Summer
- 3 years ago
- 36
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Summer 6 free porn video
I didn’t quite know what to expect the next morning. After all, we’d crossed a line, one that couldn’t be recrossed again, and I found myself consumed with a million little worries when I woke. Nothing to do about it, at least not until Summer arose too. I decided that we’d sit down and have a long talk and work this out…
As usual, though, Summer was… Summer, meaning things just sort of worked themselves out. Or maybe they didn’t. At least not how I expected.
I heard her stirring. Or rather, I heard her door open, her footsteps in the hall, the bathroom door, the shower starting. I got up, put on some pants and a t-shirt, meaning to get the coffee started. The bathroom door was open. Of course it was, so I peeked in. She was showering. I could see her silhouette through the curtain. Lovely and perfect. I knew, without being able to actually see, that her nipples were hard as she was obviously playing with herself, one hand between her thighs, the other on her breasts. I watched, and listened, as she sighed, her sigh turning to a moan. I was growing hard. Surprise surprise. I stood there, transfixed, thinking that I should give her some privacy or something. Instead, I kept watching in silence, not even realizing I’d undone my jeans and pulled my cock out so that I could stroke it.
She grew louder…
“Fuck, yes. Oh god.”
So erotic. I was tempted to just walk in, pull the curtain aside, and… Fuck.
Instead, I just watched, heart pounding, pulse racing until she came, her soft cries echoing in the bathroom. I was close, too. So close, but… I stopped myself. We were going to talk. That’s what I’d decided. I needed to keep that in mind. Carefully putting my almost painfully hard cock away, I slipped out of the bathroom and made my way to the kitchen and started the coffee, trying hard not to glance down the hallway and catch her coming out of the bathroom naked. In the end, I couldn’t help myself.
“Smells good,” she said when she finally joined me, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
I’d decided on scrambled eggs and fried potatoes this morning. Summer looked good. In fact, she looked delicious. Fresh scrubbed, her hair still damp, her nails freshly painted. She’d chosen a soft pink this time.
“Like them? They’re new,” she announced, striking a playful pose.
Panties and a bra.
“They’re pretty,” I told her. They were, too. Pastel green lace with a little white bow. Both cute and sexy. They fit her perfectly.
“Put out the plates so we can eat.”
Yes, we were the perfect picture of domesticity.
“I want to write today. And you should paint,” she decided. When, I wondered briefly, had she taken over my life?
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied with a chuckle that made her giggle.
“If you want, I mean. Maybe we could watch a movie tonight? Not here, I mean. At the theater?”
“Even better. I’ll see if I can get tickets to a play.”
We ate. It was nice. Pleasant. My worries faded and the idea of having a heart to heart talk seemed to be less and less important. Afterward, she vanished into her room to write leaving me to work on my craft, the memory of last night still with me as I painted her standing in the pond by which we’d fucked or made love or… whatever it was that had happened.
She came out once. For lunch. She’d put a blouse on, but other than that was dressed only in her underwear. She seemed distracted, though I assumed she had her mind on whatever it was she was working on. I was distracted too for the same reason and neither of us said much as we ate, sitting across from each other, her bare foot resting on mine, occasionally running her toes over it, her smile shy was she caught my eye. Again, I pictured her up against the wall while I fucked her from behind, buried in her tight wet cunt, her tits mashed against the plaster as she writhed and moaned and…
“Don’t forget about the play tonight,” she reminded me, laughing as she caught me lost in my erotic daydream, although there was no way she could possibly know what it was about.
“No. Promise. Take care of it right now.”
“Okay.”
And then she was gone again, into the sanctuary of what had once been my storage room and was now ‘Summer’s bedroom’. Not that I minded. Quite the opposite, in fact.
I got online and found something I thought she’d enjoy. A bawdy comedy. She had a delightful laugh and I looked forward to hearing more of it. I bought tickets. Decent seats, too. It wasn’t sold out and it was a small theater. I figured we’d catch a bite at the café next door first and then, maybe, go out for drinks after the show before returning home and… seeing what happened, I guess. I know what I wanted to happen. What I didn’t know was what Summer would want…
I dressed up a little. It was a play, after all. Black trousers. Black dress shirt. Black boots.
