My Jean - Chapter 20
BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)
Conclusion and a Resolution - Of Sorts
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Little Cayman
A sudden knock on the loose-fitting screen door sounded like
a gun shot, loud and jarringly unexpected.
With a faintly British accent, a man's voice called
out, "There's a phone call for Billy or Jean." And in another
moment, "Anyone there?"
Jean and I looked at each other. I lifted an eyebrow that
asked, 'Do you know?' She shrugged her shoulders as if to say,
'Beat's me.'
A naked Margi had slumped to her knees, one hand thrust
between her thighs and the other unsuccessfully trying to cover
her breasts. We were all uncomfortably aware that whoever it was
had only to step off the walk to look through the unshuttered
screens to see the three of us, mostly naked. We remained
frozen.
"Anyone home?" the disembodied voice asked again, and again
knocked.
Suddenly jarred from my inaction, I called out, "OK. Be
right there." Turning to my and our friend, Margi, I held
my hands out, palms up and whispered, "Stay here. I'll be right
back."
Jean placed her hand on my arm and asked in a surprisingly
loud voice, "Where'd you think we were going to go?"
"Shit, I don't know . . . but wait anyway, OK?"
Jean smiled and nodded. "Hurry back."
I slipped into some sailing shorts and a fresh T-shirt. As
I was leaving, I glanced back to see Jean kneeling beside the
cowering Margi. It occurred to me that if Margi wasn't concerned
about her nudity, she might understandably be concerned about her
job at this remote and high-priced dive resort.
Whoever had brought the message was gone when I went
outside. Threading the darkened paths that connected our
octagonal beach house with the larger central building, I
reflected that only our knew where we were. Entering the main
structure, I walked into the bar where our hostess, Gladys,
glanced up and nodded her head toward a phone receiver off the
hook. "Your mom," she offered.
"Hello?"
"Billy? How are you? You and Jean OK?" It was Mom.
Damn, I should have called to let her know. "I'm sorry, . . ." I began but she cut me off.
"Don't worry about it. That's OK. Gladys already told me
that everything's fine; I just wanted to hear your voice. Or
Jean's."
"We're fine." And then searching for something to say, I
asked, "Remember Margi, the Dive Master from last year?"
"Oh, yes. I remember Margi. I'm sure *you* do!"
It amazed me how my could put so much suggestive
meaning into her voice.
Before I could frame an answer, she went on, "Gladys said
that the three of you had gone to listen to CD's after dinner.
Having fun?"
Cripes. Half a world away. Did we have any privacy? I
looked at Gladys and she smiled a conspiratorial, almost wolfish
grin.
"Uh . . . yes. We were . . ." and I didn't know just what
to say. "We were . . . uh, playing a game."
"Truth or Dare?" asked.
What the hell is this, I wondered?
"How'd you know?" I asked, perplexed once again by my
mother's seeming omniscience.
"I didn't, but it's what came to mind. Probably because
that's what I'd do in the same situation." She paused and then
went on, "You and Jean explore 'your situation' anymore?"
Our 'situation.' I was embarrassed. Even though we'd had an
open, heart-to-heart conversation about sex, and me, I still
found it difficult to be comfortably candid.
"Uh . . . nothing new, Mom. We're OK, honest."
"Baby, I'm not checking up on you two. I love you both and
have confidence that whatever you do, it'll be all right. Now
get back to your party, tell Jean I love her and say hello to
Margi. And oh yes. Tell Margi not to do anything I wouldn't do .
. . and that leaves her a lot of latitude. Bye." she ended up
laughing.
"Bye, Mom."
I turned to leave and Gladys said, "Tell Margi to relax."
"What?"
"Just relax, have a good time . . . that's all."
Once again I had the feeling that I wasn't completely in the
know about what was going on. Were we that transparent?
I was mulling that over in my mind as I walked the darkened
path back to our room. I noticed that the blinds were drawn and
the room apparently dark as I let myself in. There was a yellow,
dim light, a candle flickering on the night stand. One of
Margi's CDs was playing, a soft, melodic sound that I didn't
recognize, but I liked.
