Billy-Joe

"You might say that," he agreed. "Now stop talking."

I had no choice because his mouth was covering mine again.

Not only was he kissing me but that hand was back on my bottom stopping me from moving away while his other hand was making free of other places. Because I'd managed to pull back a little there was now enough space between our bodies for his hand and his hand was taking full advantage, roaming from my breasts down to a certain sensitive area between my legs and back up again.

When he finally lifted his head away from mine I just lay there, breathing hard. Lay? Yes, lay, because somehow or other we'd moved from the upright to the horizontal, with me stretched out on the grass.

Now both of his hands were on me, trying to touch me everywhere at once from the feel of it, and I was certainly feeling it. He had one long leg stretched out between mine, holding mine well apart and making it easier for his fingers to roam.

"Billy, that's enough," I finally managed to choke out. I was breathing hard and wasn't really sure I could get out a coherent sentence. I was all hot and bothered and feeling very strange.

"Mmm? Are you sure?" he asked, his hand gliding lightly across my breasts, and I could feel my nipple scaping against his palm.

"Yes," I gasped, when in all honesty I wasn't sure at all.

"Okay, as long as you're sure," he said, sounding quite happy about it, at the same time pulling my hand loose from the death grip I still had on his cock. (Hey, don't blame me. I forgot I was holding it. All right?)

What I expected was for him to do the gentlemanly thing and help me to my feet. What I got was him continuing to do the bastardly thing, rolling over so he was lying between my legs, absolutely looming over me, his cock now resting on my mons.

"What are you doing," I asked, feeling confused. This didn't look like him agreeing that we should stop.

"What you asked for," he told me, acting as though it was obvious. "You've had enough of the preliminaries and want to move on with where we're going. I certainly don't mind."

With that he was easing my lips apart, making room for himself and then taking advantage of that room. I was going, "but, but, but," and he was blandly ignoring what I was trying to say, not that I knew what it would be, pressing his cock slightly more firmly against me.

Now it was a case of me thinking oh my god he's fucking me and there's nothing I can do about it and what do I do and what am I supposed to say and would you look at the size of that thing I'm going to die.

He was pushing in firmly and I felt a stab of pain and I yelled at him.

"Oh, you pig, that hurt. Stop it at once."

"No, it didn't."

"How would you know," I protested. "It hurt. I felt the pain."

"Just your imagination," he told me. "You expected it to hurt so you say it did. I was there, too, remember and I can assure you there was no pain, just the feel of you closing around me and holding onto me."

All I could do was splutter a little incoherently. Well of course it didn't hurt him. He wasn't the one losing his virginity, now was he? At least, I don't think he was. The way he was going he certainly seemed to know what he was doing.

He hadn't bothered stopping, either. He was just still pushing against me, his cock still sinking into me, filling me. The deeper he went the more conscious of it I became, and I was becoming more and more aware of it each passing second. I was now going, "Oh. My. God." with that last word drawn right out as he came down upon me, totally taking me over.

He just held like that, his cock fully inside me, looking down at my stunned face with a gentle smile.

"Just smile and relax," he said, talking as though he was soothing a rumbustious animal. "You'll find it all comes to you quite naturally."

"Relax!?" You could practically see the disbelief dripping from my voice.

"Well, perhaps that's the wrong word," Billy-Joe admitted. "What I mean is for you to just move with me. You'll get the hang of it fast enough."

That was all the instruction I got before he started 'moving' as he called it. What that turned out to be was him dragging his cock back down my passage, a passage that suddenly felt incredibly sensitive to any sort of touch, and then pushing it firmly back into me. When he thrust back into me all I could do at this stage was give a startled scream at the way my body was reacting.

After a few moments I was picking up the rhythm he was setting and I found myself pushing to meet him when he came into me. Just move with him he said. Nothing about the earth-shattering sensations that occurred when I did. I was now giving a little cry with each thrust, completely unable not to, my whole sense of self becoming lost in this myriad of sensations that were rising from my loins.

It went on and on, and I was burning up inside. The more he did it the hotter I got, and it seemed to me that he'd settled down for a long haul. His hands were on my breasts, and the way he was handling them was sending additional little ripples of pleasure through me. Nothing compared to what his cock was doing but it all counted as what he was doing seemed accumulative rather than repetitive.

Oh god, he had to stop and stop damn soon. I just couldn't stand what was happening. Something was going to break inside me, I just knew it. He was killing me with his cock. Did that happen often? From the internal heat it would probably be put down to spontaneous combustion.

Instead of stopping he was going faster. I would have been screaming but I needed all my breath to just keep breathing. Then all of a sudden he gave an extra hard thrust and I exploded inside, with no breath available to scream my last moments away.

It seemed to slowly register on me that I wasn't dead. I was just lying there, breathing hard. Billy-Joe was lying on his side, hitched up on one elbow, and he wasn't breathing hard. I glared at him. At least, I think I glared. I certainly intended to glare.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded.

"Because I wanted to and I suspected that you wanted me to. It would have been a crime to disoblige you."

Arrogant, chauvinistic, ooh, I couldn't think of words bad enough. Well, I could, but I don't use that sort of language.

"Why the fish spear?" he asked me.

"Excuse me?" What was he on about?

"You've got a rod and you seem able to catch trout with it. Why the spear?"

"Oh. There's a big ten pounder over there but he's shy of bait. I was going to get him with the spear."

"Fair enough. Hop in the water and clean yourself up and I'll get your spear. Seeing you'll be in the water you might as well have a go at him."

That was it? That's all he had to say? No apology or promises that it wouldn't happen again? This time I did manage to get a decent glare up.

"That's it? No apology for what you did or promises not to do it again?" I demanded.

"Mm, yes, that's it. Go and catch your fish. An apology would mean I was sorry and I'm not. I thoroughly enjoyed what we did. As for a promise not to do it again that would be a total waste of breath. I fully intend to do it again just as soon as we finish our swim and catch your fish. Now off you go."

With that he was on his feet and pulling me to mine while I spluttered indignantly. He ushered me over to the pool and I went in like a lamb. Why not? I did feel all sticky in unmentionable places.

He fetched the spear and brought it over to me, quite happy to wade into the pool. I thought he was being awfully brave giving me the spear after what he'd just done but I didn't want his blood contaminating my lovely spear. It would probably poison my fish.

I duck-dived, heading to where my trout hid. A stray thought crossed my mind. Who did he think he was kidding saying he'd do it again after we got out of the pool? Men are only capable of one shot according to Isabel. I didn't have to worry about a bit of braggadocio. Still, what would it be like a second time?