Double Time
Chapter 81
“I respect you,” he murmured. “and your views. I think of you as an equal. I respect your brains, and all those big words you like to use. But I also want to rip your clothes off and have sex with you until you scream and cry and see God.”
—Lisa Kleypas, Smooth Talking Stranger
30 DECEMBER 2019
I lie here in bed watching Desi sleep. She’s curled on her left side with her butt toward me. We spooned there for a while last night. But people change positions when they sleep together. Someone who says they cuddled with their lover and didn’t move all night probably woke up in a pool of sweat, unable to feel their arms. Or anything else. Sometimes we just lie next to each other holding hands, sometimes she lay half on top of me. For a while she spooned against my back. It got too hot under the covers to hold each other so we ended up just lying there in our own favorite sleeping positions as if the other wasn’t in the bed at all.
She’s not the most stunningly beautiful woman in the world. Not a Playboy model. If her boobs get any bigger, she’ll seriously consider reduction surgery. I know her mother struggles with backaches and has since she was a teen. Desi doesn’t have that big a frame to hang them from. She’s proud enough of them to flaunt them in costumes and school, but they aren’t what define her. Objectively, her ass is a much better feature and one that I’ll cuddle up to often in the future. But it’s what’s inside Desiree Whitcomb that makes her beautiful. She’s happy. She’s free. She’s self-determinate. She’s independent. I think I’m being redundant. It’s her spirit.
I know she’s too sore to make love again. What’s it been? Like twenty times in three days? And she was definitely a virgin when we started. I’m thinking a nice long massage and a hot bath when she wakes up. I want to tell her… show her that she means a lot to me and I’ll try to never lose her in the shuffle of girlfriends who want their share of time with me. I think Desi will be with us—with me—for a long time.
We spent a lazy morning, ordering breakfast from room service. Riley and Riko knocked at eleven and told us we needed to be out by noon, to take our bags to the car (costumes were already gone), and that they were going to make sure their crates were ready to load. We managed to get packed and stood for a long time looking at each other before we finally got dressed. Just as we were headed for the door, there was a knock.
“Hi,” Joan said. “Um… Everything go okay?”
“Happy birthday, Joan,” Desi managed an instant before me.
“I’m sorry to bother you but Beca said I should pick Jacob up from here. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. We have to be out of the room now or I’d invite you to stay and use it,” Desi said.
“You’re sure?” Joan asked. “It’s okay? I mean, this is your special time. I was bummed out that I couldn’t be with you Thursday. Dad’s turn for Christmas, you know.”
“We missed you,” I said.
“I’ll bet. I don’t think you could even say who was here. Brittany said it was awesome.”
“Yeah… Wait. Brittany? She wasn’t here. Was she?” I stumbled.
“Ha! Got you!”
“You must have had a good week! Either that or being eighteen has turned you into a smartass.”
“My ass has always been smart enough to cuddle up to you,” Joan said. Then she sighed. “Let’s go have lunch before we go to my place and I have to read the fucking induction letter. Or better yet, let’s foil their plans and not go to my house until tomorrow. They can’t deliver the letter on my birthday if they can’t find me.”
“Should have had them send it to your Dad’s house in Chicago.”
“Dad already called me and said a duplicate had arrived there. My parents are listed as shared custody with both addresses.”
“Hey, doesn’t that mean you are out of custody now?” Desi asked as we stopped at her car. “You’re a free woman.”
“Free if you don’t count being indentured to the government for two years. What a fucking shit pile.” I’d dealt with the various stages of Emily’s induction, including the moments before she left when she was determined not to go. I wondered if everyone went through this when they got their letter. Kind of like the five stages of grief or something. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Like the premeditated murder of our youth.
We did delay getting to Joan’s house by going out for lunch and ice cream. Joan’s demeanor lightened up as soon as Desi kissed us each goodbye and gave me a firm order to provide for Joan as her slave as if Joan was Desi. Joan got a glint in her eye and I figured she had some ideas.
I couldn’t have guessed what she was planning.
We pulled up, not in front of Joan’s house, but in front of Beca’s. Joan pulled me along to the porch and rang the bell. Beca answered.
“Darlings! I’ve been waiting for you!” she shouted. She jumped up to wrap her legs around Joan’s waist and kiss her. “Happy, happy birthday,” she said. “I love you.” Then, without Joan letting her down, she leaned over and kissed me just as hard. “I love you! It’s almost 2020 and I’m in love!”
Beca certainly lightened our mood further. She grabbed her little bag and we went to the Miata.
“How’s this going to work?” I asked. “You want me to walk?”
“Just get in and buckle up,” Beca said. Once I was in, she crawled in on top of me. “Hang on to me tight, baby. It’s a good thing it isn’t far!”
Joan was careful driving to her house but I definitely hung on tight to Beca.
“What time are we expecting people for your birthday party, Joan?” Susan called when we entered the house.
“Six.”
“Can you help get ready? I want to clean the TV room before your guests get here.”
“Mom, we meet there every Saturday. It doesn’t need anything extra. You don’t need to keep me occupied. I’m taking my boyfriend and my girlfriend to my room and making love all afternoon.” Susan stuck her head outside the kitchen just in time to see Joan drag the two of us to her room and shut the door. She locked it.
“All afternoon?” Beca squeaked. I noticed she didn’t question making love. How is this supposed to work?
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Joan said. “I just want to be with the two most important people in my life.”
“We’ll make love with you, baby. Won’t we, Jacob?”