“You look menacing,” she told me with a giggle, following it up with, “You look nice.”
So did she, a black sweater that clung to her like a second skin over a short lavender skirt that showed off her legs. This time, instead of her usual sneaker, she was wearing a pair of black stiletto-heeled pumps (one of her purchases). Damn, she looked good. She’d put on some simple makeup, too, turning her eyes dark and her lips a soft red. She’d done something fancy with her hair, too, although I wasn’t sure what, only that it looked different and made me want to run my fingers through it while I kissed her…
“You look… amazing.”
“Yeah?”
“Most definitely yeah.”
She gave me a huge smile, as if that was the nicest thing I could have said.
Dinner was nice. We talked, mostly about other plays we’d seen. Her mom, I recalled, loved to get dressed up and go out to whatever was trending in LA at the time and, of course, she’d taken Summer with her.
“It was fun. Huge productions and all that wow factor. But I started going by myself a lot to see smaller plays. Sometimes just community theatre productions. Maybe not as good, but more… real. And I liked the intimacy of sitting in a small audience. Cozier, I guess?”
“You’ll enjoy this, then. I think it only holds a hundred or so?”
“Sounds perfect.”
And it was. The play was actually quite funny and a bit risqué. A tale of mistaken identities that owed a lot to Shakespeare. So many, in fact, that I began to lose track which was, I think, the whole point and made it all the funnier. Summer thoroughly enjoyed it too. Afterwards, we left holding hands as we talked about bits and pieces we’d found particularly amusing or clever, laughing over poorly remembered lines as we walked along the street looking, I am sure, like lovers.
We stopped for drinks. A drink. Not enough to get tipsy on, just something to keep the night going. I was having such a wonderful time and I didn’t want it to end. I think she was too. Afterwards, instead of going home, we walked some more, somewhat aimlessly, though in the general direction of where I’d left the truck.
“I’ll miss this,” she said, staring up at the sky overhead.
“Miss it?” I wondered.
“I can’t stay here forever. It’s just a pause in my story. There’s still Italy. I need to see Tuscany and Rome. Venice. And then Zurich and Madrid and Barcelona…”
Her words sounded wistful, though I couldn’t tell if that was at the idea of moving on or at the need to see more.
“How much longer do I have you for?” I tried to keep my voice from mirroring what I felt at the thought of her leaving.
“Don’t sound so sad!” she said, laughing and shaking her head. “You have me tonight. Don’t worry about tomorrow until it’s here. Now, what should we do now?”
“Go home?”
“Is that what you want to do?”
I shrugged, joining her in looking up at the sky as if seeing it for the very first time, my heart racing as I thought about what I really wanted to do….
“I want to kiss you.”
“Then kiss me,” she said, her voice shy.
So I did. Softly. Tenderly, succumbing to temptation and running my hands slowly through her hair as she kissed me back, her lips soft and warm, her breath scented with wine. It went on for a while, both of us lost in each other. I was vaguely aware that we weren’t alone. It wasn’t a busy street, but there were still the occasional pedestrian out and about. Not that I cared. I was too lost in her.
“Tell me what else you want,” she whispered, breathlessly, pausing as my hands wandered lower, stroking over her slim shoulder, down along her arms, her hands resting on my hips.
My thoughts from earlier rose up and, despite my better judgment, I shared them, unable to hold back.
“I want to push you up against a wall and take you from behind. I want to make you scream with passion. I want to feel you tremble against me while I bury myself in you from behind. I want to…”
“So do it,” she said, her voice so soft, so quiet, that I could barely hear her.
“Here?”
“There.”
