Despite some pre-match nerves all round, lunch with my parents was a great success. Mum liked Amy, she told me afterwards, and the conversation between them flowed easily. Dad was quieter (as farming-types often are), but was friendly enough.
Lunch over, I took Amy on a tour of the farm. The lambing shed had emptied somewhat during the preceding week. Most of the newborns and their mothers were already strong enough to have been put out to pasture and it was only those who’d been rejected by the ewes that remained.
“Do you wanna have a go at feeding them?” I asked her.
Amy turned and looked up at my, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Can I?” she asked.
I nodded. “Why don’t you sit on that straw bale there and I’ll make up some milk?”
I prepared a few bottles as she sat down in the centre of the barn. A few of the older lambs came over to her, anticipating their feed.
“They’re very tame,” she remarked as they started jostling for position around her.
“They are at this age,” I explained. “These ones haven’t been outside yet and they’re the orphans, so they don’t know to be wary of us yet.”
I shoed the more eager lambs away from my girlfriend and presented her with the first bottle of milk.
“It’s warm!” she said in surprise.
“Same temperature as mum!” I replied.
“So how do I do this?” she asked.
“Best thing is to let them come between your legs one-by-one,” I explained, conscious of the double entendre. “If the others start jostling you as you’re feeding, just be firm and push them away.”
Amy looked a little doubtful, but I smiled reassuringly and brought the first lamb over to her. I showed her how to support the animal’s head as it began to suckle.
“Can I pick him up?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, sorry,” I said. “This is the best way of doing it. They drink so fast, they can choke if their head isn’t the right orientation. If he was drinking from mum, he’d be stretching his neck out in the same way.”
I took a few photos of Amy with her phone. Then I sat down next to her with the clipboard and wrote her initials ‘AN’ and the time against the lamb’s identification number. Once it had finished feeding, I showed her how to check for any signs of injury or disease.
“I hadn’t realised it was so technical,” she said. “All these records you have to keep!”
“We have to,” I said. “If a lamb gets ill, we need to deal with it quickly, otherwise the rest of the flock might catch something. And we need to know how much each one has fed, otherwise some get too much and others don’t get any. Plus, Lauren fed them this morning, we’re feeding them now, Dad will probably do the next feed late afternoon, and then it might be Uncle John before bedtime! We need to let each other know what we’ve done.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s obvious really,” she said. “But it’s just not what I was expecting.”
“People have this image of milkmaids in gingham dresses singing to their animals and knowing them all by name,” I said wryly. “But farming’s not like that, it hasn’t been like that for a hundred years, probably a lot longer.
“So how long have you been doing this?” she asked. “I mean feeding the lambs?”
“Oh years,” I said. “With Dad or Uncle John at first, then with Lauren – it’s easier with two. But certainly for the last two or three years on my own.”
“Your dad must really trust you,” she said, with a slightly sad look in her eyes.
“He does, and Lauren too,” I replied, “but he can easily check to make sure I’ve done everything properly – he can see the records. And if I’m not sure about anything – say a lamb doesn’t look right, I can send him a photo, or even a video and, if he needs to, he can call me or come over. Now it’s fine, we’ve just had lunch together and I know he’s five minutes away tops, but on another day, he might be the far side of the farm, maybe twenty minutes by tractor.”
“And do you have to do this, or are you doing this because you want to,” she asked slowly. “I mean, your parents aren’t forcing you to help out?”
“No,” I said. “I’m doing it because I want to. I love my animals – I don’t sing to them, but I do love them! Plus I do get paid for what I do. If we had a herdsman, then we’d have to pay a full-time salary and probably give accommodation. But if Lauren and I do a couple of hours a day during the busy times, then, well, everyone in the family wins.”
“And you don’t find it a bit repetitive?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Doing an hour or so a day is fine and especially this time of year there’s so much going on, it’s not boring at all. But I think if I was doing this for a career, then yes, I would find it a bit dull. It can be very solitary at times and I’d miss being around other people. I’ve got too much of my Mum in me!”
Amy smiled at me.
“But I’m not going to be a farmer,” I said. “I’m going to be a vet.”
–
Lambs fed, inspections completed and records updated, we secured the shed and struck out across the fields. My phone buzzed in my pocket – a photo from Lauren of the rowing boat prepared and ready on the millpond. ‘Cool bag in the hut,’ she’d written.
‘Thanks,’ I typed back, ‘I owe you one.’
‘Taking car out now,’ she texted. ‘Back at six.’
Amy looked at me expectantly.
“Only Lauren,” I said, indicating my phone.
