The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever (10 page)

"And because I've been behaving myself, I get
to see them?"

He slipped one hand behind her back, and,
pointing his other hand at the bed's canopy exclaimed, "Look! A
bird!" She looked up, while he fumbled with the clasp on her bra.
He managed to undo a couple of the top hooks, but the lower ones
resisted tenaciously.

She laughed gleefully at her inept want-to-be
lover. "Grasshopper, that was pathetic!"

He threw up his hands. "That's what happens
when they send you to an all boy's school."

"It has nothing to do with the gender of the
inmates. What you should say is 'Look, a turtle'—give yourself more
time."

With mock dejection, he nodded his head.
"Next time I'll go with the turtle, but if you're still interested,
I happen to know a bra removal method that's foolproof."

"Foolproof? That could work for you."

"Does that mean you'd like to see it?"

She smiled at him. "I'm up for a laugh."

"But I must caution you, this technique lacks
my usual finesse."

"Downright ugly, eh?"

"But effective." He placed his hands under
the cups of her bra, pulled forward, and lifted up. Her full, firm
breasts tumbled free of their constraint.

"I thought the objective of this exercise was
to get my bra off?"

A pleased-with-himself looking Brad grinned
at her. "It is. But bidding a fond farewell to your bra remains an
ongoing operation."

"You're idling on idiotic," she said when she
realized what he'd done. The underwire on her bra was pressing into
the swells at the top of her breasts. She knew she looked
silly.

I'm failing to put my best foot—or in this
case, best breast—forward. She reached back and unhooked her bra. A
victorious looking Brad attempted to control his laughter—without
success. Nor was the humor of the moment entirely lost on her—it
was time to concede graciously. "To
uché
,"
she said. "Now hold me."

* * *

The novice freedom fighter lay on the bed,
and cuddled Sandy, willing his hands not to tremble as they played
with her breasts. He was in awe of their beauty and texture.
"Fabulous," he said. "'Satan's playthings. Created to feed infants,
but employed to undo the defenseless adult male.'" He harassed a
saucy peak with his fingertips, and then enticed it into his
mouth.

* * *

Sandy was delighted with the attention her
breasts were receiving. It's unbelievable how much men love these
things. But that attention had focused her thoughts on a pressing
need lower down.

"What's this fascination you have with my
sweater-puppies?"

"Try not to think of them as your
sweater-puppies. Think of them as boy-toys for me."

"Right. Boys and their toys, but girls like
toys too. Maybe if you were willing to be a toy-boy for me?"

"Tell you what. If you can say toy-boy ten
times, without fouling up, I'll be your toy-boy for the evening.
But if you blow it, you have to be my boy-toy instead."

"Toy-boy, toy-boy, toya-boya, toya..."
Sandy's tongue tripped all over toy-boy at toy-boy number three. It
was a failure with tragic consequences for her.

"Poor, pitiful, Pop-tart. Now you're my
plaything for the evening—forced to endure the outer limits of my
depraved imagination."

She sighed. "That sounds worse than a
bed-full of cracker crumbs."

Brad produced a euphoric grin, and went back
to fooling with her breasts. "How much time do you spend playing
with these beauties each day?"

She smiled. "None. Boobs for Buddha doesn't
allow it."

"It's as I suspected—your sweater puppies are
wasted on you. They're under-appreciated, underutilized, and
desperately in need a breaststroke specialist, which, fortunately
for you, I am."

"A guy who likes to stay abreast of things,"
she said with a wry smile—but she was becoming irritated. He seems
content to spend the rest of his life making like a titmouse, and
given that I'm his plaything for the evening, he's entitled to
practice his breaststroke on me—forever if he wants. "On a positive
note, you've proven the naysayers wrong."

"And which naysayers might those be," Brad
asked?

"Those are the ones who say that 'men can't
focus on two things at once!'"

That brought an amused chuckle from Brad, as
he continued to play with his Pop-tart's breasts.

So Sandy decided to use a little reverse
psychology to move Brad along. "Grasshopper," she said, "play with
my sweater-puppies for as long as you want."

