Innuendos (It Had 2 B U Book 1) (18 page)

“You okay back there? You’re making weird sounds?”

Fuck, I am calling out to my inner wildebeest. I grunt through my nose and blow some air out my mouth. How I know what a wildebeest mating call sounds like is beyond me.
Good thing we aren’t in Africa.

“Okay, my turn. I really want you to give me the best massage you can, so I’m going to go in my room and change into something a little more comfortable.”

“Ummm, okay,” Max says, sitting up on the couch awkwardly.

I race to my room, pick out the sexiest tank top I own, and then I stuff the melons into my shirt, hoping to god they don’t look too obvious. I wish they were a little more comfortable. The Melon-to-boob ratio going on behind my tank top leaves very little breathing room for my girls.

I check myself out in the mirror and notice I look really good with a D-sized breast. Maybe I should invest in a real boob job. I shake the thought from my head, put on some ass hugging hot pants, and lay down on my bed so my melons are camouflaged within the blankets. I prop myself up with some pillows so that I’m not lying directly on the watermelons, and hope to god Max’s sniffer won’t rat out my ripe melons before he has a chance to discover them like he’s supposed to.

Max pads into the room a few seconds later and smiles. “I see that you’ve assumed the position.”

“I have. Do your worst.”

He crosses the room and sits on the bed next to me. He’s afraid to actually get on top of me. No, no, no! This won’t work unless he’s all in.

“Max, I don’t bite. You can sit on top of me; you know?”

“Okay,” he says reluctantly. I feel the weight of his body climb on top of me and realize he’s semi hard.
Aha! Now I see why he didn’t want to straddle me.
I try to fight back the grin wreaking havoc on my face. I’m so going to get a puppy. I want a fluffy one, like a Pomeranian or a poodle.

“Is that a banana in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Anaconda, he’s silent but deadly,” Max responds without even thinking about it.

He begins massaging my back. His fingers start low, working small circles around the area right around my ass and slowly working their way upwards.
Time to milk this shit for all it’s worth.

“Oh god, Max, just like that,” I scream in ecstasy.

He continues to massage me. Each time he meets a new spot, I respond like he’s rubbing my vagina and sucking on my boobs. Every time he rocks forward, I can feel his hard-on stiffening.

“You like this?” He asks cautiously. There is a waver in his voice. It’s really cute how careful he’s being right now.

“It’s fucking orgasmic,” I swoon. Really it is. I’m so wet right now, that if Max were to turn me over, he’ll find nice surprise right between my legs. “Max, I want you to massage my melons.”

“Excuse me?”

“My melons. They really need a proper squeezing. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched them. God, they hurt so bad, a massage could really help ripen them.”

His penis stiffens between my ass cheeks and he moves a little forward almost like he’s using my ass crack to adjust himself.

“Melons, huh?”

“Yes, if I turn over, will you squeeze them for me?”

“I’ll do anything to your melons that you want me to.”

This is going perfect. Max is hard, the melon thing is going off without a hitch, and I’m about five minutes away from winning this bet. All I have to do is get him to say “peanut butter cups”.

Completely forgetting that the pillows are holding up my body weight, I move them out from under my body, only to come crashing down right on top of my botched boob job. I’m surprised by how hard I fall. When I hit the bed, a sickening squish sound explodes beneath me. In complete utter mortification, I watch as my D-sized melons squirt juice all the way to my dresser, staining my carpet in pinkish jizz stains. The smell of watermelon fills the room. I look down and groan, carefully peeling myself off the bed. My silk bed sheets are covered in fake boob juice. Rinds fall from my shirt and land on my lap. Max is laughing hysterically, and I’m on the verge of tears because I really thought this plan would work.

“What just happened?” Max asks still laughing.

“My melons exploded,” I say sadly. “You can’t buy a good boob job anymore.”

Max reaches into my shirt, briefly brushing my chest. Instantly my nipples salute him, almost as if they are saying, “hey wait a second, touch me some more”.
Traitorous whores.
Max pulls out a rind of watermelon from between my boobs and eats it.

“Your melons taste ripe to me,” he quips.

I reach into my tank top and pull out another large rind. Well, when in Rome, I guess. I bring the watermelon to my lips and sigh. “I really like ripe melons.”

Max pats me on the shoulder and smirks. “Nice try, Breezy. You’re going to have to come up with something better than melons to make me lose the bet, although you were close with that massage. Little Max approved.

“I know. You’re anaconda was slithering up my ass crack.”

“What can I say? He likes to dive deep into places that haven’t been explored yet?”

“Who says it hasn’t been explored yet?”

“I uh, assumed . . .” his voice trails off, his cheeks a fiery red.

“Well, I better clean up this mess and get back to the drawing board on how to pay you back for ruining my underwear. Oh, by the way, you’re coming with me to the store. You’re going to hold my purse while I try on stuff.”

“Do I get to watch?”

“Nope, you get to sit on the couch and look like my bitch.”

“I hate being purse bitch.”

“Too bad, Max, this is what you get for cutting up my underwear. Consider it partial payback.”

“Couldn’t you just model the underwear for me, and we call it good?”

“Nope, the punishment must fit the crime. You are now officially my purse bitch. Now, go get a rag so we can try to get this boob juice off my floor.”

He laughs, “Boob juice?”

“Well, they were pretending to be boobs when they exploded, so technically, yes, boob juice.”

He kisses my forehead. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you?”

My heart skips. “Not lately.”

