I Must Keep Quiet

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It’s high summer, and we’re alone for the first time in ages.

More than that we have the run of the neighbour’s swimming pool. They’re away for the holidays – and our neighbour works for my father, so it’s ours. My parents are at home though – although my home is a high stone wall away. Two creaking iron gates away.

I’m horny.

My boyfriend wants to swim.

He swims and I don’t. I sit on my towel and lean back on my hands. Reclining without a recliner as the sun makes me sweat. I spread my legs a little. I like to tease. I like to pretend to be innocent. I go to church on Sundays. I pray. I work diligently. Diligent work leads to promotion and I’ve been diligent for a year and a half now – since leaving high school. And I fuck. I keep that last part from my parents. It’s best that they believe I’m a virgin, best because I don’t want to disappoint them. They like my boyfriend. They think he’s diligent, polite, respectful.

“You don’t want to swim?”

He’s poor and we’re not. I’ve seen swimming pools before. He acts as if he hasn’t. At least he acts as if he’s never seen a private pool before.

“No,” I say. My answer seems to hurt him.

I’m sitting right on the edge of the pool, parallel with its edge so that the fingers of my right hand curl over the lip of the pool’s edge. He swims over to where I sit. “Do you want me to join you?”

“No. I’m happy sunbathing alone.”

“I bet you want me to bury my face in your cunt.”

“Don’t be rude,” I tell him. “Besides.”

Besides means that my parents are right next door. He doesn’t care. I don’t either. We are out of sight. And what’s a little danger? And we’ve got an hour before lunch will be ready. And I want him to spin me around so that my feet dip into the pool. I want him to stand so his face is between my legs. I want his fingers to tug to one side the thin strip of material that covers my cunt.

My parents have no idea that he and I have regularly fucked in our spa pool. We fuck while they are out at meetings. We fuck while they are away for weekends. They trust me and I abuse that trust. That first weekend they were away he undressed me in our lounge and fucked me standing up – against the wall. In our every spare moment we chase each other’s tongues around each other’s mouths. His fingers find my cunt. I come over and over with his fingers in me – until I need his cock in me. Until I need him to lay on top of me and fuck me, while I drive my fingernails into his back. So much for trust.

Other times he watches me get changed out of my work uniform. He tells me he likes to canlı bahis watch me undress. When I tell him he’s an idiot he tells me to watch it. Watch it our he’ll finger my arse instead of my cunt. So we sit downstairs and curl up together on the sofa. We kiss and kiss and kiss. His hand works its way up the back of my leg, under my skirt, up and over my panties, then down and under my waist band. His fingers pry between the cheeks of my arse. I feel their tips search for my bum hole. We stop when we hear the garage door start to open. We have about forty seconds to straighten ourselves out. We’re good at it. It takes less than ten.

He asks if I pray for him. He doesn’t believe in God. He acts like I’m crazy to believe in make-believe and asks me about where I stand on the Tooth Fairy and Santa. I hate him for mocking me. It’s like when he kisses me after he’s been down on me. I hate it – but I love it too. I don’t want to stop him. One afternoon a particular finger finds me. Its tip pushes at my bum hole. Gently, then not so gently. From that moment on I live in a world where I have had a finger in my anus. Later I realise that a girl’s bum is something a guy might want. It doesn’t take too many more times for me to enjoy it. Sometimes I’m intentionally rude to him – so that he will finger my bum. I’m thinking about that first time when he swims over to me.

He stands in the water so that his elbows rest on the poolside. But he doesn’t spin me around so that my feet dip into the pool. He doesn’t stand so his face is between my legs. Instead he dries his hands on my towel, and uses his fingers to tug at the leg loop of my one piece swim suit, and moves to one side the thin strip of material that covers my cunt. I wait as he parts my lips. I wait and listen for the sound of an iron gate opening. A sound that doesn’t come. I feel the first shudder as his finger enters me. Then he withdraws it. I lean back on my hands. I arch my spine. I thrust myself towards his hands – searching for him.

He parts my legs for me so that he can expose me more. I lean back and shuffle. I want my arse open to him too. When I know they’re exposed I edge myself towards him. When I find him I find two fingers. Two like V for Victory. Two like the peace sign. The first finger lined up for my cunt, the second for my arse. It’s his fault I call it my cunt. His fault that mentally that’s what I call myself. It’s funny how cunt is a rude word and arse or anus is an actual word – but rude too. It’s funny how I feel when he fingers me. Or that I think words I would never say out loud.