“Not trying to steal you back, is she?” Amy teased.
I laughed, taking her hand to help her over the stile and into the second field.
“How old are these lambs?” she asked, looking over to the flock.
“Almost two months old,” I replied. “These ones were born at the end of February. It won’t be long ’til we take them away from the ewes,” I explained.
“Oh,” said Amy, “that’s sad.”
“Well, that’s farming,” I said. “Circle of life and all that.”
We were walking across the field now, moving closer to the flock.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing her finger over to a taller animal with slightly darker wool.
“That’s one of our llamas!” I said. “They chase away foxes and dogs – anything that tries to attack the flock really.”
“Can we go and say hello?” she asked.
“Probably best not to,” I said. “They’re bred for their snootiness. They can spit if you get too close. And that one there has a particular problem with me,” I added.
“With you?” she asked. “What did you do to upset it?”
“She’s jealous ‘cos I started going out with you!” I teased.
Amy rolled her eyes at me and we walked on for another minute or so.
“You have horses?” she asked wide-eyed, motioning to the animals in the adjoining field.
“Yeah,” I said, “but those ones there belong to the Stables near the village. It’s our field, but we rent it out to them for grazing.”
“So where do you keep yours then?” she asked.
“Oh, they live at the Stables too,” I said. “We’ve got a very good relationship with Jackie – she’s the owner; she looks after our horses and we let her use a couple of our fields. We used to own the Stables too, but our grandparents sold them to her about five years ago when they retired. We still own the farm workers’ cottages next door, but they’re mainly used by people on equestrian holidays. We used to do B&B, but we just offer them as self-catering now. Lauren’s mum runs all the bookings and everything.”
“Oh,” said Amy, “that must be a nice little earner.”
“Well it is for about five months of the year,” I agreed, “but it’s quite difficult to fill self-catering cottages in the dead of winter, especially round here.”
We walked on a little further, but I noticed that Amy was still looking across at the horses.
“Do you ride?” I asked. She hadn’t mentioned riding to me before.
“I used to,” she said, “when I was eight or nine.” She sounded a little wistful.
“Why don’t you have a few lessons with Jackie over the summer?” I suggested.
“Oh, I’d love to do that,” she replied, “but wouldn’t it be very expensive?”
“I’m sure we can get a good rate with Jackie,” I said. “She owes me a favour or two, the number of times I’ve helped rescue one of her horses.”
“That would be good,” she said. “I’ll ask my Mum.”
We continued to walk across the fields. My girlfriend was fascinated by my life on the farm and kept up a constant barrage of questions: What time did we start miking? How much time did I spend working before school? How did I balance farm chores and a social life? How old was I when I first drove a tractor? She was intrigued by the way that family, home and business were so intertwined and how we all supported each other – it seemed so alien to her suburban lifestyle.
We’d reached the edge of the fields and were walking along the thin strip of woodland that covered the banks of the stream. Suddenly Amy pulled my hand and dragged me behind a large oak.
“W-w-what?” I protested as she pushed me against the broad tree trunk.
“Just kiss me Jake!” she commanded.
My cock flared in my jeans as I bent my head and our lips met. Our tongues attacked one another, wrestling for control as Amy ran her hands over me. We broke apart, gasping for breath.
“I’ve always wanted to do that to a man,” she revealed. “Drag him behind a tree and make out with him!”
“Any man, or just me?” I teased.
“Oh any man would do,” she shot back, “but you happen to be a particularly fine example!”
She flung her arms around me and squeezed me tightly. Then stepped back a little, inspecting the specimen in front of her.
She cocked her head, frowning as she listened.
“I can hear a river!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, it’s behind you – there, through the trees,” I pointed.
Amy took my hand and led me down the slope towards the water.
“It’s so clear!” she said.
“It’s a chalk stream,” I explained. “There isn’t any sediment – well not until it gets onto the clay. Come on, let’s go this way – I’ve got something to show you.”
We followed the river for a few hundred metres as the woodland began to thin out.
“Oh,” she said in surprise, “there’s a lake!”
The thin triangle of silver lay before us, stretching away towards the dam half a mile or so away. The mill that had been here was long gone, but my family had maintained the pond down the generations.
Lauren and I had loved the millpond as children, spending as much time there as we could as we became more independent. We’d both fallen in more times than we could remember, and we’d caught fish, tadpoles, newts, you name it, there. A pair of swans would nest each year on the far bank, and we’d spend our Easter school holidays watching them with their cygnets. Of all the places around the farm, this was where I felt happiest. It seemed right to be bringing Amy here too and to be sharing, if not a secret, then a special, private place that very few of my schoolmates had visited.
