain composed, but inside I was frantic for some understanding.

She walked to the door.

I went bold.

Darting in front of her, I took her arms in my hands. "Amy, stop."

She looked up at me.

I continued, "How can we be honest-honest with each other if you won't tell me what you're thinking and feeling?"

She stared, her face inscrutable. Then, she said, "Mike, what's the point of honesty when there's no more to say to each other? It's over. Let me go."

I released her. She walked past me and turned down the hall toward the steps.

As she descended, I got desperate. Fuck honest-honest. Even if I was riddled with doubts, I wanted her to know that I still cared. I called out, "Amy, I won't say it! I know you don't want me to say the words, but you can't stop me from thinking them!"

She stopped. Her head turned just slightly as if to respond. Was she crying?

I waited for it.

But, she turned forward, continuing down the steps and out of sight.

***

Note: More to come. I must beg for a little patience. Thank you for reading! FS
Honest-Honest Ch. 05
Mike tries to move on without Amy.
Author's Note: Many thanks to shygirlwhore for editing, asking great questions, and offering invaluable feedback.

*****

Like a paycheck, I sent an email to Amy at the end of every month, telling her what was going on in my life. I asked about what she was up to. I didn't talk about us or beg to get back together; I knew it was over between us, but I needed her to know that I cared.

The months ticked off. Amy never responded.

I met an intriguing and beautiful woman. I spent time with her almost every day, but she was not my girlfriend.

I didn't go to Big Rock the next summer. I asked Amy if she would like to meet somewhere that week, just to talk. She didn't respond.

Same thing for the summer after that.

Throughout, I continued to spend time almost every day with that caring and gorgeous woman. Her name was Tamisha Wells, but she liked to be called Misha.

In those years after Amy walked out of my apartment, I showed up at family events, but for as short an amount of time as decency would allow. I would arrive a few minutes before the event, shake some hands, sit in the back, and leave immediately afterwards, never attending receptions.

Family reached out, and I was polite, but always too busy for a visit. I sent notes and gifts on birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries. During those hard years, my brothers both got married. Nana passed away. Uncle Deke's younger son got married. Then, Big Pop died. Several great grandchildren were born. The only ones who weren't married, besides me, were Katy and Amy.

During the fall of my fourth year in college, I got a curt email from Katy: Amy was engaged.

I sent a short note of congratulations to Amy, and I wished her well.

I wrote another note that I didn't send. It explained the doubts I had felt about the two of us. It summarized my inability to move on, and how every day apart taught me more about what I felt for her. It memorialized the jealous envy I felt for her fiancee. It expressed the idea that I didn't really know what it meant to be in love with someone when I told Amy that I loved her. My unsent note told her that I didn't know that I loved her until I knew that had I truly lost her. Finally, I wished her all the happiness in the world.

That message remained in my "Drafts" folder. I quit writing her.

The next spring she was married. I heard that Amy and her new husband went to Big Rock later that summer.

I spent time with Misha after work. We'd hang out at my crummy apartment for a half hour or so. We never went anywhere else.

I worked my ass off. When I graduated, I quit waiting tables; the president at the factory hired me as a paid management intern. Having cleaned the place for five years, I knew everyone's job. Within a year, I was running the swing shift assembly line. Every one of the line workers loved me. I knew them all, knew about their families, knew their jobs, and respected them. We kicked ass, and I was making really good money for being 24 years-old.

The three shift bosses—me and these other two guys—were all vying for the soon to be vacant Plant Manager position. It was something of a sham, though. The job was mine. My shift was the most productive, most cost-efficient, had the highest quality-control rating and the fewest work-related accidents.

Tamisha Wells worked the swing shift. It's where we met.

***

Misha was married and had three daughters, a four, seven, and a nine year-old, when she joined the plant. It was the start of my second year there, cleaning the factory and doing odd jobs every now and then for the management office. I was nineteen, and Amy had walked out of my apartment only a few weeks before.

Misha was a black woman in her mid-30s. She had beautiful eyes and a perfect, radiant smile. She was big in the chest, but short and slight. I wondered how those narrow hips of hers squeezed out three babies. She liked to wear her short hair up and over—a little bit punk rocker-ish, I always thought. She had a picture of her family next to her work station, which was the electrical wiring shop.

In those days, I was bored as hell from cleaning the plant. So, when I had the chance, I spent time learning what each position on the line did. Every now and then, the shift boss would have me fill in at spots.

I first got to know Misha when she taught me how to install the electrical wiring on the industrial reels our company made. I think I impressed her—my respect, my interest, my attention to her, and my eagerness to learn. Afterwards, I felt her eyes following me whenever I passed her station.

I did my job with pride, but make no mistake, this was a time of my life when I couldn't have been more despondent. I had lost Amy for good. At times, I surely wore that heartache on my face and in every aspect of my bearing.

Misha had been working there about six months when, one night as I trudged to my car, she walked over to me. There was an aspect of secrecy to her bearing as she approached me.

I greeted her and asked about her kids and school, but she seemed preoccupied. It was like she was sizing me up, gauging me. Then she spoke. Her voice was airy and sensual, never squeaky as her diminutive size might have suggested. I'll never forget her words.

"Michael, would it be okay if I came over tonight and sucked on your penis?"

I was astonished by her forwardness, but her expression and tone were what fascinated me. There was sadness and respectfulness in her demeanor, like I was a victim. She reminded me of a nurse asking a patient if she could do this or that to help with the pain. Misha also asked in a way that told me if I had said, "No," she wouldn't have held it against me; it wouldn't have changed our collegial relationship at the plant.

I said, "Sure."

She followed me home in her minivan and came into my apartment. I led her to the bedroom. Before I made any move, she asked me to lay down. She put a pillow under my head. Without a word, she unbuckled my belt, unzipped my jeans, tugged them down with my underwear, and took me into her mouth.

She sucked me slowly and tenderly, like I was some wounded thing. She didn't ever look at me. When I told her I was going to cum, nothing changed. She just continued to suck on me.

When she had drawn everything forth and gulped, she drew back. She sat on her knees and wiped her mouth with her arm, staring at my penis. She licked her lips, and she looked—I don't know—she looked like she was savoring the moment. At the time, I might have said she was thinking hard about the taste of my cock and cum. Then, she smiled to herself, pulled up and fastened my pants, and rose from the bed.

"Care if I have a smoke on your little balcony?" she asked, looking over to the sliding glass door on the opposite side of my closet.

"Of course not, Tamisha."

She smiled, "You can call me Misha."

"Okay, Misha."

She picked up her purse and walked over to the balcony. I fetched an empty pop can for her ashes. We went out together and sat on the two little chairs.

She smoked in silence. She appeared to be deep in thought—good thoughts, it seemed. I didn't want to interrupt her reverie, so I kept quiet and looked out at the other apartments and the street, listening to the sounds of the city at night.

"Thank you for letting me do that," she said, finally.

"No, yeah—thank you. That was really great."

"I'm glad you liked it. I haven't done that in a while."

She must have sensed the burning questions I had.

"You remind me of someone—someone from a long time ago—and I just needed to. That make any sense?"

"Sure," I said, but I wasn't at all sure.

"Can we do this again sometimes?"

"Sure." I was more confident in that one.

"But, Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"You mustn't tell anyone, okay?"

"No way. I wouldn't do that."

"And I don't want you to try anything else with me. I'm married, and I love my man, and my daughters are my world. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Is it okay, then?"

"Yes."

She put out the stub of her cigarette. "I need to get home."

I walked her to the door.

She asked, "Tomorrow, then?"

I nodded, and we said good night to each other.

Misha sucked on my penis after work most nights. Very early on in our relationship, I asked her if I could return the favor. She thanked me and said, "No. I like it just the way we have it." I hadn't seen her naked, hadn't fucked her, hadn't ever taken her big tits in my hands. I hadn't even so much as grabbed her ass or kissed her.

Afterwards, she always had a cigarette on my balcony. We sat together and enjoyed the night air—even in the winter. We grew accustomed to each other, and we often spoke and laughed—about life, work, the world, and the future. Neither of us talked about the past.

One time, I asked about her past; I asked her if she had ever done this with anyone else.

She smiled, "One other person a few times, but that was years ago, before I was married. Now it's just you and my husband."

"Why me, Misha?"

"I told you: you remind me of someone."

"Who?"

She was silent for a few moments. "I'm not ready to talk about that."

"Okay," I said. Then, I asked, "Do you ever feel guilty?"

"No," she responded. "Don't get me wrong. My man wouldn't like it that I was doing this with you, but this isn't cheating. For someone else, it might be. For me it's more like...it's something else."

It seemed to me that Misha knew exactly what it was "more like," that she had the words to finish that sentence, but decided not to say them. I didn't pursue it. I had another question.

"Do you like it?"

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't."

"No, I mean, do you really like it. Does it excite you?"

She hesitated before saying, "I look forward it, if that's what you mean."

It was not what I meant. I shifted in my chair a little, and opened my mouth to clarify.

"Stop, Michael," she said, sharply. "Stop this right now."

"What?"

"I know what you're doing, what you're trying to get me to say. We can't ever go there—no matter what either of us wants. We can't. I won't. It's what we have or it's nothing, understand?"

"Yes," I said, sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Misha."

She reached over and squeezed my hand.

I wanted to fuck her. I didn't care about her husband. I wanted her to tell me that sucking my cock got her wet and horny.

***

When she first started coming over, I took what she was giving me and didn't think about anything else. I laid back, already hard in my jeans most nights, and watched her do her thing.

I had gotten some good blowjobs in my life—Amy's, when I stood at the foot of the bed, was easily the best. Amy had been full of slow, burning passion.

Misha was more clinical in her approach. She worked with paced deliberation; she was methodical. This was a process to her. She didn't waste energy on kissing it or licking it, or even messing around with my balls. She went straight for my cock, clasping it with her lips.

For some girls—most in my experience—sucking dick is really massaging a dick with your mouth, with very little actual sucking. For Misha, however, it really involved suction. How she gave head was more like how I imagined someone drawing snake venom from a bite. There was power in her tongue, lips, and throat. She drew me inside her mouth with force. Holding it in place and sucking with mounting energy, she would suddenly release. I felt the tension fall away and her lips would let my cock out all the way to the head. Then, she would take me back in.

I remember wondering if she thought that she could, truly, suck the cum out from inside me, if she thought of my cock as a big, meaty straw leading down to a pool of cum. But, the more she came over, the more I felt like she actually was doing it—sucking it out of me. She wasn't, of course—at least, I don't think it's physically possible, but, holy shit that suction. I could almost feel it, I swear, tugging inside my balls and deeper in my body, hauling that semen, little by little, out of me. I grew to love how it slowly built up to an almost aching force, and then released into soft wetness.

I came to feel like she was feeding off of me or that she needed my cum like medicine. She hungered for it, but never voraciously—always methodically.

One might think that, day in and day out and with how dispassionately she did it, I might have grown bored of it. No. In fact, as time passed, it took less time for her to finish me. I anticipated it even more. Fuck, I loved it.

On days when Misha seemed a little more tired, she let her chest sag down on my thighs, and while her lips clutched and drew on my cock, her fat, heavy tits squashed down on my legs.

I began to think of Amy less and Misha more. I grew jealous of her husband. I wanted her to be mine.

I scrutinized her body whenever I was free to. She was like Amy's opposite. Misha was short, maybe five feet tall. One hand was all that Amy's breasts could fill. Each of Misha's tits would have needed two hands to corral. She had short little legs, but shapely. And Misha's ass—so tiny—I could have held the entire thing in one hand.

My opportunities to inspect Misha's little booty were rare—stealthy glances at work, following her up the stairs into my apartment, and seeing it from the side sometimes when she gave me head.

I loved her body.

I also really liked hanging out with her on my balcony, talking. She was mature and confident. While she didn't talk about her past, her ideas and perspectives always seemed backed by the authority of powerful life experiences. It was easy to forget about Amy when I was with Misha.

But, this made the tension so much worse—to have this dark-eyed, bright smiling beauty spend time with me and perform this very intimate act on me, and yet to know that if I were to pull her to me and kiss her, just kiss her, I was crossing a line that might end our relationship. Such acts were forbidden. She was happily married.

***

It was about the time I heard about Amy's engagement when Misha did something uncharacteristic: she didn't have her cigarette afterwards.

I asked her about it.

Smiling, she turned to me and said, "Either I quit nicotine or the baby has to after it's born."

I didn't respond.

"That means I'm pregnant, Michael."

It took me a few seconds to find my conversational footing and congratulate her.

She thanked me and sighed, "I quit for the other three. I can quit for this one, too, but damn."

"Why not just quit altogether?"

"Someday I will, but I need something to look forward to after this one comes."

We sat in silence for a few moments. I had a question for her, but it was too selfish. I kept my mouth shut.

She must have sensed my thoughts. "We'll have to stop for a few months after I give birth, Michael. Don't think that I like it. These times are important for me. But, until then, I'd like to keep coming over, if you don't mind me getting a little bigger."

"I don't mind it."

"Good."

So, I continued to get blowjobs from Misha. Even though she was awfully tired some days, she still came over. As the months passed and her belly grew, she began taking me from the side, sitting beside me, leaning sideways, and pulling my cock toward her.

Near the end of her term, I could feel difference in the mass and thickness of her breasts when they rested on my thighs.

Then, one day, the blowjobs stopped.

I heard at work that she had a son, her first boy. I sent her a card and a Yankees onesie for the kid—she didn't want me to ever call or text her.

Days elapsed, and I sat in my empty apartment after school and work, thinking about Misha and, sometimes, thinking about Amy—she had just gotten married around the time when Misha's child was born. I hoped Amy found a good guy, someone who never spoke an unkind word to her and cherished her always. I wondered when I'd learn that Amy was pregnant.

Those days were just empty. I went to class, read and studied, worked out, worked, and went to bed. I was like a robot, trudging through a dull life from one task to the next. Life without Misha was different.

With her, I had forgotten what it was like to feel that heaviness in the balls, that need to cum so badly. Without her, I felt it again, and it reminded me of my youth, when I was a little shit, hoping like hell to find a girl. That heaviness is a motivator; it gets guys moving and seeking.

But, I didn't seek. I waited.

Weeks became months, and Misha, finally, appeared at work again.

She followed me home, and I was hard the whole way.

I thought I was going to explode in her mouth at the first touch of her lips. It didn't happen. Before she took me in her mouth, I felt something and flinched.

"Wait. What is that?" I asked.

Misha sat up. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"Something...something on my leg," I said and sat up. "Here." I pointed to a spot of dampness on my jeans and realized, instantly, what it was. "Oh."

"Yep. Got milk?" she said, smiling.

"I'm sorry, Misha."

"I hope you don't mind."

Her shirt was soaked through on both sides. Fuck, her tits were enormous. "No, I don't. I just...I didn't know..."

"They just do that, especially after it's been a while."

"You're breastfeeding?"

She nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"Do you need to do something?"

She shook her head. "At this point, I'm making way more than the baby could ever take. I'll pump and dump this batch."

"Huh?"

"I was planning on having a cigarette when we're done here. The nicotine stays in my body for a while, so when I get home, I'll pump the milk and pour it down the sink. That way, the baby doesn't get any nicotine."

"Oh."

She saw my hesitation. "That gross you out?"

"No. I just...I'm not sure I ever quite understood how it...you know, how that all worked," I said, gesturing to her chest.

"Here, wait," she responded, and she reached behind her back, under her shirt. Then, she stopped. "Michael, you have to promise me you won't touch me."

"I won't. I do."

She continued. Soon, her bra was unhooked. She slid it off and I saw little white pads in the cups. Then, she lifted her shirt over her head. I saw Misha's breasts. They were massive. The nipples were almost the same color as her skin, fat and ovular. A small droplet of milk appeared on the tip of one. Misha wiped it with her shirt. "I bring extra shirts wherever I go. Kinda have to."

I stared at her breasts. They were big in an almost cartoonish way.

She took one into her hands. "Watch," she said. She drew her thumbs across each side toward the nipple, and, suddenly, a tiny stream of milk spurted out, landing on my tummy.

"Oh!" she cried.

She quickly wiped my tummy with her shirt.

"They're pretty full right now. Sorry."

I shook my head: forget about it.

"Let me...this could get messy, Michael. Do you mind if I take care of this first?"

"No. Do what you need to do."

She took the same breast in both hands again, and then, glancing at me, declared, "It's just easier this way. Wait." Then, she raised the nipple to her lips and began to suck.

I was speechless. I thought she was going to go to the bathroom or the sink or something.

I watched her cheeks compress and her lips pull at the nipple. She nursed on it four, five, six times, and then her throat rose and fell. I heard her swallow. She resumed.

Her other breast began to leak considerably. I got the impression that it dripped out at about the same rhythm that Misha sucked on the other one.

I took her shirt and leaned up to wipe it off. Misha paused. She glanced at the shirt in my hands, and then nodded, resuming her sucking.

I pressed the shirt against her heavy tit. Through the fabric, I could sense the silky skin and the burgeoning fullness underneath. Fuck, it was incredible. I needed to toss the shirt aside and feel it for real, skin on skin. I wanted my hand there.
Meanwhile, Misha continued nursing herself.

I pulled the shirt back and slid my hand inside it, then I put my hand on her breast, feeling it through just one layer of fabric with my fingers extended. I applied only the slightest amount of pressure.

My cock flexed below me. I glanced down, seeing the head swell and relax, swell and relax. My balls felt palpably loaded.

Misha let her breast down and gasped for air. She pulled my hand away. "Thank you," she uttered.

"Is it good? The taste, I mean."

She nodded. "I like it enough." Then, she drew up the other tit and sucked on her nipple, swallowing every few seconds.

Even though she had sucked on my cock hundreds of times, this was the most intimate moment I had ever experienced with her—me sitting up, she just inches away from me, our chests bare. I could have wrapped my arms around her and held her.

My cock ached and throbbed for her.

She rose off her nipple and said, "Lay down, Michael."

I did.

She sat up and back down again, adjusting her position, and then she looked at my cock. "Oh, my. You're ready, aren't you?" Her voice did not betray any hint of sexual desire. It was more motherly, her tone.

I glanced between my penis and her mouth, waiting. Fuck, I was going to explode.

She leaned forward, and then stopped. "Let me...let me do this first." She grasped my cock and I grunted at the touch of her fingers. She took her right breast in her other hand and guided it down. She brought my penis and her tit close together, almost touching, and then Misha squeezed forward on her nipple, coating my cock in warm breastmilk to where it pooled around her grip on the shaft.

I gasped. Misha's head sank down, and then I felt her lips take me in.

"Oh, fuck, Misha. Fuck."

There. There was that intense suction. I felt the little vibrations of her lips as she sucked the milk from the tip and around her fist. I heard the slurp. She tugged the shaft twice and my body shook with pleasure.

When she rose, my cock looked engorged beyond anything I'd seen before. She brought her tit back and squeezed more milk. It coated the head and ran down along the shaft into her fist. Then my cock was inside her mouth again, pressed tightly between her lips, and she was sucking my cock and the milk, swallowing.

"Fuck yes, Misha. Please," I gasped.

She pulled back, expressed more breastmilk on my cock, and as she lowered herself, the sight of it all made me burst in her fist.

I grunted. My body flexed.

