“It’s been too long since we did this last,” she sighs against my chest. She is molded atop me like a blanket. Right now, all she wears are her thin fitted pants and a tiny undershirt, which clings to her breasts so closely I can feel her hardened nipples. She had removed her supportive undergarment after dinner because it was ‘bothering her.’ I admitted to her that its very existence bothered me too, and that made her laugh. “But I’ve thought about it so many times.”
“I’ve just been thinking very similar thoughts,” I admit to her.
Her hum of interest vibrates over my skin. “How could you stand it? Because I couldn’t.”
“Last time I told you of taking myself in my own hand, I was ashamed,” I muse. “Now it seems a painfully regular occurrence. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty.”
“I know how you feel,” she says.
My interest is piqued.
“You had not told me of this,” I say, running a finger down the side of her flushing cheek. “Now, how often do you touch yourself and think of me?”
“Why should I tell you?” She pokes me in the side and I flinch from the tickling feeling.
“I am conducting a study,” I begin to tease her.
She sits back, escaping the circle of my arms, and grabs one of the colorful pillows from the couch. “Oh?” she asks. She swats at my face with her pillow-weapon. Her jiggling breasts draw my attention and make me harden immediately. “What kind of study?”
It’s amusing to see her engage me in play-fighting like a child of few passings. She moves to swat again and I lazily reach for her fluffy weapon. The squirming as she dodges me causes her crotch to rub against my cock in the most pleasant of ways.
“The study will investigate the frequency of female masturbation, as it relates to the number of days since mating her male,” I say.
“You pervert,” she laughs. She stills and reaches her arms up over her head to stretch and yawn.
Disappointed that she is no longer rubbing against me, I snake my hand up her thighs and caress her. I trace my thumb along the seam of her pants. They are so thin that I can feel the heat of her through the fabric. A soft sigh of approval comes from her as I press into her folds. I slide my thumb up, seeking the apex of her slit and that little sensitive spot— the one that makes her wriggle and buck her hips. When she drops the pillow and quietly says, “Oh,” I know I’ve found it. I knead over the area, making slow circles. My palm is braced over her hot center. It begins to dampen, and her breathing rattles.
“I thought you were going to assault me for being a pervert,” I remind her. “Or did you forget what we were talking about?”
With my free hand I grasp her by the ass. Her body jumps to attention, always so responsive to my touch. I pull her forward, positioning her thighs against the sides of my chest. My face is level with her crotch, but when I glance up, I can see her breasts heaving. Perfect.
“Mmm, Kila… you know I forgot,” she says while I tug down the waist band of her bottoms. Unlike those mind-boggling see-through ‘tights’, it seems strong enough that I will not tear them. She isn’t wearing the extra undergarments beneath, which pleases me. As soon as her wet pink slit is visible, I caress it and run my finger through the slippery folds. She shivers and looks down at me, eyes lidded and lusty.
“You’re teasing me,” she accuses, as I slowly play with her. I am enjoying the heat of her, and the way her juice smells and feels.
“I did ask you a question,” I say, poising my thumb over her hooded little flesh button. What did she call it? “Don’t you want me to touch you here?”
“Yes,” she groans. Her entire cunt twitches. Great Ka, I have her right where I want her. “Yes, touch my clit… Please, baby.”
Ah yes, she calls it her clit. A strange word, but I like it nevertheless. I also like to hear her pleas. It’s making my hard cock ache for her when she whines like that, so needful.
“No,” I say, slowly running my thumb over her clit. “That’s not the question I need an answer for. I asked you how often you touch yourself and think of me.”
“You psycho,” she laughs, but it cuts off as a choking noise when I slip my finger inside her. I had hoped only to coat my finger in her wetness to drag over the rest of her, but I feel her cunt clench. Does she like this too, I wonder? I thrust her experimentally, leaning back to watch her face for her response. She grinds against me and moans.
“Tell me,” I urge her, pulling my finger out and teasing her clit once again.
“Oh, God,” she sighs. “Almost every day, okay? What do you think? You just kiss me and dry hump me in a stairwell every day… A girl’s gonna get horny.”
This thought thrills me. I now press two fingers inside and thrust her. The position makes it easy for me to press against her clit with my thumb at the same time. Once I begin this combination, she shrieks in approval, throwing her head back and clutching the couch back for support. I can’t help but picture her on this very couch, all alone, fingering herself until she comes. I flicker my thumb even faster over her. The sound of my fingers thrusting her becomes a delicious squelching noise. It makes me want to sit her over my lips and suck out the juices.
Time for that later. For now, I watch her writhe over my body, climbing higher and seeking her climax.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she’s chanting as I fuck her with my hand harder and harder. When she does reach her limit, her mouth makes a soundless circle as she tenses up. Her fingers dig into fabric of the couch as I continue to play with her all the way through her pleasure. Finally, she snaps her little hand over my own and taps me frantically. “Ahh, ah, give me a moment, Kila.”
I pull my hand away and take a moment to lick her juices from my fingers. The taste of her is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. “I did not realize I could make you climax with my fingers inside you like that. Will you still need my cock now that I’ve fucked you with my hand?”
She giggles and scoots off me. “Oh no,” she says, “I need your cock more than ever now.”
I like the sound of this. “Good,” I say, “I cannot have my cock become jealous of my hand when they’ve been each other’s only companions for this past month. But at least now I know I am not alone in this…”
“How does an alien get such a dirty mind? Weren’t you a virgin a month ago?” she muses, shimmying her bottoms all the way off. She kneels beside me. “Do I have that effect on people?”
“People?” I say. “No, you have this effect on me and me alone, my beautiful Ella. You see this must be why you like to see your stories on weetches and weezards. Because you also make spells.”
“Cast spells,” she corrects, with the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Witches cast spells.”
“You have cast your spell on me,” I tell her. I lean over so that our faces are level and close enough to kiss. “A love spell. I love you, Ella. This is my love confession to you.” I take her small face between my palms and kiss her, as wildly as they do in the movies she gives me.
When I release her, her eyes are glistening. She throws her arms around me and buries her face in my shoulder. I hear her muffled voice go, “Oh, Kila… Promise me you won’t put that fucking thing in your head again. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I say, running my fingers over her back. Her tears tend to confuse me, but they cry often in movies, so I’ve taken it to be a rather open-ended human response. Is she happy? Is she sad? My stomach clenches at the realization that she did not also confess her love to me. I suppose it might not be a strictly reciprocal ritual, but I wonder what holds her back. Does she not feel as I do? I am not certain I could live another day without her, despite the thirty odd passings I spent before her.