Dee Saves the ProgramChapter 15
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Dee Saves The ProgramChapter 4 free porn video
I love swimming naked, the play of sensations, the way the water strokes me, the stretch and flex of my muscles. I'd like to race naked but the swimming-powers-that-be refuse to allow it. Something about keeping the playing field level. I'm about as level as any playing field could be, for a mature (nearly) female high school senior. But I admit, without containment of their endowments, more voluptuous swimmers would be at a disadvantage, hydrodynamically speaking.
Not that they aren't already, given my record.
Anyway, the pool at home is too short, so I was taking advantage of the town pool's early-morning workout hours -- and loose dress code -- by doing an endless individual medley, switching from stroke to stroke to stroke with every touch -- butterfly, back, breast, free, over and over. Fortunately it wasn't crowded so I had a lane to myself. With my wingspan no one wants to share when I'm doing butterfly or breaststroke. Even backstroke is cramped.
On a freestyle lap -- call it "the crawl" if you prefer, though the way I do it, it is anything but a crawl -- everything is in line, my arms alternately sweeping down, fingers spread like I'm trying to grab the water, my legs flutter kicking, three kicks per arm pull, like I learned -- ONE-two-three-FOUR-five-six-ONE-two-three-FOUR-five-six -- over and over and over. Now it's just automatic. Muscle memory.
Reaching the end of a length my fingertips barely graze the wall and I smoothly curl and tumble, twisting at the same time to push off for the butterfly. One strong underwater arm pull and dolphin kick -- a sinuous snap beginning at my head and shoulders, proceeding down the length of my body, muscles working all the way from my shoulders to chest to torso to waist to hips to knees to ankles to feet -- and I'm on my way back, arms arching over the water, reaching ahead, pulling down. My arms work like wings, my body like a dolphin's. Learning the stroke -- I think I was about five -- I'd put myself to sleep figuring out how to fit it all together into a single, smooth motion -- feeling it as I drifted off into dreamland. I swoop through the water, breathing every other stroke, flying, flying, flying. God I love it!
The wall approaches, I reach, touch, flop on my back, planting my toes, the pool end gritty under the balls of my feet. Arms above my head, I push off, my face goes under water, bubbles streaming from my nose, a dolphin kick or two -- yeah it works on the back, too -- then I break the surface, take a breath, my right arm taking the first long, strong backstroke pull, a whipping motion, more out to the side than the crawl, my flutter kick resuming the same freestyle rhythm. The morning sun is on my face, warming my naked tits, my flat tummy, my thighs. My arm sweeps high on the return, water streaming off the tips of my fingers, catching the sunlight, a glittering arc of gems, while my feet churn the water to a froth, my arms and shoulders stretching to extend my reach, -- the teres major, teres minor, latisimus dorsi muscles pulling hard with every stroke.
Beth taught me the anatomy.
The blood singing in my ears I maintain a steady pace -- the swimmers' version of a runner's jog -- feeling that I could go on forever beneath the blue, blue sky. Out of the corner of my eye, catching sight of the red warning floats, I arch, stretch, touch, somersault backwards, plant my feet and push off, face down.
After a dolphin kick my head comes up, both arms pull wide. Breast stroke. Ugh! Every choppy stroke lifts me high out of the water, my muscles working against my diaphragm, making breathing hard. As for the so-called frog kick, whoever called it that never watched how frogs push backwards with their big webbed feet. The only frog-like thing about the kick is spreading my legs wide. There's little backwards thrust from squeezing them together. Stupid kick. Stupid stroke! Most of the energy is wasted. After an eternity I touch, pick up my head to grab a breath as I haul my ass around for the push-off, and it is back to the freestyle -- stroke -- stroke -- stroke -- ONE-two-three-FOUR-five-six, ONE-two-three-FOUR-five-six.
It is very Zen. It gives me a lot of time to think, and I find myself wondering what Greg is doing at the moment -- swimming longer, maybe lifting weights, working harder than I am.
But he's training to try out for the Olympics. I'm not.
My mind skitters away from that line of thought. He'd made his choice, I'd made mine. I miss him. I miss practicing with him, though it has been a long time since I'd beaten him. By our sophomore year his testosterone had kicked in and he'd put on muscles I could never hope to match. Win or lose, racing Greg had been fun and great conditioning, pushing me to try harder.
I miss the competition. It sounds arrogant, but there really isn't anyone else in the county -- certainly not any girls -- who can give me a run for my money. I proved that at the states, though I did have to work a bit harder to win there. A lot of it is my genes. By the time I finally stopped growing I was over six-feet tall, my arms longer than average, hence my wing-span. But I've practiced and trained hard to take advantage of my gifts. Greg and I are a good match in that way, both physically and mentally. Too bad there's not a mixed-doubles relay race, we'd have smoked 'em.
