Whisky And Cartoons - Sex Stories

Whisky And Cartoons

... I’m getting turned on. I’m not sure, and I can’t look because Margie wants to keep kissing. She places my hand on her breast. The bra underneath her pajamas is stiff, but the softness of what is underneath the bra is different than anything I have ever felt. She unbuttons the top button of her pajamas and pulls down her bra. The nipple peeks out and I stop kissing, unable to move my eyes. “Whiskey,” she whispers. I take a sip, drizzle some on my finger and onto her nipple, spreading it around. The nipple shrinks, getting tighter until it is wrinkled and hard. My mouth is burning and I am afraid to swallow as she pulls my head toward her breast. The hot liquid leaks out of my mouth as I suck. It feels great to suck her nipple, satisfying like when you suck sweet hard candy, yet it burns each time I swallow. She tells me to rub my tongue against her nipple, only steady like the beat in music. “Slow, and steady,” she says, “is how you make a girl come.” Which is confusing because I thought it was sucking between her legs. Margie breathes hard underneath me pushing my head up and down, the alcohol scratches at the back of my throat, and I can feel myself turned on against Margie’s hip, so turned on my dick feels numb. It’s never felt numb before. Something must be wrong. Margie’s right. I’m too little for this. Margie sits up pushing me away. “What’s that?” she says, her voice full of fear. I tumble to the floor on my butt, “What?” She twists over the couch and squints through ...

... the blinds using her fingers to pry them apart. She jumps up and goes into the kitchen, looking out the window over the driveway, and checks the lock on the door. She returns buttoned up, and sits down on the couch. “I thought I heard your dad coming home,” she says, panting. “But it was just the neighbors car.” Margie fans her face. “Scared the piss out of me.” Margie is afraid of getting in trouble for kissing me. I guess she isn’t supposed to kiss anyone. I’ll bet I would get in trouble, too. “He won’t be home until tonight,” I say. Margie roars with laughter, “Good thing, too.” Pointing, she spits out, “Look at you.” My pajamas are sticking up below my waist, so I pull my legs up, wrap my arms around my knees and drop my head. “Don’t be a wuss,” she says. “I’ve never seen someone your age with a hard on, is all. It’s funny.” My cheeks are burning more than the whisky in my stomach, and I keep my face hidden. “You said it’s supposed to get stiff. Why is it funny?” “All right, maybe it’s not funny. It’s just that you’re so little, and here you are getting turned on, and…” “Was I turning you on?” I ask, peeking. “Look,” Margie tries to wipe the laughter away with her hand, “you’re not my type, even if you were older, okay?” She laughs again. I yell, “I don’t want you to laugh at me.” “Okay,” she slaps her thighs, “I won’t laugh, but you’re taking the fun out of it.” Margie folds her arms, slides down on the couch and straightens her legs, and I try not to look at her. I wish ...