Nurse Myleene Ardon's Sexy Sunday Story: Butterflies

Nurse My Ardon,

She was fantastic about it, looking back. Not a single glance of secrecy at breakfast, not a hint of conspiratorial guilt or shame as I gathered my stuff to leave, Dad waiting in the car outside. I don't know if anyone else ever found out -- she would have to have told them herself -- but of course, now I wouldn't mind at all. If only it could be like that for all first-timers...

Years ago now, of course. One of those empty, do-nothing, take-no-initiative evenings, I seem to remember. Happy enough, just a bit bored really, and waiting for the holidays to end. Funny how you look at seven weeks stretching out in front of you with huge excitement at the start, but by week five you're having trouble filling the days and start itching for the adventure of university.

I'd always been like that, constantly needing new stimulation. I suppose that's why I'd got this big butterfly book out, and was reading it (well, skimming the pictures and captions) under the big lamp on my belly in the sitting room. A comfortable enough position, and who knows, if you did happen to get an erection, you could grind it into the carpet without anyone even noticing. A fantastic, secret, creamy, insatiable pleasure. And I wasn’t even especially interested in butterflies.

My father and Jane, his new "Lady friend" as he used to call them -- I hated the phrase, trying to be modern and old-fashioned at the same time -- had gone up for the night. His second partner since my parents' divorce. I was visiting for a week, and it was coming to an end. Tomorrow back on the train, back west, back into the dry country.

And it had been hot and humid again, typical Sydney in January. Sometimes it was hard to sleep for the heat, sometimes it was pleasantly heavy and lethargic weather. Tonight was fine, just the remnants of a slight, constant sweat on everybody all day. A two-shower day.

Footsteps started down the stairs, just one person, and not heavy enough to be Dad, so it had to be Jane, although they'd both said their goodnights early. It was only half past nine or so.

"Can I join you? I can't read up there with the telly on." Was she eating something?

"Sure."

An unnecessary question really, as there was no other possible answer... I looked up, surprised to see that she was wearing only her cotton dressing-gown, rubbing her hair with a towel, open book clenched firmly between her teeth. We’d always been pretty casual about nakedness around the house at home, and this visit had been the same; but normally she'd have at least closed the thing around her waist. I managed a casual, quick glance at her pubic hair -- very dark, and much heavier than my adolescent beginnings -- before looking away as if I were used to all that, and wasn't particularly interested. Had she forgotten? Had it worked loose on the way down? It couldn't have been for my sake, could it? Assume not. But maybe.

She was in radio, some small semi-alternative station, and was very busy with the Inner West Amateur Dramatic Society. I'd seen a production earlier this week: a good play, too, good for them, perhaps. Like children playing grown-up actors, with exaggerated everything. Make-up, gesture, accents, costumes, scenery: all overdone, and embarrassing, even for me. Still, she was one of the better ones, and I liked her, although I felt a certain wariness. There was something slightly threatening about her, despite the gentleness and scrupulous fairness.

And this dressing-gown thing was a bit threatening, too. I took it as a sort of challenge, to shock me a bit perhaps, to test my reaction. An extension of the stage maybe. Ignore it. Stick to butterflies. She lay down on the couch, sharing the single lamp, being careful not to put my book in shadow. Thoughtful and considerate, as always. I didn't look up as she settled and got comfortable.

I was trying not to revisualise her naked body, with little success. I mean, if I thought about pictures of naked women and sex in general ninety-percent of my waking hours, how was I going to stop now that it was right there above me, less than a meter in front of me?

I could feel my cock swelling in my shorts, my balls tightening and rising into my body. Uncomfortable and potentially embarrassing, even if it did feel good. Very subtle grinding. Pressing slowly, but very hard into the floor. God that was good. Irresistible. She probably hadn't even noticed, it was probably nothing. She couldn't care either way, even if she had sensed that I was tensing up, aware. Forget it.

"Everybody loves that, you know."

My heart jumped, adrenaline. What does she mean? Everybody loves pressing their cock into the floor? Everybody loves walking half-naked into a room with an unsuspecting eighteen-year-old? Everybody loves what? She knows what I'm thinking. Better be careful, now.