Would have. We're a pair no longer.
We'd been a good match in other ways, too. Oooohhhh yesssss. I missed those good times.
My body on autopilot, my mind drifted back to New Year's Eve our freshman year. For the first time ever my two Moms and Greg's parents had let us out at night on our own, giving us passes to the local theme park's eighteen-and-under New Years Eve party, all rides and attractions included in a safe, alcohol free venue. There was music, dancing and shows, and fireworks at midnight. They even kicked in money for food!
Oh they had their reasons for being so generous -- it left Mom and Elaine free to usher in the New Year in their own kinky fashion, while Greg's folks chaperoned his sister Drindy's sleepover.
Greg and I were incredibly excited. Feeling like grown-ups we joined the throng pouring in through the gates from an endless parade of cars dropping off their loads. The park was a wonderland of lights and sounds -- snatches of music, chattering kids, ringing bells, the thump of ski-balls, rifle-like cracks and chimes from the arcades, shrieks from the roller coaster, the air rich with mouth-watering scents of buttered popcorn, hot dogs, pizza, funnel cake, tacos, barbecue, Chinese stir-fry, even curry.
It was cool but not cold, so hoodies and long pants were enough to keep us warm -- that, and our closeness, of course. Hand in hand we tried to be mature, but wound up running and skipping from one attraction and ride to another, behaving like the kids we were. Overhead the sky was a dome of black spangled with stars, and I was with the most wonderful guy in the universe. We screamed ourselves hoarse on the roller coaster as it turned us upside-down three or four times, dizzied ourselves giddy on the Merry Mixer. The Death Drop left us gasping.
Fortunately we had enough sense to do all that before stuffing ourselves with junk food. Other kids hadn't been as smart. We stepped around the evidence.
On the ride through the tunnel of love we snuggled and necked like the real teenagers we were, and of course he tried to cop a feel, but I fended him off with giggles and wiggles, building the anticipation for later.
On the bumper cars I perfected a technique for taking out competitors by nosing up against them in just the right place and giving them a shove to spin them around backwards, then racing away before they could catch me. Naturally I did it to Greg and he retaliated by waiting for me to come around and T-boning me hard enough to rattle my teeth. So I sneaked up on him and sent him into the wall. From then on it was a no-holds-barred battle around the track, electric motors whining, the electrical pickups crackling and snapping blue sparks where they brushed the shining metal ceiling. We hammered at each other until our time was up and we were tottering away, comparing bruises, laughing and hugging.
A loose group of us from Central High gathered, chattered over mountains of curly fries, then dissolved again to go our separate ways. At one point a bunch of us took over the carousel and rode it round and round, whooping and hollering like cowboys and Indians before scattering to the four winds again. It was one gi-normous party.
The only dark spot of the evening was a "slut" thrown in my direction by someone I'd seen around school lately but didn't know. I grabbed Greg's arm to keep him from defending my honor. It wasn't worth a fight, wasn't the first time I'd caught that insult. There was a faction at school -- in town, for that matter -- that had always opposed The Program and it seemed to be growing bolder and more vocal. As chair of the committee I was an obvious and highly visible target, but I was more concerned about what it meant for The Program than myself.
All that was forgotten as a whole gang of us -- my Lunch Bunch and their dates, those of the Dirty Dozen still in middle school and other friends -- spread blankets and snuggled together against the cool breeze on the shore of the lake, listening to music, then counting down, our voices echoing across the water, the new year ushered in by booming, blossoming fireworks that we hardly saw as we kissed, and kissed, and kissed, Greg and I keeping things "PG" out of respect for the less sexually sophisticated, knowing that for us the best was yet to come.
As the park emptied some kids were headed for the Sip'n'Dip or their own sleepovers, but we had our own plans. Carl and Beth were home for the holidays, and double dating with Stephanie (home from Curtis) and Kathy, who was still agonizing over her college choices. After dropping us at the park they'd been off for their own "grown-up" clubbing.
Half an hour after the fireworks they picked us up and it was back to the house, my home -- and Carl's, too, I guess, though he was rarely there -- where we had the run of the upstairs while Mom and Elaine "celebrated" down in the playroom. Maybe in other houses it is the other way around, but in mine the playroom is adults only unless invited, and I hadn't been invited ... yet.
With snacks and drinks on the coffee table the six of us settled in the living room for what we knew was going to be a lusty but bittersweet gathering. The Christmas tree looked defiantly cheery, bedecked with ornaments and lights soon to be packed away for another year, the tree to go forlorn and naked out by the curb to be turned into mulch. In a week or so Stephanie would be flying back to Philadelphia with her flute, Carl would be at Stanford with his computers, Beth would be at Harvard with her stethoscope and scalpels or whatever, leaving Greg, Kathy and me holding down the home front.