I watched cum spill out of the milk-covered tip. A second pulse leapt up into her mouth. A third splattered across Misha's cheek. A fourth coated her lips. The rest ran out the tip, down the shaft, and over her fingers in oozing rushes. I'm not sure I'd ever cum so hard or so much.

It was a combination of things—the time since we'd last been together was a big part of it. I'd jerked off a few times for relief, but not much. Seeing her breasts for the first time, and seeing them at their most massive, provoked me. Part of it, I also have to admit, was the strange sensuality of Misha involving her breastmilk in the act. Most of all, however, it had been that, for the first time, it seemed like Misha was enjoying herself. For once, it didn't seem like she was just trying to take care of me. She was into it. For a fleeting moment, I knew what it was like to be Misha's husband.

And I had just cum all over her face, in her mouth, and on her hands. A pool of semen and breastmilk lay at the base of my cock.

"That was awesome. Oh, fuck, that was awesome, Misha. Holy shit." I was panting.

She smiled at me, and then, as if awakening to some startling truth, she let my cock free from her grip and said, "I should clean up. Can you take care of yourself?"

I nodded, and she went off to the bathroom.

She joined me on the balcony a few minutes later, wearing one of her new shirts. She sat down, lit her cigarette, and sighed a puff of smoke.

"Is that your first one?"

She nodded. "It's been almost a year."

I let her smoke in silence. She was content, it seemed.

Before she left, I asked her, "Tomorrow?"

She hesitated, and then nodded.

But, Misha never let her guard down after that night, never gave a hint that I had any hold over her heart.

***

Our secret relationship went on for years, even after I graduated and even after I became her supervisor on the swing shift.

One night, in the new apartment my manager's salary could afford, after she finished me and while she smoked her cigarette, she said, "You have no idea how much I look forward to this part of my day."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Change is so much harder the older you get, and I know that at some point you're going to move on. I thought it was going to end when you became the shift boss."

"I didn't want it to end. I knew we could both be professional about it."

"That's very sweet of you, but it will end someday, and I hate to think of it."

"Why does it have to end?"

"Because you need to emerge from this rock you've been hiding under all these years, and you will."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Michael. You're a good-looking young man, a successful man, and you never date." When I gave her a doubtful look, she said, "I know you, Michael. If you're dating, then you're doing it in secret, and you're definitely not getting laid." I drew back from her, my eyebrows raised.

She explained, "You don't do what I have been doing with you, day in and day out, without learning a thing or two. I know how much you give me every night. Mondays and Tuesdays are heavy—after the weekend apart. Wednesdays, Thursday, and Fridays are about the same each night. You're body's like clockwork down there. It would change if you were having sex."

I took this information in, and my expression was all the confirmation she needed.

She continued, "But, back to my point: you have a family, but you never take real time off to go see them, and they don't come to see you. A young man like you? Your mother and father would have come to visit you, but it's never happened—at least, not since I've known you. You never take vacations, never for more than a day or two. You're running from something."

She had read me pretty well.

"And last," she finished, "is the fact that you're unhappy. You've been unhappy for years. Something happened."

I sighed and looked at her. She really was a beautiful, intelligent, and caring woman. Her husband was a lucky man.

So, I told her the story of Amy.

She listened with great sympathy, and the only moment when I grew concerned in my telling was when I got to the part where my relationship with Amy became sexual. Misha's eyes widened, and she seemed to struggle with that information. Yet, she appeared to control herself and listen sympathetically until I finished the tale.

"I am so sorry, Michael. You loved her didn't you?"

I nodded. "I did. I really did."

"How long has she been married?"

"Two years this coming spring."

"Any kids?"

"Not that I've heard about."

Misha stood up, and waved me to do the same, and then she hugged me. It was heartfelt. She swayed back and forth and rubbed my back. "I understand, Michael. I understand. I am so sorry."

The compassion pouring out of her, it...it moved me. I struggled to hold back tears.

When we sat back down, she said, "I like 'honest-honest.' I think that was very sweet of the both of you."

I nodded, wiping my eyes.

"Can I tell you something now?" she asked.

"Sure."

* * *

Misha described her older brother. His name was Tariq. He was a fun-loving, happy kid, and he loved performing. He wanted to be an actor, and he had a real gift. He did every show in high school, and then, from the time he was 18, he took acting classes and auditioned for parts.

When he was 21, living at home with his parents and his little sister in New Jersey, the breakthrough happened. He won a speaking role in a television pilot—a small part, but it was a start.

He was thrilled. He called Misha to tell her about it first, and then he drove home.

A head-on collision with a truck stopped his progress there; he planned to surprise his parents with the news.

Tariq broke his left leg, two ribs, and lost the lower half of his right forearm—it was sheared clean off. His seatbelt stopped his body, but not the steel tread plate that was sitting, for whatever reason, in the middle of the back seat. It launched into and through his arm, lodging itself four inches deep into the dashboard.

In the hospital a few days later, the casting agent called Tariq and told him the part was no longer his.

Devastated, Tariq told Misha that his acting career was probably over. "Amputees just don't get work in this business. You kind of need to be whole."

Misha, at home for the summer from nursing college, was responsible for caring for her brother during the days while both parents worked.

"He was a lost soul," she said. "So, so sad. Most days he didn't even talk."

Misha was losing her brother, her best friend. She was desperate to help him emerge from this dark place.

One afternoon, while Tariq was asleep and Misha was sitting at his bedside reading, she noticed her brother's penis, fully erect and projecting out of the hole in his boxers.

Weeks before the crash, one of Misha's best friends had described how happy her boyfriend was after she had finally decided to give him a blowjob. Misha was inexperienced in such things. Her shyness had made the boys in school think of her as ugly.

She remembered what her friend had said as she stared at her brother's jutting hardness. Misha told me, "It was strange, his chest rose and fell, but his penis didn't move. It just shot up from him like a fat exclamation point. I couldn't stop looking at it. It was like it was waiting for me."

Misha silently walked over to the bed, laid beside him, and began to suck on her brother's penis.

He woke up, of course, but he didn't stop her. She finished him, letting Tariq's semen fill, and then spill out of her mouth. When she looked up, he smiled for the first time since the accident.

"It wasn't about sex. Can you understand that, Michael?" she asked.

I nodded.

It was about healing, she said. She just felt like it was what he needed.

Every afternoon, she did this for her brother, and he began to find himself again. He talked, and he even laughed.

And then, she got caught in the act by her mother.

Misha's mother had left work early. What she had seen made her lose all reason. There was just no listening when Misha tried to explain.

The worst of it, though, was that Tariq got the blame. Both parents accused him of taking advantage, and Tariq, despite being utterly mortified, did not deny it. He wanted to protect his sister. Tariq's father even accused his son of rape.

And the next day, Misha found Tariq hanging from the chin-up bar in his room, dead. "One-handed, with two broken ribs and a broken leg," Misha uttered through tears, "he tied that knot and killed himself."

There was no note. Misha's parents, crushed and vengeful at the injustice of losing their firstborn, blamed her for the suicide.

The day after the funeral, Misha took everything she had and left.

* * *

I reached out and took Misha's hand, and I held it. She was crying; she squeezed my fingers.

"You remind me of him; you always have. You have his sadness. You have his smile, though you don't show it often enough."

"That is so terribly sad, Misha. I'm sorry."

"It's ancient history now."

We held hands and sat together in silence.

"Can I ask you something?"

She said, "Is this 'honest-honest?'"

"Yeah."

She nodded.

"So all of these times—us together after work, I mean—was it about healing me?"

She smiled. "No, Michael. It was about healing me."

I shook my head, confused.

She clarified, "I can't say that I wasn't hoping to help you. That wouldn't be true; I chose you for a reason. But, in my mind, it was more about helping me put the past away."

"How?"

"Well, for starters, I never once gave my husband a blowjob. Never once. Not until after you and I started meeting up. We've been like newlyweds again. We had the baby. If he knew about you, he might even thank you...after he killed you, that is." When she said this, she started laughing.

I shook my head, smiling.

She went on. "But, more importantly, I never forgave myself for Tariq. I began to believe what my parents said—that his death was my fault. I forgot that what I did for him was never about sex, but about healing. You and I together, it's been like therapy. You helped me prove to myself, again, that what I did with Tariq was right. It was what he needed. It was what I wanted to do for him."

She seemed earnest, and I nodded. "You're a pretty incredible person, Misha."

"I've made my mistakes, but enough about me. What about you? Can you move forward?"

"I don't know."

"You have to find a way to forgive yourself. That's where it began for me."

"I'll try, Misha."

She sighed. "Okay, Michael. But, I really need to be going."

She left, and I stood in my apartment wondering what might have happened if I had told Misha that she had helped me, that I had given up on Amy, that any sadness I showed was because, for the second time in my life, I had found someone I couldn't have.
Honest-Honest Ch. 06
Can't Mike catch a freaking break?
Author's Note: All thanks to shygirlwhore for her ongoing support and editorial work.

*****

Misha and I had told our stories—mine about Amy, hers about Tariq—and I never felt closer to her.

The next afternoon, at the start of the workday, the HR director called me in and took me to see the President.

They asked me about my relationship with Misha.

Apparently we had been followed, seen to enter my apartment together, and some time later, seen chatting together on the balcony. There were pictures. It was a problem.

As her shift supervisor, the evidence suggested—at a minimum—a close, personal friendship with a direct subordinate that crossed the line. Worse, it implied a sexual relationship. Add to that the fact that Misha was married, and it showed very poor judgment on my part. Since I was a candidate for the soon-to-be open Plant Manager position, these pictures put everything in jeopardy.

I never found out—they wouldn't tell me—but I'm pretty sure it was one of my competitors for that job, probably the day shift guy. He was an ambitious prick.

I didn't deny it to the President. I resigned on the spot.

The President liked me. He hired me when I was 18 when he was VP for Operations. Sometimes he called me in during break, and we ate together. He was the one who had set up the paid management internship for when I graduated college.

He didn't like it that I had been set up, but he needed a smooth-running factory even more.

He accepted my resignation. He let me stay on two final weeks, running the day shift. He offered me two months pay, calling it "severance," but, really, he was just trying to help me out. He also promised to protect Misha, and sent me home for the night.

I left a short note for Misha as I walked out. She did not come to my apartment that night or any night after.

***

On my final day at the plant, as I walked out of the office with my box of personal items in hand, I headed past the quality control shop where three guys were putzing around with the Reeler.

The Reeler tested our product. It was a long, hydraulically-driven steel instrument covered with hoses, dials, and controls.

I caught a whiff of something. It was pungent and full of chemicals, that smell.

In front of me, emerging from the smoking lounge, were two QC goofs coming to join the other three. One of them was finishing his smoke on the way back—a big no-no.

But, it wasn't my problem any more, and it never had been. QC belonged to Operations, not the line boss. I walked past them.

Behind the Reeler was a steel waste bin. I didn't know it until I saw the camera footage some time later, but the smoker flicked his cigarette butt at it. He missed. It glanced off the Reeler and sent tiny vermilion embers flying all around.

Walking away, I heard a pop, a rush of air, a roar, and then screams. I dropped my box when I spun around and saw what was happening.

The Reeler was spitting fire from one of its hoses. The flames leapt ten or fifteen feet out from the machine. Instantly, the hose severed and began to flip and flail like a writhing, decapitated snake, launching burning hydraulic fluid in every direction.

The two men returning from their smoke break watched in amazement.

I screamed and pointed at each in succession, "You, call 911! You, get the fire extinguisher! Over there! Go!"

Astonishingly, the three men working on the machine had not yet been hit by the flames.

Go bold or go home.

I ran toward the Reeler, more fire-breathing dragon than machine anymore, and covering most of my face with one arm, I leapt at the wild hose. I felt the white-hot fluid cascade down my back. It was all over the floor and my feet were on fire. Next, I felt it on my arm and on the top of my head: liquid fire.

I seized the hose with both hands. It wasn't hot. What was coming out of the hose was blazing. My arm, back, feet, and hair aflame, I pinched off the flow of the liquid like a garden hose and roared, "Shut it off! Shut it off!"

I burned. One of the three men—all of them still untouched by fire—awakened and slammed the red button on the side, cutting off the power and the flow of hydraulic fluid.

I yanked the burning ball cap off my head and threw it on the ground, and then I stopped, dropped, and rolled. I was still burning in places.

Then I felt the rush of an extinguisher and passed out.

***

Sunburns—bad ones—suck. Greasy burning hydraulic oil burns? They're exponentially worse.

My time in the hospital is mostly a blur of pain and painkiller-induced oblivion. In lucid moments, I became aware that, going forward, the back of my left arm, from my wrist to my shoulder, and the middle of my back, were going to look like an old man's lips for the rest of my life. My feet were going to be okay. I had still been wearing my steel-toes when I jumped into the inferno. My hair was gone, but the doctors thought my hat had saved me from serious burns that might have left me permanently bald. My face was untouched.

I actually felt kind of lucky...when I wasn't in agony from the scorching, itching, feverish pain or just insensible from the drugs.

People came and went, and I had little recollection of their presence, other than their cards, flowers, and notes. There were lots of congratulations and hero talk. I somehow gave an interview to a news agency. It, and the security camera footage of my insane dive into the Reeler, "went viral." I watched it on Youtube and found it hard to believe it was me. I actually started laughing when I saw myself throw down the hat and start rolling on the ground.

Misha came to see me. She was alone. It may have been Amy, though.

I know: one is black and the other is white, one is short and one is tall. How could I not know? But, I didn't. It may have been that both of them came. The memory flickers, back and forth, between the two of them, but same thing happens.

Misha or Amy is crying, and her voice is muffled and hazy until one phrase comes through clearly: "getting a divorce." She speaks some more words that I don't understand or can't remember, and then I hear her say something about a nurse or nursing.

That's it.

After whichever one of them came to visit, I started having dreams where Misha and Amy, one on each side of me, alternately sucked on my cock. First, Amy would do it. Misha would just look at me, her eyes filled with sadness. Then, when Amy pulled off, Misha would bend down and suck for a time while Amy smiled at me. Misha always let Amy finish me, saying, "You should have it." Strange.

I was semi-lucid when my parents came to visit me, along with my older brothers. It went better than I expected. My brothers made fun of my lack of hair.

"First bald guy in the family since that crusty old dude Mom keeps a picture of on her dresser!" my oldest brother proudly declared.

A burst of laughter escaped my Pop.

"That's your Great Grandfather!" my Mom protested.

"Well, Mike looks just like him now," my middle brother offered.

Mom looked at me sadly, "But, it's going to grow back isn't it, Michael?"

I nodded as my oldest brother said, "I hope not."

Lots of laughter and tears.

I thanked them for coming, I told them I loved them all, and I asked them to head back home and let me rest. I'd let them know when I was ready to visit again.

I'd been in the hospital about a week and a half when, under the influence of hefty drugs, I decided my room was too cluttered. In my stupor, I cleared it of all flowers, cards, and gifts. I put them all in the garbage bin. Sometime in the early morning, a custodian emptied it and moved on.

I woke up to a nice, clean room, sure, but I had no record of my well-wishers anymore. There may have been a card from Misha or Amy in there.

I wanted to go home, and the doctors released me the next day with a prescription and a bunch of instructions for skin care and physical therapy.

The President at the factory left me a message. He wanted me to come in and chat. I set it up with him to come in as the day shift closed and the swing shift started.

He embarrassed me with a reception and a speech in front of the assembled teams. I waved and thanked them, told them how amazing they were and how much I was going to miss them. I didn't see Misha. Then, the President whisked me back to his office.

He offered me the Plant Manager position.

"What about the Tamisha incident?" I asked.

"Tamisha no longer works here."

"What?"

"Yeah. She quit—shoot, must have been a day or two after the accident."

"Is she moving? Getting a divorce or something?"

"I honestly don't know," he said, "So, what about it? Will you run the factory for us? We need you, Mike."

"When would I start?"

"When you're ready. What do the doctors say?"

"Two-three weeks, at least."

"That's fine."

"Can you give me some time to think it over?" I asked.

"I can give you a week, then I've got to move on it. How about that?"

"Sure. A week. Thanks."

I shook his hand and walked out of his office, heading straight for HR. It took me a bit, but my hero status enabled me to get Misha's cell phone number.

She never wanted me to call or text her. She didn't want a record of our relationship on her phone.

Standing by my car in the parking lot, I violated her rule. I sent: "Mike here. Can I see you? Talk. Important."

I was home when I got the reply about an hour later. She wrote: "Maple Heights Park in 15 minutes?"

I responded: "Coming."

She was standing by her car in the parking lot when I pulled in. She walked over as I got out very gently—my back.

"I'd give you a hug, Michael, but I don't think it would help."

"I know."

"How are you?"

"Better."

"I came to see you in the hospital, but I don't think you were all there at the time," she said, smiling.

It had been Misha who I remembered, not Amy, and the memory came back so clearly. She had been wearing jeans and a black Yankees tee-shirt. I said, "Sorry. Some heavy drugs they had me on."

"I know, but it's nice to see you up and about."

"Misha, why did you quit the plant?"

She grinned with joy, "I decided to go back to school and finish my nursing degree. Just came from class, actually."

I was thinking really hard, trying to remember. Then, it hit me. "That's right!" I said. "You told me when you came to the hospital. Now, I remember."

She nodded, "Uh-huh."

"That's really awesome, Misha. You'll be a fantastic nurse—the best."

"That's sweet of you."

Then, the rest of the memory flooded back. "But, Misha, I'm so sorry about the divorce."

She stared at me.

"I hope your kids..."

"Michael, what are you talking about?"

"You...you told me you were getting a divorce. Didn't you?"

She shook her head. "No, we're not getting divorced. We're all good."

Fuck, it was so confusing. Had that been a part of my blowjob dreams? I couldn't remember.

"Michael, are you okay?"

I was looking at the ground, rubbing my temples with my fingers and gently shaking my head from side to side. "Geez, this sucks," I said, "I'm sorry, Misha. Things are just a blur." I looked up at her. "Anyways, I'm glad you're not getting a divorce."

She smiled. "Me, too."

"Are things okay now?" I asked, and she seemed to understand: I was referencing the sudden end of our strange relationship.

She hesitated, and then, finally, said, "I am. It's okay now. It was like quitting my daily cigarette for the babies. I had no other choice."

"I'm glad." I wanted to tell her how much I missed our time together, but I knew it wouldn't be helpful. I wanted to kiss her, just once, to know what it felt like to have the tiniest smidgen of her heart, but I understood how that would be unfair.

Son of a fucking bitch, I missed her. Hell, I loved her.

But, she was never mine to love.

It wasn't the blowjobs—though I'd never deny how insanely great they were. It was afterwards. It was us on the balcony, just hanging out and talking. It was coming to realize that she was really cool and funny. It was her understanding when I told her about Amy, and it was her sacrifice for her brother. Mostly, it was her heart—she had a really good one.

Misha told me it had all been about healing herself, but she also said she had chosen me for a reason. She'd hoped to help me. She did. I had long since left Amy behind for Misha.

Now, I was losing Misha at the very moment I understood how much I cared about her.

The fuck was my problem? Twice, this happens?

"Michael, I have to go. My family is waiting for me." She reached out, and we held hands for a second, and then she let me go.

I watched her walk back to her car, but she stopped.

She turned around.

"I met your Amy, you know," she called out.