"Hi, Billy," two voices intoned, almost in unison. "Welcome
back," added Jean.
"Margi, Gladys says, 'relax'."
"What?"
"Relax. She says to relax. That's all. You know what
that's a about?"
"Uh, I'm not quite sure. But she thinks I'm too tense."
As I dark adapted, I saw Jean was sitting on the floor, legs
outstretched, her back against the foot of the bed and Margi was
leaning back against Jean in turn, between her legs. Jean was
holding Margi loosely, one hand over a full breast. Both were
naked as best I could see in the flickering light.
"We've been talking," Jean added, in response to the
question unasked. "Margi's been telling me about her sex life."
Margi squirmed, I thought uncomfortably, and looked down,
not saying anything.
"Isn't that so, Margi?" Jean asked, nudging her breast.
"Oh, Jean . . . don't," she murmured so softly I almost
missed it.
"Oh, Jean, yes. Billy would be pleased to hear what you've
been telling me." And then turning to me, she added, "Our little
Margi's really quite experienced, Billy. Shy, but experienced.
Right, Margi?"
She murmured something. I couldn't hear her, so I kneeled
between her splayed legs and said, "What was that, sweet girl?
What'd you say?"
"She'll tell you, Billy, but first she's got to be relaxed.
That phone call scared her. Is everything all right?"
I nodded and offered no further explanation.
"Tell you what, Billy. Pull up the ottoman there behind you
and sit facing us. Put your legs over Billy's, Margi so he can
move in and be close. OK?"
Perhaps it was because of the dim, flickering candle light
or perhaps Jean and Margi had come to some trust or understanding
while I'd been talking with our because she didn't demure at
all. Sliding up toward them, my own legs splayed, Margi lifted
her's and dropped her thighs over mine. In turn, my legs were
draped over Jean's. My dark adaptation and the candle light
enabled me to appreciate the furry core of Margi's pelvis in the
process.
"Hmmmm, nice, Margi."
"Are you commenting on Margi's pussy, Billy?"
Margi gasped and I felt her trying to close her legs, but
she was stuck in an open and exposed position.
Not waiting for a reply, Jean went on, "Tell Billy what you
told me a few minutes ago, Margi."
"Oh, I couldn't . . ." she began but was cut off by Jean
immediately.
"Sure you can, girl." Jean cupped both her in her
hands and rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She
then turned her attention to me. "I'll start." she began.
"Margi has always wanted to acknowledge her body as well as her
sexuality. She told me that making out in the dark is fun
certainly, but not exciting. She's attracted to the excitement.
Aren't you, girl?"
Margi glanced at me and then tried to look up at Jean but
couldn't manage fully. Jean nudged her again and she nodded.
"Aren't you?" prompted Jean.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I love the excitement."
"And?"
"And . . . I'm too embarrassed to ask for it."
Patiently, "For what, Margi?"
"For someone to tell me what to do." she said softly and
then gaining some confidence, added in a louder voice, "I want to
do things. All sorts of things, you know - sexy things - but I'm
too shy. It's not that I don't want to try things, everything,
it's that I'm so embarrassed. If someone, you, *makes* me do
things . . . well, then I can't refuse. It's like it's not my
fault. Then it's OK. Know what I mean?"
"Good, Margi. Now let me ask you this. Are you willing to
tell Billy what are deal is?"
Margi nodded, studying the rug in front of her, not looking
up.
"ARE you, girl?" Jean nudged her again.
Margi suddenly looked up at me and stared for a long moment
before saying, "Yes, I am."
I touched her for the first time. I placed my hands on the
tops of her thighs and slowly stroked up and down. "Then tell
me, Margi. What's the "deal' - the one you've made with Jean.
I'd like to hear you tell me."
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another before
beginning. "I told Jean that I was so excited, so hot a little
while ago - when we were playing Truth or Dare - that I would
have done anything, and Jean asked, 'Anything?'"
