Coming in September: Donna & Carol, Book 11 (Sample)

Donna & Carol, Book 11: Company: At Wes's Request

Chapter 1: August 1977

It was a good dream, my favorite kind. I had my nose buried in Donna’s bush and was using my tongue to tease the shaft of her clit. I hadn’t known it was a dream, not at first; I was living it, almost able to taste her tangy wetness and smell her heat.

As time passed, though, I began to emerge from that sound sleep and became aware that I was dreaming. I slipped into that half-dream, half-waking state where I could exert some control over things, but it still felt real, so real that I could virtually feel her pubic hair tickling my nose.

The phantom tickling sensation became stronger, and I moved my head away but couldn’t seem to escape it. It felt so real and was so persistent that it pulled me out of my sleep and into consciousness, like a fish being reeled to the surface of a deep lake.

I opened my eyes and saw Donna’s face about two inches from mine, wearing an ear-to-ear smile. Her hand was there, too, and in it, the ends of a lock of her thick hair. 

“You’re awake, Andy!” she whispered.

“Imagine that,” I said.

Her smile became wider still. “I need to shower,” she said.

“I know,” I answered.

Her expression changed to mock-stern, and she cuffed my shoulder with the heel of her hand.

“Come on, Andy; shower with me. I need some time alone with you.”

I closed my eyes and made a face. “Oh, I don’t know . . .” I said.

She gave my shoulder a shake and hissed, “ANDY!”

I opened one eye, looked at her, and smiled; then I leaned forward and gave her a good-morning kiss.

She returned it, grinned, and said, “Let’s go.”

We eased out of bed. Our bunkmates, Carol and Wes, were still sound asleep, and we didn’t want to wake them . . . plus, we wanted first dibs on the shower.

Once on our feet, we checked-in with the sleeping couple and saw Carol take a deep breath, roll into her husband, and drape an arm over him. Wes didn’t budge.

Donna gave me a satisfied smile, then made a shooing-motion with her hands. I rolled my eyes, turned, and started for the bathroom. I’d gone about three steps when I felt her hands on my butt, followed by a tandem squeeze. “You have the best little ass, Arneson,” she said in a happy sotto voce.

We did our best to keep the noise down until we’d made the bathroom and closed the door behind us. Donna laughed happily, threw her arms around my neck, and we shared a very thorough kiss.

“Good morning, Donna,” I said, when it was over. “You’re in a rare mood.”

“I have a lot to be happy about: we have some very entertaining company in the house; Carol and Wes are sleeping in our bed; and I have you for a husband.

“Wasn’t that something last night?” she went on. “I came about a million times.”

“And we came inside you about a million times,” I added.

Her eyes sparkled as she asked, “Did you have fun?”

“You couldn’t tell?” I asked. Her smile broadened. “I came a bunch, too,” I went on, “mostly with you.”

“Andy,” she began, her expression clouding, “was that OK with you—what we did last night?”

She was referring to the emotional side of it: the relationship side.

I smiled, nodded, and said, “Of course it was, but it means everything to me that you asked. Thank you, Donna.”

She was smiling again by the time our lips met. I hugged her when it was over, and whispered into her ear, “I love you so much, Sweetheart.”

I felt her chest expand as she drew a deep breath. It went out with a sob of emotion as she hugged me hard, and said, “I love you, too, Andy, more than anything, more than anyone.”

We stood that way for some time, each soaking up the warmth of the other’s body and sharing the feelings that passed between us without words.

Finally, I said, “Wanna wash off some of that sex?”

“Yeah,” she said, “to make room for more.”

I laughed: “Oh, you think so?”

“Yep’” she said, with a big smile. “You start the water, Andy, I’ve gotta pee.”

*               *               *

The plan was to take turns washing each other, and Donna’s turn was over. That meant that I was clean—especially her favorite parts. Now it was my turn. “Should we wash your hair?” I asked.

“It’s OK for now. Besides,” she said with a smile, “something tells me it might need it more tomorrow.”

I started on her front, using a washcloth with care, cleaning her face while keeping the soap out of her eyes. We talked as I worked, and it was wonderful to simply enjoy being together, especially after a wild couple of days, not to mention the previous night.

We’d decided that, given our unusual lifestyle, it was critical that we find times like this to reconnect, to ground ourselves as a couple, and make sure that both of us were comfortable with whatever we were doing. This relationship was a work in progress, and although we were rock-solid and loved each other desperately, we were learning on the fly, and we had to be diligent.

