Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968 - Sex Stories

Seasons of Sex 3: Spring, 1968

... that permeated her cunt hair. “Well,” she said with a wink, “I guess this means we have to get married.”

“I think it means you will make Will a wonderful bride.” I wiped my wet fingers on her inner thighs and pulled them out from under her skirt. She did the same, leaving cooling semen on my hairy thighs and a wet spot on the front of my kilt. We looked around; no one seemed to be paying any attention, thank goodness.

It was a bit awkward, as we tried to thank each other, and each one saying, no, no, my pleasure, and then, after our hands had air-dried for a bit, getting up and going our separate ways. I kept to the shadows until my kilt was mostly dry and found a rest room to wash my hands. Then, the concert finally over, I headed to the bus.

The madrigals had a whole school bus to ourselves for the trip home, and so I had my own seat. I was gazing out the window into the passing darkness, half asleep, when Belinda slid in beside me. Her presence made me nervous. “Hi,” I ventured.

She placed her hand directly on my lap and squeezed the lump she found there. “That was a sweet thing you did for Gail.”

I could barely speak, but a response seemed called for. “Well, she…she did as much for me…” It was unnerving. How much did she know about what had transpired between Gail and me? And how should I expect her to feel about it?

“I know,” she said. “But she really needed some reassurance. And some experience. And you gave her both.”

We rode along for a while, ...

... her hand still on my swelling crotch, occasionally giving a gentle squeeze. For some reason I felt conversation was called for. “You haven’t spoken to me for a long time. . . Why is that?”

“You haven’t spoken to me, either.”

That was true but seemed somehow irrelevant.

“I don’t want to seem dense,” I said, “but I still don’t know what I did wrong on that. . .that date we had.”

She was silent for a minute. “I know I probably overreacted,” she finally said. “You shouldn’t worry about it.”

“But what did I—” Belinda looked furtively around the bus, then quickly pulled my kilt up over my penis and let my erection hold it in place. In the dim light, my white thighs seemed horribly exposed, not to mention my cock, throbbing silently and earnestly in her hand. She lowered her head to my lap and set to work. Her mouth was wet and warm, and her tongue seemed to know exactly where I needed to be licked. I was tired, and as much as I enjoyed what she was doing, I wasn’t sure I could reach another orgasm before the bus got us all the way home.

But I was underestimating Belinda’s talents. She took my cock a little farther into her mouth with each stroke, and with each stroke licked the head, and with each stroke also insinuated a finger up into my anus. “Oh, fuck,” I whispered, almost giving us away to the rest of the bus. Soon my cock was pressing back on her throat, and soon after that it seemed to pass all the way into her throat, and I was completely inside her sweet, ...