Tales Told out of School. 9: A Fell-top Miss-Adventure.

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Progress at last.

Peter gently lifted her middle finger of each hand with his own, feeling that they did not lock this time, but were flexible.

His reasonable words and pleading, were slowly getting to her as he waited patiently, feeling her hands move as she sat up straighter, not looking at him, but at some point over his shoulder.

Maybe he had begun to seem human; having sisters—if he hadn’t been lying.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and visibly unwound. Her hands slowly moved with his, from over her breasts, exposing them in all of their magnificence and beauty as he brought her hands to rest on the warm rock on either side of her.

There was a broad, rosy areola on each breast and a pronounced nipple. He knew that the cold did that to girls’ breasts. It did the same on his sisters, bringing their smaller breasts to a sharp peak, but all it did to him was to shrivel his balls up and make his pecker almost disappear back into his foreskin so that he had to go searching for it when he wanted to pee. He didn’t have that problem now. Not with him able to admire so much of her, and his imagination doing even more.

She was ready to bring her hands to cover herself again if he said anything awkward, or laughed, or did anything he shouldn’t do.

He would never laugh. He wanted to worship these breasts. They deserved to be worshipped.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. He was smiling at her, looking into her face and not ogling her breasts as she’d half expected.

He had a nice smile and a kind look on his face. It was the first time she’d dared look directly at him for longer than just a second.

“There, that wasn’t so very difficult. Thank you.” He smiled at her, wanting to lean in and kiss the tears away or even to kiss her breasts--visible at the periphery of his vision--but knowing that he must do nothing of the kind if he expected her to continue to comply with him, rather than try to kill him.

He would strive not look at her breasts either, though he ached to do so.

“Thank you.” He repeated it. “You have no need to be afraid of me.” Easily said.

“Whether you know it or not, my sisters are everywhere here, protecting you. They are my constant, judgmental companions; my nagging conscience, and are always trying to stop me doing the silliest things. Unfortunately, they rarely succeed. Look at all of the silly things I have said to you so far.”

Her breath actually caught in her throat at the beginning of what might be a nervous chuckle that she should give in to. It would undoubtedly set her breasts dancing in a way he could not ignore.

“One of them; the eldest, Margaret, is over there" He pointed. "Another, is standing behind me with a big club; that one is Clara. Where the others are; Sarah, and Jane, I dare not guess. Somewhere close. They are always ready to take exception to everything I do, and to come to your defense, not mine. Four of them. Five to one, counting you. So, you see, you are safe.”

She was looking into his face with less shyness now, still not fully believing him, but at least he’d made a start, and he was not staring obviously at her breasts, or making some comment about them, as she’d expected.

“That took some courage, and I thank you again for that. You should not be so afraid of someone who would never be able to hurt or harm you. A woman as attractive as you are, should be defiant, like an amazon, confident in herself, courageous, challenging the world (pushing her breasts out defiantly) ready to take on all-comers. My sisters would.”

Would, and did, deliberately, around him! And to hell with their blasted brother! (her hands twitched, ready to fly to cover herself again). He’d grown up with breasts all around him, poking at him, in his face, tormenting him. Except their breasts were diminutive, but firm, and nothing like these magnificent orbs that would always fascinate him.

At least she was listening.

He was different, trying to sound reasonable even though some of what he said was shockingly outspoken.

He was still a liar! All men were, with few exceptions, but she had lost most of her fear of him. If he had sisters who could control him, he couldn’t be all bad.

He’d better not tell her about that other part he thrust out before himself, proudly challenging to take on any and all-comers when they’d done that trick with his pajamas, except they’d been only amused by his antics, laughing at him, pointing, and making jokes about him. But at the same time had been alarmingly conscious of it and how it obviously changed.

They often talked about him, and 'it', and their obvious differences, and what they meant for them at some point in their futures... “I couldn't take my eyes off it when it popped up like that in front of my eyes. I couldn't help but wonder when it would stop growing like that. No, honestly? How could something like that go into here, on me?” (He’d taken a fast peak around the door seeing one of his sisters sitting on her bed, pulling herself apart; and here he was without a camera. They were all focused attentively on what she was doing, so didn't see him. He watched for a while). “It would hurt. Even that thing on our brother is far too big!”

They hadn’t known he could hear them, or what he had seen.