I stared at her.

"She came just as I was leaving your room at the hospital."

"How...how did you know it was her?"

Misha gave me a "come on, dumbass" look and said, "A super-tall brunette with a big booty? You think I wouldn't recognize that?" She shook her head.

"She came?"

"You don't remember?"

Did I? Shit. "I don't know."

"Well, I'm glad I told you then."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"No, she just looked very tired and concerned for you—sad."

I nodded.

Misha turned, and then abruptly stopped. "Oh, and Michael?"

"Huh?"

"She wasn't wearing any wedding ring."

I stood and watched Misha smile, wave, and drive away from my life.

***

I drove back to my apartment, stunned. Amy had come. No wedding ring. Amy was the one who told me about the divorce. And she had come.

I needed confirmation. I needed to be subtle.

I called my parents. They were overjoyed to hear from me. I thanked them for the visit, and we spoke for a long time about my recovery. I asked how they were faring, I asked about my brothers, and I asked about the family.

Mom went through the list, starting with Deke's family. I showed interest, asking follow-up questions, but I was eager for her to move on to Cynthia and Scott's family.

Then, she did. My heart jumped when, after two minutes of irrelevant news, she said, "Oh, and poor Amy is getting divorced, did you hear?"

There it was. I didn't know how to feel or think. I said, "That's too bad. What about Katy? How's she doing?" I didn't really listen to the rest.

I ended the call with an agreement that I would check my calendar for a good time for Mom and Pop to visit. I told them I loved them and hung up.

I paced my apartment, checking my own feelings and debating a course of action. The loss of Misha was fresh, and it hurt. Did I think I could forget her suddenly and resume some pursuit of Amy? Did I even know Amy anymore?

I concluded that I ought to reach out to her—thank her for coming to see me.

I sat down at my computer and typed out an email:

Amy,

I can't tell you how much it means to me that you came to see me in the hospital. I'm sorry if I was a little woozy. I honestly don't remember much of our conversation. I'm back in my apartment, now, and doing much better.

I've learned about your separation and the coming divorce, and I wanted you to know how sad it makes me that things did not work out between you and your husband. I hate to think of you as being unhappy.

But, I know you'll get through this.

If there's anything I can do, please let me know. I care about you, and I would love to see you again. I have a guest bedroom in my apartment with it's own bathroom if you'd like to visit.

Love,

Mike

Then I typed out my address and phone number at the bottom and sent it.

Ten minutes later, Amy texted me: "Coming. Be in at 8:30 or so tonight. Wait for me at your place?"

I stared at the words for a time, and then wrote back, "Can't wait. See you."

An hour later, my phone rang.

Katy? What the hell?

We greeted each other.

"I know you probably hate my guts, Michael, but I needed to talk to you."

"I don't hate your guts, Katy. We had our differences. It's over. What's up?"

"Mike, I know Amy's coming there to see you. You need to know something: Amy isn't Amy anymore. She's in a bad place. Since they separated, she's been living at home with Mom and Dad. I've seen her. We're all worried."

"What happened?"

"Well, for starters, she's lost probably 40 pounds. She's skinny and weak. She's depressed. She has no self-confidence whatsoever. She's just...she's an empty shell."

"The divorce?"

"No, not the divorce—the marriage."

"I'm not following."

"He was not a nice guy...or, at least, he ended up being a really bad guy."

I felt my heart pumping blood to my muscles. "Did he hit her?"

"It wasn't physical abuse. It was mental and emotional. The guy turned out to be a fucking bully."

"Oh, shit," I said.

"I know."

"Is he being a prick about the divorce? Threatening or anything?"

"No, he wants the divorce, too. He just...he sends her pictures of his new girlfriends, sends her nasty texts, stupid shit like that."

"What a fuckhead."

"Yes. He's a total asshole."

"Can I do anything?" I asked.

Here, Katy paused—long enough that I wondered if we'd lost the connection.

"Katy, you there?"

"Yeah, I am. I just...you'll take care of her, Michael, won't you?"

I thought hard about this. "Katy, it's been almost five years. Not many days have passed without me thinking about her and missing her. I'm going to treat her right. I'm not going to hurt her. I'm not going to bully her. I'm going to take care of her for as long as she wants to stay."

"That's...thank you, Michael. That's what I needed to hear," she said. After a beat, she added, "I was wrong about you, and I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't apologize sooner. I don't like being wrong. I'm like Mom that way. I get an opinion, and I dig myself in."

"Thank you for saying so. Forget about it."

"Mom—Cynthia—wants me to come, too."

"A chaperone?"

"To help my sister."

"Katy, you're welcome to come. I'll make space."

"That's good of you, but I'm not coming unless Amy tells me she needs me."

"Okay, but you're always welcome."

"Thank you."

"Should I pick up anything for her before she gets here?"

"I don't think so. Mom says she packed a big bag. Amy knew you would be spending time at home after the—after you got hurt," she explained, and then, after a moment, added, "You were so brave, Michael. That was one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen." She asked about my recovery before I thanked her for the call and hung up.

I had shit I needed to do.

I checked Amy's flight, and I had about four hours. Not wanting to assume anything, I set up the guest bedroom for her. Then, I decided it sucked and, after making a quick list, went shopping.

***

Several hours later, the guest bedroom had nice, new sheets, tons of pillows, comfy blankets—the works. The mattress was piled high with wrapped gifts. I bought all kinds of bathroom stuff—a blow drier, good shampoo, body wash, a really soft bathrobe, good towels. I got her tons of cool make-up, skin care, and hair products. It looked like Christmas in that bedroom.

After the phone call with Katy, I decided I needed to make sure Amy had space. It might be, I knew, that she would want our relationship to resume without even the slightest bump. I also knew that she might not be ready for all of that. It might be a quick visit. She may stay in a hotel. However it played out, I wanted her to feel welcome. I wanted her to know she could stay with me and still have space. Finally, I wanted the rest of the family to have some plausible explanation for her presence in my apartment.

I waited, and I couldn't help but think about the last time Amy appeared at my place.

This time, it went differently.

She didn't jump into my arms. She crumpled.

She didn't tell me she loved me and scream with laughter. She sobbed.
I didn't make out with her in the hallway. I held her.

I didn't carry her to my bedroom to fuck. I carried her to the couch, wrapped her in blankets, and brought her some water.

We sat together, side by side, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her back.

She cried, and I said, "I'm here for you now, Amy. I'm with you."

A half-hour or so passed before Amy spoke. She asked for something to eat and decided upon soup.

Making it, I had a chance to see her, really see her. Katy's description failed to prepare me.

Amy had always been skinny—she's 6' 2" for crying out loud—but now she was...fuck, she looked like a prisoner of war. Her skin seemed thin and papery. She was gaunt and pale. Her eyes were sunken. Her hair seemed stringy and brittle. I felt the difference when I carried her into the apartment. I could have done a set of bicep curls with her body. Seeing her this way infuriated me.

Then, there was the curiosity of her nose. Where the fuck was it? Do people change that much in their twenties?

And her breasts. They were not at all how I remembered them. Even under that blanket, they seemed really, really big.

It was getting late when Amy arose and declared she was going to check in to her hotel.

I didn't say a word. I extended my hand to her; she took it and followed me. I led her into the guest room.

She stopped at the threshold, apparently stunned by the array of gifts piled on the bed.

"This room is yours, if you want it," I said.

She covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes reddened. "Thank you, Mike."

"Will you stay here?"

She nodded and tried to smile. She walked over to the bed and scanned the pile of presents. "These are for me?"

I grinned and nodded. "Open them, Amy. I want to see if you like what I found."

There were probably more misses than hits, but it didn't matter. For twenty minutes, Amy was Amy, smiling and opening presents with eagerness.

She took a shower while I brought up her bag from the rental car.

She called me in when she climbed into bed. I stood in the doorway.

"Do you still love me, Michael? Honest-honest?"

I knew it would come at some point, her question. I answered gently. "I don't know, Amy. I missed you; I thought about you all the time. I know I loved you before. A lot of time has passed since that day, you know?"

She nodded, sadly.

"I care about you, and as long as you're here, you're my princess, okay?"

She sniffled and wiped her nose. "Did you find someone? In all that time?"

I thought about Misha. "That's not an easy question for me. It's nothing I want to answer right now, if that's okay."

Amy nodded.

"I hope it suffices if I say that I never had a girlfriend, but I wasn't always lonely."

"It was that woman at the hospital I saw—the short African-American woman, wasn't it?"

My eyes had to have given away the answer. I could not imagine how Amy might have guessed that. When I had collected myself, I said, "Tamisha. Yes, she's a good friend."

"She was there at the hospital by herself. She was crying and talking to you. It just seemed like she cared a lot about you."

"Everything from those days is a little hazy."

"You were out of it," she said, and after a moment passed, she asked, "Do you love her?"

I didn't respond immediately.

Amy said, "You don't want to talk about it, yet. I'm sorry. Forget I asked."

"It's okay," I said, "She's married, Amy, with four kids. She loves her family."

She gave me a look-disappointment. "Mike, please, be honest-honest with me."

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and then said, "It ended about a month ago, and yes, I think I did."

Amy sighed. "Thank you." She reached across and turned off her light.

I left, closing the door behind me.

We ate together. She slept a ton. I recuperated; a little buzz of hair was growing back. I looked like a soldier. She began to look like herself again. We went for long, long walks.

I told Amy about Misha.

She told me about Vaughn.

***

Their first meeting, courtship, and even the first six months of Amy's marriage were all sweetness. This changed.

It wasn't sudden.

It began, as some tragedies do, with a joke. Vaughn, Amy's husband, made a gentle remark about Amy's nose. It had been pushing into his stomach as Amy gave him oral sex. They giggled about it.

It opened the door for Vaughan to dig around for Amy's own view of her body. He asked her if she'd ever thought of getting plastic surgery.

"Yes! What girl hasn't thought of those things? With all the pressure to fit some impossible ideal, every girl..."

Vaughan interrupted. "What about breast enhancement? Have you ever thought of that?"

She didn't say a word.

Soon, Amy's husband was regularly making suggestions about her body, her clothes, and even her personality. And the joking continued, but with a sharper edge.

"How can you—you of all people, Amy—not smell that?"

"You know what they say, Amy, about a man's nose and it's relationship to his cock? So why isn't your nose related to those little tits of yours?" He laughed. Amy tried to smile.

Amy had her first surgery a month later: rhinoplasty. The surgeon did his job well. Vaughn was pleased. Amy convinced herself she was happy.

She began to eat less and work out more. Vaughan had a successful business. The money was there for Amy to stay at home.

One evening, Vaughan told Amy he wanted her to use her breasts to please him. Amy tried; there just wasn't enough flesh to grip him. Vaughn said, "Fucking forget it, Amy. It's no use. Just suck on it, please."

A few months later, Amy had her second surgery: breast enhancement. Vaughn loved it; Amy began to hate herself.

Daily, she drank Vodka in anticipation of her husband's arrival home. Vaughn called her on it one evening. They began to argue, and Amy stood up for herself.

Amy's husband, however, was not a fair fighter. He struck at her fears: her body, her height, her self-esteem. All of these came under attack. Vaughn was the kind of guy who would rather destroy a relationship than lose an argument. He unleashed on Amy.

When Amy folded, Vaughn pounced.

"How the fuck could anyone love you?" he roared, "The fat-assed, weak-willed, freak of your family. I should have married Katy."

He left and didn't return until early in the morning.

Amy drank and starved herself. She quit working out.

There were apologies from her husband; they tried to find their love for each other again, but Vaughn was the kind of guy who hated the very sight of weakness, and Amy's self-confidence was obliterated. Before long, they lived together like predator and prey.

***

Amy and I never even kissed during those days. One night, she told me she just wasn't ready.

I told her the only thing I wanted was for her to feel better.

I also told her about the job offer. She was happy for me and encouraged me, so I called the President and said that I wanted the job. In a week, I would start as the new Plant Manager.

Amy couldn't stand the idea of being alone in the apartment for so long, but she didn't want to leave, either.

One night, we were watching tv, and Amy asked, "Would it be alright if I asked Katy to stay here, just for a little while?"

I turned and stared at her. "Huh?"

"Can Katy live here for a while?"

"Wha...doesn't she have a job?"

"She works from home; she does everything by computer."

"Do you need her here?"

Amy nodded. "I'm not ready to be alone for so long. Not yet."

"Then, sure. Ask her."

A few days later, Katy arrived. Cynthia, I'm sure, was pleased. I vacated my bedroom for the couch. Katy took over my room. She was kind about it—grateful and sweet. The girls shared the master bath, and I took the guest bath.

Sleeping on the couch kind of sucked, at first. Later, I decided it may have been a blessing. As Plant Manager, I was responsible for all three shifts. Apart from meetings and other scheduled events during the normal working hours, I came and went as I pleased to supervise all three shifts. Being on the couch, I could come and go pretty quietly from the apartment.

There were two stunningly attractive and sexy women living in my apartment. It was a bachelor's dream come true, except they were both my cousins, one of them was married (and separated, true) and the other for years had kind of hated me. Even so, there was plenty to look at in my apartment.

Katy, always, was drop-dead gorgeous. A tall blonde with fat tits and a sleek, long frame.

Amy was different from how I remembered her. Still recovering, she remained abnormally skinny. Yet, she now looked like a taller, big-assed, brunette version of Katy. I wasn't sure I liked it. She was more voluptuous, sure. Her face was more textbook beautiful with the nose job, sure. But, for whatever reason, it wasn't her, anymore. I missed the old Amy, despite being more sexually drawn to the new one.

My apartment began to smell like women Not perfume. Women. Girls. Female bodies. Pussy, my body told me. I could almost taste it in the air when I walked in. It wasn't pungent; it was faint. But, there was definitely something there.

It may have been that I was so insanely horny that my mind just imagined it. That could be. It had been over six weeks since my last visit from Misha. When I was burnt, I didn't feel like having sex. When Amy moved in, I was ready for sex that didn't happen. Once I moved to the couch, there really weren't a ton of opportunities for me to relieve myself. My body ached for sex, and I smelled pussy in my apartment.

I woke up ragingly, throbbingly hard every morning. Sometimes when I got up, I needed to piss really urgently, but I was so hard that I couldn't. When I finally softened, I'd piss for two minutes and my cock felt sore from being so hard for so long.

Since I often visited the plant late at night or in the very early morning hours, I usually didn't go into work at the start of the morning shift. I slept in for an extra hour. This meant the ladies woke up before me most mornings and quietly drank coffee and nibbled on breakfast at the kitchen table while I slept.

Our kitchen was adjacent to the living room, and from the kitchen, a person looking out the living room window, or at the television beside it, was also looking down the length of the sofa. One morning, I woke up and saw that I must have gotten hot and pushed the blanket down to my feet. I sleep on my back, often with my arms behind my head on the pillow. I was shirtless, and my cock had maneuvered through the hole in my boxers, fully exposed, flushed, and pointed at the ceiling like a fucking bed post.

Neither Amy nor Katy were in the kitchen, but they had to have seen it, both of them. Shit.

I sat up, and like the flash of lightning, I remembered it—a moment from a dream I had been having; there had been sounds. But, they hadn't been in the dream, I realized. I heard the sounds and must have incorporated them into my dream, a dream that was already slipping from my memory. There were soft whispers and giggling.

They'd seen it, alright.

The next morning, unplanned, I awoke early. I checked the time. The girls would be up and about in a few minutes. The blankets covered me, and my stiff cock was wedged inside my boxers. I drew it through the hole and pushed the blankets down.

Then, I reconsidered. Was it likely that I would be in the exact same situation two mornings in a row? Or would it seem like I was intentionally putting myself on display.

Fuck that.

I pulled the blanket up and over me, creating a teepee. Then, I reassumed my sleeping position. I closed my eyes, and then opened them to take another look. What would the girls see?

It almost made me laugh, looking at myself and trying to imagine it from the girls' perspectives in the kitchen.

The couch was pretty firm, it didn't really sink where my ass rested. So, I was fairly level, but jutting up from the middle of my blanketed form was this obnoxious pole. I didn't even look human, or if I did, it looked like someone had impaled my dead corpse with a spear.

Then, I heard a sound. Someone was getting up. I shut my eyes and relaxed, waiting.

One of them came into the kitchen. I heard soft footsteps. I heard her check the coffee-maker. Then, I heard a burst, a snort. She whispered, "Shit, Michael." It was Katy. I heard more footsteps. She went back into her room.

No, she went into Amy's room. There was whispering. Someone came back out.

"Come on." It was Katy.

More footsteps...walking in the kitchen, now.

"Look."

"Oh, my gosh. Again!"

Then, they both were laughing and hushing each other. My heart was racing. I felt the pounding. The fuzzy top of my head faced them in the kitchen, so I was safe to dart a look at my chest. I could see the little rise and fall of my heart, beating away under the blanket.

I heard cups taken out of the cupboard, and I smelled the coffee. They sat down at the table.

Amy murmured, "Wake up, have a cup of coffee, and stare at cock with my sister."

More snorts and muffled laughter.

Katy said, "It's too bad he didn't push the blanket down this time. We should turn up the heat."

"Katy!"

More laughter.

"Amy, I dare you to go over there and pull down the blanket."

More laughter.

Then, Amy whispered, "No, I dare you...wait a minute..." She got up, it sounded like. She pulled something out of a drawer. "I dare you to go over there and slip this over the tip."

Whatever it was, the girls were bursting with suppressed guffaws.

"He'd wake up," Katy said through fits, "he'd wake up and be like, 'Why the fuck is there a cookie cutter over my dick?'"

Ah. Cookie cutter. My Mom had long ago sent me a box of old kitchen supplies. There was some serious random shit in there, including a big Gingerbread Man cookie cutter.

"Does Mike bake a lot of cookies, do you think?" Amy asked.

Ongoing laughter.

"Let me see that," Katy whispered. Then, she got up.

"Katy, what are you doing? You're not really going to...Katy!"

Katy was walking towards me.

Amy urgently whispered, "Don't! He's going to know it was one of us!"

Katy said, "Watch this, Amy."

She was standing right beside me. I sensed her leaning over me. She was doing something, but I couldn't feel anything. I dared not look.

Whatever she did was fucking hilarious to both of them. It did not last long. I heard Katy's laughter move back into the kitchen.

Amy struggled through gasps of laughter to say, "Mr. Gingerbread Man, what is that on your face? Frosting?"

At this point, Katy must have spit out some of her drink, and the laughter was loud enough that both girls quickly shuffled off into the master bedroom.

The old Gingerbread Man-cookie-cutter-blowjob routine, I guess.

It was pretty funny, actually.

***

The next morning, I slept straight on through. When I awoke, I was in my usual position, and so was my cock. The blanket was down to my waist and bunched up there. If the girls had made some jokes at my expense, I missed it all.

The morning after that, I woke up in time, and this time, I gave them the full show: blanket down, cock ready. I even jerked on it a little. I could have cum in ten strokes, I was so primed.

I had to wait a long time, so every few minutes, I gave myself a tug or two.

Finally a door opened. They were already together, both of them.

What the hell? Together? Did I not hear the first one wake up?

"Oh, shit, Amy! No blanket again. Look."

"Oh, my gosh. Coffee and cock. I kind of like these mornings."

They poured their coffee and sat down.