"Hmmm?" Too quick, too panicky, as though I had something to hide. Jesus, get a grip. Breathe normally, and look up at her. At her face, and not her crotch, if you possibly can, I told myself.

I dragged my gaze past her lower half straight to her eyes. Even so, I could see that she was sitting, well, very comfortably indeed, unnaturally comfortably. As I kept my eyes planted on hers, I saw in an instant, peripherally, that her dressing gown was now completely open, displaying the breasts that I found so interesting, but not as captivating as the crotch itself. And she was sitting back, half lying back, really, in a corner of the sofa, with one leg dangling down to the floor, and the other up, bent at the knee, flat against the back cushions. They were really quite wide apart, the dark, secret, intriguing area more available to me, if I chose to look there, than it had ever been before.

All this I took in immediately as she replied, "That book. All our guests seem to get it down sooner or later."

It was one of the things she had brought to this new domestic arrangement, not one of the many books that were so much part of my boyhood.

She smiled -- natural and reassuring -- I felt myself relaxing considerably, despite the exhibition. There could be little doubt now that she was really showing me her body, and that I was being invited to enjoy it, not secretly, not naughtily, just honestly and straightfowardly. It was surreal. An empty, nervous, expectant feeling bathed my body from inside. I could feel myself blushing, damn it.

"Oh, right. Yes, it's, um, well put together."

Oh, brilliant. Just the sort of thing someone who's been skimming the pictures half-heartedly would be expected to say. Well done, idiot. If she sensed my discomfort, however, she didn't register it.

"Here, I'll show you my favourite."

She didn't exactly pat the sofa in front of her, but I knew she meant me to get up there with her. As I rose, staying a bit bent in the middle to try and conceal the tightness in my shorts, she didn't adjust her position at all. There was really only one place I could sit: basically between her legs, half-facing her, with one leg up, like her. I handed her the book, and, as I prevented our knees meeting, draped a hand as casually as I could in front of my erection to conceal it as much as possible. Pathetic attempt, really, she must have noticed by now.

She took the book, and held it between us -- was it deliberate? -- so we couldn't see each others' eyes. As she started slowly turning the pages from about the middle, I took my chance to glance downwards.

Her pubic hair was still glistening from the shower, and the lips were larger than I'd imagined. Still warm from the water, maybe. Or is this what it looked like when women got turned on? I quickly looked up again, expecting the book to drop slightly at any moment, and I was not going to be caught ogling. Very tasteless, even if I did suspect she wanted me to look as long as I wanted.

She seemed stuck on one page, or was she turning the pages very slowly? No hurry, I guessed, and afforded myself -- dangerous, this -- a longer inspection. Maybe it was my imagination, but when I looked back down, her crotch seemed to be somehow even more open than before, her legs held back a touch wider, and there was now a dark line clearly visible between the lips that I was sure had not been there before.

She's doing this to me. It's definitely for me, and I should not be frightened, and I should relax and enjoy the view, despite that background adrenaline panicky feeling. Who knows, maybe it's exactly what she wants, and why should I spoil her pleasure? Whatever.

As I looked on, sucking up every delicious detail of this new garden, I thought I could sense some very slow, very slight gyrations of her hips. Her crotch seemed to be coming forward and towards my face as I watched, growing larger at me. As though I was falling forwards. Weird feeling. Like a sort of vertigo.

My head was pounding with excitement and nerves now. For the first time, my thoughts flew up to my father, watching TV, maybe asleep. If he ever knew... my heart tightened a notch. No time to dwell on that. My cock was aching with nervous, urgent pleasure. Like the final phase of drawn-out masturbation. Hot and sharp.

"Ah. Here she is."

My eyes jumped away from the feast before me, expecting to be met by hers again, to be caught. How long had it been? Twenty seconds? A minute? But she kept her gaze on the book as she lowered it, turning it around to show me the one she'd finally found.

She laid it flat on the sofa between us, just in front of her crotch -- still in full view, although I was studiously ignoring it now -- and pointed to one I hadn't got to yet. A close-up of a brilliant, deep red butterfly, quite small, its wings half-open, settled on a dark purplish flower. Amazing clarity. It was drinking up some nectar, its dark body dusted here and there with pollen.