It entertained his sisters to see him doing that rebellious act of defiance thing, but that had been years ago. They had laughed at him and told him to watch out that the ducks, or a robin didn’t go after his teensy little worm when he peed in the garden. He knew that they were quite impressed with his teensy little worm, considering how they described it when they thought he couldn't hear them.

Oh, the indignity of such cruel, but well-targeted and orchestrated ridicule!

Sophia had been the one to go after it... and to go after it... and keep going after it. Every time she came over. He'd got scared with what she wanted him to do to her with it, but it hadn't been so bad once he'd caved in to what she wanted. The week she had been there after that, working him in an unexpected, yet in what turned out to be a delightfully interesting way, made his balls ache. He also had an almost permanent hard on around her and when she looked at him.


Now that this one no longer had her arms in the way, he pulled his shirt tighter around her, mostly hiding her away, which was what she’d wanted all along, but getting them moving so nicely. God, they were firm!

It was too big for her, of course, and he slowly used it to dry under, and at the side of her breasts, and then on top of them, being careful not to touch them directly with his hands, or look at them, and to go slowly and gently as he talked to her about anything but what he was doing. She could stop him at any time.

His sisters had never allowed him to touch them anywhere either, though he had wanted to reach up and find out so many things strange to him when he sat in bottom of the bath as two of them showered above him—the only way they would let him in the bath with them; and if he didn’t do it that way while having to avert his eyes or get soap in them, then they used all the hot water and he had to settle for a cold shower, or remain dirty, unless his mother got to him with a cold, wet cloth, like sandpaper, and that was always torture.

All the soapy water from them showering above him, cascaded down upon him and stopped him looking up all of the time--in his always curious state--seeing hair growing where he had never seen it before, on his oldest sister, thirteen years old to his five. He knew he mustn't touch. He'd learned about periods at the same time, wanting to ask about what he saw, but thought better of it. Lucky for him.

She looked up at him as he moved his shirt off her, slid his shirt sleeve over her arm and then brought it around her back to put it over the other one, raised it around her and began to fasten it, ignoring her breasts and the way they stood out, but would always be conscious of them.

She was covered again but was still not sure about him.

“I am sorry about that little soliloquy about my sisters, but you needed help to be distracted.” He was still smiling at her, grateful that she was softening.

“Now, if I may suggest something. Please look at me, into my face. Ignore everything else going on. We need to talk.”

She hadn’t expected to be asked so nicely, or to face such gentle patience, but she could ignore very little. Everything that was happening was strange, and new to her.

“You need my help to get out of here, and you need to try and relax. Whatever you fear about me (and he sensed what that was), I can promise that it is not the way you think it is.”

Even if it was. He just couldn't help himself.

She was ready to listen now.

“There are two things I need to do for you.” He had her full attention now but he'd faltered for a moment, forgetting what he had been going to say.

She was also looking at him, looking into his eyes as he was looking into hers, being pulled into them. His mind was almost a complete blank.

Something else was happening between them. He was being drawn into those eyes as though he were being hypnotized. He shook himself out of it, feeling his temperature rise. She would see that he was blushing and was having difficulty dealing with her, sitting just in front of him.

“I need to get you drier than you are, and warm, and then I shall get you home, somehow, or wherever you are staying.”

“Home.”

“Home then. But I need to get you warm and dry first.”

He began to dry her arms properly by moving the shirt sleeves up and down on her arms and also under her arms and at the sides of her body. He had not been able to get anything done properly before, with her sitting as she had been, not letting him get that shirt to cover her, but it was now touching and resting directly on, and over her breasts to dry them, so he didn’t have to do anything else there to startle her.

He pulled up the collar of his shirt, lifting it on her, and dried more of her hair that he could reach, stopping any more water running down her neck.

He had to be careful not to stand up too close in front of her or she would notice too much about him. If she saw that his body was being rebellious, she would dissolve into fear again at what would become too obvious about him.

Had sight of her exposed breasts done that to him, or had it happened when he had looked into her eyes and seen… what had he seen? There was something about her. Something very different from other girls he knew.

She was nothing like his sisters! Thank god for that!

This young woman sitting in front of him was much more fragile than any of his tough sisters, and needed more gentling along, more diplomacy and care. He rarely had to watch what he said with his sisters, but he did now, after putting his foot in it more than once.

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