"Is it just me, Katy, or is it bigger this morning?"

"No, it looks bigger. And...I don't know...more..."

"Throbbing?" Amy finished, and the giggling ensued.

If I hadn't been so painfully horny, I would have been laughing, too. The mirth of these women was just infectious. I loved how one would shush the other and then quickly burst into laughter, herself. It was a kind of shushing hypocrisy that made the whole thing even funnier.

"I feel bad for him, though," Katy murmured.

"Blue balls, you mean?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You don't think he's jerking off?" Amy asked.

"No! Look a that thing! It's ready to explode."

Amy sniggered.

After a brief silence, Katy muttered, "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Oh, shit, I've got an idea."

"What is it?"

"Oh, my gosh!" Katy hissed.

"Katy, tell me."

"A way to get back at Vaughn."

Silence, and then Amy said, "You're not..."

"Yes, Amy. Go over there, I'll take a picture, and we'll Snapchat it to the bastard."

"What if he's modified the app to save images?"

"He hasn't. It's Vaughn."

Amy didn't respond.

Katy said, "Okay, okay, we'll make sure you can't be recognized."

They both got up from the table.

Katy said, "Here, give it to me." Must have been Amy's phone.

I heard Amy approaching, but she stopped. "Katy, you don't want me to actually touch him do you?"

No response.

Amy hissed, "He'll wake up! No way!"

"Just get close. Lean over and...," Katy began to giggle, "...open your mouth right next to it."

Amy started laughing, too. "Oh, my gosh, you're crazy."

"Do it!"

I heard Amy walking in front of the couch. She stopped beside me.

I focused every ounce of concentration into not moving, looking asleep.

"Closer," Katy urged.

Nothing.

"Closer, Amy."

I felt her hot breath on the head of my cock, and then I sensed the flash of a camera.

There was movement. Amy walked away.

Amy said, "Let me see."

There were two bursts of laughter, and then Amy whispered, "You can see my eye. Right there. No way am I sending that."

"Okay, okay. Do it again. Stick out your tongue this time."

"Katy!" Amy walked back beside me.

I heard her bend over me. Warm air coursed down the shaft. Fuck, I wanted to look so bad.

There, the camera flashed.

Amy rose and whispered, "Katy."

I heard her bend down again. A moment elapsed, and then I felt her tongue just touch the side of the tip.

Katy said, "Oh, shit!" and both girls exploded in muffled, gasping laughter. They softly hustled out of the kitchen, and I heard them in Amy's bedroom.

I laid there, imagining some things that, for years, had seemed impossible and some other things that, until that moment, were unthinkable.

When they emerged from Amy's bedroom, Katy said, "No, don't send it now. Send it, like, Friday night at eleven. Ruin his weekend with it."

"That's a good idea."

They sat back down, and I heard their coffee cups rise and fall.

"Are you horny, Katy?"

"Oh, fuck, yes."

"Me, too."

Katy murmured, "It's like this apartment, I don't know, the whole place..."

"...smells like sex," Amy finished.

"Yes! Smells like sex, feels like sex," Katy said, "Shit, looks like sex."

They laughed again, and then there was a beat.

Katy whispered, "Remember when..."

"Yes."

Neither spoke for a moment. Then, Katy said, "Do you want to..."

"Yes."

"Me, too...when he goes?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

What the fuck did I just hear? My imagination was on fire with imagery.

I argued against it: No, that's not what they were talking about. It could not have been that. They're sisters. Then, I thought of Tamisha and Tariq. But...no.

I was going to fucking find out, though, that was for damn sure.

***

A hour later, I was driving in my car, heading to work, or so Amy and Katy probably thought. I was actually driving a big square that would take me back to the apartment.

I thought about how this would work.

Getting into the building would be a snap. There'd be no buzzer or anything in the apartment.

Opening the apartment door would be the challenge. The doors are high quality and quite soundproof. I wouldn't be able to tell what, if anything, was going on in there until I had that door open.
To open it, there was a proximity card reader that triggered the lock, and that was loud—a big beep and then the click of the lock. But, there was a back-up system. You could bypass the card reader with a key in the event of a power outage. I'd never used it before, so I didn't know how loud it would be. I made sure I had that key before I said good-bye to the women and left.

Once the door was open, I could step inside, but I would be seen immediately if they were in the living room or kitchen. I doubted they would be there based on what I heard. They'd be in the master or guest bedroom. That was the problem.

No way I could open either of those doors without being caught. The handles were just too damn noisy. The door needed to be open for me to see. If not, listening was my only option.

I arrived back at my apartment 20 minutes after I left. I figured that was enough time for Amy and Katy to feel confident that I was gone.

I entered the building and took the elevator to the fourth floor, our floor, got out and walked to the apartment door. I listened.

Nothing.

I took out the key and slipped it into the hole. I turned it...over once, over twice, and thenI felt the lock's weight against my fingers on the key. I nudged it over. More. More.

Then, it stopped.

I hadn't made a fucking sound.

I grasped the handle and gradually turned it. Once all the way over, I pushed the door forward and felt the slight pressure difference as the inside air met the outside air.

I waited and listened.

Nothing.

I pushed open the door and looked inside.

Nobody.

I stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind me.

Then, I heard them in the master bedroom. Both of them were in there.

The door was closed. Shit.

Soft moaning, sensual breathing. My cock awakened.

I walked across the living room carpet until I reached the bedroom door, and then I stood there and felt myself get harder and bigger than, maybe, I had ever been in my life. I had to adjust myself twice before I just unzipped my pants and let my cock jut freely. I could have hung a forty-five pound weight off the end of it.

Amy and Katy were having sex. There was no doubt about it.

I couldn't tell what was happening, other than that one of them was enjoying and the other, working.

Then, I heard Katy moan, "Oh, fuck, that feels so good."

Amy didn't respond.

Katy said, "Put your fingers in, too." Then, she gasped.

In the eye of my mind, I saw Amy on all fours, gorgeous ass in the air, licking and fingering a spread open Katy. Katy, sitting slightly up at the headboard, held and guided Amy's head into her pussy. She watched her sister suck and lick her, and Katy's eyes were loving and gentle. Her mouth was open.

My heart pounded, and I was so flushed that I covered my face with both hands and whispered, "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck."

I drew my hands back to my shoulders and looked down at my cock; it was flexing to the sounds of Katy's ear-splitting climax. In seconds, I would cum, right there, without having touched it. I didn't want to do that. It would be messy. Cleaning it up would be noisy.

I covered my ears and stepped away from the door. It had to have looked like I was trying to smash my own brains out, I pushed so hard over my ears. I squeezed deep down, inside my groin to dam up the oncoming waves. My mind screamed, and my entire body trembled with the effort of staving off the ejaculation.

Seconds passed, but it seemed like minutes before I finally let out the breath I had been holding and felt the feeling pass away. I was bent over, silently gasping for air when I glanced down and saw the tip of my cock spill out one large drop of cum. I took a tissue from the box near the couch and wiped it clean.

I didn't know whether Amy's turn was coming or if she had gone first. What I knew was that I could not take any more; it would be like torture.

I left the apartment as silently as I could, locked the door behind me and stood in the hallway, shaking my head. My chest heaved like I'd just sprinted a mile. I stared at the door across from me, astonished, rocked, and in awe. And exquisitely frustrated.

The main overarching emotion I felt the rest of that day was anger. Why wasn't Amy ready to fuck me, yet? Why had she even come? She should have gone to fucking Katy's.

I thought really, really hard about calling Misha, explaining my desperation. Surely, she would help me.

No. Fuck, no. I can't ask that of her.

I thought about going home and telling Katy that I needed to see Amy alone. Then, I could beg Amy to fuck me, suck me, jerk me, anything.

I finally decided that I would go home, go straight into the shower, and jerk off until I clogged the fucking drain.

What I actually did when I got back home was go for a long run.

I wanted to get the anger out of my system. I changed clothes and left the apartment.

I ran a little over eight miles. When my legs or feet got too tired, I did push ups and crunches by the side of the road. Then, I kept going. It was long after dinner when I returned home. I didn't say a word to the ladies. I went straight to the shower.

I didn't jerk off. Exhausted, I let the hot water torch me for twenty-five minutes.

I had forgotten to grab a change of clothes before I went in, so after I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, I opened the door and stepped out. The coat closet door was open in front of me. It closed, and Katy stood there in its place.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped.

I looked at her body; she was in tight shorts and a body-hugging tank-top. Her long blonde hair was tied off in a pony tail. I saw her glance at my body.

Then, we stared into each other's eyes. I was thinking about how much I wanted her, right then—how I would have given anything to fuck her right against the wall in that hallway.

I didn't say anything to her, but she slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded. Twice. It broke the moment, and I walked past her, feeling her eyes follow me into the living room.

It was strange, what passed between us in that hallway; I didn't linger on it. I dressed, wolfed down my cold dinner, and then crashed on the couch.

***

I woke up to the feeling of a hand, not my own, gently rubbing my bare chest. The fingers ran over the muscles of my shoulders, chest and stomach.

I opened my eyes. Katy was beside me, kneeling on the floor and facing me. Her other hand was raised up to her face; her index finger extended over grinning lips.

It was early morning, still mostly dark. I wasn't hard. The blanket covered me from the waist down.

Her fingers tugged on my nipples. She whispered, "Amy's asleep. I'm going to take care of you." Then, she smiled, and it was a heavenly sight. I smiled at her, and her hands stirred and awakened me. They touched and felt me all over.

"I know what you need," she whispered, and then she leaned down and kissed my chest. Her lips pressed together over one of my nipples, and she softly sucked.

When she rose up, I saw my cock driving out vertically from my groin. Katy glanced at it and smiled. Her hands lifted the blanket up and over it. The shaft protruded through the hole in my boxers. Katy flattened the fabric of my shorts around it, and then I watched her hand grasp it. Her fingers, one at a time, curled around it.

I moaned softly. She had me in a firm grip with her velvet hands and long fingers.

Katy turned to face me, and then I felt her pull on my cock. We watched each other.

It was like a dream, this moment. Katy's face just radiated affection for me. This, I thought, is how she looks at a person she loves. I closed my eyes and let out a long, relaxed breath.

"Poor baby," she whispered, "You need this, don't you?"

I nodded, and the build up was already beginning. My cock felt like it was stretching in her grip, extending and filling. She tugged more swiftly, and I glanced down at her hand pumping my cock.

It couldn't have been more than a minute before I grunted, "Oh, shit, Katy. Yes. Now." She smiled, never taking her eyes off my face.

My chest heaved, and my stomach clenched, lifting my torso up and off the couch. I pinched my eyes closed, and then I had climbed the peak and was tumbling down. I was vaguely aware of an eruption of cum loosing from me. It kept going. I remembered thinking how it usually was over at this point, but it continued. Then, everything was still.

I fell back on the couch and opened my eyes.

Katy surveyed my body, a satisfied grin on her lips and in her eyes.

My brain was buzzing with joy, and I gasped for air.

"That's a lot of cum, Michael." She drew up her hand and looked it over, twisting it back and forth, showing me the gobs and veins of semen on it.

I glanced down at my tummy, and it looked like twice my normal output, splotches and pools all over my stomach.

"I don't think I've ever finished a guy so fast that way," she whispered, proudly. She reached across me to the end table, her huge tits hovering over my face through a tight, white tank top. She came back with several tissues and wiped her hands clean. "That was really, really hot."

She smiled at me, and I was about to speak, but I froze.

Amy was stirring in her bedroom. We hear her body move on the mattress. I glanced at the window, the sun was rising.

Katy looked at me urgently and hissed, "Stay exactly as you are. I've got this."

She seemed so confident, so in command, that I trusted her. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I didn't hear her leave my side, but I knew she was gone when I heard her door open and then close. I heard Katy walk into the kitchen, check on the coffee, and then I heard her gasp.

What the hell was she doing?

I heard her shuffle quickly across the floor and another door opened. She was whispering to Amy.

"Come here, look, Amy."

"What?"

I heard their footsteps carefully approach me, and then, nothing.

A beat passed and Amy said, "Oh. Oh, my gosh."

"I know, right?" Katy whispered.

"What...did he..."

Katy answered, "He must have had a wet dream, poor baby."

"Look at all that cum," Amy uttered.

I sensed the state of my cock. It was semi-hard, long and flopped over on the side. I felt the cum on it growing cool in the air.

"He must have been really backed up," Katy whispered.

"You know, he did seem kind of funny last night."

"He did," Katy agreed.

I didn't hear anything for a moment, and then Amy said, "Aw, I feel bad for him."

"He's fine now," Katy said, and there was some hushed giggling. Then, Katy said, "Get some of that cream for your coffee, Amy."

Then, there were stifled snorts and guffaws.

Amy murmured, "We should pull the blanket over him so he's not embarrassed."

"What if he wakes up?"

"You do it, Katy. You're sneakier."

I heard Katy walk over to me. I felt her hands grasp the blanket on my thighs, and then let it go.

Then, I felt her finger softly swipe across a patch of wetness on my stomach.

"Katy!" Amy hissed.

I heard a little smack. "Oh, it's good, Amy. Now, I know why you had a thing for him."

"Katy! Oh, my gosh!"

Then, the blanket slipped over my stomach and Katy stepped away.

They drank coffee together, giggling and whispering, while the blanket absorbed the cum on my body and began to stick to me.

Amy said, "I should talk to him, you know, about why I'm not ready, yet."

"Maybe you should," Katy responded. Then, she said, "Do you want to?"

I did not hear Amy respond, but I heard Katy say, "Me, too."

When I got up, I tossed my blanket and boxers in the washing machine and took a shower.

Fuck, I felt great.
Honest-Honest Ch. 07
So many sacrifices and so much patience.
Note: Many thanks to shygirlwhore for her feedback and editing work. -FS

*****

I had a morning meeting, and I couldn't zip back and listen to Amy and Katy fuck. It was enough to know it was happening, and my body felt warm as I sat and listened the department briefings, and then gave my own.

After work, I found Amy alone in the apartment. She told me Katy had gone out to eat, and Amy had made the two of us dinner.

I sat down. We ate spaghetti and meatballs. It was excellent, especially the bread she made to sop up the sauce.

Afterwards, Amy said, "Mike, I'm sorry I haven't been ready to...for us to be together."

"Don't worry about it, Amy. I have no expectations."

"Thank you."

"You are looking a lot better, don't you think?" I asked.

"I feel better, and I think I look better."

"Honest-honest: you do. You look great."

She smiled.

"Are you happy here, Amy? Is this working out?"

"Yes, I don't want to go. I feel safe here."

"Good."

Amy shook her head and asked, "And you don't care that we're not together, yet? Honest-honest?"

"I'm fine."

"And you don't mind Katy being here?"

"If she's helping you feel better, then I'm glad she's here."

"Okay," she said, "You're really terrific, you know."

I smiled.

***

Did I feel guilty?

I wondered why I didn't. Maybe I should have. Amy had come here to be with me. Was letting Katy stroke me a way of cheating on Amy?

Was Amy telling me she's not ready to be together, all the while having sex with Katy, a way of cheating on me?

I wondered how Amy would have felt, seeing Katy give me a hand job. I'm not sure she would have cared, actually.

No, I didn't feel guilty.

***

I went to bed early that night so that I could surprise the night shift boss with a 3:00am inspection of the line. I got back after 4:30am, but I had trouble getting back to sleep.

I laid there, still feeling fulfilled almost twenty four hours after Katy had suddenly, stunningly, emerged from her room in the wee hours of the morning to tug on my cock and make me cum. I grew hard thinking about it.

The night was utterly still, and I was beginning to doze back into sleep when I heard a door quietly open.

I turned to her when she rounded the couch.

"You're up for me?" Katy whispered, smiling.

I nodded, and she noticed my erection.

"Both of you are up for me," she said.

I smiled and she knelt beside me.

"Can I see it?" she asked.

I nodded, and she drew the blanket down. Then, she hooked her finger under my boxers and tugged. I raised my hips and she slipped them down to my thighs. She looked at my cock and said, "I've thought about this all day long, Michael."

"Katy," I whispered, "will you take off your shirt?"

She smiled at me, and then I watched her unfurl two massive breasts and toss her shirt aside.

I reached over and felt them. The skin around them was taut and warm, bursting with fullness. Their weight felt good, felt right. Katy closed her eyes and let her head fall back as I caressed her tits. I dragged my thumbs across her stiff nipples.

She moaned, "That feels so nice, Michael."

Katy brought her hands up and covered mine with hers, helping me squeeze her breasts, knead them together, and draw them apart. These tits were addictive. I could hold them and play with them for hours, days.

She looked at me. "You like them?"

"They're beautiful."

Katy pulled my hands away, saying, "Let me make you feel nice with them."

She scooted down on her knees, aligning her body with my cock. She drew herself up, tall, on her knees and leaned forward, arching her back and pushing her ass out. I felt one of her breasts graze my cock. She took the shaft in one hand, and then brought a breast up against it. Then she released me and, taking her other breast, brought the two together with her hands. My cock was engulfed in the fullness of her tits, held firmly.

Then, she began rocking. I watched the head of my penis appear and vanish between those huge breasts. I'd never had this done to me before. My body felt supercharged from the sensation. Katy gyrated her entire body as if getting fucked from behind. Sometimes, she tilted her head backward. Sometimes, she watched my cock. She occasionally glanced over at me, seeing, no doubt, the purity and completeness of my satisfaction.

I extended a hand and felt the skin of her back. Her body was strong and hot from her work. I felt the early signs of perspiration on her skin. Then, I let my hand slide down over her ass and grasped the curved flesh through her panties.

She slowed her pace, turned to me, and asked, "Do you like my ass?"

After I nodded, she asked, "Does these tits feel good?"

I smiled and said, "Fuck, yes, Katy."

Her eyes shined as she grinned wide. She said, "When you're ready, tell me. I want to keep you clean tonight." Then, she looked down at my cock.

Her pace slowed even more, and her chin dipped down against her chest. She opened her mouth wide as she brought her breasts down to the base of my cock and took the tip between her lips, gently sucking it and coating it in her warm saliva. She lifted her breasts, and her mouth popped off my cock. Then, she lowered herself, her mouth still wide, and clasped the head with her lips again.

The sight was electrical. I whispered a curse and urged her not to stop.

She released me for a fraction of a second, and then her lips gripped me like a lioness with her cub. Her tongue bathed the tip, and Katy rubbed her massive tits against the shaft in rapid strokes.

I watched her and felt heat rising recklessly within me. I took in a deep breath and held it. Again, my body clenched. Katy let her breasts fall away, she gripped the shaft with both hands. My cock contracted, drawing the cum from deep and flooding Katy's mouth.

I swear when the first stream of semen flowed into her, her lips curled into a grin around the tip of my cock and her eyes lit up with joy.

I watched the perfection of her profile, seeing her cheeks rhythmically draw in and relax, and observing the pulse of her throat as she swallowed as quickly as I rendered.

She remained latched to the head as my cock ceased flexing and grew still. She swallowed one last time, and then I felt the tension of her lips release me. She drew in a breath and turned to me, her face a picture of excitement and lust.

"I tasted your cum this morning," she whispered, smiling, "and I liked it so much, I thought I'd take my next dose straight from the tap."