She took another breath and continued. "When she asked me
that, I was excited and afraid at the same time, but I guess I
was more excited then frightened so I said, 'Yes, anything.'"
Jean continued to roll Margi's nipples in her fingers. They
were swollen and dusky. I hunched a little closer and ran my
fingers over the tops of her thighs, ending just an inch away
from her public thatch. "Go on," I urged.
"She asked me if I'd be your slave for the night, the two of
you's slave. I wasn't sure what that meant, but somehow it made
me wetter."
She looked at me again and asked, "Know what I mean?"
"The slave part or the wetter part?" I asked.
"Uh . . . I figure you know about the wetter part. I'm
horny. But do you know about the slave part? What does that mean
to you?"
"No, Margi. The real question is: What does that mean to
*you*?"
She looked down, nibbling on her lower lip and brushed the
top of her pubic hair with her fingers. "Well, I *think* it
means that I have to do what you tell me to do, that I have no
choice."
I traced a line across the top of her pubic bush, meeting
her hand in the process. She started to pull away but I grabbed
her hand and pulled it back to the top of her and held it
there.
"Margi, it's important to know that you *do* have a choice.
You always do. This is a game. That's all it is. And in this
game, we play that you're a slave, our slave, and that you have
to do the things we say. Keep in mind, if you agree, we'll
expect you to keep your bargain. We'd never you, but we
might embarrass you and we just might make you even hornier. But
you do have a choice. Do you understand that?"
After I removed my hand from her's, she resumed touching the
area around the top of her slit, idly moving her fingers through
her bush.
Oddly stronger, she went on. "Oh, I know that. And I've
already made the decision. That's the "deal" I made with Jean.
I'm yours for the evening and I have to do what I'm told."
Glancing back, she added, "Isn't the right?"
Jean answered promptly, "That's right, and the first
thing I want you to do is play with yourself. I'll play with
your tits. You play with your little cunny. Yes, show Billy your
pussy."
Jean has assumed a firm, directing voice and I took my clue
from that. "While you're playing with yourself, Margi, tell us .
. . when did you start masturbating?"
She ran the index finger of her right hand up through her
slit. In the yellow light, I could see her finger glistening
with her wetness.
"Um . . . I'm not really sure. A long time ago. I was
young. I mean, very young. Maybe eight. Even seven. I don't
remember. All I knew was that it felt really good and I knew I
wasn't supposed to be doing that. I didn't know why. I don't
remember anyone telling me not to touch myself, but I knew.
Maybe my girlfriend told me. I knew it was naughty, but it felt
too good to stop."
"Ever get caught?" Jean asked.
Margi slipped two fingers into her slit and then rubbed her
juice on my hand as I toyed with her pubic hair. When I looked
at her, her eyes were glistening, intense and wide open. She
smiled a little.
"Several times. It was embarrassing, but it also was
exciting. I think I *wanted* to get caught."
"Did you then?" I asked, holding my hand up to my nose.
Her eyes glittered as she watched me. I smelled her and
then touched my tongue to my fingers. She jerked.
Now a little more breathless, she answered, "I could as
long as I can remember. Just some were more powerful than
others."
I wondered what she was trying to tell us, but before I
could frame another question, Jean asked, "Tell us about the
powerful ones, girl. Can you remember what made them that way?"
"Yes, I can . . . but I'm a little embarrassed to talk about
it."
Bending forward, I used my finger tips to pull open the lips
of her pussy, watching her finger roll her clit.
"Then all the more reason to tell us," I interjected. "It's
the stuff about which we are most embarrassed that's often behind
the greatest erotic charge."
"Exactly," chimed Jean. "Remember, you're our slave, so
tell us everything girlfriend."
I presented the wet tips of my fingers to Jean. She sniffed
them and said, "I'm beginning to understand why you keep
snitching my panties, Billy."
Margi looked back and forth between us, straining her neck
trying to see Jean behind her. I nodded to her. "Go on."
