Kent Collins - First Time For Sister

"Gosh," she breathed, finally releasing the air she'd been holding in her chest. The ripples radiated from the young man's legs as he moved slowly in the pond. Billie remembered his name was Hanson-Hanson Allen, but she wasn't studying his face any longer. Her eyes seemed uncontrollably drawn to the long, drooping brown snake that hung from his groin. It was the strangest-looking thing she'd ever seen and so … big. A shudder of fear mixed with excitement made her heart pound.

She tried to imagine what Hanson would do with that thing after he dragged a girl under a bush at night. It didn't really look dangerous, though, and once when he bent over, she saw that the cock was soft rather than hard… soft and flexible-looking.

At that instant, Billie became acutely aware of her position behind the bush… peeking at a naked male. She blushed red and clamped her eyes in shame. But she couldn't keep them shut. It was the first time in her life she'd ever been able to see what a boy was made like, and though Hanson was colored he was a male, too-a real live male.

Then the fearful thought of what he might do to her if he found her peeking filled Billie with a gut-rending terror. She saw the huge muscled shoulders and broad chocolate-brown chest, the powerful legs and narrow bottom. If Hanson pulled her under a bush, she'd die. Even though Billie-Ann wasn't sure exactly what would happen, she knew she'd die. Die of fright if nothing else. But realizing all that, she parted the bushes and looked again.

Hanson Allen cupped his brown hands into the water and raised them high, letting the cool droplets trickle onto his head and shoulders.

Much as he was trying not to, he had started to think of a certain Miss Pamela Whittier back in Boston. And thinking of Pamela always gave him a huge hard-on.

"Dumb white cunt!" he said under his breath. But Pamela's ivory legs and graceful hips came filtering into his mind as if he were witched or maybe something worse. It had been two years since the party in the village, where a white buddy had wanted to lay a chick on him. A girl who wigged over black men, his friend had said.

Hanson looked down at the mud he was stirring up with his feet and noticed that his cock wasn't drooping any more, but starting to swing upward a little, thickening near the head. The foreskin had slipped back over his glans, too, as the heated blood surged with every beat of his heart.

Hanson flexed his arms and yawned, trying to fool his body into relaxing. But even though he wasn't going back to the city… wasn't going to involve himself with Pamela Whittier any more, he couldn't forget her that easily. With a curse he let his breath out and let Pamela in. He could never forget the very first time. Her tawny, shoulder-length hair and large, high breasts. There had always been a kind of sexy invitation in the way she walked… either coming at you or going away. Pamela was an exotic hybrid of a woman.

The party where they met had been going strong, but Pamela insisted on a change of scene. It was winter in New York and the night had been cold and damp. By the time they'd gotten a cab and made it to Pamela's apartment, the tall girl was shivering against him. Hanson could remember every detail and he was too far into the reverie now to stop.

He took himself back, back four years, the smells, the tastes… all the way back.

"Aren't you going to warm me up?" Pamela cooed. Hanson took off his coat and came across the room. The rug was thick, the tables low and expensively stylish. Pamela had already kicked off her shoes and when he reached out for her fur wrap, she giggled teasingly and let it fall behind on the floor. Then, keeping her green eyes on his face, she pushed the thin straps of her white satin dress down off her shoulders.

Hanson watched her body undulate gracefully, and the silky material fell lower, catching for a tantalizing instant on the erect nipples of her breasts and then puddling at her feet in one swishing rush. He stared amazed at the dark curls of her pubic hair… just over the place where her slit began, a bright red ribbon was tied.

"I never wear panties," she simpered; "they bind me." Pamela made the word sound obscene. "Do you like me?"

Hanson nodded in a daze. "Yeah, I like you."

"Would you mind, please, kissing my breasts? I'm simply crazy about the way it feels!"

Obediently he cupped one of the firm orbs in his palm and raised it to meet his descending mouth. At first Pamela stood, hands on hips, but as he tongued the nipple stiff, she touched the side of his face, then let her fingers mingle in the short, tight curls at the nape of his neck.

"That's heavenly," she breathed; "bite me a little." Hanson bit her and suddenly the thin fingers of her hand were digging at his fly, unleashing his bound cock and stretching it out sensuously. He felt his belt loosen and his pants fall and he stepped out of them. Pamela's succulent white breast with its dark nipple quivered between his teeth.

"Touch my cunt," she moaned, voice deeper than before, "put your fingers up in me!"

Again Hanson did what she wanted, hooking one arm around the small of Pamela's back, sliding his mouth up her neck. The girl trembled in his arms, then pushed back from his embrace, leaning precariously over the back of the couch they were standing by. He watched in heated fascination as she arched even further away from him, pressing her loins out teasingly. Pamela's hair splashed over the white cushions, and her full breasts flattened some and shifted higher on her chest as she bobbed crazily upside down. When he put his hands on her wide, curving hips, she opened her thighs in final invitation. Burning with wild lust, Hanson guided the head of his cock between the girl's silken, slick pubes and drove forward. Pamela's hands flopped loosely to the floor and she bucked viciously against the back of the couch, making her navel stretch into a tight oval. Then she hooked her legs around Hanson's to keep from falling to the floor. Loins aching with pleasure, he moved forward again, feeling the slippery membranes of her tube caress and heat his cock skin.

"That's simply… deviiiine!" Pamela gasped, starting to move her pelvis in quick, sharp circles as Hanson went into her full length. The long muscles of her belly strained and jerked as she flopped like a fish backward against the sofa cushions. "Ohhh… like that!"

Unbelievably, she was about to come. Hanson was always right about those things and he was certain that Pamela's throes were rushing upon her. Their organs made wet, slick, sucking sounds and the tall girl's movements became more savage and convulsive. Her rippling, squirming body was beginning to milk the come from his own balls. Pamela's heels dug into the crack of his ass and made an excruciating pressure on his prostate. He humped violently, giving her the full benefit of his length until suddenly she straightened… came up from her upside-down flop on the divan cushions and wrapped her arms around his neck. The momentum sent them both stumbling back. Pamela's legs squeezed his waist while her twisting, plunging ass sucked huge glops of jizzum from his cock and she sank white teeth into his arm.

The rustle of leaves at the pond's edge brought Hanson plummeting back to the present. He turned quickly toward the sound, and his erection slapped heavily against his hipbone. "Goddamn it to hell," he cursed, angry with himself for letting the dream of Pamela enrapture him, angry with whoever had been peeking… if in reality it was somebody. Hanson squinted and searched the weedy banks of the pool. He listened. The sound of footsteps thumped in the stillness of the woods… running footsteps disappearing into the thickets and trees.