Billy
written by:
Naughty Miranda

I hated it when my brother's friends came over. Well, mostly I hated it. More when I was in my early teens than when I got out of High School; not because I had changed... I've always been perfect, as I tell my husband... but because they had.

No longer skinny spotties who thought a girl was a being from another planet, and that "maturity" involved looking away when I caught them staring at my breasts, suddenly they were older, taller, smarter. They drove, or rode motorbikes. They attended college and talked of their future plans. They drank and smoked and had girlfriends... and one or two of them were even cute.

Billy Masters. Billy Masters was cute. Like the rest of the gang, he was a couple of years older than me, so as I worked through the summer before heading off to college, he was lazing through his final one, before embarking upon his career. And because the best I could find was the late shift at the local supermarket, ringing up groceries till eleven at night, the only times I ever saw him were usually as he headed home after visiting my brother, and we'd pass on the path with a "hey, hi, goodnight."

He was cute, though.

Tonight he was staying over. A bunch of the guys were going to some festival down in the wilds of Delaware, and because they had an early start, and my brother was taking his motorbike, it only made sense for Billy to crash at our place. I cannot even begin to count how many times my parents warned me to be quiet when I came in after work; not to turn lights on; not to bang things in the kitchen... yeah, like I throw wild noise parties every night after an eight hour shift in hell.

And I was good. I even unlocked the door silently, then spent what felt like hours gently pushing it closed, and making sure it was locked. I practically tiptoed to the kitchen, then felt my way through the darkness to turn on the little light over the oven. That gave me just enough illumination to fill a kettle... quietly... drop a teabag into a cup... silently... and grab a handful of cookies... noiselessly. Then, while I waited for the kettle to boil, I stepped into the doorway to the living room, where I'd noticed the soft glow of a lamp.

Billy lay on the couch, his eyes closed, with the faint sibilant t-t-t-ing of music just about audible from his headphones. He lay on top of the covers that mom had made into a bed of sorts, and his clothes lay heaped on the chair beside him. All apart from his briefs, which were....

I gasped. Go ahead, arrest me. I made a sound. He didn't hear me, because of the headphones, and it didn't carry up stairs either. Nobody knew that I gasped, and nobody knew why I gasped, either. His briefs were tugged down below his balls, and his cock was hard in his hand. A couple of tissues lay on his stomach.

Okay, I'm not even going to talk about the impropriety of a guy lying on someone else's sofa, jerking themselves off to ... whatever he was listening to. The fact that my parents actually sat on that couch... that other visitors slept on it... and ewwww! A thousand visions of what else might have occurred on that quietly unprotesting piece of furniture danced through my mind. And I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Have you ever watched a guy jerk off? It's... weird's not the right word. But I've always thought that guys were sensitive down there; that you needed to be gentle, soft and kind, else they'd be curled up in a ball and screaming the house down for days.

Not Billy. He was banging that thing. Choking it, pulling it, beating it to what any other body part would probably have described as a pulp. It was huge, too! Bigger than I'd ever imagined one would be, and that includes the few that I'd encountered with past boyfriends, to pet through their pants, and thrillingly, once, to hold in my bare hand. But I'd seen more of them on the internet, and while... yeah, there were a few that seemed to go on forever, I'd always assumed that it was just clever camera work.

Billy didn't need camera work. I've seen baguettes that would feel under-nourished alongside him... hell, I've bagged baguettes that look dwarfish by comparison. And I wondered, what was Billy thinking about? Who was he thinking about? And was I jealous of them?

He didn't have a girlfriend, I knew that. It's amazing what you can find out about people if you just listen to other folk talking. But clearly, it wasn't because he had nothing to offer one. Like I said, he was cute. He was smart. And he was hung like a fucking horse.

I took a step closer. Behind me, the kettle clicked off, and I started guiltily, hoping the sound wouldn't penetrate through his music. Hoping he wouldn't suddenly open his eyes and see me standing there staring. Wondering how long after he started to cum I could continue watching. Would he orgasm with his eyes closed? Or would they bulge open in ecstasy like the guys in the porn tubes?

Maybe if I just stayed in the shadows. I moved deeper into the room, finding a spot untouched by either the light from his lamp and the glow from the kitchen, and then crouched a little. Occasionally I'd glance at his face to make sure he hadn't opened his eyes, but mostly I just stared at his hand, fascinated by the up-and-down motion; intrigued by the way in which his other hand cupped around his balls, and seemed to squeeze... 
 I wanted to cup. I wanted to squeeze.

I wanted to...

"Chrissie."

I wanted to run, I wanted to hide. I wanted to die, to have never existed. He lay there, his hand still on his cock... but still now. Thank god, it was still now. He had removed the headphones, and he was looking right at me, a smile playing on his lips.

I thought fast and grabbed a magazine off dad's chair. "Oh hi. Sorry, did I wake you?"

Billy smiled. "I was just thinking about you."

Oh.

My.

God.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..." I turned to leave, but something about his voice kept me standing where I was.

"That's okay." And then, "shall I tell you what I was thinking?"

Yes.

No.

Yes!

Fuck off!!

YES!

"Do you want to come closer?"

God yes yes yes yes yes.

I moved closer. He beckoned me nearer. Another step, another nod of his head. Half a step more. His hand reached out and I didn't even think, I stretched out my own and he drew me close to him.

