Telling Tales (17 page)

When she murmurs that he’s so thick, and long, and stiff, I’m the one who feels it.

And then she licks a wet stripe over the head of Cam’s cock, and I’m sure I can feel that too. The sensation of being stroked like that, and of stroking—it zings through me, hot and strong, and though I try to get away from it, doing so proves impossible.

It’s like the stories and Cam’s strange will and Kitty’s teasing mouth have hold of my sense and my vocal chords, and both combine together to say all kinds of wicked things.

“Yeah, suck him good,” I tell her, but it’s Cam who reacts.

“Ohhhh God I’m really close,” he blurts out, as she laps at the gleaming swollen head of his cock. But I’ve got to remember that I’m in control here—even more so than Kitty, really, because I know the safe word and she doesn’t—and I have to call the shots.

I have to show him that it’s me doing this, all me.

“Stop,” I say, and yank her back so suddenly that two sets of blue eyes flash wide at me. Their expressions mirror each other so closely that it’s comical, for a second—like two kids having their favorite toy snatched away.

But then I explain, and two pairs of bright, startled eyes become something heated, and wanting.

“We don’t want him to go off too quickly, do we?”

I think she likes that idea almost as much as I do, because her grin broadens and suddenly I can see all of her neat little white teeth. She runs that pink pointed tongue over both rows of them, mouth so close to his cock she could kiss it, if she had a mind to.

But she doesn’t. She plays along with me, instead.

“That would be such. A shame.”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, you’ve hardly even gotten to taste it,” she says, still big-eyed. Still full of musing innocence, in her tone. Though I’ve got to say, she’s pretty far from musing innocence in her words. “Here…want to try?”

She strokes him lightly, tugging him ever closer to my waiting mouth. Of course I put on a show of nonchalance, and barely let her graze my lips with the slick red tip, but I can’t deny that inside I’m boiling.

It’s the
noises
Cameron’s making. Those little stunted
ahs
are long gone, and in their place is the kind of filthy guttural groaning that only porn stars make. His hips roll toward the clasp of something that isn’t there, over and over, and when I lap at the slickness coating the head of his cock he breathes out in a tense rush.

But more than that, he finds his voice.

“More,” he gasps out, then after a tense and desperate moment: “Suck my cock.”

It’s like hearing Jesus curse somebody out.

“You want me to make you come in my mouth?” I ask him, and he visibly balks at the more graphic version of his demand. So I make it firmer, surer—not a question. “I think we should just kiss around the head of your cock, and see what happens.”

“Oooh, yeah,” Kitty says, because she’s amazing. She’s amazing, and it takes nothing at all for her to simply lean in and curl her tongue around that sweet spot on the underside of his prick, while I lick over that juicy slit.

It takes nothing for me, either. I’m so wound tight, so slick and swollen between my legs that anything would seem like a good suggestion right now. I want to strip and have them both lick my stiff clit, or maybe ride this fat cock while Kitty sits astride his face or God, God—I can taste her lipgloss on him.

I can almost feel her mouth on mine around the thick stretch of his cock, and when she murmurs into his slick flesh, when she says something dirty and good like
Mmmm, yeah, you want to taste his come, Allie?
I think
I
almost go over.

I’ve got no idea how Cameron’s holding on. It seems insane that he’s gotten this far, with two girls pushing him and sucking on him and, oh man, oh man, I think she’s stroking between the cheeks of his ass.

In fact, she’s definitely stroking between the cheeks of his ass, and when she does something completely beyond the pale he lurches forward quite suddenly, his cock sliding along my cheek as though it had been aiming for somewhere warm and wet but will settle for this soft contact.

For the feel of my skin, as his cock jerks upward almost painfully, and a hot stripe of liquid paints my face.

“Fuuuccck,” Kitty groans, as though it’s almost as arousing for her as it is for me. Though I suppose it could well be—she has a handful of him, and when she strokes him suddenly, rapidly, her little fist pumping like nothing else, he gives it up for her too.

He lets her take a spurt of his come in her hot little mouth, before she aims his still swelling prick back at me.

I taste him, then. Salt-sweet and copious, great vicious jets of it flooding over my tongue. It’s electric, impossible and, oh Lord, it’s even better than that when he calls out my name.