She stood very still with her eyes closed, and I smiled as I worked a washcloth-covered finger around her mouth. I said, “Fun and sex aside, how are you doing with the boys here?”

“That’s a lot to put aside,” she said. She became thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Up and down.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah,” she answered, “I have so much emotional turmoil tied to that thing we did last summer: the thrill of letting go when Carol and I were with them out west, the horrible fear of losing you after we came back, and the relief when it was all over. I’m having a great time with them—and with you—but my head keeps bouncing back and forth between terror and guilt on one side, and euphoria on the other.”

“Hmmm,” I began, “it’s so ironic; here I am doing great, and you’re the one struggling. I guess it makes sense, though. Wes and I dealt with all that fallout from your trip in one day: you and Carol laid it out for us, we handled it, and we moved on. You  and Carol had to live with the guilt and fear for weeks. It had to leave scars.

“You can rinse, Donna,” I said.

She turned into the stream of water, wiped the soap from her face, and turned back to me. She rested her hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. She said, “I’m taking my cues from you, Andy. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, checking to see if you’re happy with what we’re doing. If you’re happy, then I’m having fun. I know this isn’t like me, but I need a lot of reassurance from you right now.”

I smiled and leaned in for a kiss, then said, “I can take care of that, and I promise you, I’m having a great time. Remember, we have a deal: when and if you go over the line, I have to let you know about it.”

“You’ve only done that once, Andy.”

“Because you’ve only crossed the line once, and that was an accident,” I said. “You have a lot of wiggle-room.”

She laughed: “Wiggle-room is the understatement of the century. You’re so good to me.”

Her look became serious, then, and she said, “Thanks for this, Andy. It’s so much better when we talk about it. It’s made all the difference over this past year.”

“Absolutely,” I said. I worked up a lather with my hands and made my way down her neck, onto her shoulders, and then to her arms. My time with Donna had taught me to appreciate the beauty of a woman’s arms. She was athletic and fit, and her slender arms had just enough definition to set off her curves. They were devastating in a sleeveless top.

“Andy, what was your favorite part of the weekend, so far?”

I chuckled: “Important qualifier: so far.” I paused in thought as my hands slid over her slippery skin, then said, “You’ll think I’m nuts, but I’ve really enjoyed watching the four of us interact: you, Carol, Wes, and me.”

Donna said, “How do you mean?”

“Well, these guys were the catalyst for bringing us four together. Now it’s a year later, and they’re here, and they’re playing with you and Carol, again. I think this is a kind of checkpoint for this crazy experiment we’ve got going.”

Donna gave a thoughtful, “Huh.”

I said, “It seems that we all have different ways of relating to each other and to the group. Together, you, Carol, and I are exactly the same . . .”

“Except better,” Donna said.

“Yeah, just like the old days, except better—stronger all-around. You and I are definitely stronger; you and Carol are amazing together; and the love has come flooding back between Carol and me; it’s powerful. It’s great between Wes and you, too, but it’s different.”

“Andy,” Donna began, “you and Wes are very different guys. Wes is a logical thinker; you give him a problem—like something on the job site—and he sees a straight line from the problem to the solution. No emotion. That’s what makes him so good at the construction trade.

“You, on the other hand, have that creative side that makes you such a good architect. There’s emotion in that creativity, and you bring that emotion to your relationships. You lead with your heart when you come to Carol and me, so that’s what you get back.

 “Don’t get me wrong,” she went on, “I love Wes like crazy—and he’s definitely an emotional guy, in his own way—but we interact more on the level of great friends who get together for sex. It’s terrific sex, but he and I will probably never make love the way that you and Carol can.”

“And Wes is OK with that,” I added.

“Completely OK,” Donna said, “and so am I. Like you said, we each have our own roles to play.”

It was time to move on to Donna’s chest and those perfect breasts of hers. It was also time, I reasoned, for a radical mood swing.

 I held off on the soap, preferring instead to clean those delicate parts with a precision tool: the tip of my tongue. I lifted a breast with my palm and took the soft point of the nipple between my lips. I used just enough suction to hold it in place and traced circles around the areola.

“That’s a unique approach,” Donna said.

“You have your taste test, and I have mine,” I said.

“Did it pass?”

“Yep: a fine, pleasing texture; rich, delicate flavor; and just the right amount of subtle aftertaste,” I said.

“Who would have guessed?” she said.