“It’s so peaceful,” Amy said quietly, reverently.
“Yeah, not many people know about it” I explained. “There’s a local angling club that uses it, but it’s the close season at the moment – they can’t fish ’til the middle of June.”
We squeezed past the side of the Fishermen’s Hut, the wooden shed that we let the angling club use to store odd bits of tackle and bait boxes. Amy gasped as we reached the edge of the water.
“You’ve got a boat!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, I thought we could go for a row,” I replied.
I opened the door to the hut and retrieved the oars, Lauren’s cool bag and a couple of cushions. I held the boat steady as Amy stepped nimbly onboard. She sat down in the stern and I slid the oars into the rowlocks with a clunk.
“You OK?” I asked.
She nodded.
I stepped into the boat and cast off.
“Oh strawberries,” Amy exclaimed, examining the contents of the cool bag. She brought out two paper bowls covered with cling film, that Lauren had distributed the fruit between. “You are so organised,” she said, beaming at me.
I decided to keep my cousin’s involvement from Amy, so I simply smiled back at her. “Let me row us out for a bit,” I said, “and then we can eat.”
–
We’d reached the far end of the millpond and, having gorged ourselves on the strawberries, I turned the boat round.
“Do you want to have a row?” I asked.
Amy shook her head. “No, it’s OK,” she responded. “I’m enjoying you doing all the hard work!”
We watched as a mother duck led her ducklings across the water in front of the boat.
“It’s wonderfully quiet,” Amy said dreamily.
“Well, a few hundred years ago it would have been pretty noisy actually,” I said, taking the opportunity to show off my knowledge of local history.
“Noisy?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah, this was an old hammer pond,” I explained. “They used to mine iron ore a few miles away, then they’d bring it here to smelt it. The water was used to power the bellows for the furnace and a big hammer to beat the metal into shape. That’s why the mill was here – it wasn’t for grinding grain, it was to make all the cannons for the Navy.”
“Oh,” she said. “How come I didn’t know that?”
“Not many people do,” I said. “A few hundred years ago there were about thirty or forty ponds like this all around here. Now there’s maybe a dozen at most.”
“So what happened to the hammers?” she asked.
“The Industrial Revolution,” I replied. “We don’t have any coal round here, you see, so they’d have used charcoal for smelting. But they couldn’t really get it hot enough for best quality metal. As soon as they’d worked out how to produce iron and steel with coke up north, everyone down south was put out of business. That was the start of the 1700s.”
“So the mills just closed down?”
I nodded. “Some were converted for flour, but there wasn’t enough wheat or barley round here for them all to survive.”
“Wow,” she said smiling. “I never knew. It’s amazing how much history there is under your nose that you never notice.” She paused. “So how come the lake’s still here?” she asked.
“Well after the mill closed, it would have been a reserve water supply for the farm,” I explained. “But now we just rent it out to the fishermen. We don’t get much money, but it’s enough to get the dam inspected and repaired every few years.”
–
“What do you want to do next week?” I asked after I’d tied the boat back up on the jetty.
“I think Mum, Rob and the boys are going off for an Easter Egg Hunt on Monday,” she said. “So it would be really nice if you could come over,” she looked at me hopefully.
“I’d love to,” I said, “but are you sure they don’t mind me spending so much time with you? I don’t want to monopolise you.”
“I think Mum really likes you,” she said. “She thinks your work ethic is a good influence on me.”
“If only she knew!” I said wryly.
“But as it’s Bank Holiday Monday,” she added, “I thought we could maybe go for a run together, or something, just to break up the day. You won’t be able to go to the library, so you can stay with me in the afternoon, if you like.”
“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll put my trainers and running shorts in the car when Lauren gets back.”
–
Lauren drove me into town on Easter Monday morning, taking advantage of her first opportunity to grill me on Amy’s visit to the farm.
“So, how did it go loverboy?” she asked.
“I think it went really well,” I said. “Thanks for sorting the rowing boat out – Amy really enjoyed that.”
“Not a problem,” Lauren replied. “Did you show her round the farm?”
“Yes, I showed her most places,” I answered. “We fed the lambs and we looked at the llamas with the sheep.”
“And you didn’t bore her to tears with a lecture on animal husbandry or artificial insemination?” She looked at me pointedly.
“No, I did as you said,” I replied, “and only gave her my five-minute thesis on risk factors for mastitis in dairy herds.”
“Well, at least the poor girl knows what she’s let herself in for now” Lauren rolled her eyes.
“So, what are you up to today?” I asked. “The library’s closed because of the Bank Holiday.”