“Well I do, very much.” He leans in like he’s going to kiss me, and I’m leaning towards him like I want him to.
What the fuck is happening here?
Right when he’s a millimeter away from my lips, he changes course and brushes my cheek with the pout of his lips. “I’ll get a towel,” he whispers

Shit! He gave me a lady boner. This innuendo game is slowly killing me!

Chapter Eighteen

Max

I went to bed with a fucking boner. I was two inches away from kissing her, but I chickened out of it. I felt up her boobs, ate some melons that were nestled right between her breasts, and I didn’t make a move. Even though her hands were massaging my whole body, I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Now, I’m lying here in bed, staring at the mother of all boners, and I can’t even touch him to make him feel any better. This sucks. No oral, no self-pleasuring, no good old fashioned rolling between the sheets, just me and my unsatisfied dick, hot for the girl on the other side of this wall.

“Oh god,” I hear her say, “Mmmmm,” she moans.

Holy crap, I think she’s playing with herself! No way. That means I win the bet, and I get my damn kiss.

She whimpers and moans again, “Oh Max,” I think I hear her say.

Mother of god! She’s playing with herself and talking about me. If I wasn’t so turned on by her plundering her lady bits like a pirate searching for treasure, I’d probably be marching over to her room and demanding my winnings. Instead, I listen and lightly give myself a stroke.
Hey if she can cheat, so can I!

Every little whimper and moan sounds so amazing. I close my eyes and picture being the one causing each sexually aroused sound. Even though there is a wall separating us, it feels like I’m in the bed with her; my fingers are doing all of the things her fingers are doing right now.

There is another loud moan that comes from behind the wall. I almost finish right there. I know she must be reaching her climax, and the thought that I might be the reason she did, makes me the happiest guy on the planet right now.

When silence follows, I know she’s finally fallen asleep. It’s probably best to do the same, but I plan on giving her a ration of shit when she gets up in the morning for her little self-pleasure session.

As usual I’m up before Breezy is. I make my way into the kitchen and pull out the griddle. Today I’m going to make her pancakes. She’s partial to blueberries, but since we are out, I’m making plain buttermilk ones.

She must smell breakfast, because she wobbles out of her room, bed head, eye boogers, and rubbing at her eyes all sleepy-like.

“Pancakes?” She asks with a huge smile on her face. I notice she’s looking at me sort of strangely, with a glazed, almost hungry, look in her eyes. When she catches me staring at her, she glances away and watches me as I flip the pancakes.

“Sorry, we’re out of blueberries, so we’re having regular old pancakes.” I notice she’s only wearing a t-shirt, so when she sits at our table, it inches up and shows me a little peek of her ass cheek. I do my best to ignore it, but I can feel the boner from last night returning. Time to win this damn bet and get my kiss.

“So, I heard you clicking your mouse last night,” I pretend to flip a pancake. She looks at me with a sideways glance and shrugs her shoulders.

“I wasn’t on my computer last night.”

“Oh, I know. I heard you moaning. You were rubbing your pearl like there was no tomorrow. That’s a clear disqualification in our bet guidelines. I’ll be collecting my kiss now.”

She looks absolutely mortified, and it’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I know she’s trying to figure out the best way to answer me without incriminating herself.
Too bad sweetie, I already heard you moaning my name last night
. The thought makes my dick hard—again.

“I was so not clicking my mouse or polishing any pearls. What does that even mean?”

“Pleasing your clam, landing your plane, polishing your fine china—frankly, it all means the same thing. I win. You lose. Now give me my damn kiss.” I look at her with a serious facial expression.

She blinks up at me as if she’s having an internal debate about it. “Do you have proof I was clicking my mouse?”

“I heard you moaning and saying my name.”

She blushes.

“But did you actually walk in on me clicking my mouse? Did you actually see it with your own two eyes—two fingers on the button, clicking away?”

Damn it.
I adjust myself. Then I flip a pancake that’s getting a little too hot.
Sorry pancake, I know the feeling.
Breezy looks amused. She must realize what talking like this does to me.

“No, I didn’t actually walk in and see your two fingers deep-clicking your button,” I answer. She seductively runs her hand down her front, making sure to touch every inch of herself over her t-shirt. Her nipples bud from the brief contact. She spreads her legs, revealing a white set of cotton panties. Holy fuck!
How did I miss that pair?

“Max, don’t you think if I was polishing my pearl, I would’ve been more vocal about it? When a girl gets up close and personal with her clam, you’ll definitely hear it. The pearl is the most sensitive part of the clam. It needs to be tenderly caressed and rubbed gently. It needs extra attention and to be worked slowly.” She starts making these breathy sounds as her hands massage her thighs getting close, but not too close, to her “clam”.

“I heard you moaning. I heard you say my name. They’re thin walls, Breezy. You’ve told me numerous times about how you can hear everything going on in my room.”

She gets up from the table and walks straight up to me. I drop the last pancake onto a plate, switch off the burner, and turn towards her.

“You need proof, Max, some kind of visual confirmation that I was landing my plane. It’s a short runway, Max. It’s impossible to get it into that sweet sensitive spot on your first try. You have to come in slowly, and then pull back just as you touch the landing strip.” She tickles her fingers up my bare chest. The seductive look in her eye tells me that she’s messing with me again. My dick salutes her in aroused disapproval. Her fingers are slow and methodical, making sure to brush me in a way I picture she brushes herself. “Do you have proof, Max?”

I take a giant gulp of air as her fingers begin playing with the hem of my shorts. “No,” I squeak. “Only what I heard.”