“It takes a true breast aficionado to make these fine distinctions,” I said.

“No one would question your credentials,” she added.

I took my time with the washcloth, pleased to see her nipples responding to the attention. I made sure her stomach was clean and went that extra mile to reach every corner of her navel.

I knelt to get close to my work, enjoyed filling her thick bush with soap, then rinsed it clean. I paused then, and asked, “Is your kitty sore.”

“Not bad,” she answered. “You’ll be gentle. Just use your fingers and plain water. That’s all she needs.”

I let water fill my palm, then patted it against the folds of her vulva. “Are you still leaking?” I asked, as my fingers explored the cleft between her inner and outer lips.

“Probably,” she answered. “Carol got most of it last night, but I was wet again when I woke up this morning.”

“The boys really unloaded in you last night,” I said.

“Andy, most of it was yours. You came in me three times.”

I smiled as I explored her opening with a fingertip: “You kept track?”

“It was a little hard to miss,” she said.

“Yep,” I said, “still a little slippery in there.”

“What makes you think that’s from last night?” she said. “You’ve already got me in a good mood.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” I said, as I soaped the washcloth, ready to turn my attention to her thighs.

I passed the cloth down her firm curves, pleased at the way her tanned skin shone under the soapy film. “Did the boys comment on the change in your legs?” I asked. Donna and I had put a lot of miles on our bicycles over the summer, and it showed.

“Not so much on the change, but they both complimented me on how good they looked.”

“Good,” I said, “that means they’re normal.”

I stood, and Donna slipped her arms around my neck and pulled me close. She smiled, and said, “I think they’ve proven the whole normal thing by now,” and she gave me a lingering kiss.

“Time for the other side,” I said, when we’d parted.

She lifted her hair over her shoulder to give me access, and I soaped her back, enjoying the firmness of her muscles under the smooth skin.

“Aaandy?” she said, drawing it out.

“Yeees?” I answered.

“What did you do to Carol last night?” she asked, in a lilting tone.

I smiled: “I did a lot of things to Carol last night . . .”

“Don’t be coy. I’m referring to her orgasm. What did you do to make her sound like she was demon-possessed?”

“Now who’s being coy?” I asked. “As perceptive as you are? Speculate for me; what do you think I did?”

Donna let out a soft chuckle: “I know you stuck something up her ass; you had to, to make her go crazy like that. The only question remains: which digit?”

“A thumb,” I replied, laughing.

“Yeah; that fits,” she said.

“Barely,” I said.

She laughed.

I’d done her lower back and was sliding the soapy cloth along the floor of her butt-crack. “As long as we’re on that subject,” I said, “are you sore?”

My mind had flashed back to the events of the previous evening, in the bedroom, after the main event. There were four of us men in the house, and each had left a load in each of the women, some of us more than one. They were a mess, and both were leaking.

They’d passed on taking showers before bed, opting instead for a more personal approach to the clean up. They’d gone down on each other, taking turns for maximum effect, and Donna had gone first.

Wes and I had watched, and it had been unforgettable. Both women had become expert at pleasuring each other, and they’d been playful and thorough on that night.

When it was Carol’s turn, she gave Donna the perfect balance of tease and gratification, and her subject reveled in every stroke of her tongue. Carol may have been meticulous, but she’d also had a hidden agenda. When it seemed she was done, she’d surprised us by asking me to pass her a bottle of hand lotion.

Donna gave only the smallest flinch as she watched—and felt—Carol squirt a stream of the cool liquid onto the area around her anus. Carol held her eyes as she spread it, then slowly inserted an index finger into Donna’s tight virgin opening.

The room was dead-silent as Carol paused with her finger in place, waiting for Donna’s sphincter to relax. It took about a minute; then Carol began to slide her finger slowly in-and-out. “Tell me to stop,” she said.

Donna looked on in silence.

Carol kept it slow, but she kept at it. Donna pulled in a deep breath, took her lower lip between her teeth, and exhaled with a soft shudder.

Finally, Carol stopped with her finger nearly out, added more lotion, and stacked two fingers, one above the other. “Tell me to stop,” she repeated.

Again, Donna had remained silent, and Carol watched her closely as she pressed the second finger into the void. She stopped once, when Donna flinched, and waited until she seemed to relax. Carol said, “Yes?” and Donna nodded.

She paused again, waiting for that little ring of muscle to let go; then she tried a slow stroking motion. Donna took it well; if it hurt, she didn’t show it.