"Wow. That's really fantastic." Shaky voice, dry throat. I didn't know what else to say: the situation, her exposed crotch just there above the picture, her breasts hanging softly in front of me. I wasn't about to analyse things. I didn't have the energy; I didn't know what to do next. Panic was really beginning to creep up on me. I was way out of my depth here, and I felt my head spinning a bit, starting to lose control.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, sure. Just a bit hot, I suppose."

She didn't say anything in reply. She looked at me with the gentlest, most understanding look, and leant forward to cover my raging erection with her hand. As soon as I felt the soft pressure, I knew it was exactly what I'd been waiting for. A cool wave of nerves went slowly from my balls, through my guts and chest, to my head, and I closed my eyes in pleasure. When I breathed again, and found the courage to look at her, she was smiling at me, in a shared pleasure.

She took her hand away and slowly laid the book back on the floor. Please, God, let this not be the end of it. I could hear the blood rushing around my head and face. Not just the rabbit's heart beat, but the swish of the current in my ears.

"Now I've shown you something, will you show me something in return?" She was whispering, perhaps conscious of my worry about my father, so close above our heads.

"Of course," I whispered quickly back. Christ, did she mean she’d showed me the butterfly, or her body? As though, even at this stage, she might possibly expect me to grab a book of my choice... I swallowed dryly, and waited.

"I'd like to see your erection, if you wouldn't mind. I'd love that..." She was looking me full in the eyes. It sounded so grown-up, so natural. She made it seem as though I were doing her a favour, that the embarrassment -- if there were any -- should be on her side, not mine.

"Well, sure. But what if Dad were to find out? He'd kill me..." Whispering now.

"He won't find out, I promise. He's probably asleep by now." Whispering with me.

I listened. TV noise. No movement. I nodded.

So this was it. I was going to present my pride and joy for the first time to a woman who actually wanted me to. And then what would happen? Would that be the end of it? Would she want to put her hand on it again, without the cloth between? That would feel fantastic. Better than when I did it myself, for sure...

She waited patiently while I stood up and negotiated my shorts around my cock, as stiff now as it had ever been. Despite some lingering doubts, my confidence was surprisingly high, and it was actually a relief when it finally came free and stood right upwards, almost vertical. I looked down at it myself, but when I looked up at her, she wasn't looking at it; she was looking calmly into my eyes again. Only then did she look down. She shook her head gently from side to side, as though not quite believing something.

"Wow. It's beautiful, really beautiful." She looked at me calmly and quite obviously with pleasure. My cock was throbbing in time with my heartbeat, quickly, and I was almost painfully stiff. I enjoyed looking at myself as I masturbated -- often in a mirror -- and it felt great to be showing someone else finally.

"You don't mind me watching you, do you? I enjoy it so much, it's so exciting to see someone else's pleasure, don't you think?" she whispered.

"No, you're right, of course, it's exciting... Thanks." Idiotic thing to say. Thanks? She didn't seem to notice that I had no real control over my thoughts anymore.

Instead, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, she brought a hand to her crotch and started stroking the lips lightly with two fingers. She looked in turn at my cock, and my face, and back again, as she started to masturbate more purposefully. A finger disappeared into her cunt, and she brought it out shiny with moisture. Spreading the lips a little with the other hand, she rubbed the juice around her clitoris, which I could now clearly see.

Was this really happening? I was so turned on I knew that I couldn't really touch my cock for fear of coming almost immediately. All I could do was watch as she looked at me and brought herself onto higher and higher levels of pleasure. Her legs spread even wider now, she masturbated openly, a wonderful, wet mix of cunt and clitoris, enjoying me watching, and obviously getting more and more excited, though she stayed calm and focused. Small groans escaped now and then, and occasionally she'd close her eyes, but not for long.

"Oh my God." She was whispering even more quietly now. "One more favour, please..."

A hint of urgency had crept into her voice, and I sensed a little of the calm control slipping. I loved that. I almost felt sorry for her. I wanted her to be able to maintain the performance, for her own sake.

"Mmh?" I asked, expectantly.

She pushed her crotch to the edge of the sofa, drew her knees up to her shoulders, still rubbing and stroking herself. Looking me in the eyes again, so quietly that I could hardly hear, she said, "Could you fuck me a bit? If you'd like..."