Tonight sleep was not a priority. Time together was too precious. We paired off as you'd expect, me with Greg, Steph with Kathy, Carl with Beth. We were all headed in the same direction, trying not to hurry to get there. Under his hoodie Greg was wearing a nice sports shirt and I took my time unbuttoning it, while my brother was relieving Beth of her classic little-black-dress, unzipping it to let it drop around her feet, revealing her petite frame in sexy black-lace panties, push-up bra, garter belt and stockings!
That got whistles and comments from all of us while she posed prettily. Many's the time I've known her to go out with Carl wearing little more than a smile. Tonight she'd gone full-formal rather than full-frontal! I felt so unsophisticated in my button-down blouse and casual slacks, with nothing on underneath! My fingers stroked Greg's chest, spread his shirt open to expose his nipples so I could toy with them, pushed his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. His hands were unfastening my blouse, and we were both soon topless, my boobs not much fuller than his swimmer's pecs, both of us as smoothly hairless from the neck down, as any competitive swimmer is these days.
I was about to vow that a little black dress with all the accessories would be added to my wardrobe when that train of thought was derailed by Greg biting my tits, sending showers of sparks through me even as he loosened my slacks to let them drop, knelt to help me step out of them, deliberately blowing hot breath on my bare pussy, leaving me oh-so naked and accessible.
As he stood I sank to my knees, drawing his chinos down, revealing that he'd been as commando as I had been. I wasn't surprised. There had been a giveaway wet spot at his crotch as we'd teased our way through the Tunnel of Love, and I'd felt him poking me when we danced to some slow numbers at the dance hall. Now his beautiful cock was waving in my face so I just had to give it a warm, moist welcome. Without a second thought I slid it all the way to the back of my mouth and beyond, my nose bumping where there should have been hair, his glans squeezing my tonsils, my throat working to swallow him whole.
We'd been toying with each other all evening, so I knew he was on a hair trigger. My fingers found his balls and fondled them and that was all it took to make him pour hot pulses of come right straight down my throat while my pussy went into sympathetic pulsations. So much for taking our time! I was boiling as I backed off, his still spurting penis coating my tongue with his delicious sperm. I held his cream in my mouth, collecting it all before swallowing, then looking up at him, my lips shiny with his jism, a trickle on my chin, my lust obvious. It was only moments before I was on my back on the carpet, his face between my thighs, his tongue exploring my sopping pussy, my fingers clutching his hair.
But I wanted more. I wanted him in me, so I used my grip to drag his face away from my crotch and up to meet my mouth, still ripe with the scent of his come, his face wet with my juices. Resurrecting his hard-on was not necessary, he'd never lost it and he didn't need any encouragement to fill me. I wrapped my arms around him and met him thrust for thrust.
But I wanted him deeper, so I gave a kick and rolled us over so I was on top. Sitting up I was banging down on him, and he was banging up, and we were banging and banging and banging, his long cock whacking my cervix while I diddled my clitty. I was vaguely aware of noises that indicated similar enthusiasm with our partners in carnality and glanced around. Steph and Kathy were in a deep 69, clutching each others' asses. My brother Carl was making a deep sausage delivery to Beth. By the sounds of it, both couples were either trying to make up for lost time or going for memories to savor when they were again separated.
Me? I wanted a coming worthy of the New Year, lighted balls (figuratively) dropping and fireworks bursting in air, and I was getting close -- closer -- closer...
Then Greg reached for my nips and gave them a hard pinch and a twist and it was like I'd been electrified. Rockets glared red and bombs burst in the air while I shuddered and shook and sang an anthem of joy, his dick pulsing and spurting, my cunt doing its best to wring him dry. Finally, our lust slaked, I slumped forward and lay atop him, his dick slowly shrinking, leaving a swamp of semen sticking us together as we kissed and cuddled and murmured endearments, swaddled in the musky scent of sex.
After we'd all recovered, shared a hasty shower, and snacked some more I found myself with Steph and Kathy, while Greg and my brother Carl were devoting their attentions to a very willing Beth Finch.
Kathy happily surrendered herself to our four hands and lips and two tongues. While we palmed her firm breasts, pinched her nipples, her arms embraced us both. Our lips and tongues were all over her face and ears, licking and nibbling while she squirmed and giggled. We made a meal of her, working our way down to her lovely pussy.
It wasn't long before I was kneeling between Kathy's thighs while Stephanie tutored me, making sure I understood how to properly bring Kathy pleasure with a fluttering tongue. I'm not actually a flautist, of course, but Steph taught me how to play a fine twat solo. Once Steph was sure I had caught on to her tongue technique she left me to solo on Kathy's clit and moved behind me, where she proceeded to bury her face in the crack of my ass, working her magic from my clit to my coccyx and all the interesting ports of call in between.
