Dallas Mayo - Girl-crazy girl

No sooner said than done. Off came the nightgown, and then a moment later I was helping her undo the buttons of my blouse. I had a bra on underneath, but that didn't last long either, not after she wormed one hand up inside it and began squeezing. Pretty soon I was naked to the waist, naked and shamelessly aroused, my nipples all swollen and throbbing as those tiny childish fingers played adult games with them.

She became bold then, profiting by my obviously permissive attitude, and I could only quiver in mounting enravishment as her lips emitted a gleeful giggle and then smothered the sound in the bare flesh of my breasts. I wrapped my arms around her and just held on, sinking into a near-swoon, quite dizzy with the pleasure of her kiss, the sucking lips, the fluttering tongue, the moist little cavity of her mouth…

"Loi? Your skirt's getting all wrinkled, too."

As if we needed any more excuses! Oh shit, I mumbled something that sounded like consent and then we were both clawing at it, panties along with the skirt, trying to get rid of everything at once. Only it didn't work like that, my body simply couldn't arch up out of the soft cushions enough to let her pull the garments off; they got stuck on the way down and just clung there, rumpling around the flare of my hips. Until at last, incited by her grunts and mutters of frustration, I sloughed off my sex-induced languor and managed to stand up resolutely if somewhat precariously, dying to tumble back into the comfort of the sofa again.

Once there, though, my head cleared swiftly and my shaky stance firmed. Besides, the kid was not sitting right behind me and I didn't dare risk losing my balance for fear of crushing her. So I stood tall and straight, waiting almost calmly for those busy little hands back there to finish their self-assigned task. My skirt had gotten twisted somehow, still clinging and resisting her tug, complicating matters with a certain unexpected difficulty, no doubt – but I refused to help this time, rather intrigued by the idea of letting her earn the privilege of making love to me. As long as she seemed so anxious, what the hell, why not? After all, wasn't it my body, not hers, that had become the main attraction here?

It took her awhile to get the hang of it, smoothing out the crooked skirt and finally forcing the waistband over my hips, down past that snug place. Along with the panties, naturally. And in front now my belly was bare and the curly fringe already visible, the fringe of curly cunt-hair, dark brown with just a reddish hint of the auburn on my head. But the kid hadn't seen it yet, of course, not from where she was sitting, and now I was less calm and growing more impatient every instant; oh shit, I could hardly wait to step out of these last rags and whirl around and confront her with it, my cunt, my hot cunt, my hot lesbian cunt right in her giggly little lesbian face!

Only it wasn't happening, it just wasn't like that at all, and I stood there puzzled as the skirt and panties came to a dangling stop halfway down my legs. As if she had lost interest in them. And so she had, I realized a moment later, her hands had let go and were gliding back up my thighs, a pleasant but still somewhat puzzling caress. I felt pretty silly then, ruefully conscious of those two saggy-baggy garments, silly and a bit frustrated myself now. Almost but not quite naked…

"Oooh, it's beautiful! You have a beautiful tush."

It was cute the way she said it. Tush. Cuter still the way she stroked me there so respectfully, her palms skimming over my buttocks lightly yet eagerly, sensuous but with a near-worshipful touch. Like a little girl who didn't know any better, a child too undeveloped to grasp the beauty, the glamour, the sheer magnitude of a clitorally stimulated cunt. My tush was enough for her, apparently. Tush and titties, her own words, my beautiful tush and pretty titties. Okay, if that was how she got her kicks, my cunt could wait – until I decided to teach her otherwise, anyway. Which would only happen after exhausting all the possibilities of my inexperienced young lover's hopes and fulfillments. Only that might be sooner than anticipated, in view of how repetitious this latest caress of hers was becoming. Over and over again, with that same sensuously lingering devotion, a trifle wearisome now, too much lingering and not enough lust…

"Loi? Your tush. Is it all right what I'm doing? All right if I kind of play around a little?"

"You like my butt, huh? Imagine that. Sure. Go ahead, it's all yours, honey. Whatever turns you on."

"Oh. Thanks. Uhh, even if I kind of… uh…"

"Hmm?"

"You know. Kiss it a little maybe? Y'know?"

Sneaky-soft, a breathless murmur, just like that. Kiss it a little maybe? Kiss my ass? Was that what she wanted to do? It staggered me just a wee bit. Not noticeably, though, and I remained upright without any undue swaying, almost grateful now for the droopy skirt and panties down around my thighs. The outfit wasn't exactly chic but still a snug fit where it counted – right in the equilibrium, a steadying influence for sure. I was steady enough to shrug and come up with an answer, anyway. Not that it required much study. Or presence of mind. Just a little aplomb, nothing more.

"Like I said, sweetie, whatever turns you on."

She giggled her pleasure, a silvery sound, and I braced myself for the worst – or the best? – glad now of my earlier decision, my choice of the passive role. It was paying off in suspense at least, if not in explosive sex-thrills. But I knew better than to leap at conclusions, of course, and it would be foolish to expect this child's sexual prowess to equal her enthusiasm. For that matter, I was pretty much figuring on just a lot of feathery kisses, the same worshipful touch of her lips that she had offered with her hands. My well-developed and evidently much-admired bottom could hardly be any more kissable than it had been caressable, could it? And any kid who still called it a tush well…

Uh-huh. Her palms were stroking again, skimming lightly, just like before. Only there was an added contact now, one that I could hear as well as feel, the smacking of primly pursed lips – about as sexy as a society matron exchanging greetings in the Little Theatre lobby and trying to preserve her makeup. (I was an usherette one season, kind of a Junior Deb thing, no pay but a real high honor!) Pigeon kisses, pretty much as expected, very respectful – a tribute to my judgment, only I didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. Oh shit, who needed respect and such, how about a hot sexy tribute to my ass? Wasn't there some way to coax all those prim-lipped caresses into one pulpy melting-pot?

Almost instinctively, I softened the lines of my straight-arrow pose with a hippy curve here and there, flawed but more voluptuously fleshed-out, more appealing, more apt to pick up and reflect the gleam of an inattentive eye. Or so I surmised, based on past experience. Funny about that, very recent past experience – and with the wrong gender, too. Only since my body truly began to develop was there any purpose in practicing new poses and postures, trying out different struts and sways and swivel-hipped shuffles; and who would I test them on but the boys at school? Anyway, even just come to grips with my lesbian self – now and forever! – the practice time in the school halls wasn't wasted. I had learned the tricks of the trade, the technique of bodily flow and flux, the invaluable art of knowing when and how to inject a tincture of scarlet slut into the coldly chiseled white marble of virtue. And if it worked on boys, why shouldn't it do equally well – except for the jealousy factor, perhaps – with girls and women who leaned in that same direction? So I had a fairly good notion that little Jackie would sniff out and react to the change, maybe even unwittingly, aware only of the changes inside herself, a seductively compensating change to put her in rapport with mine…