“Oh, I’m going to revise with Alicja in the morning,” she said cagily, “and then I might see a couple of other peeps later on. What are you and Amy going to get up to?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“Oh,” I said, “I thought Alicja was going to Poland to see her family over Easter.”
“Nah,” she replied, “that’s at Half Term.”
I’d knew my cousin well enough to know when she was lying, but I didn’t pursue it. Lauren was obviously doing something that she didn’t want me to know about but, especially as I was asking her to keep schtum about Amy and me, it wasn’t fair to press her.
“What are you doing with Amy today?” she repeated.
“Revising on her dining room table,” I said, “and no, that’s not a euphemism.”
–
Amy’s mum, step-dad and eight-year-old step-brothers left us around ten o’clock to head off to the Easter Egg Hunt, but the my girlfriend and I continued to work for another hour or so. By eleven, I was satisfied that I could draw detailed diagrams of the heart and kidney from memory and could analyse the various patterns of inheritance for both autosomal and sex-linked genetic diseases.
I quietly put down my pencil. Amy was still working and, not wanting to disturb her, I slowly got up and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. I filled a tumbler with water and stood in front of the patio doors, looking out into the garden. It was a grey, overcast day, but at least it wasn’t raining.
Amy came up behind me, placing her hands on my chest and leaning her head against my back. I tried to turn round, but she held me tightly, preventing me from doing so.
“No, stay,” she said quietly. “I want to hold you like this.”
“But I want to kiss you,” I protested.
“Yes, but we know where that will lead,” she replied.
“And that’s a problem?” I queried.
I placed my hands over hers as she squeezed me, then after a few seconds, she relaxed her grip and I turned to face her.
“D’you want to go for that run?” I asked, “or do you want to stay here instead?” I smiled.
Amy paused, weighing up the options.
“Yes,” she said, “let’s go for a run. You get so little exercise when you’re revising all day.”
I changed into my jogging gear in the sitting room, swapping my underwear for a pair of black compression shorts and pulling on a sports t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. I knew that Amy would take longer, and so I pulled out my phone. There was a message from James, inviting me to a party on the Saturday evening. I decided to wait before answering – I’d already messaged Danny to ask if he wanted to go for a curry the same night, but he hadn’t yet replied.
The door opened and Amy entered.
“You ready?” she asked.
I looked up from my phone. “Wow!” I exclaimed, “You look, you look amazing.”
And she did. Amy was wearing a tight, bright-pink, cropped running top and skin-hugging black leggings, which showed off her boyish hips. I gasped. I’d never seen her wear anything like it. Fuck she was sexy. My cock flared.
“Come on,” she said, jolting me back to reality. “We need to stretch and get going.”
–
It wasn’t a very long run, maybe twenty minutes at most. Amy lived on small estate of detached houses that had been built about five years previously. It wasn’t a part of town that I knew well, but I remembered the drawn-out fight between the locals, who desperately wanted to block the proposals, and the developer promoting the scheme. In the end, the townsfolk lost (as they always did) but one of the few compromises that they’d managed to wrangle from the council, was to have the neighbouring area of woodland designated as a nature reserve.
There was nothing particularly special about the woodland; the protected status was political, nothing more. The trees were relatively young (mostly beech and birch) but their branches provided decent shade to run beneath. There was a clear circular route, perhaps a little over half a mile in total, which we completed maybe three or four times. Although the weather had been dry for the preceding few days, the clay soil was still wet and relatively muddy, which meant that much of the time we had to jog in single file. I let Amy lead, ostensibly so that she could set the pace, conveniently giving me a good view of her pert backside!
We ran back to Amy’s house and I waited behind her as she unlocked the front door. Fuck me, she was hot. Her smooth skin glistened with perspiration and the way her tight leggings clung to her long legs and boyish hips – perfection, just perfect. My cock began to stiffen. I reached forward and lightly ran my fingertips up her left buttock.
“Jake!” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Not here – the neighbours!”
We tumbled through the front door and I pulled her to me, giving her a big kiss on the lips.
“Drink?” Amy asked, and we made our way down the hallway to the kitchen.
She took two glasses out of the cupboard and moved over to the sink to fill them. With her back turned to me, I rearranged my boner to make myself more comfortable, then moved behind her, letting the fingers of my left hand brush under her left buttock.
“Mmmm,” she approved, pushing her ass back into my palm and giving me an excited smile over her shoulder. Permission to continue. I stepped closer to her, drawing my hands gently up her hips, holding her sides, pressing my cock between her butt cheeks.
