Guests?

The instant I turned the lock, Julie pushed through the door into my room and also slammed it shut behind her, before looking at me and puffing, with one hand on her chest. It was as if she’d just been let inside a bunker at the last minute, during an air raid.

“Mother’s entertaining tonight.” she said, and went to drop herself on my bed, flopping on her back in mock exhaustion. The movement had her bare breasts mesmerizingly rippling as they settled on her upturned chest.

“And how is that relevant to your presence here?” I asked, “In my room?”

She propped herself up on her elbows to look at me, then winced in pain staring at her forearms. She dropped backwards again and started explaining herself to the ceiling.

“I was walking home as usual, and when I got here I saw a bunch of Mum’s friends from work walking toward the front door in the street. So I went in and asked her about them, and apparently she invited them over today. She also wanted me to stay and entertain them and bring them drinks while she cooked dinner. Well A) I can’t serve drinks because my imbecile PE teacher got me tendonitis with his dumbass exercises in swimming, which means my arms are fucked, and B) I fucking hate gossiping with Mum’s dumbass friends. Of course, I can’t tell her that last bit because she likes her dumbass friends, so I told her I just came up to freshen up a bit.”

She grabbed my pillow, and put it between her and the wall, and then propped herself up against it so she could look at me. With eye contact re-established, I asked her “What is my involvement in this?”

“Please, I need an excuse not to go downstairs; could you finger me or something for a bit, while the chicken roasts? I’d do it myself and Mum would leave me alone only my arms hurt like hell. In any case she’d probably come to you so we’d both be exempt from her bollocks...” and seeing my continued disbelief she added “I’d pay you back. It’ll be late after dinner, but maybe tomorrow morning we could fuck?”

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll finger you.” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was an appointment for sex, especially the day I was planning to pack my things and pull a Rincewind on the City. I climbed onto the bed and crawled aboard beside her. She smiled and craned her neck to try and kiss me. I leaned down to accommodate her. There not being the cover of some power play as with Carmen, I couldn’t escape this time, although I could damn well keep it short.

It was a little different this time. I dared let our lips mingle, and even indulged in the urge to french her just a few seconds. Her mouth didn’t send a wave of sexual tension through my veins so much as taste a little strange. Granted, you might expect a mouth to taste a little strange, especially toward the end of the day when you don’t know where it’s been before meeting yours. But somewhere among the mix of odd flavours in Julie there was this other element. I don’t really know how to describe it. At first I mainly noticed a similar acidity to orange juice, and, at the same time, the iron sting of spilt blood, but there were many other dimensions equally incongruous. It was rather like encountering an eighth colour for the tongue. At the end of it, the only change I could find in my being was a tightening around my groin, where I realized my cock was spontaneously hardening without conscious prompting from me.

I pulled away from the kiss and looked to what sort of pussy I was to manually service. She spread her legs, revealing the full extent of her natural bush, which she ostensibly kept wild. I started by playing with her fur, resting my hand on her stomach fingers splayed, then sliding down her mons to see if the jungle would swallow them up. It wasn’t going to succeed, growing on a plain human body, but it made a valiant attempt, and my skin appeared to visibly darken under there. Julie giggled, and I looked back to her as I made contact with her slit. She stuck her tongue out, and slowly licked her lips, as if scraping the last remnants of some particularly pleasing flavour left upon them. She raised an eyebrow at me, and, emboldened by a mixture of dare-I-say ‘normal’ arousal, and the lack of a **** high, I accepted her unspoken invitation.

At once I braved Julie’s mouth a second time and got to work on the stated purpose of her visit, rubbing and caressing her pussy, gently pulling on her labia, nudging her clit to life, teasing the entrance below until her growing moistness gave me the go-ahead for deeper stimulation. I probed inside her with one finger at a time, introducing her to each of them in turn. Only my thumb remained outside, pressing and circling her clit, slowly increasing contact intensity. In response, she began bucking her hips a little, breathing harder, breathing into me. In the corner of my eye I saw her hand move toward her crotch, only to back away and drop limp to her side. She was just beginning to forget her injuries.

I broke the kiss again, lured by her breasts lying exposed mere inches away. I pecked her soft skin in a wide circle, contouring the nearest of her ever more agitated orbs of rippling flesh. I traced a spiral with my tongue all the way from the edge of the mound to the nipple before sucking it in whole. By now, as I teased the little brown nub with the lightest touch of my teeth, Julie was writhing in the turbulent rush of sensations preceding orgasm, moaning in ever shorter staccato. Every few seconds she would try to grip the blanket beneath and the strain on her damaged tendons would surprise her and she yelped in pain each time. I don’t think she cared by that point. Moments passed and climax hit her, just as I had begun work on her other breast. She cried out, was completely still, and then rode her wave back down to Earth one shallow breath at a time.

What followed produced the same bewilderment, I think in both of us, as when suddenly waking from a dream, the type of dream that is very vivid, yet fades from memory surprisingly fast. I was startled by a loud noise, followed by the end of a sentence being shouted up the stairs toward me and my sister’s rooms.

“...ready and being served!” is all I remember of Mother’s call to dinner. I scrambled off the bed and headed toward my door, stopping only to hold it open for Julie to go through.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She was standing in front of the bed and staring at me, weight visibly shifting from one foot to the next. She couldn’t decide what to do. After what felt like an eternity she blurted “N-nothing. Come on!” and rushed past me.

It was my turn to hesitate. Julie’s odd behaviour broke a bridge somewhere in me, and I became aware of a draining from all of my being. It was like aging on the spot. Then it dawned on me: I wasn’t immune. I hadn’t noticed a clean break in my consciousness as with Carmencita, but it was growing abundantly clear that the element I had knowingly tasted in Julie – which must also have been present in Carmen – had in fact warped my perception of reality again. If Mother hadn’t called when she did, what then?

“Frank, we’re waiting!” she called again, “If you’ve got a hard-on there is plenty of pussy, down here, after dinner. Get down this minute!”