Her body was bathed in the pool of light from above, like a specimen under a microscope. Unreal. Fantastically beautiful.

"But ... Dad ... and, are you sure it's safe?"

"It's safe, don't worry. You don't have to come if you don't want to... Just get a bit closer..."

Elation, panic and doubt hit me all together, and I noticed -- to my horror -- that my erection was sagging a bit, for the first time in twenty minutes. Oh no, don't fail now, for God's sake.

As I approached her, lying back for me -- me! -- she said the best thing possible, thinking about it now.

"It's a bit easier if it's not quite so stiff, actually... here, shall I ... ?"

She held my cock in her hand for a few seconds. As though she were waiting for it to arrive at the correct angle, she very gently rubbed my foreskin back and forth, just as I did when I was beginning a long session myself. The hardness quickly returned, and my confidence rushed back like a warm wind.

"Perfect," she whispered. I was thinking the same.

Without another sound, she drew my cock head down towards her open lips, and rubbed it very slowly, very lightly at the mouth of her cunt, without putting it in.

I closed my eyes, and let my head fall backwards, bracing my hands on my knees to maintain my balance.

"Ok. Push in a bit now..."

I looked back at our genitals meeting -- so swollen, warm and wet -- in time to see her bending my cock down so that just the tip disappeared inside her.

"Just the head..." she whispered. I was so stiff now she had to prevent it springing out with her fingers. I pushed in an inch or two until I could see only shaft. An electric warmth started to spread up my legs, from my knees to my balls. Careful now...

"Oh, that's fantastic, fantastic..." she murmured. She was rubbing her clitoris around and around in circles, still keeping a finger of the other hand on my shaft. I was afraid to move, lest I come, and I didn't want this to end. Not just yet.

"Do you think you could go in a bit further now?" Her voice had an edge of insistence she'd managed to control up till now. She actually wanted me to put more of my cock inside her. Of course I wanted that, more than anything else at the moment, but I had to be careful, that much I knew.

"Ok." It was all I could muster. I leant slowly forward, further down and into her, until I couldn't go any further. Right up against her, our pubic hairs pushing against each other. I could feel her cunt muscles gripping me, and I could hear the sound of her wet fingers massaging her clitoris, harder now. I stopped dead still, my head was swimming, suddenly finding it difficult to focus. A new world, this.

Her eyes were closed now, her head tilted back into the cushions. "Oh my God. So ... fucking ... beautiful. Now draw back." Her voice was trembling, her legs were shaking gently. I knew if I moved too quickly, I would come, and I didn't want to curtail her pleasure. I felt personally responsible for it. Don't blow yet. Brilliant.

Slowly and carefully I pulled back and out of her, but by half way I knew I was lost. My orgasm was starting, electricity down my legs, a rushing sound in my head, my throat tightening...

I pushed myself back into her, and out once more, and that was it: an irresistible flood of organic ecstasy started deep within my thighs, and I thrust some more, quickly, out of control. I don't know how long for. Time disappeared, but it can't have been for long. I don't even know exactly when I ejaculated, or how many contractions there were, but soon I'd collapsed forward, pulling my breath in as quickly and as quietly as I could. My head was pounding.

"Oh ... oh ... oh ... yes," Jane growled under me. I could feel her hand working her clitoris quickly now, and her legs tightening around my body, pulling me in, as she reached her own, more drawn-out orgasm, head back and eyes closed. She pushed her cunt up against me for the last time, clenching her teeth to prevent a squeal of pleasure escaping, and I could feel her muscles throbbing and relaxing around my cock as it pulsed in her, my thoughts racing uncontrollably from one crazy thing to another, all totally unconnected. I could concentrate only on breathing quietly...

I think she fell asleep. Or she pretended, for my sake...

After keeping still and silent for as long as I could, I slowly got up, my cock glistening as never before, balls spent but still tight up against me, legs aching from supporting my weight. I gathered my clothes, and started moving quietly away towards my bedroom at the back of the house. Half way down the hall I crept back and gently covered what I could of Jane's glowing body with the dressing-gown, and turned out the lamp, before turning away. The noise of the TV receded behind me.

I didn't sleep much that night.

A.Non.

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