I think there are women out there who adopt a kind of sex persona—so to speak; it's like a mask they wear when they're having sex. They gush about cum and talk about how much they love cock. They think men like it. Some may, but to me, if it's an act; I'd rather skip it. I want sincerity.

There was little doubt in my mind that everything Katy said during sex, she believed. Katy was a sex angel; she had everything.

I suddenly recalled, in that moment, how ugly she could be when she disliked you. Fuck, she could be nasty. But, when she liked you? Oh, shit. It was like a crackling fireplace in the frozen winter, the difference.

She leaned close and whispered, "Tomorrow night? Same place?" She bent down and kissed my nipple.

I shook my head. "Same time. Your place."

She drew back from me, delighted. "Okay!"

"Katy, one more thing," I said, going bold, "Can I watch you and Amy together?"

Her mouth fell open, and she covered it with her hands. It would have been horror had it not been for her eyes. They were alight with wonder and exhilaration.

"You know?" she asked with excitement.

When I nodded, she asked how.

"I heard you talking about it the other morning. I woke up when I heard you laughing, so I pretended to be asleep."

She bent forward with a smirk, eyeing me accusingly, and slapped me lightly on the belly. "Sneaky boy," she hissed.

"Can I?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then she asked, "Are we keeping a secret from Amy or are we asking if she cares?"

"What do you think is best?"

"Secret. For now. Like this," she said, gesturing to the two us, together in the night.

"Okay."

"Yes, you can watch. We have to hide you well, though. The closet?"

I nodded. "The door opens toward the bed. You can leave it cracked and I'll see everything." I smiled and took one of her breasts in my hand.

She let me caress it softly and asked, "What is it you want to see?"

I sighed and whispered, "Everything."

She nodded and reached up to lightly run her fingers around her other breast. "Touching each other?"

I nodded.

She pulled her breast up to her lips, kissed her nipple, and let if fall. "Sucking each other?"

I nodded.

She placed her hand on my abdomen and slowly dragged it up to my belly button, and then, using her middle finger, traced the outline of the little spot, pushing the tip of her finger in at the end. "Fingering each other?"

I nodded.

She turned and leaned over my tummy. Putting both hands on it, she pried my belly button apart with her thumbs and stuck her tongue in it, wiggling. Then, she turned to me. "Licking each other?"

Oh, shit. I nodded.

"Anything else?"

I shrugged. "Surprise me."

"I bet I can," Katy whispered.

***

I left for work early that morning, according to Katy, punching out while Amy showered. Actually, I was in the closet of the master bedroom. I cleared the floor of obstacles and potential noisemakers and checked my surroundings. I would be able to maneuver silently in the cramped space. All set, I sat down in the back, shrouded in darkness, and waited. The door was open about three inches. I could see some of the bed from my spot in the back, but when I approached the door, the entire bed came into view.

Again, I wondered about guilt. Was I wrong?

Yes.

This, it seemed to me, broke a trust. To set this up without Amy's knowledge, to observe her and her sister in a private, intimate moment—this definitely crossed the honest-honest line.

If caught, I could cover for Katy. I could say I overheard them talking and planned it all out myself. Of course, these would all be lies. Honest-honest was crumbling before my lust.

How did I justify it?

I knew I wouldn't get caught, for one. I reminded myself that Katy, her own sister, liked the plan and was eager to carry it out. I convinced myself that, if and when the moment was right, I would tell Amy the truth. Maybe, I thought, it would be liberating for her. No more secrets.

And wasn't she, Amy, the one keeping secrets from me first? Ogling my exposed body in the mornings? Toying with me while I slept and taking pictures? Having these covert liaisons with Katy while I was at work, all the while telling me she wasn't ready for sex?

She broke honest-honest first.

Amy followed Katy into the room, and I was on full alert. I crept forward on my hands and knees. The staggering height of these two beautiful women hit me anew from this vantage point. Their legs were so incredibly long.

They slipped out of their shirts and bras without exchanging a word. I saw Amy's enhanced breasts for the first time. They were perfect spheres attached to her chest, capped with fat nipples that I didn't recognize. They were pornographic, unreal. My first instinct was a compelling urge to slap them—not cruelly, but firmly to see if their recoil was in any way recognizably human.

Katy stepped in front of the closet, hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties, and slowly drew them down, bending herself in half, and arching her ass directly into my line of sight. My jaw fell open and my cock flexed. I saw everything. It was a view to turn a man into a raving beast. Katy's ass was a smaller, sleeker version of Amy's—more compact and with tighter curves. It was heavenly.

Katy sat down on the bed and watched Amy. I did, too.

Amy had put about half the weight she'd lost back on. She looked better, more healthy, but still a bit skinny. I caught a side view of her ass, and it was how I remembered it: gloriously round and disproportionate to her legs and waist.

I was surprised to find myself more eager to see Katy's body. Amy was skinny, her face was surgically altered to perfection, she had enormous fake tits, and her ass was fantastically big. Any other man in my situation, I think, would have been drooling over Amy more than Katy. Not me.

Vaughn, that fuck, had coerced Amy into these surgeries, convincing her that she'd be gaining so much through them: beauty, sex appeal, and confidence. I only saw what she had lost: her true self, her uniqueness, and her flawed perfection.

I shook my head, clearing these thoughts from my mind. I needed to focus.

Amy sat beside Katy, and she reached up and grasped one of Katy's breasts. Katy said, "Let's go together this time."

Amy said, "Sixty-nine? I don't know. It's hard to focus, don't you think?"

Katy shrugged. "Can we though?"

Amy smiled, biting her lower lip.

Katy stood up and took Amy's hand. She led Amy around the bed—directly in front of me—turned her around, and guided her down. Amy's back lay on the bed; her knees were up. I gazed at her pussy, remembering.

Katy crawled over the top her, pointing her little booty at me. I swallowed. Then, she spun herself around. She lowered her body on Amy's, and then she looked into the closet at me, smiling.

Holy shit.

Katy's smile vanished, and her jaw fell open. Her neck craned forward a little, and she took several deep breaths before moaning. Gazing into the closet, her face was rapturous. She moaned again, nodding at me. Then, Katy tilted her head down and extended her tongue.

It seems petty to complain, but I didn't have as good a view as I could have. Katy's head often blocked my view of Amy's pussy. I wished Katy had reversed herself—put Amy's head and Katy's pussy in my view, or they could have just flipped over. Life is tough, I guess, when your live view of two beautiful girls—sisters—sixty-nining isn't as good as it could have been.

Whatever. I think Katy wanted me to see her eat Amy's pussy.

Every now and then, Katy would turn her head—show me her profile—and lick sideways. Those were the best moments.

The two had been going at it some few minutes when Katy reached under Amy's ass and squeezed the flesh into her fingers. After, she leaned forward—towards me—and craned her neck down.

I covered my gaping mouth. Katy was licking Amy's asshole. I was sure of it.

I was even more sure when she returned to Amy's pussy, and I could see a glistening ring of saliva around Amy's little hole.

I stood up in the closet to get a sense of what was happening on the other end. It was hard to tell. Then, I heard Amy gasp, but I couldn't see why until I got back down on the floor.

Katy's right hand was tightly gripping the right cheek of Amy's butt. Her pinky was extended, and the very tip was hidden inside that big ass.

Amy was coming. I listened to the sounds, and they brought back good memories. Katy never quit, burying her face in Amy's pussy, clutching Amy's ass, and fingering it with her pinky while Amy struggled, thrashed, and screamed through the orgasm.

When it ended, Katy began to gyrate her ass into Amy's face, controlling the act, putting Amy's tongue in the places she wanted.

Katy was loud and energized. She was like a pent up animal that had been released. Totally confident and uninhibited, Katy took selfishly what Amy was giving. Having given freely and joyfully, now it seemed, she wanted the pleasure that Amy's tongue and fingers offered, and she was damn well going to get it.

It occurred to me, then, why this sexual relationship between the two worked. Amy, ever seeking confidence, must have fed off Katy's brimming self-assurance. Amy, inexperienced and reserved, learned from Katy's liberated desires and hunger for sexual pleasure. These moments together were rebuilding Amy, as they must have first built her up in the past.

I could almost imagine their first time. Amy went over to Katy's with doubts, fears, and questions. Katy explained, and then she showed. She held up two fingers and stroked them with her other hand. Then, she made Amy put up her fingers, so that Amy could feel the proper grip and movement. After that lesson, Katy put her lips around Amy's fingers and sucked them, bobbing up and down. She encouraged Amy to try it on Katy's fingers.

Katy, no doubt, had great sex stories to tell for Amy's edification. Always, though, she demonstrated. Katy pulled down her panties and touched herself for Amy's benefit. Then, she had Amy undress, encouraging her to touch herself in certain ways and then, to really make sure her younger sister had it right, Katy got down on her knees and used her own fingers on Amy, touching her in places and talking about sex with confidence and unbridled energy. Sexually awakened, Amy left and all her doubts were washed away. Her body felt good. She would visit Katy again to learn more.

I continued watching the two from inside the closet. Amy began to assert herself, taking control by gripping Katy's body with her arms. Her pleasure nearing it's peak, Katy relented and just absorbed. She screamed into Amy's pussy. Her body trembled and Katy hollered, staring at me in the closet. Finally, I watched Katy's entire body shake with surprising force, and a prolonged and very feminine moan rang out from her before she foundered, limp and exhausted.

Amy slid out and rolled over on her tummy; Katy rolled over on her back.

"I knew it would be good," Katy huffed.

Amy laughed.

I watched Katy's chest and Amy's back rise and fall.

Eventually, Katy asked, "You ever do anal?"

"Yeah."

"Vaughn?"

"Mike, actually."

Katy's head shot up; she flipped on her side, facing Amy, and said, "Really?"

Amy looked at her sister and nodded.

"Was it good?"

Amy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then responded, "You know, at the time, I hated it and loved it..."

Katy interrupted. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it hurt. Mike is strong and big and he...I guess he didn't hold back? You know? He wanted it, and he fucked me hard, Katy. But, on the other hand, it felt good to be so wanted and so full," she said, adding, "I asked him to do it. He didn't want to at first."

"Wow. And now, how do you feel about it?"

"Vaughn wanted me to do it, but I wouldn't let him. It would have reminded me too much of Mike," she began, "Now, thinking back on it, I kind of really liked it. I like how Mike did it. I like the idea of being just taken, feeling so fucked. Is that weird?"

"No."

"What about you? Do you like it?"

Katy unfurled a shy smile. "I've never done it."

"What? No way!"

"You're more experienced than me in that department," Katy admitted.

"I don't believe it. Why not?"

"I never had a boyfriend long enough to get to that point, to be that intimate with. A couple of guys wanted to, but I wasn't ready with them. It's not like I wouldn't do it; I just wouldn't with them," she said, and then asked, "Amy?"

Amy turned to Katy.

"Was Mike good?"

"Unforgettable. Amazing and sweet. Why?"

"Don't be mad?"

Amy shook her head.

"It's just...seeing him every day, being so horny like I am—like we both are, really. I want him."

"You do?"

Katy nodded, smiling. "Not for anything serious, Amy. Not that. Just for fun. Seeing him every day, seeing his cock, I don't know. I want it. Do you care?"

Amy considered this for a few seconds and said, "I guess I don't."

"Why haven't you done anything with him, Amy?"

"With you, I'm still me, even with all this," she said, gesturing to her tits and her face, "but, I don't feel like myself around him, yet. Or any guy, really."

"We could share him? When you're ready, I mean."

"Do you think he'll want that?" Amy asked.
"You know him better than I do."

"I'm not sure I know him anymore, not like before Vaughn."

"I'm going to do it, if it's still okay—tonight," Katy declared.

"Do what?"

"I'll sneak out and suck his dick."

"While he's sleeping?"

"I'll wake him up."

"You're really going to?"

Katy nodded.

"When?"

Katy bolted upright. "You want to watch?"

Amy smiled. "Yes," she said, and then quickly added, "It might help me change the way I feel—to see it."

Katy smiled deviously. "Okay. How about one o'clock?"

"Okay."

When, later, they went into the bathroom together, I crept out of the closet and left for work. I put in a long day, feeling a little bit guilty about not being at work in the morning.

I tried to stay focused, but there's nothing quite like the anticipation of a blowjob.

Unless it's a blowjob from a tall, gorgeous woman with big tits.

Or, better still, a blowjob from a tall, gorgeous woman with big tits whose equally sexy sister is secretly watching.

***

So, we weren't going to be in her bedroom that night, which I regretted a little, because I wanted to fuck Katy. I had seen her body—in action. I wanted it badly. It would have to wait. She was going to come to me on the couch.

I knew I had to play this thing a certain way. I didn't think she would want me to behave in a manner that revealed our previous night encounters. I texted her.

"How should I be tonight?"

She replied: "First time together."

"Gotcha."

"Can't wait. Yum!"

Oh, shit.

***

Katy had worked two bits of magic that I never anticipated while I sat in that closet and watched.

The first was intentional on Katy's part. She got permission to fuck around with me from Amy. The coming blowjob, I expected, could only be the beginning. Plus, I wouldn't have to feel any guilt about the other times with Katy.

The second was not at all intended, but welcome, nonetheless. I now understood how Amy felt about the time when, years ago, she had walked out of my crummy old apartment and out of my life. This was critical in resolving some ugly feelings for me.

I second guessed myself for years, thinking that I had been cruel to her when I fucked her ass—even though she'd practically begged me to do it, to hurt her. In retrospect, I always thought, "This is what some girls do; they tell you to do what they actually don't want you to do." I came to believe that Amy had asked for rough sex, but expected and desired that I would never do it. So, I thought that I'd failed her. I thought the reason she never wrote back to me all those times was because I had ruined our relationship. I thought that I had driven her to Vaughn.

Now, I knew her perspective was a little different. She may not have enjoyed it at the time, she may have been surprised by how aggressive I had been, but she looked back on it with some satisfaction.

I hadn't failed Amy.

Thank you, Katy.

***

I spent a long afternoon and evening at work, not getting back until 9:30pm. I ate a quick dinner, showered, and watched tv with the girls until I fell asleep.

"Michael, wake up."

I opened my eyes, and the first thing they fixed upon was my cock, a hot tower of meat, poking through my boxers at the ceiling. The blanket was somewhere on the floor.

I needed to act surprised.

"Geez! Katy!" I whispered, and then glanced down at my crotch. "Excuse me," I added, covering my dick with my hands. "Is something wrong? Is it Amy?"

"No, she's fine. Nothing's wrong." Katy glanced to her left, behind me to the kitchen. Amy must be there.

"Oh," I said, relaxing. "I'm sorry about that," I added, looking down at my hands.

"I don't mind," she replied, "Actually, it's kind of why I'm here."

I decided not to respond.

Katy looked at my hands, and then she gently moved each one. "I want to help you with that. May I?"

"Is...what about Amy?"

Katy leaned close to me. Those beautiful eyes were full of eagerness. She put her finger over my lips and quietly shushed me. Without breaking eye contact, she reached back and grabbed my cock. "Don't talk, Michael. Enjoy."

She began to stroke me extremely slowly.

"Oh, fuck," I huffed.

"I see this hard cock almost every morning, and it makes my mouth water. I couldn't sleep tonight, thinking about it. I had to do something."

Her hand felt soothingly warm on the shaft, and it moved up and down at a languorous pace.

"I know," she continued, "you're having wet dreams, and a big boy like you shouldn't have to have those. You need a big girl to take care of you."

She let go of me and stood up, walking to the other end of the couch. She spread my legs and knelt between them. Then, she leaned forward on her hands and lowered her head.

She paused, millimeters from my cock, mouth wide open, and she looked up—not at me, at Amy in the kitchen. Then, she closed her eyes and took me in her mouth with a soft "mmm." It was like she tasted rich cake, that sound.

Her hands were on my hips. Mine were behind my head. Katy's mouth held in place about halfway down me, and she reached to my shoulder and drew my arm down. She reached for the other one, and I brought it down. Then, one at a time, she placed my hands on her head, and continued sucking me. I dug my fingers into her lush blonde locks and guided her up and down. Katy sucked me in long, sweeping movements along the shaft. It was like her head was fucking me, really. I let out a long, slow sigh.

Then, she paused again, and she shifted her torso just slightly, and then I felt her nipples on my thighs. Oh, shit. She dragged them in circles through the little hairs on my legs. Then, she lowered her body, and those tits squashed against me. Fuck, they were big.

Katy let my cock fall from her lips. I let go of her head, and she pulled my boxers down, helping my cock through the hole and watching it spring back up. She laid flat on the couch between my legs, and I watched her pull my balls up to her mouth. She kissed each one, softly. Then, she stretched her mouth wide and pushed them inside, one at a time.

"Oh, shit," I whispered. I couldn't believe she fit them in her mouth.

She sucked, gathering the rest of my scrotum between her lips. Her right hand reached around and grasped my cock, stroking slowly.

The sensation was totally new for me. If her mouth was a tight, wet, and warm new lodge for my testicles, then her tongue was the masseuse that worked there. It caressed and bathed my balls. Every so often, her tongue stopped, and her lips sucked and swallowed. I felt my balls pulled toward the back her throat. The tension was achingly exquisite until she released.

All the while, her long fingers, curled into a fist around my cock, stroked me from the base to the tip. Her eyes watched mine, and they were smiling. I saw her hand ride along my shaft, I saw her jaw, gaping wide to contain my entire scrotum inside her lips.

"I'm coming, Katy. Oh, fuck."

She sucked my balls and swallowed one last time, continuing to tug me slowly, and soon, the tip of my cock erupted. My entire body tingled in warmth as my fluids spilled out. Fuck, it felt so good.

With surprising quickness, Katy let my balls free and took the head of my cock between her lips, sucking the final dregs of semen out of me. I gasped and struggled to breathe as my muscles seized up with the ending of my orgasm. It was over.

Katy let the tip out, and her face brightened into the most jubilant smile. Fuck, I thought, she loved pleasing me. Nothing, it seemed, made her more happy than to work her magic on my cock. And that, in itself, made the entire experience even better—to have the woman who did it be so joyfully thrilled to give such pleasure.

I closed my eyes and sighed. I only just then remembered that Amy was watching.

I forgot about Amy again when I felt Katy kissing and licking the cum off me. I watched her. She was thorough. When she finished, she looked up and saw me watching her.

"What? I like it!" she said, as if I were accusing her.

"Thank you, Katy. I really, really needed that," I whispered.

She smiled and said, "Not as much as I did." Then, she stood up beside me and told me to go back to sleep. "Sweet dreams, Michael." She walked around the couch and back to her room. I didn't hear Amy leave.

I fell asleep, never even bothering to put my boxers back on.

The alarm on my phone woke me at 5:00am, and I went in to work for a few hours.

***

Dinner that evening, with all three of us sitting together, was an interesting affair. Katy made pancakes and scrambled eggs with link sausages.

The pancakes were small, each a circle about four inches in diameter. I only mention this detail because, when Katy sat down with her plate, I couldn't help but notice a little arrangement she'd made with her food.

Her two pancakes were slightly overlapped. She had taken only one sausage; it was on the plate pointed directly into the crease where the two pancakes met. Her eggs were in two small lumps under the sausage.

Yes, it looked like a cock and balls pointed into an ass.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" she asked Amy and I, reaching for the syrup.

Amy gave Katy a wry smile and said, "Thanks, Katy. It looks delicious."

