Chapter 19
Yeah, I didn't shave. My mom kept an eye on even my pubes—the most I could do was trim with scissors so they wouldn't poke out of my swimsuit during swim class or to look clean for the gynecologist. But deep down, I liked it. They made me feel like a real woman, grown-up, wild in a way no one else saw. Was it a hassle for hygiene? Yeah, sometimes it got damp down there after a whole day, but I didn't know what it was like without them. Fabiano made a joke or two, but I didn't care. But Jonathan pissed me off. I don't know the exact reason. Maybe because he was the one who shouldn't judge. Or because it came from him.
"You fucking asshole, you think that's cute to say to a girl when she lets you put your hand on her pussy?"
He looked at me scared, eyes wide, mouth half-open. He knew he'd fucked up right away and shut up, face red, hand still stopped in the hair. I summed it up here, but I gave a whole speech: I talked about women's rights over their own bodies, the patriarchal state's duty to dictate how we should be, the pressure to be smooth like in porn, the stolen childhood from the shame my mom passed on to me. My voice shook, staring right into his eyes, barely blinking. He lowered his head, guilty, without saying a word.
"Fuck it. Go on. Come here."
My urge to give in was bigger than any anger. I yanked the loose t-shirt over my head, almost taking my ears with it, and lay back on the bed, back on the mattress, legs spread. The cool air hit my hot skin straight on, giving me goosebumps everywhere.
"Come on, keep going! And keep quiet so you don't say stupid shit again."
I was pissed, but pissed with horniness. My whole body throbbing, pussy sensitive, wet, pulsing hard between my thighs. The poor kid didn't get it—I wasn't even getting myself right—but he jumped between my legs, sitting there like he'd gotten an order.
He went back to the insides of my thighs, warm hands, slow, up and down, fingers spread rubbing the sensitive skin. I wanted to describe the look on his face, but my eyes closed at the first touch. His thumb brushed the bush of hair, then went down, parting the outer lips slowly, feeling the hot wetness dripping there. A shiver ran up my spine, my belly clenched on its own. I barely moved. I just let it happen. Legs spread, hands limp at my sides, breathing through my mouth, waiting for him to do whatever he wanted. Because that's what I needed: to be touched.
Fuck, the horniness I felt. His touch was exploratory, hesitant, like he didn't know where to go, and that drove me crazy with want. His hand was light, careful, fingers spread brushing the thick hair, then sliding down slow to the swollen outer lips, feeling the hot wetness leaking down there. He seemed like he didn't want to hurt me, but every slow pass made my belly clench, my clit throbbing hard under its hood, begging for more pressure that he wasn't giving yet.
He lay down with his head between my legs, facing up, and I felt his breath strong there—hot, uneven, hitting right on the damp skin. The air came out in short puffs, warm, raising goosebumps everywhere. His scent rose mixed with mine: sweat and pussy smell. My whole body trembled, thighs spread, hips moving on their own a little to seek the touch. I wanted to yell "fuck, get on with it," but I just bit my lip, eyes heavy, letting him explore at his pace.
Then came the little voice begging for permission, low, almost whispering:
"Nicole, how do I do it? Teach me?"
I was clenching so hard that if there'd been a finger inside, it would've snapped. I grabbed his hand and guided it slow, putting his fingers in the right spot—thumb on the clit, middle finger brushing the wet entrance. I closed my eyes, couldn't look at his face, felt a bit of shame, but the horniness forced it. I didn't want to moan loud in front of my brother, so I bit my lower lip hard, breathing through my open mouth, hoarse.
"Do it like this…" I murmured, voice low, shaky. "You can add some pressure. If it hurts, I'll tell you…"
I guided his middle finger to the entrance by moving just my hips, feeling the slow stretch, the inner heat opening up slow. My whole body clenched, a low moan escaped despite me, hoarse and muffled. He slid in inch by inch, hot, thick, filling the throbbing emptiness there. I barely moved. I just let it happen. Legs spread, hands limp on the bed, eyes closed, feeling him enjoy the discovery.
When the finger went in, I held back because I was so close to cumming, that was something so new for me, I'd had fingers before, but not like this, not in this context. He moved his fingers side to side, I knew that motion, he was exploring the textures, just like I did when I first masturbated by penetrating.
I wanted to cum quick, wanted to be fucked hard, feel his cock slamming deep, but that was so good, so slow and new, that I let it go. I didn't say anything. I just let him play at discovering this new world, like it was the first time for both of us.
His hand still trembled a little, fingers exploring slow, no rush, not sure where to go. He brushed the clit lightly, then went down to the wet entrance, dipped just the tip of his middle finger, felt the tight heat inside, and went back to the clit. Every touch was hesitant, but careful, like he was afraid of breaking something. His thumb pressed lightly on the hood, then circled slow, feeling the swelling, like he was toying with me. I bit my lower lip hard, thighs trembling lightly, hips moving on their own to seek more pressure. The pleasure rose in lazy waves, warm, almost hurting it felt so good, and I didn't want it to end quick.
"Where does it feel good?"
"Huh?"
"Where does it feel good?" he asked again, voice low, soft, his breath letting out against me.
"Ah… right there where your finger is," I murmured, voice shaking. "You don't have to shove it all in every time… you gotta figure out how I like it on your own, by watching."
I paused short, breathing deep through my open mouth, feeling his finger stop for a second, waiting.
"Do it around the clit… like this… do it?"