She turned her head and pointed with her chin and her eyes. A shadowed alleyway, dark enough to hide anyone entering more than a few yards…
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” So much impatience. Lust. Need, all contained in that one simple word. She led, I followed, or maybe I led, and she followed… I couldn’t really tell. Either way, we ended up in the shadows, fifteen or twenty feet away from the sidewalk, from the light hidden, barely able to see each other. It was clean, thankfully, not that it would have stopped me, us, if it hadn’t been. My hands moved to her breasts... her tits, groping them, squeezing. She let out a shuddering breath, her hands at my waist, fumbling with my belt, my zipper, freeing my cock, seeming completely uninterested in foreplay. I spun her, she turned, somehow she ended up pressed against the wall, face turned to the side, her cheek against the bricks, tits mashed flat, her back arched, her ass stuck out, presenting it. I didn’t waste any time. I simply pulled it up, exposing her panty clad bottom. I needed her too much, needed my cock in her tight wet hungry pussy too much to be gentle. I meant to push her panties aside. I think I tore them. She didn’t protest. Instead, she let out a throaty moan.
“Fuck me. Hard. Make me scream.”
That was all I needed to hear. I pushed into her, my cock engorged and throbbing, sliding into her slick hole easily, my balls bumping into her ass as I held onto her waist and started thrusting into her, pushing her into the wall harder and harder, savagely fucking her…
I didn’t last long. Neither did she. I came first, though. Hard and with a loud groan, the feeling so intense I actually checked out for a moment or two. She wasn’t far behind, pushing back against me, shaking as she cried out loud enough that I was sure we’d be caught, her words a jumble and unintelligible. Like a supernova, we’d burned white-hot and were spent, me leaning into her, my cock still semi-hard inside her, her pussy still clenching and unclenching as if she wasn’t done with me yet, although I doubted I had the stamina to do anything about that right then and there…
“Fuck,” she breathed, giggling a little, her skirt still up over her ass. I couldn’t have agreed more. Deciding that discretion might be in order, I pulled out of her and she started giggling again.
“Tickles,” she explained. “leaking down the insides of my thighs.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She tried to fix her panties, giving up quickly. I helped her take them off, stuffing them into my pocket after zipping myself up, my cock tucked back into my trousers before we made our way out of the alleyway, red-faced with embarrassment and laughter as we tried to pretend nothing had happened. When we finally made it back to the car she broke out in peals of laughter and soon, I joined her.
“That was fun,” she said, finally quieting down.
“One word for it.”
I started the truck up and pulled carefully on to the street, aware of her fragrance filling the cab. I glanced over. She looked a little disheveled but she was smiling softly. Not at me, perhaps, but I was glad to see it. Mostly, she was looking out the window with that faraway look she got sometimes. I wanted to kiss her, but of course, I was driving. I finally got my chance when we got back to my place. Just a soft tender kiss. Hers was distracted in return, as though she was thinking of something else. Or perhaps trying to remember something. I didn’t mind. Just Summer being Summer again. And then, once again, she disappeared into her room, her door closed behind her, leaving me to my thoughts.
It was idyllic for a time. A week went by. Two. In the mornings we’d have breakfast. I’d usually cook and we’d clean up together. Sometimes she’d come out half dressed. Other times she’d not even bother with that, sitting across from me naked. I considered doing the same once or twice, but old habits die hard. Best I could do was skip the shirt and just put on jeans. She didn’t seem to mind.
Afterwards she’d write. Not always, but usually, leaving me to my craft. The painting was coming along. After all, I was playing house with the inspiration. Also, in the back of my mind, I was aware that there was a deadline. She would move on at some point. When? I had no idea. Neither did she, I don’t think, but I wanted to finish it before she did. I wanted to share it with her before she left…
If you’re wondering, I wasn’t in love with her. A little infatuated, perhaps, but I was no longer the somewhat nerdy teenage boy who was more into museums and galleries and art while everyone around me was into sports or video games. The kid who fell in love with the first girl who fluttered her lashes at me and fantasized about her from afar. Yes, I hungered for her. There was something about her that just touched something primitive within me. She had a light about her, too, that drew me – and undefinable beauty of spirit. The thing is I’d begun to value her friendship. I liked spending time with her, talking to her, taking her out to see my favorite places and sharing the things that inspired me. And I liked not being alone and having someone to share my thoughts with. I even liked our comfortable silences.