“Oh,” she cried in mock surprise and delight, setting the glasses down on the draining board and gripping the overhang of the working surface. I bent to plant little kisses down her slender neck and across her exposed shoulder. She gave a quiet moan and I felt her push back into my crotch.
“You like that?” a low whisper in her ear.
She nodded, mutely, grinding her butt a little against me.
“You like feeling my hard cock?” I asked.
She nodded again.
“You knew exactly what you were doing today,” I continued, trying to make my voice as low and masculine as I could. “Teasing me, running ahead of me in these tight bottoms, flirting with me out in public.”
She tilted her head downwards, nodding, submissive, guilty. More kisses on her neck, more grinding.
“You wanted to get me all hot and sweaty and horny for you, didn’t you, didn’t you?”
“Jake!” she gasped, reaching behind to grasp my raging boner. I felt a jolt of electricity as she made contact with my cock through my leggings.
I spun her around, and we kissed passionately, her small hands reaching down to my buttocks, pulling her in to me.
“Oh Jake!” she whispered hoarsely. She ran her hands up my bare arms, lightly feeling my muscles.
“Yeah?” I replied, “you like that?”
She pulled my head down and we kissed again, grinding against each other. I could feel her mound rubbing against my leg as her hands slipped under my t-shirt, roaming over my abs and pecks.
“Mmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes in concentration. I swept my hands up her body, lightly brushing her breasts through her tight crop top, to hold her head gently as our tongues danced.
“Tell me what you want!” I whispered breathlessly in her ear. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”
She opened her eyes and pushed me back slightly, creating a little time and space, considering the options, deciding.
“Can we go upstairs and cuddle?” Amy asked quietly, looking up at me. “Not to do anything, but just to cuddle?”
“Of course,” I answered. “We can do whatever you like, and only what you’re comfortable with.”
“Thank you,” she said, stepping forward. We kissed again.
On a whim, I turned round in front of her, bending my knees and my back a little. “Piggyback upstairs?” I asked.
Amy climbed aboard and wrapped her arms around my neck, as I supported her legs. I climbed the stairs and carried her into her bedroom, opening the door and setting her feet down on the floor. She stood behind me, pressing against me as her hands snaked under my t-shirt again.
I turned round as she began to lift the hem of my t-shirt. “This has to go,” she said, determinedly.
“Your wish is my command,” I responded with a twinkle in my eye, stepping back with my calves against the end of the bed, so as not to hit her with my flailing arms. I tossed my t-shirt to the floor beside me.
We stood, maybe a metre apart, our eyes drinking in the sight of each other’s bodies, alone in the privacy of her room.
My sexy girlfriend stood before me, her tight sports top revealing the curves of her pert breasts, revealing her slim waist and the figure-hugging leggings outlining her graceful hips. I was speechless, consumed by her beauty, by her femininity, by my lust.
“Oh Jake,” she cried. “I think I’m falling in love with you. You are amazing!”
She advanced towards me and I expected her to kiss more or at least to hug me, but she didn’t. Instead she placed her petite hands flat on my chest and pushed me sharply, making me fall backwards in surprise onto the bed.
I recovered my balance, propping myself up on my elbows, astonishment still written over my face.
“I’ve got you just where I want you,” she grinned. Then she started to pull at the ends of my jogging bottoms, “These need to come off too!”
I lifted my hips, pushing my waistband down over my rigid cock as she pulled the hems of each leg over my ankles. There was a moment of difficulty as she struggled to free my right heel, but then she flung the garment over her head in triumph!
I lay on the bed, clad in only my compression shorts, watching her studying me, her eyes fixed on my crotch.
“I can see your willie!” she giggled.
“There’s a better view from here,” I said, teasing her.
“Hmm”, she said, “one more thing,” and she pulled off her crop top in one swift movement, exposing her breasts to me for the first time. I stared agog. Small, round, pert, with pointed erect nipples, I could not have imagined a more perfect pair.
My throbbing cock strained at the waistband of my compression shorts, almost taking on a life of its own. She climbed onto the bed and scooted up next to me. We kissed, then she turned onto her back, raising her hips to peel off her tight leggings. Now she was naked, except for a pair of black, boy short-style panties.
We turned on our sides to face each other, embracing and pulling each other close. I felt the swell of her firm breasts pressing against my chest, her soft, cool skin touching mine. She seemed a little tense, nervous. I stroked her back gently and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
“Is this OK?” I asked, concerned that we were going too fast.
“This is perfect,” Amy said quietly, trying to hide the anxiety in her eyes. She’d taken a big step in the heat of the moment and she wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision.