Oh God, her musically trained tongue worked incredible magic in my ass, a hot worm wriggling at my asshole. Then she buried two fingers in my cunt and played a G spot fanfare while I warbled harmoniously into Kathy's pussy. I only relented when the tall artist pleaded "no more" and grabbed me by the ears to drag me away and up. Steph followed along and I became the meat in a Stephanie/Kathy sandwich, Kathy licking her own juices off my lips and cheeks while Steph nibbled on my ear from behind.
Steph being a big girl, that was a lot of weight even for a big strong girl like Kathy, so the three of us were soon side by side, Kathy in the middle, leaning back against the sofa, watching Beth -- petite, demure, Ivy League Beth -- take on my brother and my boyfriend at the same time. The lengthy foreplay over, Carl was now on his back, with Beth straddling him, tormenting herself and him by lowering herself in slow stages on his cock, while Greg played with her lovely ass, waiting his chance.
I reached for Kathy's crotch, only to find that Steph had already taken possession of it. Kathy turned to me and kissed me deeply as she drew my hand up to the warm, firm mound of her breast. I pinched the stiff nipple between my fingers as I cupped her boob. All of us were watching Beth setting herself up for a double penetration. Fortunately the popcorn bowl was greasy enough to make it easy for Greg lube everything up. Beth leaned forward to make herself available and Greg's cock knocked at her back door.
Master of her own body that she was, she relaxed her bung to admit him and we watched as his lovely dork worked its way into her rectum. My own butt twitched in sympathy and I fingered my pussy, until Kathy pushed my hand aside to take over that chore. Her strong sculptor's thumb plumbed my cunt, while a finger found my asshole! Her other hand was already buried in Stephanie's crotch, so the three of us were more than satisfied as Greg and Carl proceeded to use Beth as the stuffing of their own sandwich.
Never let it be said we wasted resources. Greg and Carl proceeded to give Beth the business as we fondled each other to our own pleasure. Beth was a soprano, while Greg and Carl were tenor and baritone respectively, and what a trio they made. The sight of two cocks sunk in Beth were enough to make me steam. Having my own double penetration by Kathy's hand, I wasn't at all envious. Kathy deliberately matched their motions in and out of Beth with her thumb and finger, and from the way Steph was whining she was getting the same treatment.
Did I ever mention that while Kathy may not be ambi-sextrous she is ambidextrous?
When Carl and Greg and Beth came it was as one. Both guys completely buried in her, their balls tight, as Beth's whole body clenched and clenched with her own double-barrel coming. I clutched Kathy's hand to my crotch, my hips working as another orgasm washed through me. Kathy's chest was heaving beneath my hand, her own fit body writhing erotically next to me as Steph brought her off and she brought Stephanie off.
It had been a celebration to remember. If I'd known what the New Year was going to bring I would have stopped the world right there to stay in the arms of my lovers and friends.
Gliding in through the cool water to touch the wall, my internal counter clicked over to "enough" and I let my feet catch up beneath me so I could stand, my lungs working, my muscles loose and hot. I was filled with that wonderful feeling a really good workout always gave me, and my pussy was warm and wet from the memories.
I've never been able to decide which feels better, the afterglow of great sex with someone I love dearly or the endorphin rush of a really good workout.
Boosting myself out of the water I grabbed my towel and walked on loose legs to the showers, stripping off the bathing cap that was all I wore, an effort to preserve my 'do from the ravages of pool water. I barely noticed the few other swimmers, or them me. When training, especially distance training, I tended to come out of the water in some other world. When I'm coaching or teaching it's different, of course. I especially loved the little kids, three, four, five years old, bubbly and bouncing, buoyant, eager to learn, with the same unfettered love of the water that I'd had at that age, still have today.
The shower was warm, sluicing away the chlorine as I reached for the soap. My hands lathered, I stroked my body, enjoying the sensuous pleasure. This was as good as it got for me, post workout, no masseurs or masseuses. I think Greg had been trying to make me jealous when he told me how he was pummeled and stretched into submission after every workout. Maybe he had. I did my best to enjoy my shower by paying special attention to the more sensitive parts of my anatomy. My nipples squirmed through my soapy fingers when I pinched them, so I deliberately gave them a scratch with my nails, too. Then my hands slithered down my torso, traced the joint of thigh with body, tracing it inwards to the smooth flesh of my pussy.
My inner lips, already aroused by my daydreaming, were swollen and slick with my juices. Parting my thighs I openly fondled myself. Knowing that someone else might catch me at it only enhanced my pleasure, of course. I let my finger slide into me.
Ahhhh jeeezzz. Even though it wasn't Greg it felt so good! As I began to come, my hips jumping, my cunt spasming, I imagined him standing naked and aroused, remembering him as he was during our freshman year, just beginning to fill out, his dick jutting eagerly from his pale reddish bush, proud and high. I humped my hand, my orgasm washing through me in hot, delicious waves.
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