“Allie, God, Allie,” he moans, though it’s the sound of his voice breaking in the middle that really does me in. Well—that, and the words he says next. “You make me come so hard, baby.”

As though I’m the only one in the room. As though I’m the mastermind behind it all, the purveyor of his every carnal delight, even though it hadn’t seemed like it at the time. Wasn’t it Kitty?

She’s the one, isn’t she?

I look at her—mouth still slick with his spend, eyes as bright and sharp as a newly minted tack—and I can’t imagine how I could ever equal her, how anyone could write that dirty story about the two girls with me in mind.

It
has
to
be
her
, I think, but then I glance back up at him and he’s just staring down at me, waiting. Waiting for me to say
You
can
lie
down
now
or maybe
Tell
me
how
that
felt.

I don’t go with either, however. Instead, I hold his gaze and say the kind of thing I know Kitty will be thinking. I know she will, but that’s OK. Because it’s me. It’s me. I’m thinking it too and I have done all along.

“Well,” I say to him. “What are you waiting for? We deserve a kiss for that, don’t you think?”

I don’t know whether I meant to let things go this way or not. But they have done anyway. I wanted to explore all the facets of Cameron Lindhurst and…well. Kitty’s like the Christopher fucking Columbus of sex.

She even says as much to me, as we’re sitting in Professor Warren’s old bedroom, dividing his button collection into awesome, weird and not-sure-it’s-a-button.

He’s so fucking raw and uncharted
, she says.
Like
new, unexplored territory
.

Which I suppose I could take badly. I could see it as a claim on the terra firma I’ve marked with my flag, and I would. I really would, if she didn’t then say things like:

But
you
get
to
go
there
first, OK? You just tell me if you want me to back off—he obviously wouldn’t mind. He looks at you like…like I don’t know. Like you’re some giant diamond he found at the bottom of a cesspool of idiots.

Of course, it makes me wonder what exactly the cesspool of idiots is, in this equation. Pembroke? Humanity in general? Wade?

I just can’t tell, and I don’t want to ask. I’m too busy just trying to let all of this settle for a while, to give Cameron some space without the pressure of sudden threesomes. I mean, he’s definitely the kind of guy who needs space. He always chooses the armchair on its own, and he likes long runs by himself, and after he’d kissed us both—in a number of sweet places—he had fallen asleep with his body so far from Kitty’s it looked as though he’d erected some mystical force field.

As though he just wanted to forget or pretend or I don’t know. I can’t figure him out. It’s three days later and I still can’t make head nor tail of the Thing We Did, not even when he comes to my bedroom door quite suddenly, at 11:30 p.m.

I mean, he just stands there. And then after a long, weird moment in which he glances between me and Kitty—her curled up by the pillows with a fistful of playing cards, me sprawled across the width of the bed with a story of hers in my hand—he goes with: “I just thought I’d come and say…good night.”

Of course, I think of all the times I’ve heard him hesitate before getting a particular word out, and what him doing so usually means. He’s got another word in his head, instead—one that isn’t good night.

And his hands are sweaty too. I watch him wipe them on his pajama bottoms—this time they’re striped blue and white, instead of all one color the way they were the night before—and then he seems to gather himself. Folds his arms across his chest, you know—that sort of thing.

“Good night then, Cam,” Kitty says, and she gets just the right hint of cheek into her voice. The way she did so perfectly when we all decided to go mad and act out one of Cameron’s wildest fantasies.

Because it was, wasn’t it? I mean, I didn’t really let myself think about it too much, at the time—and I’m certainly trying not to think about it now. But what it boils down to at its core is a desire of his, made flesh.

“Uh, OK,” he says.

Weird how two such nothing words—uh and OK—make my stomach dip. They do more than that, in fact. My nipples automatically stiffen beneath my T-shirt, and my clit twinges. Just once. Just enough to let me know why I haven’t masturbated over these past few days.

Because I’ve been waiting for this. I have. And even more incredibly—so has Cameron.

He makes to leave—awkwardly, too slowly—and my heart practically races with the realization.
He
has come to
us.

He doesn’t want distance at all! He wants to get down with this, the dirty little bastard!

And then I look at Kitty, and she’s almost bursting with laughter. Her lips are squeezed tight together and her body’s shaking, while tears of sheer amusement start making their way down her cheeks.