“Are you cold? Should we get under the covers?” I asked, presenting her a way for her to hide her modesty, if she wanted one.
“Yes, OK,” she said and we snuggled together under the duvet. I lay on my back, with Amy’s head on my chest. I gently stroked her arm, as she drew small circles around my nipples with her fingertips. She was becoming more comfortable now and beginning to relax as I held her.
“You’ve got little hairs,” she giggled, watching the thin blond wisps dancing as she blew gently across my pecs. “I love this chest,” she sighed dreamily. “You feel so firm and muscly when you press against me.”
I kicked the duvet down the bed a little, so that we were covered from our waists downwards and my chest and abs were showing, to let Amy explore more if she wanted to. Her hand started to roam more freely and she planted a few little butterfly kisses on my neck and cheek.
She dipped her hand below the covers, walking her fingertips across my hip. Her hands came to rest on my cock and gently squeezed me through the cool fabric of my compression shorts. She looked up at me again, eyes wide in excitement.
“Jake!” she purred. “Your willie is so hard!”
“That’s what you do to me,” I replied, aching for her to grasp me more tightly.
She pulled her hand away, unsure again.
“It’s OK,” I said gently. “You can touch me there if you like.”
Amy looked up at me again, taking her time to consider.
“Jake, can you hold me like you did downstairs, from behind? I think I’d like that.” As she finished speaking, she glanced down, her cheeks reddening slightly.
“Of course,” I responded. “Whatever you’d like and whatever you feel comfortable with.”
She turned to lie with her back to me, resting her head on my left arm. I scooted across behind her, pressing my hardness between her butt cheeks. She purred contentedly. I wrapped my right arm loosely across her, and she took my hands between hers.
“That feels amazing,” she said. “I feel so protected being wrapped up in your body!”
I nibbled little kisses on the side of her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair as she started to grind back into my crotch again. She placed my hands on her breasts, one in each. Her soft, firm globes nestled in my palms. She gasped at my touch as I gently stroked her nipples, now rock hard in her arousal. My cock was now harder than it had ever been, straining at the tight fabric of my compression shorts, desperate for release.
I removed my right hand from her left breast, bringing it up to my mouth to collect a gob of saliva. Amy whimpered at the momentary loss of contact, then took a sharp intake of breath as she felt the cool lubricant of my spittle.
“Ah Jake,” she gasped.
“Is that good?” I asked.
She nodded, speechless, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation.
I let my wet fingers trail around her nipple. Amy arched her head back against my shoulder, lost in pleasure.
“Kiss me Jake!” she begged. “Please, I need you to kiss me.”
I moved slightly and she rolled a quarter turn onto her back. I brought my right hand up from her breast to stroke her cheek, as our mouths joined and our tongues danced, our passion building. We broke apart, breathlessly staring into each other’s eyes.
“Ah Jake,” she cried. “How do you do these things to me?”
We kissed again, more softly, more tenderly. Then I straightened up, drinking in the view of her body beside mine, her bare breasts revealed to me again.
“Wow Amy,” I gasped in wonder. “You are so beautiful.”
Her hands fluttered upwards making as if to cover her bosom, but she stopped short.
“They’re not too small are they?” she asked anxiously, glancing down.
“No, they’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. You’re perfect!” I replied, looking back up at her eyes. “I want to kiss them. They are so kissable! Can I kiss them?”
Amy nodded mutely and I bent my head, placing a gentle kiss on each and a third in the valley between them. I pursed my lips and blew gently across her nipples. She gasped and shuddered in pleasure.
I looked up at her again, that far-away look had returned to her eyes. Encouraged, I bent my head to her right breast and gently licked the nipple. She moaned and grabbed the sheet between us, balling it in her fist.
I moved my head across to the opposite side of her body, tenderly kissing the other nipple. Another moan. I took it into my mouth, holding it delicately between my lips, flicking my tongue across it. Amy hissed with pleasure.
I’d read online, that a good way of kissing a woman’s breasts is to use your tongue to trace out the letters of the alphabet, swapping sides every few letters, which apparently ensures a good balance between stimulating the tip of the nipple (on the vertical strokes) and the rim (the curvier parts of each letter).
In the absence of any other strategy, I decided to try the wisdom of the internet. And so I began with the letter ‘a’. A lower case ‘a’ for Amy, my girlfriend. Yes, my girlfriend, my first girlfriend!
I felt Amy’s hand touching the back of my head, softly at first, but then she gripped my hair more firmly, directing me to where she needed me to go. I liked that, it reassured me that I was doing the right thing and that she felt sufficiently in control.