I had a choice. I could look into his eyes. Or I could look at his cock, as his hand began slowly to stroke it again.

"Do you mind me doing this?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Do you like seeing me do it?"

I frowned, and nodded, slowly. I knew what he was going to ask next. And I knew what my answer would be. So before he spoke, I sat on the edge of the sofa and slowly reached out one hand.

I touched his cock. I touched Billy Masters's cock.

It was strange. It didn't look so huge now that I was close up. But my hand was still tiny as it wrapped around the shaft, and when I stroked it seemed to take forever. I looked at him, and his eyes were closed once more. But he murmured something, soft and gentle, and I choked out the question I needed to ask. "What were you thinking? About me... you said..."

"I was thinking how I wished you were home. How I wished you'd come down and do this." He grinned. "I guess wishes do come true sometimes."

Yes they do they do they do they do. I looked again at his cock, at that marvelous, handsome, monstrous.. and my mind was reeling, hurling images at me from every dirty picture, every filthy video, I had ever found on the internet, and then twisted into my fantasies. Think about those, a voice whispered in my mind. And don't just think. Do...

I leaned forward and kissed his lips. He responded instantly, his arms crushing me to his body, his tongue in my mouth and his cock in my hand... and then his hand on my wrist, slowing me, stopping me. "Take off your clothes."

I shook my head. "Mom and dad..." My brother. The dog. The canary. No.

"Unbutton your blouse, then. Please. I want to look at you."

I picked at the buttons. Undid a few... paused and he reached out to undo the rest; then sweep the fabric back to bare my breasts as I unhooked the clasp of my bra. He pulled me close again, sucking one nipple, then licking the other.

A pulse responded in my pussy. So that's what it feels like... and then his hand was down there too, rubbing through my panties, feeling them moisten as my pussy flooded, and I wished I could just tear my clothes off, leap into his arms....

I inclined my head, kissed his neck. He groaned and emboldened, I moved to his chest, gnawing on a tiny hard nipple as his hand played in my hair, and a gentle whisper felt like a half-groaned "yeah."

My tongue flickered out, tasting his flesh, and the hand on my head increased its urgency... pushing me? Gently, almost imperceptibly. But pushing me down, to his tummy for kisses, to his abdomen for nibbles, to his...

He wanted me to....

I froze, and there was a moment where the pressure on my head was almost too much; almost turned me away, turned me off altogether. But I had his scent in my nostrils; I knew what he wanted and though I really wasn't certain whether or not it was what I wanted as well, something about that odor made me want to...

"Don't push me," I whispered. "Ask me."

He was silent for a moment, and I thought he was going to play ignorant, or innocent. But then he spoke. "Put it in your mouth."

I don't know where the words came from. "Not yet...."

It took an age. I took an age. It may only have been a few minutes, it was certainly no more than five. But it felt like forever as I nibbled and suckled my way back up and then, again, down his body, dancing through the hairs that were just beginning to sprout on his chest and stomach, savoring the nipples that hardened to the touch, so tiny but so tender, and then down further until the wet slit in the tip of his cock was staring me in the eye, and my nostrils caught another breath of his scent... a good smell, a powerful smell... and a smell I wanted to taste.

I kissed the tip of his cock. It twitched, then rose a little. I steadied it with one hand, and kissed again. Billy murmured something, I didn't catch the words, but there was no mistaking the intention. The third kiss, I didn't break away. I held my lips firmly to his glans, and then slowly, so slowly, began to part them.

Unable to believe my daring as my mouth widened, stretching to accommodate the full bulk of his cock head. I felt my teeth scrape against his flesh and hoped the gasp from behind me was not one of pain. Then, just as I was convinced I could not open my jaw any wider, there was a sudden, magical moment of release as the head of his penis slipped full into my mouth, and my lips closed around him.

How deep could I take him? I didn't know. I still don't. Looking back, it feels as though I engulfed his entire cock, all the way down to the balls; looking back, I know that I lost myself in his flavor and texture.

Without even thinking about what I was doing, let alone knowing if it was what I ought to, my head was bobbing, thrilling as his shaft slipped in and out of my mouth, and his hips began shifting to mimic my motions, pushing in as I let him slip out, drawing back as I sucked him in. His breath was coming in short gasps, interspersed with groans of such delight that I wanted to take him even deeper within, wanted to draw his entire body inside me.

One hand gripped his prick, the other traced crazy patterns across his balls, the skin so soft and tender to my touch that I wanted it, too, in my mouth - but not until I was finished here. I tugged at his ball bag, felt the balls themselves in my hand and I squeezed them; then, unable to resist any longer, released his cock and took them in my mouth instead, sucking hard on them as Billy's writhings grew wilder and his gasps became louder, and then an impassioned, glorious whisper, "oh Christ, I'm coming...."

And he was. I watched fascinated as the first jet of white sprayed into the air and across his stomach, and resolved, as I stared that miraculous fluid arc and fall, that next time it would be splashing onto my flesh (or even my tongue, a wicked voice whispered in my mind).

For now, though, it was sufficient simply to stare as Billy writhed in pleasure, gulping and groaning as the cascade finally slowed, and he rolled over a little to grab at me, and hold me close to his sweat-scented flesh.

But what I remember the most was looking at him and asking... no, demanding to know, "how long have you dreamed of me doing that?"

"Forever," he answered. And then he laughed. "Or, at least, every night before I go to sleep."