I have to whack at her to get her to knock it off. He’ll never recover if he thinks she’s laughing at his bizarre attempts to initiate further threesomes.

“Cam!” I call out, just as Kitty whacks me in return. “Cam—come back here!”

And he does. But he looks decidedly less hesitant and unsure by the time he finds my doorway again.

“Are you guys fucking with me?” he asks, suddenly bullish. Bruised too, I think—in a way I definitely don’t want him to be. I mean, we might have done a few sexual things that definitely count as “fucking with someone,” but that’s different.

One is a game I want him to enjoy. The other is rooted in emotions I didn’t even know he felt on a regular basis.

“No, honey,” Kitty murmurs, as she wriggles back into the pillows behind her. “We’re not fucking with you—though I think my esteemed colleague and I might like to.”

It’s cute, her saying something like that. And she pulls it off—everything about her living up to her name. So kittenish and sexy and ready for all kinds of fun.

But I want some sincerity to be there too. I want him to know that I might thrill at the thought of acting on our wildest desires, but I also remember the picture he kept of me. The words he said to me through the darkness, about how much he wanted to see me when he finally got to kiss my lips.

“Come here to me, baby,” I say, and for a moment it rings dumbly in my ears. It isn’t enough, it’s too cornball, I should have said more—
Just
let
me
hold
you
or
I
want
you
so
much
or something, something.

But as soon as I’ve spoken all the tension leaves his face, and his eyes take on that delicious, smoky, hooded look. As though all of the rigid sense that holds his mind together just pours right out of him.

“Have you been waiting for us to come to you?” I ask, as he closes the door behind himself.

And to my delight, he responds, “I kind of suspect I might have been.”

Of course it’s nothing definitive. But I don’t expect definitive from him. I expect words said in between other words, and lots of hedging and use of vagaries. And you know what? This vagueness no longer hurts or leaves me baffled. This vagueness just makes it sweeter when he actually walks over to the bed, leans down, and finds my mouth with his.

He kisses me deeply too. Hungrily. As though he’s spent the last three days on some kind of tremulous precipice, unable to push himself over. It makes me wonder if he’s masturbated, or if he’s stored up all that delicious sexual energy for me to savor, now.

It’s not that farfetched an idea. I’ve done the same thing. I’ve done it so that I can feel my clit right now, as solid as anything—every part of me so aroused that I’m willing to go as far as he might want.

It makes me a different person, being this turned on. It makes me moan when Kitty laughs and says
I
never
realized
you
guys
were
so
horny
, in a voice that tells tales about her own feelings on the matter.

Her own feelings make her reach forward and yank on Cameron’s arm, until he sprawls forward on the bed as though he’s made of nothing at all. So solid, in reality, and so light as air when it comes to something like this! It’s a beguiling contrast, and it’s made more so by the stifled sound he makes when he pushes face first into the bed sheets.

“God, he’s so
pliable
,” Kitty says, and then she takes my hand and places it on his back—so clear and clever that I can read what she means me to do without asking.
Hold
him
there
, I think, and I shiver.

“You really want this, huh, big guy?” she says, and I realize—much as Cam seems to—that this is the last time she’s going to give him an out. He can back away right now, if he wants to.

Though somehow I know he never will. He didn’t say
Do
whatever
you
want
to
me
except
XYZ
. He said
Do
whatever
you
want
to
me
. He said
Don’t ask
.

And really, we don’t need to. I mean, she knows all about his stories now. I didn’t mean to tell her everything but somehow I ended up doing it anyway, and now she’s got this little ace in the hole. She’s got what I have: a sure and thrilling knowledge of everything he doesn’t know he always wanted.

But still, I don’t expect her to use it so quickly. And so ruthlessly too.

“You know, Allie’s told me all about your…little foibles.”

Oh God. Here we go.

“There’s one in particular that caught my attention.”

I mentally run through all the ones that caught mine: being attacked by two women; being forced to walk around the room like a dog complete with collar; sucking a man’s cock; the sheer volume of biting scenes—as though he’s secretly one of those crazed vampire fetishists. And then there was…

“But I think we’ll have to get you a little more naked to make it happen.”

I jerk, when she does it. Real quick—like ripping off a plaster. I’m not even sure how she manages it, to be honest, because Cam is so heavy and his legs are so long. But somehow she gets a hold of the waistband of his pajamas, and just rips those suckers right off of him.