The bastard makes me squirm bahis siteleri with the tip of each finger against each of my holes. The bastard makes work for it. I don’t like calling him a bastard but he is one. I try my best to slide myself to him. My best isn’t good enough. So he glides his fingers into me. And it is a glide. The cunt finger easily, the bum finger not so much. When they’re in me he uses his free hand to rub water from his forehead and then he scratches himself behind his ear.

Those everyday actions of his annoy me. Is he bored with two fingers in me? I care until I don’t any more. I care until I realise he’s sliding those fingers in and out. I care until I lean my head right back so that the stone wall is all I see. The stone wall, the shape of my home’s roof beyond it. All I hear is the noise from a distant Saturday lawn mower. All I hear is my own moan. All I know is that his rhythm is getting faster and faster. That I’m building with it. That my moans are too loud. That I must be quiet. Oh please. Jesus. Fuck.

I must bite my lip. I must keep quiet. I grab his shoulder. I squeeze it hard. I look at him, at the pool, at his fingers. I look at myself, the grace of my hips, the tremble of my spreading thighs. I see my swimsuit pulled to one side, and his wrist driving at me. I actually see him working my cunt with his finger. I imagine that I can see him working my arse. His face is all concentration. His eyes are all focus. He knows that I am his and that he can do anything with me. If he pulled his fingers out right now and asked me to suck them I would.

He uses his free hand to pull the shoulder strap of my one piece down my arm. He slides his hand under my suit and cups my breast. I had told him once that more than a handful is a waste. His answer was “says you.” He squeezes. He circles and pinches and tugs at my nipple. I see him do it and hate him and love him for it. And my nipple is so erect that I have to marvel at it and at how swollen my breast is. How much more than a handful it is right now. I say the same two words over and over again in my head. The rhythm of my unspoken words mimic my breathing, mimic his thrusting fingers.

The bastard is in my head as much as he is in my arse, in my cunt. I imagine his fingers probing my brain. So Good. I’ve screamed those two words before – when he’s been fucking me, when he’s had my legs in the air and his cock buried deep in me. “So good so good so good.” He teases me about those words – because until he mocked me with them I had no idea I’d used them. I told him that he was talking rubbish. But the bahis şirketleri very next time we fucked I said them – and as much as I wanted not to I couldn’t stop my two come words. So Good. So Good. So Good.

I let go of his shoulder so that I can lean back on my hand. I need my other hand free. Free to knead my other breast through my suit. I feel it swell to my touch as my orgasm builds, as I shudder, as I grab and squeeze and turn and as I push my hips my arse my cunt to his fingers. As I shake and bite my lip and force myself to keep my two words in. And that bastard boyfriend of mine revels in his victory over me. He wants me to yell out and he knows that inside I am screaming as I peak, as I climax, as I shake against his touch.

And as I slide back to the glow of satisfaction he keeps at me. He keeps probing and twisting and circling and poking so that I know its about how he chooses to use me – and about how my pleasure is collateral to his use of me. I treasure the orgasm as I lay back on my towel. I treasure each orgasm he’s given me since our long ago first time. He regards each as a triumph over me. Even though I know this I don’t mind. So good is right. It so is. When he pulls his fingers from my cunt and my arse I wait for him to give my breast one last hard squeeze.

But he doesn’t.

He simply returns to his swimming. My shoulder strap is down over my arm and my cunt and arse are exposed. It’s not for him to straighten me up. I can lie there or I can restore my modesty. He doesn’t care either way and for now I don’t either. I lie there and stare up at the bluest sky of summer. I lie there and feel the ache that an expired orgasm always leaves in its wake. The longer I rest the more my insides yearn for the next time. I feel my vagina pulse. I feel my arse that misses his finger. My words and thoughts go back to normal as the traces of my orgasm fade away.

He says that he’s hungry. He washes his fingers in the swimming pool before climbing out. He towels himself off while I straighten up my swimsuit. He pulls sweats over himself and slips his feet into beach shoes. I stand and do the same. We walk past the stone wall and through the two iron gates. He leads until we’re at my house and as we walk around the corner to my back yard he holds my hand. As he does my parents smile at us. They have no idea. They think I’m a good Christian girl who believes in God and goes to church and says my prayers. Mostly that is true.

As we stand there and as I lie to my parents my boyfriend brushes the tips of two of his fingers against the palm of my hand. I love him for it. I wonder when the next time will be. I know it will be tonight. Or later this afternoon. Or in an hour.

* * *

The truth is I never really liked him. He flattered me and that was enough. I like being flattered.

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