I mumbled, "Yeah, thanks." Having already doused mine in syrup, I cut away a bite and ate some.

Katy upturned the bottle of syrup and, very carefully, covered the tip of the sausage in it. Then, she shook the bottle and squirted several blasts of the stuff on each pancake.

I choked on my bite, and then cleared my throat. "Excuse me," I offered, casting a sideways glance at Katy's work. It was pornographic, her creation. I felt Amy give Katy a look across the table. I hazarded the briefest of glances. Amy was fighting back a smile.

"Well, Michael, what do you think of my pancakes?"

"They're perfect. I love them."

"I'm glad," she said. "Mine are pretty firm, and I like it when they're covered in syrup."

When Katy said this, Amy froze, momentarily, with her fork halfway to her mouth. Then, she took a bite. I had another one, too.

Katy said, "I like to keep the sausage between my pancakes to keep it warm." She stabbed the sausage with her fork, and held it up for us both to see.

Amy coughed. She was really trying desperately to stay in control of her laughter. So was I. I just stared straight ahead.

Katy said, "These sausages are pretty juicy. Sometime I like to make a little cut...," and here, she raised her knife and cut a tiny slit in the tip of the sausage, "...and then I can suck the warm juice right out of the hole." Then, she put the sausage in her lips and sucked.

I sort of cough-exploded at that moment, and then I mumbled something about going to the bathroom and left the table, covering my face with my napkin and choking back laughter.

As I turned down the hall, I heard Katy ask, "Ever have one so juicy that it squirted all over your face, Amy?"

I ran through the door and closed it behind me. I turned on the sink for a few seconds, steeling myself, and then I returned to the table.

They acted like nothing happened.

Katy spoke first. "Amy, do you like sausage?"

Amy's eyes widened. Her eyes shifted to me, and then back to Katy. She said, "Yes, Katy. I like sausage a lot."

"I thought you did."

Amy turned to me. "Mike, do you like sausage?"

I couldn't look at either Amy or Katy. I know they were enjoying the hell out of this. I slowly said, "Uh, I like bacon. But, I really like it that you're both into sausage."

Peripherally, I saw Katy's eyes brighten and her face shoot up in Amy's direction.

Katy declared, "Neither of you have tried your eggs. I'm going to try mine." She punched her fork through both of the two lumps on her plate.

Here we go, I thought.

"I always like to have two eggs. I pop them in together, and then I let their flavor just seep into my mouth." She closed her mouth on the eggs and, no shit, didn't chew on them, but sucked on them for a while.

Amy bit down on her lip. I just watched Katy.

Using her fingers, she picked up her sausage and held it, vertically, in front of her face while she continued to roll those eggs insider her mouth with her tongue.

It was a food-based rendition of her services to me in the night.

Amy covered her face with the napkin, her shoulders visibly shaking. Katy quickly swallowed the eggs and took the opportunity to look at me.

She pushed the sausage between her pursed lips, and then winked and smiled. What an instigator she was! But, my gosh, she was beautiful.

I went back to work after dinner—a little surprise for the new swing shift boss I was training. I didn't want any of my shift supervisors to feel like I had a routine. I wanted them constantly wondering when I might pop in to walk the line with them.

I guess I was being a prick, but it wasn't a "gotcha" kind of thing to me. I liked our employees. I wanted to see them work. I wanted them to know that my eyes were on them—not to catch them fucking up, but to see them doing a great job. I also needed my shift bosses to know that I cared about every single line worker. Efficiency, safety, and quality production were on me. I was getting paid really, really well for being 25 years old. I wasn't going to fuck up this job.

On the drive home, I felt uncomfortable. Katy had pushed things really far, really fast. Even though she had gotten permission from Amy to be with me, Katy's behavior at dinner was so suggestive that I wondered about Amy's feelings. She had smiled and laughed, but was that a front?

I got back near midnight. None of the lights were on, and after I changed clothes and washed up, I found myself staring at the door to Katy's room. I needed to talk to her, yes, but I wanted to fuck her.

Amy's door opened. She stood at the threshold, and I completely forgot about Katy. Amy was wearing a body-hugging black tank top and black boy short panties. Men would kill for her.

"Hey," I managed to say.

"Katy's out."

"She is?"

Amy nodded. "Want to come in...just to talk."

I nodded, walking towards her door as she turned around and went inside. I studied how her ass moved in those panties.

Amy pulled a chair over beside her bed, and then slipped under the covers. Again, I stared at her ass until it was hidden by the sheets and blankets. She propped a few pillows behind her and sat up. The sheets slipped down to her belly, and Amy's new breasts, like junior league soccer balls, stretched the center of her night shirt. I had to make a conscious effort to tug my eyes away from them and look Amy in the face. Then, I sat down.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Thinking about things?"

She nodded.

"Tell me."

She sighed. "It's my body."

"Amy, honest-honest, you are looking more and more healthy every day. You look great. I mean, your hair, just as an example, when you got here? Forgive me, but it looked like...like a really cheap witch costume wig."

Amy exploded in laughter, curling her knees up and rolling her head back against the headboard, eyes shut. "Oh, shit. It was bad, wasn't it?"

"That's my point. It looks thick and full and real again."

She wiped her eyes and thanked me. Then, she said, "No, I know I'm getting better, thanks to you and Katy."

I nodded.

"But, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about my new body—the changes I made."

"Oh." I glanced at her chest, caught myself, and returned to her face. "What about it?"

"I hate it."

"Tell me why."

"My body is now a constant reminder of...of Vaughn. Every time I look in the mirror, I see his work, the things he made me do to supposedly feel better about myself, and I feel the shame he made me feel."

"That must be horrible, Amy. I'm sorry."

"I feel like I'm his puppet or something, and I'll always be, so long as I look like this."

"The people who care about you—me, Katy, your family—we know who you are. We know you won, Amy. You left him in the fucking garbage, where he belongs. You're free."

"Maybe," she said. "What do you think of my body now, Mike? Honest-honest."

Again, I cast a fleeting glance at her breasts. "I'm torn, Amy. I won't deny that a part of me keeps looking for the old you. Another part of me is very drawn to you. Very."

She nodded, sniffling.

"Amy, is there any part of you—deep down—that looks in the mirror and likes the changes?"

"What do you mean?"

I looked at the full length mirror beside her closet, and then I stood up. I extended my hand, "Come here."

She tossed the sheets aside and took my hand. I led her to the mirror and stood behind her. I guided her forward so that she could focus on her face.

I was thinking of Misha and her good heart, the way she held my hand when I was feeling like a fuck up. I was trying to help Amy the way I know Misha would have.

I said, "Be honest-honest with yourself. Don't think about Vaughn. Don't think about people you know or people you don't know. Don't think about me. Answer this question for you, alone. Does any part of you like this face?"

She studied it.

I said, "Look at your eyes. My gosh, women would kill to have eyes so bright. And your smile. Let's see it. Please, Amy?"

I nudged her in the side, and she giggled and smiled.

"There it is. It's the smile of men's wildest dreams," I urged. "Come on. Now, isn't there any part of you that likes what you see?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Then save that feeling and throw away the rest. This face is yours now, and it is beautiful." I pointed at the mirror. "That is Amy."

She sniffed and nodded. "Thanks, Mike."

Then, she took a step back and, looking down at her chest, said, "What about these?"

I tried not to look. "If you truly hate them, get rid of them."

Being no doctor, I was assuming that a nose job, unlike a boob job, was somewhat irreversible. I mean, what could they do? Add plastic to the end of your nose? I couldn't see how anyone would want that.

"Mike, why won't you look at them?"

"I don't want to embarrass you...or myself."

"How would you embarrass yourself?" she asked, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

All I could do was shake my head.

Amy turned away from the mirror, facing me. "Look at them, please?"

I did. I looked at them and neither of us spoke. I felt hot. My heart began thumping. My hands felt light and ready to reach up for Amy's breasts. I consciously flexed my shoulders to pin my hands to the sides of my legs.

Amy must have seen my struggle. "You can touch them if you want."

I reached up, and instead of taking her breasts in my hands, I held her shoulders and turned her to the mirror. I stood behind her, my boxers against her ass. I swept her hair away from her neck and kissed her softly, from her shoulder to her neck, and then up behind her ear. My hands reached under her arms and, for the first time, felt the bulging curve of her new breasts. I squeezed them, feeling their mass and realizing one hand would never be enough. They were softer than before. I felt the flesh of Amy's tits squeeze up between my fingers.

I grew hard against Amy's ass.

I let go of her and quickly pulled her shirt over her head, letting her breasts fall free. I ground my front against her back, watching my hands knead her tits in the mirror.

"Oh, fuck, Mike," she moaned.

Her words ignited me. I yanked down her panties and felt the wetness between her thighs. Almost as rapidly, I pulled down my boxers and put the tip of my cock against her, nestled inside the two velvety lips.

"Yes," she pleaded.

I drove inside her, and she pushed back into me. Her pace and mine synchronized almost instantaneously. We were familiar lovers, despite the passage of time. Amy leaned forward, placing her palms against the wall on either side of the mirror, arching her ass into me. I liked seeing her watch herself in the mirror, fucking me and getting fucked. I liked seeing her new breasts absorb the energy of our collisions.
A host of memories surged in me when Amy began to call out "ooh." It was her thing, that sound. I loved it; it was strange, and to some it might even have been off-putting, but it was so her. My cock made her "ooh." Her tits rocked and she blew it out from her lips. Her ass took the shock of my thrusts, and she sang it out. She watched her face in the mirror, eyebrows pinched together in ecstasy, and she hollered, "Ooh!"

Seconds from losing control, I stopped and pulled out. My hands were on her hips, squeezing her ass apart as my chest heaved for air.

"Are you going to fuck...," she gasped, "...fuck me in the ass now?"

"No. Turn around."

She did, and we were face to face. I kissed her and our tongues met. I picked her up by the waist. Her legs locked around me, and I gripped her ass. I walked her over to the bed and laid her on her back.

"Keep those legs wrapped around me. Pull me close, Amy." She did, drawing my cock back inside her.

"Can I cum in you?" I huffed.

"Please, no. We can't."

"Okay," I panted. I didn't know if I could even do it—bring her off before I, myself, erupted.

I kissed her again. Fuck, our bodies were close. Every part of us that could touch was mashed together. I felt her pussy squeezing, milking me.

I laughed, "Oh, fuck, Amy. Stop. Please."

She did, smiling. "Did you like that?"

I shook my head, "It's too good right now."

She nodded, delighted to have pleased me so much. I glanced left and right, seeing those beautiful, long legs clutch me.

I was ready. She knew it. "Fuck me, Mike."

I did. I drove my cock deep inside her, and she smiled in a way that I hadn't seen in almost five years.

"Ooh, that's so fucking good. Ooh," she cried.

I curled down and latched onto a nipple, sucking hard. The flesh of her breast covered my face, and I almost couldn't breath. In this position, she called out her orgasm in that little bedroom. When she hit her peak, it took every bit of concentration I had not to let loose, myself.

I continued fucking her as her cries died down. She stared at me, wonder in her eyes. I thought, she's forgotten what it's like when it's this good.

I pulled myself out of her. Then, her face pinched into a look of alarm, and she said, "Oh, but you didn't go, Mike!"

I rose to my feet beside the bed. "I'm okay."

Amy sat up and seized my cock, pulling me close. She kissed it and looked up at me. "Do you want to fuck my new tits?"

I nodded. Amy laid back on the mattress and waved me to her. I couldn't help myself, kissing her little pussy as I began to climb on top of her.

I sat on her tummy. "Okay?" I asked.

She nodded and raised her breasts. I pushed my cock down between them, and Amy squeezed the shaft in her cleavage. I took hold of her breasts from her and paused for a moment. My cock almost looked insignificant between those fleshy mountains. I drew back and pushed through them. Her smooth skin let me slide easily, but the supple fullness of those tits engulfed my cock in warm, soft friction. Fuck, it felt good on my cock, and it felt good to clutch those fat fucking tits.

I was mere seconds before the sensation pushed me to my limit.

"Cum on me, Mike."

I did. I drove through the cleavage one final time and froze, spilling cum on her neck, shooting it at her chin, splashing it across her lips, and then dribbling it out of the tip between her tits. I sat up. Amy grabbed my cock and worked out the last drops with her fingers, putting the tip of my cock against her nipple and spreading the cum on it. Then, she let me go. I rolled off and collapsed beside her on the bed.

"Fuck, that was good, Amy. Shit."

"You don't know how much I needed that—I didn't know how much I needed it."

I caught my breath and asked, "When did you know you wanted it?"

"When you kissed my shoulder. When I felt your cock hard against my ass. You?"

"When you told me to look at your tits. When you walked into my apartment two weeks ago."

She laughed and rolled on her side, caressing my chest with her fingers. "I'd give anything to keep you here tonight, but..."

"...but, we shouldn't?" I finished.

"No. I don't think it's a good idea to sleep together."

I nodded and got up to find my boxers. After I slipped them on, I said good night to Amy and left.

It was about 1:30am when I laid on the couch.

It was about 3:30 when Katy woke me up. Her hand was on my cock, and she had worked me to stiffness in my sleep.

She smiled at me. "I wondered if you were going to sleep right through my hand job."

"Just tired."

"Too tired?"

How could I say no to that gorgeous face. I shook my head.

"Good. Now, tell me something: why does this cock smell like my little sister's pussy?"

I smiled.

"She needed you tonight?"

I nodded.

"Michael, that is really good news. I mean, really, really good news."

"She's starting to feel like her old self again, I think."

"Did she say that?"

"Not in those words, but I think she gained some confidence."

"Oh, my gosh. That is so awesome. Thank you."

I shrugged. "I'm just very lucky, I think."

"Oh, you're getting lucky, young man," she cooed, and she unhooked her bra, slipped it off, and then stripped her shirt off. Her tits hung there, and Katy began to bring my cock and her mouth together.

"Katy."

She stopped and turned to me.

"Can I lick your pussy?"

Her eyes widened and she grinned. Then, she shook her head. "Better not, Michael. I'm pretty noisy."

"Please, Katy. Let me just lick on it a little bit. I need it."

"My baby needs a pussy to lick?"

"Yes. Please."

Her teeth shined in the darkness when she smiled. "Okay, but if I tell you to stop, you have to."

I nodded.

She stood up, and I watched her slip out of a skirt and then pull down her underwear.

I swung my legs off the couch and got up. I sat her down, hiked her ass toward the front edge of the sofa, and got on my knees. Katy spread her legs wide, giving me a view of paradise: long, shapely legs leading down to a clean shaven pussy. Katy grabbed the pillow I had been sleeping on, brought it to her mouth and bit on it. Then, she nodded at me.

I leaned forward and kissed her pussy.

Katy whimpered.

I put my tongue on the slit and dragged it up. It dipped just inside, and I tasted her for the first time.

She whimpered again and cooed, "Oh, Michael."

I wanted to taste her again, pushing my tongue further inside her and feeling her little clit on the tip. I pulled my tongue in and pinched her little nub with my lips, sucking gently for a moment, and then kissing it. It was different from Amy's, more compact.

I spread her apart with my fingers and explored her with my tongue, searching for places to taste and feel. Her pussy was soft and wet on my tongue. Places where I'd already gone, I turned my head sideways and tried again from a new angle. My head was in constant motion, turning left and right, seeking places for my tongue. I clasped her labia and sucked on each. I jammed my tongue deep and low, feeling Katy's clit on the tip of my nose. I rubbed circles on it. Then, I pushed my tongue back into her vagina and curled the tip up; I rocked from side to side inside her. I drew back, opened wide, and engulfed her whole pussy with my mouth, sucking with my lips and bathing it with my tongue.

I was on fire. She was moaning fervently and continuously into the pillow.

I put my hands on the insides of her thighs and spread Katy even wider, pushing my face into her and working her clit between my tongue and lips. Her fingers locked around the back of my head, and she drew me in closer. I felt Katy's feet land on my back and pull me. I could barely breathe, my face was so mashed into her pussy. I attacked her clit, twitching my tongue over it as rapidly as I could.

Then, she was squirming away from me. Her feet moved to my shoulders and pushed me off. I stopped, sat up, and looked at her.

Katy threw the pillow down, seized my face with both hands and leaped at me, kissing me, shoving her tongue in my mouth, and suffocating me with her face. She drew away suddenly and, still cradling my face in her hands, glared at me, whispering, "Are you fucking kidding me, Michael?"

"What?"

"No one has ever, ever eaten me like that before!"

"You liked it?"

She kissed me again. After she drew back, she said, "Fuck, yes. I loved it. I had to stop you, or I was going to fucking die, Michael!"

I grinned.

Katy said, "Stand up."

I did.

She went to her knees. "Fuck, I can still feel your tongue in me," she said, shivering and looking up at me. "You're not allowed to lick my pussy anymore. For the safety of the whole building, no."

I laughed.

Katy swung per long pony tail around her head. She took it in one hand and grasped my cock with the other. She brought the end of her hair up and began lightly gliding over my balls with it. Then, she kissed the tip of my cock twice before opening wide. The head and first three inches submerged before I felt her lips grip the shaft.

When she pulled away, she looked up at me and said, "Shit, this cock tastes like my sister." She was about to take me in again, but she stopped and asked, "You didn't cum inside her did you?"

I shook my head.

"Good. A doctor made her get off the pill a while back."

"She asked me not to do it."

Katy nodded, and then she gave me a sad look. "My poor baby didn't get to shoot inside, did he?"

I shook my head.

"Then, I'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen this time." Katy handed her pony tail to me. She took two deep breaths, open wide, and started swallowing my cock.

It was not sudden, but very, very gradual. She took just the head, at first, squeezing it with her lips. Then, I felt her tongue surge forward a little and her lips begin to gather more of me. Doing it this way, it may have been twenty or thirty seconds before I understood what she was up to. She was more than half-way down when I felt it—a threshold inside her mouth. The tip of my cock crossed it.

I muttered, "Holy fuck," and then watched Katy's lips descend further and further until there was nowhere further to go. Her upper lip nestled in my little hairs. Her lower lip was on my scrotum. My entire cock was inside her mouth, and Katy's tongue pushed against me and pulled back, as if she were trying to coax cum out of me. Her tongue continued to massage the base of my cock in this way.

Blood coursed through my body. My heart raced. I let go of Katy's pony tail and cradled her head. I felt my cock throbbing inside her mouth. My muscles were fired and ready for action. A warmth stirred deep within me and began to rush outward, invading every extremity. It was transforming, the pleasure Katy was giving me. My body was becoming something else, something much, much more powerful.

Then, in a rush, she pulled off me, heaving and gasping for air, yet struggling to keep quiet. I had to have been completely inside her for more than a minute. Her big tits rose and fell as she caught her breath.

A gloss of perspiration shined on her forehead. Even in the darkness, I could see her eyes watering as they looked up at me.

And her eyes! When she looked up at me, tearful and panting, it was almost as if she were asking, "Did I do good, Daddy?"

I nodded, smiling, and caressed her cheek. I said, "When you're ready, do that again."

She nodded, wiping her eyes. She put her hands on her thighs and stared at my cock, her face a mask of fierce determination.

Then, she took two deep breaths.

And did it again.