"Changed my mind. I know that you have other
wonderful places where I can play."

He removed her panties, patted her
affectionately on the bottom, then took his time—seemingly content
to contemplate the treasure he had just revealed. "No amount of
money can buy a room-with-a-view that's finer than the one I have
before me now," he said.

This Grasshopper makes me so happy. If only
he'd hurry. "Please Brad, I need you in me—now!"

His elation was obvious when he gave her two
thumbs up, and said, "You've been a good girl lately, and to get
your reward all you have to do is open your legs." She responded
hesitantly. "If that's as far apart as they'll go, it's hard to
believe you're not still a virgin."

She laughed despite herself. "You have to
help me with this."

He pointed a finger at her thighs, "Open
Sesame!" he said.

"That, I don't believe! Did you really think
'Open Sesame' would work?"

"I can't understand why it didn't. It worked
for Ali Baba when he wanted to get into the treasure cave of the
forty thieves."

That explains why you're having trouble. Your
treasure cave is different than Alli Babbas'. It's more like
Aladdins Lamp. It needs to be rubbed."

* * *

Brad grinned, and rubbed. Then he watched
with delight as Sandy's legs parted. "You're right! It's working!
I've released a genie, and it's granting me my wish." He could not
believe his good fortune. Her genie had a heady, womanly aroma that
utterly enchanted him. I could play with this genie forever, he
thought, but he only played with it for as long as he dared, afraid
that if he lingered too long, she would think that he was stuck in
neutral or something.

"Why do the genie and I have to do all the
work, while you get to have all the fun?" he asked.

She tried to close her legs, but she was too
late—he had already positioned himself between them.

"Knock, knock," he said.

"That I don't believe! This is where you're
supposed to go to work at creating ecstasy for me, not start
telling knock-knock jokes."

He grinned at her. "Knock, knock," he said
again.

Her shoulders gave a resigned shrug. "I give
up. Who's there?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah who?"

He moved into a very receptive Sandy. "Yahoo
I'm-in-you!"

She tried not to laugh, but failed. "How can
you be so delightfully absurd?" she said.

How do you describe a physical and emotional
experience that defies description? As Sandy's genie granted Brad
his wish, he reveled in the wonder that had taken control of his
body. And when she peaked it was with such jubilation that he knew
he had orchestrated something incredible.

After following close behind her, Brad leapt
up on the bed and hollered, "Yes! Yes!" His fist stabbed at the
canopy. Then he gave himself a standing ovation.

"Unbelievable! Are all guys that pleased with
themselves when they get lucky for the first time?" She tugged at
the hair on his leg to encourage him to return. Then, when his
celebration continued, she made her position clearer. "Listen,
bright eyes, if you don't get back down here with me, I'm revoking
your learners permit."

He smiled down at his first-ever lover.
"Favorite Pop-tart of mine, nothing you say can faze me now." But
he quickly returned to her.

She softened in his arms. "You did do well,
Boy Wonder," she said.

"Well! Just well? You know you've never had
loving like that before. I've probably ruined all other men for
you."

"You are one self-satisfied grasshopper, but
you do have reason to be pleased with yourself—you're definitely a
keeper."

"And you're my ultimate reward."

She caressed him with her fingertips. "Damn
it. I'm afraid you're addictive. To quote Oliver Twist, 'Please
sir, I want some more.'"

He was only too happy to comply, and before
long she was making fervent love with him once more. Soon, her
satisfied moans mingled with her enchanting aroma, before she
shuddered as she approached her peak. Then, when she arrived, her
body stiffened and shook as the jolts of pleasure radiated outward.
He quickly followed, pushed along by his delight in her
ecstasy.

He held her in his arms as they wound down
together. "You're the best Pop-tart ever," he said. "In fact,
you're so much fun I've decided to ask your genie to grant me a
third wish, which you may have guessed is the same wish as the
first two."

She smiled at him. "I'm not trying to
discourage you, but perhaps you should consider what Shakespeare
said about performance."

"Performance?"

"He said, 'All lovers swear more performance
than they are able.'"

"But the Bard also said, 'Let copulation
thrive.'"