"You make me forget what I'm saying . . ."
"The most powerful cums," I prompted.
"Oh yeah! Well, it had something to do with the fear of
getting found out. That some one would catch me. The closer I
got to discovery, the more powerful my cums got. A couple a
times I got caught with my hand in my as I was about to
and it shot me over the edge. I just doubled up and groaned,
it was so strong."
I scrunched a little closer again. Margi had to lift her
thighs even higher as I moved in. She looked down and saw my
cock, inches from her. She tentatively reached out to touch me
and I said, "In a moment. But right now, I want to look at you.
I want to touch you. Have you ever been this open for anyone?"
She shook her head and continued to look at my cock, now
bobbing. I ran my finger through her slit. It was swampy and the
musky scent of her was filling the room.
"And have you *wanted* to show yourself this way? "
She nodded her head vigorously. "All the time! I don't
understand it, but I *want* to be seen. I put myself in
positions where I'll be exposed and then almost die of
embarrassment when I am. And I keep doing it. I get so hot
sometimes I have to . . ."
"Masturbate?" Jean prompted.
"Yes. I *have* to get off. I even stick things up inside
of me." She paused and then added, "God, I can't believe I said
that!"
Turning her back to the moment, I asked, "Can you feel it in
your when Jean pinches your nipples?"
I nodded to Jean. Margi gasped with the intensity of Jean's
pinch. "Can you feel that in your little cunny, Margi?" Jean
asked, tugging on her swollen nipples.
Margi bobbed her head and groaned, as she slid down a bit,
pushing her at my fisted cock. I slid the head of my dick
up and down through her wet slit and said to her, "Margi, bring
yourself off for us. Show us how you cum. We want to watch you,
your pussy, your sweet cunt. Watch it drool. Make it foam, girl.
Jill off for us."
She looked wildly at me for a moment and then surrendering,
she threw her head back, her neck arched, thrust forward and
slipped the fingers of her right hand into her as she began
rolling her clitoral hood with her left hand.
I began to tap on the engorged and jutting tip of her clit
with the head of my cock, much as I'd done with Jean once a few
years before. And like Jean had done, she began a grunting moan
that sounded like, "Hmmmm, uh, uh, uh," over and over, thrusting
her hips at me, plunging her fingers into her swampy core. My
desire was surging.
As she slid forward again, I noted that Jean had pulled her
hands away from Margi and into her own crotch. At least it
looked that way. I made eye contact with her and she looked
almost pained. Her brows were knitted and she was biting her lip.
Her eyes were open and wild with passion, unfocused.
Margi had slid almost flat with her legs wrapped around me.
My cock had been pulled down into the crack of her ass as I
mindlessly began humping at her sexy, wet warmth.
Jean pulled away and shifted position, now kneeling over
Margi's head, her hand buried in her own cunt, frigging away,
almost frantically. Margi's unsupported head was thrown way
back, neck hyper-extended, mouth open. When I caught Jean's eye
again, I nodded toward Margi's open mouth and Jean threw her leg
over and lowered her to Margi.
Margi immediately opened her mouth and started to suck on my
sister's as she continued to frig her own cunt, now with
three fingers jammed in and still blindly humping the air.
Jean was moaning and grunting as she fingered her clit and
Margi mouthed her slit. No less intense, Margi continued to moan
incoherently as she fucked her self with her bunched fingers, my
hard cock rubbing the crevasse of her ass cheeks. I wondered if
she'd ever taken it up the ass.
I wrenched myself back, pulling away from Margi. Without
looking, she pulled her mouth away from Jean long enough to moan,
"No, please no."
I kneeled between Margi's legs and pulled them up, pushing
her knees toward her shoulders, baring her open and swollen sex
as she crammed her fingers into herself. Just below was her ass
hole, fringed with dark hair. I was desperate to sink my cock
into something.
"Margi, I'm going to fuck you. You OK with that? Want me
to sink my hard cock into you soft cunt, girl?"