When I was completely inside her again, when her lips clutched the very root of me, when I held her head in my hands, and when that incredible surge of strength filled me for the second time, I cursed, pinched my eyes shut, and came.

That feeling of pent up, barely contained, trembling power and strength flowed out of me when I came. My cock was a fat hypodermic needle. Katy's throat was the vein. I injected that bright energy into her body in small doses: once, again, a third, another, more, more, and then she had it all.

We pulled apart at the same time, and I sat down on the floor, and then I just laid back, flat on the carpet, sucking air.

She crawled on her hands and knees to me. Laying by my side, she said, "You really liked that, didn't you?"

I nodded. "Fuck, yes, Katy."

"Any girl ever do that to you before? Deep?"

I shook my head.

She smiled, whispering, "When you cum, I can feel your whole body, like, pump up, and you feel super strong. It's totally fucking hot. I had no idea."

"No, Katy, I'm the one who had no idea. Oh, shit."

She wrapped me in her arms and pulled me close, giggling—pleased with herself and me.
Honest-Honest Ch. 08
An unwelcome visitor arrives, looking for trouble.
Note: Many thanks to shygirlwhore for her suggestions, comments, and editing work.

***

I went in to work early, and I came and went sporadically, but never being gone from the factory more than 30 minutes. My shift bosses had to be totally confused. Every time I walked out, looking like I was calling it quits, I'd stroll back in a few minutes later. I'd leave from the delivery exit and come back in through the main entryway. I'd head out through one of our fire exits (I could deactivate them) and come back inside through another.

The VP for Operations finally just kicked me out of the place with a smile. "Get your ass out of here and get some rest."

"I will. I promise—one more thing to do." I pulled out a stopwatch and yanked the fire alarm.

The VP shook his head; I smiled.

Fire drill. I wasn't going to leave anything to chance.

It was 4:30pm when I left work. I drove around for about an hour, and when I was sure the VP had gone home for the evening, I went back to the factory.

***

I rolled home late; it was after midnight, and I staved off sheer exhaustion with a Coke. On the way, I thought about Misha. She was always going to be with me. I wondered if the same was true for her.

I spent more time thinking about Katy and Amy, us living together and being together. The more I thought about it, the more I grew concerned. This, I thought, could get out of control.

Nobody was awake when I stepped into the apartment. I washed up, walked over, and quietly opened Katy's door. The blinds were closed, and it was pitch black in there.

"Katy?" I whispered.

I heard her move in the bed, sit up, maybe. "Are you here for my body, Michael?"

"I...No, I wanted to talk."

"Talk dirty?"

"No..."

"I'm just kidding, Michael. Go ahead; I'm up."

"It's about Amy and, well...," I couldn't see shit. "Katy, do you care if I turn on the light?"

"Please don't," she said, "What we're you saying?"

"Yeah, uh, I wanted to talk to you about the three of us, especially Amy."

She didn't respond.

I went on. "I'm worried. I don't want anything we are doing to make Amy feel bad, you know? She keeps getting better and better, and I'd hate myself if something we were doing started to hurt her or make things worse. I love her."

Still, she didn't say anything.

I continued. "And I don't want anything to hurt our relationship, Katy. I love you, too. If anything were to fuck that up, it'd be terrible to me. These weeks together have been...shit, the happiest I've been in years. You are two of the smartest, funniest, and most exciting and beautiful women I've ever known. I feel so lucky to have you both here."

She said, "You're in love with us? Both?"

That was tricky to answer. I didn't want to hurt Katy's feelings. "I love both of you, yes, but it's...it's not a 'let's get married' thing. It's...I'd do anything for you. I'm always, always going to be there for both of you. I'm...I don't know...like your ally and your shield and your sword. Shit, I care about your happiness more than I do about my own. So, yes, I love you and Amy."

"Michael, that's...that's one of the nicest things I've ever heard."

"I couldn't stand to ruin it, Katy—for either of you. I'd hate myself if I lost one of you—or both."

Silence.

"And it's probably terrible to say at a moment like this, but I don't give a shit. I am so attracted to the two of you. Fuck me. I see you walking around in my apartment, and I can barely control myself. I want to fuck your brains out."

My eyes were beginning to adjust, and I saw Katy's silhouette slide off the bed, stand up and walk over to me.

She was nude. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and she kissed me.

Her lips were sex, melting sex. Soft and yielding, it wasn't until she pulled back when I realized that she tasted like pussy. She said, "Amy?"

Then, the lamp came on. Amy's hand drew back from it. She was topless in Katy's bed.

Katy shifted over to my side and looked back at Amy. "He is very, very sweet, isn't he?"

"He is," Amy said, smiling.

"Is he going to lose us? What do you think, Amy?"

"No."

Katy said, "I don't think so, either." She turned to me, "You're safe, Michael. We love you, too, don't we?"

"We do," Amy answered. She slipped out of bed and came over to me. She kissed my cheek, and then, my lips. She tasted like pussy, too. Amy turned my face into the light. "You look tired, Mike."

"Tired, but happy now. Haven't slept much."

"Poor baby," Katy offered.

"Let us take care of you, Mike." Amy led me to the bed. Katy took off my trousers and socks. Amy took off my shirt. They both removed my boxers. Each took an arm and laid me in Katy's bed, Amy on my right, Katy on my left.

Amy shut off the light, and then their hands were all over me, feeling, massaging, kneading. I felt lips and tongues everywhere. I closed my eyes.

It all stopped when Amy asked, "What should we do, Katy?"

"Let's suck his dick and then we can let him sleep."

"Okay."

"I'll want these balls; you take that cock," Katy said.

"I get his cum, then?"

"Mm-hmm."

Katy struck first. She lifted my balls, and soon, I felt my entire sack encased in warm wetness. Fuck, her mouth was huge. Her tongue began to massage it, and my body just seeped into relaxation.

Amy's lips clasped the head of my cock and descended. Her mouth was feverishly hot and sloppy wet, as if she'd been drooling in anticipation of sucking my dick. I heard her slurp as she drew up, and I felt a bead of saliva stream down towards Katy's lips.

I didn't think it was possible to feel so completely at ease and satisfied. A tinging warmth spread through me, and I felt like my body was, very slowly, sinking deeper into the mattress.

It's impossible to overstate my surprise at how gently and soothingly Katy operated on that very sensitive part of me. I had no idea such a thing felt so good. Katy could make me cum, strictly from what she was doing to my balls. I knew how, when I had my cock buried in a pussy, it felt like home, like this is the place it's supposed to be. I never felt anything like that about my sack. It was just there. I knew differently, now. My balls had a home, too—completely inside Katy's mouth.

Amy's blowjob was slow and wet. It felt like I was being slowly ridden by a sopping pussy. She rode my cock with her lips.

These sensations were awe inspiring, but what truly made my orgasm imminent was the orgy of sounds I heard. I heard swallowing and smacking. I heard slurping, sucking, and sloshing. It sounded like my cock was being fed upon by a pair of starving tigresses.

When first I grunted, Katy started to suck hard and relax in rapid cycles, like her lips were pumping my balls for cum. Amy dove deep with her lips and held there, and for the first time, I felt her suction. It reminded me of Misha—strong and unwavering. My balls were being shaken by Katy's mouth; my cock was being vacuumed by Amy's.

I grunted again, and my body began to disgorge semen. The ecstasy of it was multiplied by Katy's efforts. Each spasm was sharper, somehow. Each hit a higher peak. Katy's rapid-fire suction made me feel like every outpouring of cum was a leaping shot, like it might have went high into the air had Amy not been drawing it all down her throat.

Katy didn't stop until she saw Amy slowly ease off me. The girls, one on each side, climbed up beside me in bed.

"That was fucking amazing," I muttered.

Amy drew herself close to me, draping an arm over my tummy. Katy did the same, only laying her arm across my chest. I could feel tits and nipples against me on both sides.

Then, Katy said, "If you wake up for more, you can fuck me, Michael."

Amy said, "Mmm. Me, too."

I grew alarmed and opened my eyes. "Wait a second," I said, "so who am I supposed to fuck first?"

Katy looked across my chest at Amy. "He's right. We're putting him in a bad position."

"Yeah," Amy acknowledged, "How about whoever is closest?"

Katy pulled her body tight against me. Amy did the same.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, and the girls started laughing.

***

Sometime in the night, I don't have any idea when, I woke up. I looked left and saw Katy on her back near the edge of the bed. She had stolen all the sheets and was snoring deeply. I looked right. Amy was next to me on her side, naked ass out and pointed at me.

She had a beautiful waist. Laying on her side accentuated the hourglass shape of her figure. It was irresistible. I reached out and touched her waist, hips, and butt, running my hands all over the sweeping curves.

Amy stirred, and she arched her back, pushing her butt out. I could see the shadow hiding her pussy in the darkness.

I leaned towards her ear and whispered, "Shhh."

She nodded, and I gently scooted down the bed, listening for Katy's snores to let me know I hadn't wakened her. I wanted to taste Amy's pussy and get it ready for my cock. About half-way down I stopped—my feet got tangled in something.

I grabbed the item and looked—panties. I tossed them to the floor and gazed straight ahead.

Amy's round booty was inches in front of my face. The urge to kiss it overpowered me. I craned my neck forward and kissed the dark line where those two big spheres met. My hands gripped each cheek and the smooth, firm flesh stirred and excited me. I needed more of this fucking ass.

I pressed my face against it, and quietly as possible, I kissed, licked, and sucked every place my mouth landed. Fuck, it was good. Somehow putting my mouth on Amy's ass satisfied some deep urge to possess it and completely have it. Others might have said it was nasty, what I was doing, but that made it all the more exciting to me. I didn't give a fuck. A woman's body is my playground.

I pried her ass apart, exposing her most hidden place. Letting go of her ass cheeks, I repositioned myself slightly, slipping my arms around her body at her hips. I gripped my forearms and hugged Amy's butt into my face. I pulled her hard into me. I nuzzled between those soft globes until my lips were on her tiny puncture.

I kissed Amy's asshole, and I kissed everywhere around it. Then, I licked it. I wasn't thinking about the taste—it wasn't objectionable, just skin with a hint of perspiration and a touch of pussy—I was thinking about totally owning this fucking ass, every part of it. Something about it set me ablaze with lust.

I was vaguely aware of Amy's heavy breathing and Katy's snores. I felt Amy pushing back against me, and to know that I wasn't the only one really turned on, excited me even more.

I squeezed my face closer, hugging her butt tighter to me, and I pushed my tongue against her asshole. It resisted me. I gathered saliva to the front of my mouth and pushed it through my lips. Then, I slathered it on Amy's little hole with my tongue. Forcing the tip of my tongue against her, I finally felt it push inside her, perhaps an inch. I grunted and started tongue-fucking her ass.

It was depraved and nasty and fucking awesome. I could feel my cock, already hard, turning from wood to steel. I always feel rigid on the outside, but this felt like my erection was starting somewhere deeper inside my body. If it could have spoken to me, it would have been screaming for a connection with female flesh.

I released Amy's booty and gently slid up the bed, still attending to those snores from Katy. When I was beside Amy, she turned to me and grinned, panting and nodding. Then, she held up a finger: wait.

She reached to her nightstand and quietly slid open the drawer. Her fingers searched inside for a moment, and then emerged with a small tub of vaseline. I took it from her and whispered, "Can you be quiet?"

She nodded.

I prepared the areas. In short order, I was in position, the tip of my cock against her asshole. I bent up a little so I could watch Amy's face. Katy was snoring.

"Are you sure?"

She clutched a pillow to her mouth and nodded. I applied pressure. Amy's mouth gaped and her eyebrows raised and pinched together.

The head of my cock slid inside; her tightness held me. Amy and I were joined together. I heard her muffled whimper through the pillow. I remained in place, allowing her body to adjust and basking in the intimacy of our union.

Two things happened almost simultaneously. First, I felt the light touch of fingers on my shoulder. Second, I realized Katy was no longer snoring. I glanced over my shoulder and Katy was there, wide eyes, leering at what I was doing to her sister.

She mouthed some words. I only caught two of them: "fucking" and "ass." I nodded, and Katy covered her mouth.

She put a finger to her lips and signaled for me to continue.

"Ready Amy?" I whispered.

She nodded.

I pushed, and the vaseline did it's job, enabling my cock to inch smoothly inside Amy's ass. She bit the pillow and moaned.

Meanwhile, I saw Katy tip-toeing around the bed to Amy's other side. She knelt down beside the bed and reached across the sheets between Amy's legs.

I took the opportunity to push myself the rest of the way in. I heard Amy cry into the pillow.

Katy looked at me, smiling. Apparently, her fingers were working on Amy, but Amy wasn't reacting. She must have thought I was reaching around, doing it myself. So, I reached over and under her body and clutched her heavy breasts, watching her face.

Her eyes opened and she drew down the pillow. Katy laughed, rose, and slid into bed beside her sister. Amy said, "Oh, shit. I didn't know we woke you, Katy, but please keep doing that."

"Fuck her, Michael."

I had been holding in place. Now, I drew back, and then plunged forward.

When Amy closed her eyes, I saw Katy lean in closely. As my cock drove inside her, Amy's mouth yawned open. Katy immediately kissed her, and Amy's moan went down Katy's throat.

I watched them kiss and fucked Amy's ass slowly. They continued to kiss, I could see their tongues lunging and twisting from the little movements of their cheeks. I glanced down and saw Katy's arm gyrating between Amy's legs. My cock felt the movement of Katy's fingers inside her sister's pussy. As my shaft glided through her asshole, Amy continued moaning into Katy's mouth. My hands groped and squeezed Amy's fat tits.

She had Katy's tongue in her mouth, my hands on her tits, Katy's fingers in her pussy, and my cock in her ass. Amy's climax came on rapidly. She cried almost continuously into Katy.

I thrust inside her harder, increasing my tempo and pushing as deeply as I could. Now, Amy was hollering and Katy's lips couldn't quite contain the sound.

My own climax suddenly hit. I pinched my eyes shut, clutched Amy's tits, and seized her nape with my lips, grunting. Cum surged through my cock and filled Amy. I drew her body as close to mine as possible as the last contractions fired, and then my muscles relaxed completely.

Katy broke the kiss. "Oh, shit, you just came in my mouth, Amy. Fuck, that was hot."

Amy was wheezing and nodding.

"Did he cum in your butt?"

"Yes," Amy gasped, swallowing.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes."

Katy almost looked like she was panting, but not with exhaustion, with excitement. "Fuck, that is so crazy! Amy, tell me you liked it. I want to hear the words."

Amy took a gulp of air and moaned, "I liked it when Mike fucked my ass."

"Is he still inside you?"

Amy nodded.

"Let me see."

Katy sat up and crawled over us. Amy and I had to move together. She rolled toward, but not quite on, her stomach. I rolled with her.

Katy pulled Amy's ass apart and said, "Holy fuck, look at that cock." She glanced up at me and said, "Pull it out, Michael. Slowly."

I drew it out. When the head slipped out, Amy moaned.

Katy muttered, "Oh, shit, there's the cum."

I sat up and took a peek. Amy's ass was slowly leaking cum.

Katy turned back to Amy. "That had to have hurt, Amy."

"Some."

"But, you liked it?"

"I did."

Without hesitation, Katy asked, "Will you do me, Amy?"

Amy nodded, "Give me a minute?"

"Yeah, and...," Katy stopped, cast a glance at me, and then turned back to Amy, asking, "...and will you put a finger in my ass, maybe?"

Amy nodded.

I was laying down, ordering myself to stay awake and watch it. Stay awake, and watch Amy and Katy. Stay awake, Mike. Stay...

***

The fuck was that noise? I sat up. I was on one side of the bed; Katy and Amy were curled up together on the other side.

That was some night, I thought.

Then I remembered. Shit! I didn't stay awake.

I heard the sound again. It was the buzzer. Someone was ringing my doorbell. I slipped out of bed and ran to my phone. The facility gives tenants an app that shows us who's buzzing. We can even talk through the intercom system.

I hit the alert on my phone and there, filling the screen, was Cynthia. Holy shit.

I steadied myself. "Hello?"

"Michael? That you?"

"Yes. Cynthia?"

"Uh-hmm. Will you buzz us in?"

"Scott with you?"

He stepped forward. "Hello, Mike."

"Hi, Scott."

Cynthia said, "We'd like to see our daughters, Michael. Can you buzz us in?"

I began, "Yeah. Hey, people are just getting up, can you..."

"Never mind, Michael, someone's opening the door for us."

I closed the tab, threw my phone down, and raced into the master bedroom. The day we fucking all sleep together in one bed is the day fucking Cynthia comes to visit us? Shit!

I burst through the door. "Amy! Katy! You're Mom and Dad are here! They're coming up right now! Hurry!"

They both shot up. Katy screamed, "Mom!" and there was a whirlwind of activity. We had, as I figured it, a little less than two minutes, depending on the elevator. I glanced at the clock: just after 9:00am. There was no time to think about how rude it was of Cynthia to show up unannounced at my apartment this early on a Friday morning.

My task was easy: make the couch looked slept in, throw on some clothes, and not look like I'd been ass fucking her daughter.

I was slipping on sweatpants when they knocked on the door. "Coming!" I ran toward the bedroom doors. "Are you good? Are we okay?"

I heard Katy's shower running.

Amy emerged from her room. "I'm so sorry about this, Mike. My Mom!"

"We good? She's waiting."

"Other than my ass is sore and leaking cum, we're good."

I gave her an apologetic look, and then sped to the door.

This was it. The last time I'd seen Cynthia, I'd won the battle, but lost the war. I wondered if she was itching for another fight.

I opened the door.

Cynthia looked older. I was surprised. It had been five years, but she looked more like ten or so had elapsed. Scott looked about the same as always—tall and good-natured. I welcomed them in, and Amy met them at the threshold, giving big hugs as I went into the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked.

Scott said, "Smells like coffee. I'll have a cup."

"I will, too," Cynthia added.

Amy came over, saying, "I'll make them. You don't even drink coffee, Mike." There was a hint of tenderness in her stride.

"Amy, are you hurt?" Cynthia asked.

Amy's eyes darted to me before she said, "Just a little sore from working out."

Scott and Cynthia were effusive in their compliments as to how Amy was looking. I was proud. Katy and I had done a pretty good job of helping Amy get healthy again.

Katy emerged from her room in a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her hair. More hugs ensued. Their family drank coffee at the table. I grabbed a soda from the fridge and stood off to the side.

"Michael, I trust you're recovering well?" Cynthia asked.

Before I could answer, Scott said, "Mike, that was a hell of a thing you did."

"Thanks," I began, "and, yes, I'm..."

"It was very brave of you," Cynthia said.

"Thank you, and thanks for asking. Yes, I'm good. Just waiting for my hair to grow back."
"Can I see your back?" Scott asked.

"Scottie!" Cynthia protested.

"Dad!" Amy and Katy said simultaneously.

"Just asking! He doesn't care. Do you, Mike?"

I said, "No. Here." I turned around and lifted my shirt to my head.

"Damn," he said.

"Oh, good night," Cynthia whispered, and then her voice rose and she ordered, "I can't bear it. Pull your shirt down, please, Michael."

"Mom!" Katy spat, "Be nice!"

I pulled it down.

Cynthia looked up at Katy, surprised. Then, she said, "Well, I don't wish to see it here at the kitchen table. He knows I'm not being rude."