Her hand discovered a once again perky Brad.
"That's amazing! Maybe you really are the Boy Wonder." Then, when
he grinned, and moved behind her, she ventured, "'By the pricking
of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.'"

"Not so! Nubile beauty bang your drums,
'cause something awesome your way comes."

"Not too shabby for spur of the moment."

He moved into his nubile beauty. "Did you
notice the way my shaft finds you as if it were a homing
torpedo?"

"We'll call him Homer. But I should warn
you—it's all over for you and Homer if you start to sing 'Back In
The Saddle Again.'"

He thought for a moment. "I wish you hadn't
said that. Now I can't get that melody, or the image, out of my
mind."

"Foolish Boy Wonder, why do you think I said
it? On all fours like this, with my bum in the air, I feel like a
frisky filly that's being mounted and tamed by a conquering
stallion."

"I love your images, but you have to stop.
You've made Homer so hard he's hurting me."

* * *

Sandy was pleased with herself. "What a
remarkable talent I have," she purred.

"Your talent isn't remarkable."

"Excuse me!"

"I said your talent isn't remarkable." She
tried to get away from her unappreciative stallion, but found that
she couldn't because he had a firm grip on her hips.

"You ungrateful..."

"Your talent isn't remarkable, it's
phenomenal! I'm in love with our pussy."

"What's this our pussy stuff?" She was still
indignant. "You've been playing with it for less than an hour, and
already you're claiming squatters rights?"

He laughed. "Wasn't me who blew the toy-boy
challenge. But instead of worrying about squatters, you should be
enjoying the merrymaking that's going on inside you even as we
speak."

"What Homer's doing does feel marvelous—so
I've decided to let you tarry a while longer."

He gave her rump a slap. "You know, if I were
smaller, I'd have been one fine jockey."

"That assumes that you only had friendly
fillies like me to mount."

"You're not giving me enough credit. Riding
you isn't all that easy."

She laughed and urged him on. "Born to
giddy-up."

He applied his hand to her rear once more.
"Just checking the elasticity of my pony."

"More like a tomcat staking out his
territory."

"My territory," he said. "Now that's a
concept I could get used to."

She knew he was grinning. Then his hand moved
around her leg, and caressed her love button, while Homer continued
to roam her inner pastures. The combination was heavenly, or at
least it was what she believed heavenly must feel like.

"Ride like the wind, Bulls Eye," she sang
before she stiffened, cried out, and peaked yet again.

Afterward, he nibbled, and then bit her
neck.

"When you bite me like that, I feel I belong
to you."

He snuggled against her. "Sandra, you're
amazing. How can I ever thank you enough."

"Still two hundred and forty-three shopping
days 'till Christmas," she said, as she returned his snuggle.

"I apologize for that macho demonstration
earlier, but making love with you is the most incredible thing
that's ever happened to me."

She felt a vast joyousness wash over her.
"'Did thee feel the earth move?'"

"Earth move?"

"Hemingway."

"Something definitely moved."

"Try to remember that the next time a perky
pair of sweater-puppies catches your fancy."

"Believe me, if your sweater puppies were a
watch, they'd be a Rolex, and if I had a Rolex, why would I want a
knock-off?" He kissed her from head to toe, and back again.

This darned Grasshopper is making me love him
on purpose. "Let me take you home—it's the least I can do for
you."

By the time they pulled themselves together,
and back to the limo, it was two-thirty.

"Looks like you owe me an hour's overtime,"
the driver said with a smirk. "Hope it was worth it."

Do women really have a just-done-it look
after they've made love, she wondered, as she nuzzled Brad? "How
much will the overtime be?"

"Don't worry, it's only another seventy
dollars. Wait a minute, that would pay for several movies. This may
be more serious than I thought!"

"Bastard!" She shifted to the other side of
the limo, but before she was seated he was on her, pinning her
arms, and Frenching her. Frantically, she tore her lips from his,
and jerked her head to the side. When her mouth collided with his
forearm, she bit. She bit as hard as she could. Then she held on in
a laudable imitation of a Pit Bull. I'm going to hurt him as much
as he's hurt me!