Monica's Adventures: Terri's Great Experiment
The summer ploughed on, hot and muggy, into the dog days. Art classes ended and most everyone, at least everyone I took an interest in, including Carl, left for vacation. I spent my time about the house doing chores in the morning when my father was most likely to take notice. In the afternoons and evening when he and Terri were working I sketched, frequently in the isolation of the adjacent woods. There at my favorite spot I set myself up with pencils and paper and wiled away the time. When I stopped for a break I always did he same thing. I would lie on the grass, let my imagination stray and beat off. I was sure one day some guy would stumble upon me. That never happened but it made the heat bearable.
August was oppressive. Even the nights closed in with very high humidity, high temperatures, no breeze and, of course, no air conditioning. In fact my father would not allow us to have an electric fan. I would lie on top of the sheets and sweat. Every crease in my body oozed sticky, salty sweat as I tried to force myself to sleep.
It was a Friday night, just after sunset as I suffered to escape the heat in the darkness of the room. I heard the front door open with a distinctive quick turn of the knob and then an easy soft swing of the door. I could tell it was Terri. She always would sneak in, even if no reason to.
Catlike she tripped up the stairs, entered the room and disrobed as she always did. Some articles she let fall to the floor, some she hung on the bedpost and some she tossed haphazardly towards the laundry hamper. Naked, she stood up and stretched, silhouetting herself in front of the window.
I presumed she thought I was asleep but she stepped over to my bed and flopped down beside me. "Did you get laid?" This had become her normal greeting ever since she eavesdropped on Carl and me in the basement.
"No. Did you?" I answered.
Terri did not reply but propped up on her elbows and cupped her chin in her palms.
"I have a problem" she started. "Do you come easy?" Before I could think of something to say she continued. "That's OK you don't have to answer. But I don't. I bet for every ten times I fuck I only come one, two or three times at most, and those I need to help myself. And yet, every time the guy comes. Some of them come fast, some of them take a while longer but they all come. Me, I am not consistent and not often enough. I have even experimented with blowing him first, a lot of foreplay and then working him up to see if that would help. But I have developed a theory. I either work to hard at fucking; in which case the guy shoots first. Or I don't work hard enough and leave myself frustrated while he gets all that he really wants."
I loved my sister's monologues. The sounded so 'off the cuff' but I am sure she prepared them or at least turned them over in her mind for some time before she spouted off.
"If I can't figure this out, I will just play with myself, he can watch if he wants, and then give him a blow job. That way we both will be happy. But I don't want to resort to that just yet. I need to figure this out."
She paused, trying to seem deep in thought but I knew that whatever it was, she had it all worked out in her mind.
"Here is what I want to try. If I can measure how much effort it takes for me to make a guy come, and then measure the same effort when I do come and compare the two, I can figure out if I am doing too much or too little. Does that make sense?"
The last comment was rhetorical and she knew I could not answer. I also knew what to expect when she acted like this. The bed swayed slightly as she slipped her hand under herself on to her mound. The outcome was predictable although the method was not always exactly the same. With her head resting on part of my pillow, she started playing with herself. Her attitude would determine how she completed this activity. Sometimes it would be slow and easy usually resulting in her falling asleep before she came. Other times a slight catalyst caused a violent orgasm.
I watched her rocking gently next to me. The smell of sweat and self-induced sex lingered in the humid air. Out of sympathy, I reached over and touched her on the back. She responded by rolling away towards the edge of the bed onto her back, which was followed by her scudding back towards me to avoid falling out. All the time keeping a hand adroitly positioned between her legs.
With her eyes closed and both hands pressed firmly against the intersection of her thighs, she throbbed and moaned as if in a dream. She pulled her elbows close forcing her taut tipped breast higher. With each slow rocking arch of her back I could sense the warm, self-induced desire permeating her body, slowly accelerating towards that ultimate sensation.
I was just a voyeur in this one actor play. From my front row seat I could see the drama unfold but was not part of the event. Just an observer caught up in the plot anxiously awaiting the outcome but with no ability to affect the climax. This may be frustration in its purest form.
My gaze fixated on her bobbing breasts. The nipples, backlit by the glow of the streetlamp through the window, were rising and falling in harmony with the rest of her body. Without any warning and without disturbing Terri's sensuous contortions, I leaned over and touched my lips to her nipple. First just lightly, but as she responded I spread my mouth and took it in completely. My mouth closed over the aureole taking it between my teeth and biting. Terri exploded. I loosened my bite and hungrily sucked. Electricity seemed to course from my mouth as her body writhed beneath me thrashing and squirming. She came but still I did not relent. More and more I sucked and bit, pulling and tugging violently on her tit. She fought but did not resist as she accepted the torture to achieve her ultimate goal. After she came a second time I eased off causing her to decompress.