She pulled back, took a breath and almost screamed, "YES!
Yes. FUCK me--I want it--I need it. Fuck me, please!"
Unthinking, I leaned over her, pushing the head of my cock
below her fingers. She pulled out and grabbed my cock, guiding
it into her core as I slowly sank into her, no more than a head's
depth.
"Want more than the head in there, girl?" I asked, trying to
drive her crazy."
Jean's voice entwined itself in our reverie, "Fuck her,
Billy! Fuck her while I watch. Yes, fuck her while she eats me.
Oh, God. Oh, shit. This is so hot. Put it in. More!"
"More, Margi?"
"Oh GOD, don't tease me. I'm gonna die. Push it in,
Please!"
I eased in another inch, maybe two.
"Yesss," she hissed and humped at me.
"Yes," echoed Jean. "Oh Christ, Billy. I've wanted this
and I've been afraid of this for so long. Fuck HER, Billy and
think about fucking me!"
Bending forward and thrusting her hips out that she might
see Margi better, Jean added, "Come on, girl. Suck me. Eat me
while my fucks into your cunt. Give me the fuck energy
he's giving you. Fuck me with your tongue."
I lost all restraint as I pulled back and then slammed into
her as hard as I could. I touched something back there, in the
back of her cunt. She grunted and bucked under me as I began a
trip-hammer pounding, kneeling between her splayed thighs, my
eyes locked with Jean's as we climbed higher and higher onto some
impossible pinnacle. I lost track of time. I lost track of
Margi. It came down to just the two of us.
There was just me and there was just Jean, eyes locked,
fucking and fucking, lost in the moment, lost in each other.
She started first, as her head fell back and she grabbed her
own breasts, humping Margi's mouth, her moan drawn out to a
rising crescendo. I remember thinking for a brief moment that
I'd watch this erotic sight, but my own runaway orgasm caught me
by surprise.
I couldn't remember what we'd decided about her risk. I
pulled out and fisting my cock, I stroked it once, twice and a
third time when I exploded. The first white rope of landed on Jean's thigh. The next on Margi's chin and throat and
the last on her chest and belly. A few more dribbles ended up in
my hand. I looked at the warm white puddle in my hand and then
reached out and wiped it across Jean's breast. Her nipple was
pebble hard.
We fell silent. Frozen in the tableau, Jean sat back on her
heels, freeing Margi's face. I fell back on my heels and looked
at the wreckage. The only sound was our panting. I couldn't
really tell which was mine.
Margi slowly lifted her head and make eye contact. We
looked at each other but didn't talk. Couldn't talk. We were
drained.
Margi ran her finger through a glob of my on her chest
and looked at it. She looked back at me and then placed the tip
of her finger in her mouth, tasting me.
Jean watched silently and then similarly picked up a clot of
my with her finger and tasted it as well.
The CD was still playing, but I'd not heard it in the past
while. Gradually I heard again the waves on the beach as I
reentered reality.
I looked down. I was still holding my cock, now soft and
shriveled. It looked almost pathetic, that once proud weapon now
reduced to a soft, wet noodle.
Jean cupped her and held it for a moment before asking
in a whisper, "Well, stud, how do you feel now?"
"There are no words."
"We finally got to 'do it' Billy."
"Yeah. I wonder if we'll ever get any closer, Jean?"
"I don't know, Billy. Maybe not. Maybe this is it. I just
don't know. But I am sure of one thing . . ."
"What's that?"
"We'll never be able to go back. You can't go home again."
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Epilogue
Because we're still very much alive, Jean and I, there's no
real ending to this story. Still, for now, it needs to end
somewhere and this is it.
I've taken the remembering, the reliving, the healing of it
all as far as I needed to. I have other things to write, things
apart and away from Jean.
More, I have a jazzy life to live and the vibrancy of the
moment, the here and now, is more vital than the sweet memories
of what once was. Given then and given now, it's a no-brainer.
I'll go with the present moment any day.
BillyG
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