Her breathing was becoming shallower and more rapid now, and her chest quivered at each intake. I was beginning to be more adventurous, sucking her rock-hard nipples more assertively, while still working my way through the letters. Her moans were constant and louder than ever before. I squeezed both nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, kissing the base of each breast and working my way between them. I lifted my head. Her mouth was wide open, her eyes sightless, watching me without seeing.
“j”. “j” for Jake. My name. Flicks of my tongue for the downward stroke, followed by a curving caress at the base of the nipple. Amy arched her back, straining her neck, shuddering in pleasure, then she gripped me firmly, scrunching her legs upwards and folding me into her body. She held me for several seconds as her orgasm enveloped her. Then she relaxed and I lay with my head on her bosom, planting the lightest kisses on the side of her left breast.
She was still for several minutes, and I lay there listening to her breathing return to normal.
“Wow Jake,” she said, still in a semi-daze. “That’s the most amazing orgasm I’ve ever had and all you did was kiss my breasts! I can’t make myself cum like that! How are you doing this to me?”
I didn’t answer, but instead I crawled upwards and gave her a long, loving kiss.
“Jake,” she said. “I think I’m in love with you!”
“Really?!” My heart leapt. “I think I’m in love with you too.”
We hugged each other tightly and I felt her breasts again pressing against my chest. Her eyes widened. My shaft, still painfully erect, was throbbing gently against her thigh. She could feel it. She wanted it.
Her hand snaked down towards my cock, touching me lightly.
“Did you, did you cum?” she asked hesitantly.
I shook my head gently and smiled back at her. “No,” I said, “but that doesn’t matter.”
“But Jake,” she said, firmly, “it does matter. You’ve made me cum twice, two amazing really big cums, the best I’ve ever had and I haven’t made you cum at all!”
Amy pushed my shoulder, rolling me onto my back. Then she placed her head on my chest, looking down my body towards my crotch. She trailed her fingertips down my abs and over the bulge in my compression shorts. My cock throbbed in anticipation, straining at the waistband.
Amy pushed herself up on one elbow to get herself a better view, feeling my length between her fingers and thumb.
“Oh my, Jake,” she gasped in awe. “You’re so big and so hard,” her eyes transfixed by the silhouette, shrouded in the black fabric. She bent down and placed a gentle kiss halfway along my shaft, inhaling the scent of my arousal.
She looked back up at me, slightly nervous. “Jake, can I,” she swallowed, “can I take these off? I need to see him. Can I touch him?” she pleaded.
I nodded and lifted my hips in response and Amy carefully lifted the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down carefully to expose my treasure. She was slow, diligent, methodical almost. Not a mad scramble to get me off, she wanted to look, to study, to explore.
She ran her fingers lightly through my pubic hair, gauging its coarseness. Then she reached across and touched me. She gasped again in revelation.
“He’s so smooth and so hard, but so soft,” she marvelled. “I love your willie!” she giggled.
She walked her fingertips along my shaft to the top and let them trail back down again. Her touch was cool and light against the heat of my skin.
“And these are your balls?” she asked, flashing a gleeful smile at me. “They’re so heavy and furry!”
“You have to be very gentle with them,” I said, playing along with her innocence. “You mustn’t squeeze them too hard, or you’ll hurt them.”
Amy fondled my ball sack lightly for a few moments, before returning her attention to my shaft. She wrapped her hand around the base, giving me a light squeeze. I gasped and my cock jolted, taking on a life of its own. Then she moved upwards, gripping me between her finger and thumb and gently pulled my foreskin back.
She looked at me anxiously. “Is that OK?” she asked. “That doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“No,” I said. “That feels really nice, really, really nice.”
“He’s very red,” she said as she exposed my glans. “And that’s the hole where your stuff comes out?” she queried.
I nodded.
“Ooh, what’s that?” she asked, noticing the pre-cum that was beginning to leak from the tip.
“That means I’m excited,” I said, “really, really excited.”
She gathered a dewdrop with her thumb and forefinger, pressing them together and opening them again to gauge the texture.
“Ooh,” said in amazement, “it’s like little strands of silk, like a spider’s web,” she giggled. “Wow, your willie is so amazing!”
She placed a kiss midway along my shaft and smiled up at me.
“How do I touch him?” she asked.
“Sometimes it’s nice to put a little bit of saliva on your fingertips first,” I explained, “and then just stroke very softly.”
She collected a small glob of spittle from her mouth and then gently brushed her moistened digits across my head. I gasped in delight and my cock jumped again; the naïve inexperience of her fingers turning me on even more.