And no, she never stopped masturbating, sometimes doing it at the dining table, sometimes out back, sometimes in her room while I was in mine, listening to her while I jerked myself off trying to time my orgasms with hers. I’d say she had no shame, but really, there was nothing shameful about it. At least not to me. There was no repeat of our tryst in the ally way, though, at least not for a while…
About every third day we’d drive into town and have lunch and then I’d take her out into the countryside. At first, it was just to a favorite spot, but after a few of those she suggested we find someplace new.
“It’ll be an adventure,” she told me. She wasn’t wrong.
We found the spring quite by accident. I blew a tire out while on a dirt road that ran alongside an overgrown field. Thankfully, I was adept at changing it out. Summer, meanwhile, decided to wander, something she was quite adept at herself and, being who she was, she’d taken off her shorts and was walking around in an open blouse, pink cotton panties, and her sneakers, obviously perfectly comfortable being out in the countryside half-naked. I’m sure anyone who saw here wouldn’t have any complaints either.
“Come look.” She seemed excited. I’d finished with the tire, by the way, and had been waiting on her to return for a good twenty minutes or so. I wasn’t worried, but I was getting a little anxious.
“What did you find?”
“You’ll see,” she teased as she retrieved the small cooler from the truck bed containing our lunch. “Bring your camera.”
She’d found a tree just over a small rise. We would have seen the top of if the tire hadn’t blown, but not what lay beneath. It really was a nice find. A sprawling oak overlooking a small spring. Water was bubbling up into a crystal clear pool about the size of a large tub and perhaps a foot or so deep. Even better, someone had hung a swing from one of the branches using rope and a small plank of wood.
“It’s perfect, right?”
It was. I didn’t answer her, though. I was too busy taking pictures while she stood back and watched. When I was done, at least for the moment, we sat down next to the spring and ate. Afterwards she sat on the swing and made me push her.
“You always paint at home?” she asked, still seating on the swing, despite me having stopped pushing.
“Usually. Not always.”
“We should come back. Bring your easel. I could write while you paint.”
“Maybe.”
She laughed, pushing herself, her toes just touching the ground.
The next day we packed a lunch and a packed what I’d need while she made sure her tablet was fully charged and she had a couple of battery packs to bring along.
It was about a forty-minute drive through the countryside. I’d put in a Charlotte Gainsbourge CD to accompany us. Summer was wearing one of the new dresses she’d picked up in town on her shopping trip. She looked a little like Lewis Carroll’s Alice in it. I wondered if we’d be greeted by a talking rabbit when we arrived. This time we didn’t blow out a tire, thankfully.
“Here.” She pointed to a spot on the ground.
“Here?” I repeated?
“Your easel.”
I paused, simply standing on the spot she’d pointed out, turning slowly in a full circle before coming to a stop, facing the weather-beaten oak and the spring, nodding my head slowly.
“Maybe.”
Laughing, she just shook her head and went over to the swing and sat, kicking her feet lazily to set it into motion, her fingers curled around the ropes that held it up.
“Paint me like one of your french girls, Leonardo.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You know what happens at the end of that movie, don’t you?”
She just smiled and the proceeded to ignore me.
We stayed there most of the day. I sketched while she wrote. We’d take breaks. One for lunch, one to explore a little, wandering the meadow. She picked some wild chicory that matched the color of her sundress perfectly and tucked it behind one ear.
“You look beautiful,” I told her.
She smiled brightly and blushed a little at that.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. What are you writing about?”
“A story about a girl who’s lived in a treehouse all her life.”
“A sad story or a happy one.”
She shrugged, bending over to pluck another blue flower. “Both I think.”
We hadn’t packed anything for dinner. Perhaps we should have but then, we’d be here the next day.
“What do you want to do about dinner?”
“Somewhere we haven’t been before.”
That was always her answer, by the way. Somewhere new. Somewhere unfamiliar.
We found a place. It wasn’t bad and it was quiet, so we talked about nothing. And everything. And, eventually, we went home.
“Today was perfect.”
“It was.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“Oh?”
She laughed and got the tin from the cupboard, packed a bowl and passed it to me and we got high. Not crazy too stoned to talk high, just nicely baked. And thenTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
Elouise
- 06.03.2020
- 32
- 0
- Category:
- Incest
