I couldn't understand it. Only children were supposed to be afraid of lightning and thunder. And this grownup was actually more frightened than I had been. More frightened than I felt right now, certainly. Sympathy welled up inside me. I had come to seek comfort; couldn't I offer it instead?
With that – and only that – in mind, I crawled beneath the mound of bedclothes to soothe her. She clutched me desperately, pulling me into her feverish embrace. Mumbled syllables oozed from her lips and I realized that she was praying. But her body was warm and soft and fragrant, and there was only the thinness of our two nightgowns to, separate us. I began to get that tingly feeling again. Under the covers like that, the perfumed woman-smell grew almost pungent, strong enough to make my nose twitch.
The storm abated at last – and so did Bernadette's tears, except for a choked sob every now and then. But she still held on to me and I started wriggling restlessly, trying to snuggle even closer. My nightgown got twisted and rucked up somehow, and at the same time hers seemed to gape open at the top, sliding off one shoulder almost as if by magic. We didn't speak. That was good, I knew instinctively; words would have been embarrassing. I just turned slightly and buried my flushed face between her breasts.
She uttered a throaty little noise, pushing the cover down to free both our heads. I thought it might be some sort of protest, but instead – as though my touch on her bare flesh had set her on fire – she went darn near frantic. Her hand moved all over my body, the other one stroking my hair and urging me deeper into the contact with her bosom. The sweet scent of her skin was intoxicating; my mind reeled and lost track of her roving hand, unable to cope with so many new sensations at once.
I poked my tongue out, licking one nipple tentatively until she gasped aloud. The thing became big and stiff and pointy and I wrapped my lips around it greedily, eager for an even bigger mouthful. A gasp sounded again as the upper part of her body arched to help me, thrusting more of the swollen flesh into my mouth. It was like an invitation, an offering of herself, granting me the right to kiss and lick and suck the spicy-sweet softness of her breasts, her womanly breasts – oh, such big soft titties! – even that hand down there continued its ever-narrowing circle of caresses. I was conscious of its whereabouts now, the hand between my legs, conscious of her fingertips grazing, tickling, probing…
She moaned and pushed me away, ending my suck-kiss. I couldn't figure out why. And then, with her next hurried movement, the answer struck and turned my frustrated bewilderment into a thrill of anticipation. She was back under the covers again, but this time it wasn't in fear, oh no, it was for me. And I reveled in the notion, more than willing to give up the joy of my kiss for the hopefully greater joy of hers; wasn't that a far more intimate kind of suck-kiss? Now that the ice had been so beautifully broken, Bernadette seemed intent on making the most of it by going the limit with her lips, her own lesbian lips. And although it was still safer to maintain silence like a nice little girl, I was sorely tempted to speak up and let her know how I felt about it, exactly how I felt, welcoming those lesbian lips with my own little lesbian cunt.
I kept quiet though, except for a tiny whimper as her tongue-tip entered me – a whinny of pleasure, really – but my hips twitched and rotated wildly, rising and arching to meet the kiss more than halfway. The kiss, the lesbian kiss, the ultimate lesbian kiss – oh, there was no describing it, the hot gush inside me, the hot liquid gush of response that raced through my body to greet her mouth. I grabbed her hair with both hands and yanked vigorously, almost violently, jamming her face into the upward heave of my belly. It must have stunned her, this aggressive ardor of mine, a frenzied haste to bypass any further preliminaries to show her that my tight little baby-pussy was ready and waiting to be split wide open. Anyway, she froze right there, still withholding the full thickness of her tongue, still too cautious – or too stupefied probably – to shoot it into me. And at last I gave way to impatience, shattering the chaste silence with a brusque and deliberately lurid blast of exasperation.
"Suck it, suck it, sssuck my cunt! Come on, gimme some more tongue, gimme all of it, can't you see how hot I am? Fuck me with your tongue, that big fat lesbian tongue of yours, fuck me!"
She groaned and made a feeble attempt to pull away, but I was already reinforcing my grip on her hair with a wraparound clutch of my legs, aware of what her reaction might be. Again she struggled to escape – a token endeavor, at least – until I snarled my displeasure and used one hand to thump the back of her head. That did it, putting an immediate stop to the rebellion, and an instant later she was busily obeying my command.
A tremendous thrill surged through me. I could no longer tell what was going on down there under the covers. Lips and mouth and tongue besieged my squirming flesh, but I couldn't manage to separate one from another in my half-delirious mind. Only it didn't matter by then, since they all added up to a single feeling, my first such feeling, erotic beyond belief.
The bedcovers were somewhat constricting though, and I threw them aside jerkily. A distant flash of lightning lit the room as I watched the bent head trapped between my legs, wondering if the glare might frighten her again. But she didn't see it. She couldn't have, I realized, I had her locked in better than a pile of bedclothes, sealed inside my cunt where vision was impossible. It was even doubtful if she could hear the low rumble of thunder. My thighs were clamped over her ears – and despite all that nodding and burrowing as she strove to heighten my pleasure, the total activity wasn't enough to slacken the taut tension of my encirclement. There were no hailstones, no howling gales, no lightning and thunder where Bernadette's face was so firmly lodged. Nothing to be afraid of. But we were in a storm nonetheless, a storm all our own, a lovely storm where the lightning flashed in rainbow colors and the thunder sounded like music and the rain was a hot-drenching cascade of delight. For a while I felt as if the liquid sensation might prove to be my undoing, though – too much gush and too little control – as if I might embarrass myself and wet the bed. Talk about scary sensations!
Luckily it didn't come to pass. Lucky for both of us! Although I doubted if anything could have bothered her at that point, truly a crucial moment in our lives, the kind of crisis that an experienced lesbian was bound to recognize and understand. Surely there was something sacred about a young girl's first orgasm; what lover-woman would dare interfere with such an awesome miracle of nature? What lesbian wouldn't be proud to participate, proud of her active role in its inception? Oh, she was one fine lesbian lover, my Bernadette, and wasn't it even more miraculous to grow up overnight like this, losing my fear of lightning and gaining an obedient cuntlapper all in one deliriously climactic stormy night?
CHAPTER SIX
It was maddening. I rather expected it this time though, having been through the same thing before. Then again, matters might have been different if my father hadn't returned home on the following afternoon, a day early from his supposedly two-day sales convention. But return he did, casting a damper on my immediate hopes and plans; his presence in the house was enough to remind Bernadette of her guilt. And I knew better than to put any pressure on her, aware now that she had gone too far to quit cold and would eventually come around to my way of thinking all by herself. If only I could remain patient…
We didn't touch each other, nor did either of us mention our strange entanglement on the night of the storm. On the surface – so silly! – it appeared to be a closed incident. And I began to wonder if it would take another cloudburst to put her in that mood again, the mood to give me what my precocious little body had developed such a craving for. It would be an excuse, at least, something to resurrect the apparently dead memory. So there I was, wishing for a minor typhoon or some such, even a nice little midnight thunder-shower with some nice crackling electricity, imagine!