All in one smooth move. Bam. Naked from the waist down. Perfectly curved ass exposed to the elements, just waiting for her to do things from the story about the girl with the dirtiest collection of sex toys I’ve never heard of.

“Go on,” she says to me—smile as wicked as ever I’ve seen it—and I try to pretend I don’t know what she means. I absolutely cannot see Cameron’s description floating behind my eyes: of smooth skin covered in red bracelet bite makes, and then…and then…

“Or do you want me to?”

Cameron
mmpfs
out a moan, then does something I think I’ll still be aroused over in a hundred years’ time. He kind of squirms—as though he’s attempting to get away. Only he makes a really poor job of it, because from where I’m sitting it looks as if he’s actually trying to get up on all fours.

Like
a
bitch
in
heat
, I think—just as he’d described it in his story. And, oh God, how my sex swells to consider it. Liquid floods my already drenched slit, and I’m sure I’m about to lose control of him. I can’t hold him down when he’s like this—all urgent and breathless—and I certainly can’t after he’s blurted out that he doesn’t want Kitty to do it.

“Allie,” he says. “Allie, God, Allie.”

I glance at Kitty, only to find her grinning with all of her teeth. Like some miniature Machiavelli, so certain and sure in her powers that she can just sit back and watch me fumble toward him.

And when I get my teeth around the glorious curve of his flesh, I hear her applause in the background.

Cam grinds back into me hard, and I can’t hold him. He’s up on all fours now, for definite, but it’s not those things I think about. I consider how soft his right cheek is, instead, how easily it gives under the press of my teeth.

And then I think about how much I want to soothe the pain I’ve just caused, with a long slow lick over the red brand he’s now got.

He moans for that too. A sharp sound for the bite, and then a softer one for the soothing lick that follows. It’s powerful, glorious, and made no less so by Kitty’s words, humming through my body as I lick and suck and get closer to that groove between.

“Go on, go on,” she says, and I don’t have to look to tell that she’s stroking herself. “Lick his pretty little arsehole.”

It makes me want to give commands of my own, dirty ones that I didn’t know I wanted. And when they come out in between tender little licks of his flawless ass, our moans tangle together. Cam’s sharp and breathless—as though he can’t quite believe how good something so simple feels—and Kitty’s high and tight.

As though she knows all too well.

And finally mine, all mixed up with the things I want to say.

“Watch her,” I tell Cam. “Watch her touching herself.”

He turns his head automatically to see Kitty with her hand inside her shorts, the material shifting with every little move she makes—until she decides the view would be better with them off, of course.

I pause in the middle of marking Cameron’s ass and watch her wriggle out of them too quickly, everything about her suddenly as breathless as Cam seems. As though she just can’t wait to have all eyes on her juicy cunt, while she rubs and worries at her obviously stiff clit.

I can see it from here, standing out proudly between the neat little lips of her sex. She has almost no hair down there—of course she doesn’t—but I’m pretty sure the view would be as delicious either way.

Or at least, I
think
it’s delicious for Cam. For me it’s just a reminder that my own clit is being sorely neglected, and for a moment I think about slipping my hand under the waistband of my pajamas. A couple of strokes would do it—I’m pretty sure.

But then I think about Cameron’s mouth on me—or even better, the feel of his solid cock finally, finally stroking into my pussy—and I hold back. I need to hold back. I need to keep everything on an even keel, while my two partners in crime moan and writhe and talk about coming.

“Lick him, lick him,” Kitty pants, but I don’t need her to tell me anymore.

I want to taste him there, right over the tightly clenched knot of his arse, and when I do he makes a sound like something bursting. His fingers scrabble and grasp at the sheets, and I think about odd and random things.

Like the word
rimming
—so filthy and forbidden. Or at least, it’s filthy and forbidden to him. I feel nothing but pure carnal delight when I finally manage to work my tongue into that too-tight ring of muscle, whereas he…well, he has some very interesting things to say about it.

“God, don’t, that’s disgusting,” he says to me, loud and clear. And I suppose if I didn’t know him so well, I’d stop at that. I’d feel ashamed for licking and lapping between his arse-cheeks, until he feels just as slippery as anything there, and twice as hot. But I
do
know him, now—I really do.