“I think he likes me,” she giggled, moving to kiss me on the lips. She nestled in the crook of my arm, gently stroking me.
“Is this nice for you?” she asked, concerned that her anatomical investigations might not be producing the right sensations.
“Yes,” I said, “really nice. It’s wonderful.”
She looked at me with concern, as if she felt that I wasn’t being entirely truthful with her.
“Can you, can you show me what you do?” she asked hesitantly, “to make yourself cum?” she added, placing her right hand under mine, asking for guidance.
I placed her hand around my cock again and then showed her where I was sensitive, spreading some of my saliva around my glans.
“He’s very red,” she said again, inspecting the end of my weapon closely. She made a few tentative movements, “Am I doing it OK?”
“Yes, that’s really nice,” I responded. “Can I touch you?” I asked hesitantly.
“No,” she said firmly, perhaps a little more emphatically than I think she wanted to. “It would be really lovely and I’m dying for you to touch me there, but not yet, not today. Is that OK?” she added, softening the blow.
“Of course,” I answered. “We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.”
“Thank you,” she said, continuing to stroke my shaft. “Tell you what though,” she added, thoughtfully, and in one full movement, she had leapt astride me, her pussy, still hidden beneath her boy shorts, now pressing onto the base of my cock.
I looked up at her, naked except for her panties, watching her as she began to jerk me again. I ran my hands up her arms and pulled her face down to kiss me.
“Fuck Amy, that’s so hot!” I exclaimed, placing my palms over the soft globes of her breasts, working her nipples with my fingers.
Amy looked down at my shaft, “It’s like he’s my willie now!” she giggled.
She began to quicken her pace and I pressed my hips up, increasing the pressure on her sensitive parts. She responded, gipping me more tightly and moving more frantically. She moaned and ground back down against me.
“You like that, Amy, you like that?” I teased.
She nodded mutely, her eyes half closed, then she bent down towards me and our mouths met again. We kissed, powerfully, savagely even, our breaths ragged as we hurtled towards orgasm.
“Cum for me Jake!” she commanded, straightening up again. “I want you to cum for me! I want to see you cum!”
“Fuck Amy, yeah, I’m close,” I cried as she redoubled her efforts, gripping my shaft tighter and stroking me faster than ever before.
“Fuck!” I roared, as my cock exploded, firing volley upon volley of cum onto my chest and abs.
Amy screamed, arching her back, overwhelmed again by pleasure, shaking with her own crashing orgasm. She collapsed on top of me, panting, crushing her breasts between us. I held her tightly, nuzzling her hair as the aftershocks pulsed through her body. We lay still for a minute or so, lost in the afterglow of our shared ecstasy.
Our hearts began to slow and our breathing returned to normal.
Amy propped her chin up with her hands resting on my chest, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Wow!” she said. “You came so much. That was fantastic!”
“Sorry, I’ve made you all sticky, lying there,” I answered apologetically.
“No it’s lovely,” she said. “I can feel your guys and their whippy tails tickling me!”
Although tempted to correct some basic facts of cell biology, I decided to bite my tongue and bent my head to kiss her on the forehead. “And was that good for you?” I asked anxiously.
“Jacob Hardwick,” she said looking me in the eyes, “the three orgasms you have given me have been the best of my life! And that last one, when we came together, just now, that blew my mind. It felt like being shot into the sky on a firework. I had no idea I could feel like that!”
Amy slid off my body to one side, resting her head on my chest again. Her fingers toyed with the pools of semen, rapidly drying on my skin. She giggled. Then her hand slipped lower and she held my deflating cock.
“He’s much smaller now,” she teased.
“Amy, if you play with him like that, he’ll get big again very quickly.” I responded.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” she responded in feigned innocence.
“I’m not sure we’ve got time.” I said, fighting the urge to let Amy wank me off again. “What time is everyone due back?”
“It’s alright,” she said, “we’ve got at least half an hour.”
“Amy,” I said, “we both need a shower before they get home. If we start making out again the twins will catch us and we’ll both be in big trouble.”
“Spoilsport,” she replied, giving her trademark pout. She rolled across the bed and sat up, legs over the edge. She looked back over her shoulder at me, “OK, you shower in my bathroom and I’ll use the one in Mum and Rob’s room.”
“We could always shower together?” I suggested, an air of mischief creeping into my voice.
She paused, casting her eyes over my naked body, but the sensible Amy won through. “That would be lovely,” she said, “but not yet, soon I hope, but not today.”
We showered separately and, by the time Amy’s family returned, we were dressed and working again on the dining room table, as if nothing had happened…