Carol kept it slow, and stopped when Donna had become fully relaxed. She withdrew her fingers with care, excused herself, and we heard water running in the bathroom.

When she returned, she crawled in next to Donna, who turned to face her. “Thank you,” Donna said.

“You’re most welcome,” Carol answered. “Is it less scary, now?”

“Much.”

“Did it feel good?” Carol asked.

“Not bad. Interesting.”

“That good?” Carol asked, with a chuckle.

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” Donna said.

My mind back in the shower, now, I’d asked, “Are you sore?”

By now, we were rinsing off the soap. Donna answered, “Not at all.”

I turned off the water and heard the click of the shower door as Donna pushed it open.

“It didn’t hurt?” I asked, as Donna reached for the towel.

“Come here, Andy. Let me dry your hair.” She gave my scalp a vigorous rubdown, as she said, “No, it didn’t. I was kind of surprised.”

“Did it feel good?” I asked, as she started on my neck and shoulders.

She looked thoughtful as she worked: “I could see how it could feel good. Turn around. Let me do your back.”

When it was my turn, I fetched a new towel and went to work on her thick tresses. Then it was time for a second new towel. We talked as I dried every inch of her, and I loved doing it. I’d never tire of looking at, and touching, her beautiful body. 

When I was done, Donna gave me a speculative look, passed her fingers along my jaw line, and said, “Andy needs a shave.” This brought a big smile, and I knew what that meant. She reveled in this and insisted on doing it whenever time permitted.

“Stand here,” she said, grinning and pointing to the spot in front of the mirror. “You know the drill.”

She opened the medicine cabinet and came out with my mug, badger-hair brush, and single-blade injector razor. She ran hot water, wet the brush, and began to work up a rich lather. Satisfied, she sat on the bathroom counter, within easy reach of the sink, and beckoned me with a crook of her index finger and an impish grin.

I stepped before her and allowed her to apply the warm lather to my face, watching her smile happily the whole time. Ready to go, she picked up the razor, paused, and said, “Andy, do you want me to take it up the butt? Is it important to you?”

I looked at the razor, let my eyes bug-out a little, and said, “Something tells me I’d better have the right answer.”

She laughed, and said, “Come a little closer.” She leaned forward, pushed out her lips, and attempted to kiss me without getting a face full of lather. She mostly succeeded.

She started below my right sideburn, working with extreme care. Her voice had a distracted tone as she said, “Up my ass; you were saying?”

It was hard not to grin, and I spoke, trying not to move my face: “I could die a happy man without ever having anal sex, but I have to admit, I’m a little curious.”

“Turn to the right, Andy.”

I turned, and she started on my other cheek. I went on, “It’s all up to you, Donna. If you try it and it gives you pleasure, I’d do it with you.”

“Tip your chin up, OK?” she said.

“The thing is,” I went on, “I don’t want you to feel pressure: not ever. Try it, if you wanna try it. If not, don’t. One thing’s for sure, though, I’d hate it if I thought you didn’t like it but were doing it just to please me.”

“Tip your chin down, Andy.”

I did, and she gave me a quick kiss, not the least bit careful this time, and she came away wearing a foamy goatee. She gave me a questioning look: “Did someone give you the answers to the quiz in advance?”

“You know I always study,” I answered.

“You do,” she said, nodding.

“And I love the subject matter.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she said.

Now I gave her the look. I said, “What about you; do you want to try it?”

She furrowed her brow, and said, “It’s probably gonna happen. It’s just a matter of finding the right time and the right situation.”

“Carol helped last night, didn’t she?” I said.

“She can read me like a book. She knew I was scared of it, and she played it just right.

“I still feel a little weird about the whole hygiene angle,” she went on. “One thing’s for sure, the guy can’t go from the ass to the pussy. It’s gotta be one or the other, or there’s gotta be a shower in between.”

“I know,” I said. “I remember you telling me about that, after they’d covered it in your class.”

“I’m sure of one thing,” she said, “you would be the perfect guy for my first time. You’d be gentle. There’s one problem, though, you’re a whole lot thicker than Carol’s fingers. I’m not complaining, mind you, but it’s in the back of my mind.”

Donna finished shaving me, cleaned both our faces, and said, “OK, which aftershave?”

I smiled: “You choose. I only wear it to please you.”

“Good answer,” she said. 

And so it begins . . .

Look for this new title in September, 2012