I smiled, "Of course, not."

"Michael, will you show us your apartment?"

Everyone followed as I went around. It didn't take long. We went into Amy's room first, and then Katy's.

A couple things happened in there.

First, Cynthia sniffed and, briefly, squinted. I don't know if either Katy, Amy, or Scott even saw it. I did. She whiffed the air in the room, pinched her eyes together, and then she caught my eye. I didn't react.

Second, while Scott was asking Katy something about work, I saw, on the floor at the foot of the bed, the small tub of Vaseline with no lid. I took a few steps towards it, trying to be nonchalant, and kicked it under the bed as I turned around and sat down on the edge. Cynthia's eyes were on the floor where I'd kicked, and then her eyes locked on mine. Those eyes, for a fleeting instant, signaled fury.

I made some excuse about calling work and left for my couch, letting the girls lead the rest of the tour.

Why didn't I fucking leave the Vaseline there? Why didn't I pretend like I didn't give a fuck what Katy left on the floor of her room? Shit!

Amy walked around like her ass hurt. Katy's bedroom smelled like sex, and there was an opened tub of fucking Vaseline on the floor!

Everything was fucked. I said my good-byes, got dressed in the guest bathroom, and left for work.

***

Amy called me.

When I picked up, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Something's wrong—the way you left. I know it. What?"

"Was I obvious?"

"Not to anyone else, but I know you. Tell me."

I did.

She wasn't as worried as me. Told me her Mom was acting normally. Argued that it would have been suspicious if the Vaseline had been in her room, not Katy's. Said the room definitely did not smell like sex.

I disagreed, but decided not to say so. "You're probably right. I'm sorry. Your Mom still scares me a little."

"Mike, how are you scared of a little old lady, but not of a machine that's puking fire?"

"I'm weird that way."

She laughed and let me go.

***

I spent most of Friday and Saturday at work, getting caught up on paperwork and emails, as well as knocking out some of my own little projects for improving line efficiency and safety. I also had to prep for an interview. The HR director asked me to conduct the second interview of an applicant for the open Office Manager position.

I tried to be home when the family was out, and out when they were in. Scott and Cynthia stayed in a nearby hotel, so I continued sleeping on the couch. There were no night visits from the sisters. In fact, if anything, they were eerily quiet.

On Sunday morning, Scott took the girls out for breakfast. Cynthia invited me on a walk.

She asked a lot about my work, and I think she was actually impressed. She remarked to me about Amy's improvement.

"I suppose I have you to thank, in part, for that," she offered.

"That's kind of you to say, but she's doing it on her own."

She stopped me and turned.

"I've always underestimated you, Michael. Scott tells me I owe you an apology for it, but you'll never get one."

Here she goes, I thought, all pretenses are dropped.

She went on. "You play the role of the humble helper well, but it's an act. I see through you. I know something's going on. I was right five years ago, and I'm right today. But, you're not going to tell me, are you?"

Her first salvo. I gathered up myself, loaded my guns, and...lowered them.

I wasn't going to strike back. Fuck her. It's exactly what she wanted—a fight. I'd give her something else.

I said, "Well, for starters, you've never owed me an apology, Cynthia. I've owed you one; I didn't give you the respect you deserved back in my apartment those years ago. I'm sorry. Secondly, you're right, what I'm doing is most definitely an act. I'm no nurse, no caregiver. I just hope I'm helping Amy in some small way. As to what may be going on beyond that, I don't know. Ask me a question, and I'll give you an answer."

I said it earnestly. I was proud of myself.

"You know what I'm talking about. Don't play sweet with me."

"I don't know, actually, but I'm ready to answer any question you have. It's the least I can do for my aunt."

Her face twisted as if she'd just taken a sip of vinegar. She pushed her hands out, finger fully extended and demanded, "Are you and Amy in a sexual relationship?"

"Of course not."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry that I haven't earned your trust." I was on a roll. The shit was just flowing into my brain.

"Tell me this, then, have you ever had a sexual relationship with Amy?"

"Yes, when we were younger, we experimented. It was wrong, so we stopped."

"Experimented? I heard you say were in love with each other at your old apartment!"

"The young experiment in sex and love, but are experts in neither, don't you think?" I was very proud of that one.

"Okay, why did you kick that jar of Vaseline under Katy's bed?"

"What?"

"I saw you do it."

"You mean this morning? On the tour?"

"Of course this morning."

"I thought it might embarrass Katy to have it left out on the floor."

"How?"

I shrugged. "It's used as a skin protectant and personal lubricant. Those seem like personal, private matters to me."

"So, out of the kindness of your heart, you decided to kick it under her bed, so that I wouldn't see it?"

"You and Scott, yes. Look, I've gotten to know Katy better these several weeks. She cares about her family. She cares what you think of her. She doesn't like to expose her flaws."

Cynthia eyed me gravely for a few seconds, and then her posture seemed to deflate a little.

We continued walking. Neither of us spoke.

Later, as we approached the apartment complex, she said, "I'm sorry I accused you, Michael."

I told her I understood—my previous behavior probably warranted her mistrust.

She thanked me, and then we talked about the accident at the plant.

I thought, Don't fight the tiger; feed it until it isn't hungry anymore. Feed it compliments, apologies, self-deprecations, and lies. Whatever it takes.

Victory. Sweet victory.

***

Scott and Cynthia were set to leave the next morning—Monday. I took the family around to a few cool places in town on Sunday afternoon, and we had steak dinner together at a really good place that night.

During dinner, Cynthia asked Katy and Amy, "How long do you think it'll take to pack your things tonight?"

Katy glared at her mother; Amy glanced at me.

I did my best to be cool, but I knew: this was Cynthia's work.

"We'll be fine, Mom."

Back at the apartment that evening, Katy and Amy, together, approached me, both looking uncomfortable.

Amy started, "Mike, we're so sorry..."

Katy interjected, "We meant to tell you earlier, but..."

"We didn't see you at all Saturday, really," Amy finished.

I said, "Hey, it's no big deal. This is what was supposed to happen, right? Amy gets better, and then you head back home. You can't stay here forever."

Katy asked, "You forgive us?"

"Nothing to forgive. I love you guys, and I'll miss you."

Then, I was being hugged. I wanted to find out why they had decided to leave so soon, but I knew the answer: Cynthia. Their Mom had used some kind of leverage or some sympathy ploy.

But, I wasn't without a plan of my own. "Mind if I throw out an idea for you two to think about?"

They waited, interested.

"In a couple of months, everyone is headed back to Big Rock. I wondered if you two might like to come visit here that week."

"Yes," Amy said, quickly.

Katy's eyes grew wide, and she said, "Michael, we could, like, have an annual get together of our own!"

"That sounds pretty cool, Katy. I like that," I said, smiling.

Amy thought it through, "So, when everyone else is at Big Rock, the three of us go somewhere else. Yeah."

"We should have some ground rules," Katy declared.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, we're going to have fun together, of course. Hang out. But, we're also going to...you know..." Katy smiled.

"Fuck?" Amy asked.

"Yeah," Katy continued, "and if one of us is in a relationship, then..."

"Then, you don't have to come. Right," I said.

"But, you can. No judgments, either way," Amy added.

"Right. The offer will be there every year, so..." I said.

"So you can always come back, even if you didn't go the last year," Katy said.

The three of us looked at one another, excited.

"I like the rules," I said.

"Me, too."

"Yeah."

I asked, "So, do we want to come here for the first one or should we go somewhere else?"

"Here," Katy said.

"Yeah, this place has good memories," Amy agreed.

"Okay," I said.

Katy said, "Let's fuck now. I need you two."

Amy took my hand, and we followed Katy into her bedroom. Amy let go of me and went over to Katy, they kissed, cupping each other's breasts. I sat on the bed and watched. Fuck, they were beautiful.

A phone buzzed, and Amy broke the kiss. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her shorts.

"It's Mom," she sighed, answering. "Hi, Mom...Yeah?...But, why?...They won't put you in one with a different one, a better...Yeah?...What about Dad?..."

Katy and I looked at each other. Something was going on.

Amy continued, "Can't you just find somewhere else?...Oh...No, it's fine, Mom. It's okay...Alright...Yes...Bye." She hung up and said, "Shit!"

Katy asked, "What's wrong?"

"Mom's coming over. She's going to sleep here tonight."

"What?!" Katy exclaimed.

"She says the mattress hurts her back, and she can't take another night."

"Why don't they just go to a different hotel?" she asked.

Amy sighed. "They won't give her a refund."

"Is Dad coming, too?"

"No, he's staying."

"Mom is not sleeping with me," Katy declared.

"Me, neither. I'm going to the hotel."

"You are?" Katy asked, sadly.

"Their room has two beds, and I'd rather hang with Dad than sleep in the same bed with Mom."

I asked, "Are you taking all your things now?"

"No. We'll come back and pick them up in the morning."

Amy packed an overnight bag, and when Scott called, she left, letting Cynthia into the building. I took the opportunity to use the guest bathroom. I was setting up the couch when Katy let her Mom in.

This was her insurance policy, I thought, just in case I had been lying to her on our walk. She was not going to give us a chance to have good-bye sex.

She had been right, of course.

She wasn't going to underestimate me again.

Fuck. Watching Katy and Amy kiss had gotten me so hard and horny.

***

I awoke sometime in the wee hours of the night with one of those insanely hard, diving board erections. I got up and walked around for a few minutes, but the fucking thing wouldn't go down. I walked to Katy's door, not even knowing what I was going to do when I got there.

Maybe I could just look at her body or feel her tits.

Her door began to creak open. I froze a few feet from it. Katy stepped out and saw me; she yelped. It was short, but loud.

I turned and jumped back on the couch, not even watching what Katy decided to do. I yanked the sheets over me and laid there in a panic. I listened as hard as I could for any noise.

A minute or so later, a door quietly opened. I heard soft footsteps coming towards me. No way, I thought, Katy was so brave as to come back out that soon. This had to be Cynthia, probably checking out the place, maybe coming to ask if I'd heard anything.

She stopped. Then, she turned around. I heard her in the kitchen. A cabinet opened and closed. The sink was running. Cynthia's getting a glass of water.

I was listening for her door to close when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I about jumped.

"Michael," Katy whispered.

I threw the blanket down and turned over. "Fuck, Katy."

"Were you coming to my room?"

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked, smiling.

I searched for the words, and then I said, "I can't stop thinking about you. Wait a minute. What about you? Where were you going?"

"I was coming to visit you."

"Why?" Now I was smiling.

She shrugged and said, "I was thinking about sucking your cock."

I sat up and said, "Your room."

She nodded and quietly walked away, leaving the door open for me. A few seconds later, I followed her and closed it behind me.

I slid into the bed beside her, and we kissed. Our arms wrapped around each other, pressing our bodies tightly together. Her body was warm, sleek, and so fucking sexy in my arms. And that kiss! Again, it was melting fucking sex. My hands explored her body—her back, her ass, her hips, and her tits. We never broke the kiss.

I slid my hand into her panties, across her shaven little mound, and between her legs. Her pussy enveloped my fingers in slick heat.

She broke the kiss. "Oh, Michael."

"I have to fuck you, Katy."

She stared at me for a few seconds before shaking her head. "I'm too loud."

I threw the blankets down and rolled on top of her. I pulled her panties down and put myself between her legs, poised.

"Michael, she'll hear me."

"She won't. I'll take it slow, and you're going to breathe through it."

"Do you think I can?"

I nodded.

"Okay," she said, and she looked like she was about to jump out of an airplane. Her face was a blend of nervous excitement and determination.

I nudged my cock between her slit and said, "Wrap your legs around and pull me in."

She did, and I inched inside her. I could feel her pussy's tight elasticity accept my girth, stretching around it and coating it in slick fluids. Her legs continued to draw me in, and when I was fully seated, I held in place.

Fuck. I felt sheer power being inside her. Her body was like a jet, poised on the runway for a takeoff, engine humming. I was the pilot. My hand was on the throttle, ready to surge forward.

Every part of me desired that I should fuck her, right then, like a runaway machine gun. I struggled against it and drew back slowly. At some point, pulling back began to feel like pulling out, and, fuck no, I wasn't going to do that. I pushed back inside her, hoping to seize another instant, no matter how fleeting, of that incredible energy from our connection.

Katy, meanwhile, had her eyes closed, and she was taking enormous, long gulps of air, and then slowly blowing them out through pursed lips. Her fierce concentration was simply beautiful to behold. I kissed her. Her lips took mine as if they were water in the desert.

I drew back my cock and slowly pushed in again. She moaned into my mouth.

We found a rhythm, and to an observer, it might have seemed ridiculously slow. People would have said, "Well, those two are either really old or really stupid." Two fucking generations of rabbits would come into existence for every one of my thrusts.

Katy broke the kiss and pulled me close, cupping my face. She whispered, "Micheal, don't stop. Keep doing it just this way."

I pushed inside her again.

She whispered, "Oh, fuck, that feels so good. Don't stop."

I nodded and she drew me in for another long kiss. With our mouths joined, I guess Katy felt safe enough to let out little noises—a soft moan here, a muted whimper there.

I remember fighting off the early stages of an orgasm by wondering why people didn't fuck like this more often—fucking at the speed at which land seems to pass under an airplane at 35,000 feet. We were so agonizingly slow that there was nothing else to do but focus my complete attention on the connection between our bodies. It was like savoring, not flavor, but texture, like plunging your fingers into soft fur and just relishing in the plush, downy warmth. I began to know her body down there, to treasure the sensation of where I was, and to anticipate what soft little bends and pressure areas were coming.

When I sank in to the root, I held there, flexing my cock inside her for a few moments before drawing back. Katy whispered, "Yes, do it that way." So, I began fucking her in shorter, deeper strokes, mashing our bodies together— a slow, deep grind. In this way, the pace increased just slightly.

Soon, I knew Katy was hitting her peak. She took shorter, deeper breaths. She pulled my body tighter against her and let slip little squeaks and gasps. Her face twisted into what seemed like agony, and her chest began heaving with rapid breathing.

It only made sense to see Katy so breathless, like she'd been sprinting, because I knew she was coming. Still, it was like she was dying underneath me, as if my cock were a thick knife in the belly, and Katy was struggling for life. She fought against the urge to cry out, blowing air through her lips, grimacing, and letting out little "ah" sounds.

Suddenly, she cradled my face in her hands and whispered, "Oh, Michael, it's too good." I pushed deep. She closed her eyes, and her face contorted into the appearance of a wailing scream. She whispered it—her cry—it was a whisper from her gaping mouth. It was a long, unbroken scream that barely made any noise. Her every limb contracted, crushing me in her legs and arms.

Her face showed the struggle—the effort to stifle every sound versus the desire to express her moment of greatest satisfaction.

Her hands left my face and clutched at the sheets as her body fought against mine. When she finally relented, I was on fire.

She knew it. "Cum in me, Michael. Cum in my pussy," she whispered.

I drew back and pushed again. Was her pussy getting tighter? I drew back and mashed my body into hers.

"Cum in my pussy," she whispered.

I pulled back and ground my hips into her.

She cradled my face, and I stopped moving. She looked at me as if I were her most precious possession, and she urged, "Cum in my pussy."

I drew back and shoved, and I couldn't move. I couldn't grunt, but I needed to, badly. My cock painted her very guts with cum, I was so deep. Katy's hands gripped and released all over my body, like she was checking every muscle group for strength. She whispered, "Yes," over and over until I collapsed on top of her, my cock still twitching.

I pushed myself up and laid beside her. Without warning, she slid down the bed, seized my cock and sucked on it really hard. Moments later, she gasped for air and then deep throated the entire shaft.

"Shit, Katy," I whispered, nearly grunting.

As she rose, she began to suck and swallow again until my cock slipped from her lips. She crawled up to me, smiling. "That was the most amazing sex I've ever had."

"Me, too," I whispered, snatching deep breaths.

She nodded. "I didn't know it could be so hot, going that slowly and trying to be super quiet the whole time."

"It was pretty good," I agreed. "You don't think we were too noisy?"

"No, but, like, needing to scream and not being able to made it even better. Was it like that for you?"

"Yes."

She held me in silence for a time, and then she said, "Oh, Michael, I don't want to leave tomorrow."

"You'll come back in just a few months, though."

"I know," she sighed. "I just don't think I can wait that long."

"Just think, Katy," I said, "when we're together next, I'll be on vacation. There'll be nothing for us to do, but lounge around, eat really good food, watch movies, and fuck."

"And fuck," she whispered.

"And fuck," I added, and she giggled.
She pulled me close and said, "I love you, Michael." She kissed me.

***

I went back to the couch and woke, later, to the buzzer of Scott and Amy's arrival. I didn't go to work until we had all said our good-byes. Cynthia actually gave me a hug. Scott looked on proudly, and Amy's eyes bugged out. Katy, the last to leave, squeezed my cock before she walked out the door. She also left a pair of panties on the couch, under my blanket.

When everyone was gone, I put them to my nose and immediately knew that it would not be my last time doing that.

All together, I thought, that may have been the best, happiest time of my life. I wasn't sad about it being over. I just appreciated that it happened. I felt lucky.

After work, I spent Monday night rearranging my apartment, moving back into the master bedroom, and wondering what little surprises I could arrange for Katy and Amy on their next visit.

The place still smelled like them. Shit, I was happy.

***

On Wednesday at work, I met and conducted the second interview of our candidate for the Office Manager position. Her name was Islande Saint-Juste, which she pronounced "Eelan San Jute." I liked her accent. She was Haitian, fresh out of college, and fantastically beautiful.

Her skin was rich and shiny, like dark chocolate. She had a very short afro, tapered around her neck and ears, and dyed blonde on top like a crown of gold. Her eyes were warm and eager. They seemed to glitter as if her irises were polished onyx. But, oh shit, that smile—when Islande smiled, a man could not have a bad day.

I got her to smile a few times in our interview, and I even got her to laugh pretty hard. Oh, yeah. I liked her.

She didn't look like Misha, but there were similarities of personality. She might have been Misha if Tariq had never died. Islande was Misha without the heartbreak.

To conclude the interview, I took her on a tour of the plant. She asked great questions. A person knew Islande was intelligent within seconds of meeting her. I also had a chance to take a few glances at her body, the shape and way it moved.

Damn. I had to consciously order myself to stop looking.

She was smart, confident, and energetic throughout the interview. I recommended her, and she started work the following Monday.

***

One of the benefits of no longer working the swing shift was that my evenings were often free. I began to get out and meet people. I linked up with some old college acquaintances. I even joined the company softball team. I had forgotten what it was like to have a social life, to have friends.

My parents visited again, and I told them I would come back for Christmas. My brothers would be bringing their families, too. Mom and Pop were thrilled at the prospect of the whole clan under their roof for a few days.

It was nice being a human being again. It was nice to have family.

At a bar on Thursday after our softball game, I was having some drinks and chatting with my teammates when Amy send me a text: "Heard about you and Katy on our last night."

"Yeah?" I wrote.

"Honest-honest: I want the slow treatment, too."

"I'm yours, Amy. See you soon."

I sent it and glanced up, across the bar. Someone was staring at me. Misha?

No.

It was Islande, surrounded by three other young ladies. She smiled and waved me over. I nodded and made my way to her.

I had the sudden urge to ask her on a date.

Go bold or go home.