“Um… yeah. I mean. Anything you two want.”
“He’s so compliant, isn’t he?” Beca asked.
“That’s because Desi signed over ownership of her sex slave for the day. He has to do whatever I say.”
“Shouldn’t a sex slave be naked?” Beca asked.
The two girls attacked and I admit that I only struggled a little when they tickled me before letting them get me down to my boxers. Then Beca told Joan all about Thursday night at the deflowering of Desi.
“Did you check to make sure?” Joan asked, referring to Desi’s cherry.
“My face was this far away,” Beca said, holding her fingers about four inches apart. Then slowly she inched her fingers together until there was no space between them at all.
“Was she tasty?” Joan asked.
“Oh, yeah. And the cherry was definitely intact. For about two more minutes. Then I, myself,” she said as she pulled down my boxers, “took hold of this very shaft and positioned it at her entrance and pushed.”
“Oh, Beca! You touched…? You’re touching him.” I was trembling as Beca stroked up and down my shaft.
“Yeah. Would you like me to position this at your wet opening and push him in?” Beca asked.
“Yes,” Joan whimpered. Beca let go of my cock and turned to look at me.
“Stay!” she commanded. I nodded.
Frozen in position by her command, I witnessed one of the most erotic sights I’ve ever seen. There was a severe risk that my teen body would betray me and spray without being touched, just from watching the two girls together.
They kissed and touched and undressed each other. Completely. I never thought about how different it would be for two girls to undress each other than how a boy undresses a girl. I guess that was part of it. A boy would undress the girl. These two cooperated in everything. Beca unbuttoned her shirt and Joan pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms. Joan wore a back-fastening bra and reached behind herself to unfasten it, but Beca moved it with her chin as she kissed down the slope of Joan’s breasts until the nipples were revealed and she could suck on them. Joan immediately whined from the stimulation of her sensitive little nubs then bent to return the favor to Beca’s tiny titties.
I realized Beca wasn’t quite as tiny as she’d been the first time I’d caressed those breasts. She’d never be a big-busted woman but there was definitely more than a little swelling lifting her nipples away from her chest. I almost broke my position to go suck on them.
Both girls wore jeans and took turns getting them off, including their socks, leaving them in just panties. Joan’s were white cotton panties that had a pink flower just above her pussy. Beca’s were black and silky and conformed tightly to her shape. By this time, the girls were on the bed with the cover pushed down. They lay kissing each other, hands exploring their lover as if they needed to map a new country. And the map included things that were concealed beneath the panties. Joan was on the far side of the bed from me and her panties were the first to be flipped off her toes and onto the floor while both her hands were beneath the waist of Beca’s panties, firmly planted on her butt.
Then the black silk inched downward under the steady pressure of Joan’s hands. I could see Beca panting as her round little bottom was exposed.
“Is it okay, lover?” Joan whispered. Beca nodded and shifted to help clear the panties from around her butt. In a moment, they were off and I saw the most exquisite little bottom I’d ever imagined. For all my desires—just to lean over and kiss those buns!—I still hadn’t been invited to join as the girls continued their kissing and exploring. There were little kisses and whispers as hands disappeared between legs and moans became whines. Beca kept Joan’s nipples well stimulated as they brought each other off and began the subtle shift in their positions. By the time they were settled again, Beca had her face in Joan’s pussy as the taller blonde stretched to tongue our little girlfriend.
The difference in height made it difficult for both to get stimulated at the same time. Gradually, Beca slid back, offering Joan easier access and exposing fully Joan’s center. Beca motioned me over as she pulled Joan’s legs back and open. I moved up between them and Beca took hold of my shaft, as she’d done for Desi just a few nights ago. Before she pointed it at Joan’s pussy, though, she bent forward and licked all around the head to be sure I was lubricated. She looked up at me and grinned at my dumbfounded expression as she pulled me in to Joan’s very wet core. As I sank into Joan, Beca began to whine, too, and I detected that Joan was definitely upping the stimulation as I sank into her.
Beca rose and leaned forward to kiss me as we each began stimulating one of Joan’s nipples. Beca guided my free hand to her own breast and our hips picked up the same rhythm as I stroked in and out of Joan’s pussy and Beca rode her face.
I’d had more hours of flight time in Desi’s pussy than any four-day period of my life, so even though I was rock hard from all the stimulation, it was going to be a while before my dam burst. To my surprise, it was Beca who went first.
It was a new experience for me. I’d never seen our littlest girlfriend have an orgasm. I’d seen her excited and turned on, but never at that moment of sheer ecstasy when she tipped over the edge into the little death. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my life. But the sensitivity of her little clit forced her off Joan’s mouth and to the side. The girls kissed and Beca moved around so she could lower her head to Joan’s nipples, stimulating them with her tongue. It was obvious that she’d used the technique on Joan before and our girlfriend was ramping up. I could feel the change in the slipperiness of her pussy.
I laid my hand on Beca’s butt which she had worked around beside me.
I almost snapped it away when I realized what I’d done. Such a smooth round bottom. She’d told me that the hormones had not only put a halt to the development of secondary male characteristics like facial hair and voice change, but had also enhanced secondary female characteristics like her breast development, skin texture, and reshaping of her curves. This butt was beautiful.
V1 screamed at me. She’s just a little girl! She doesn’t even have pubic hair! She used to be a boy! She’s a lesbian! What the fuck are you doing?
Rachel had warned me. V3 shoved the old man’s head under water and waited for him to drown as I let my hand slide over Beca’s rump and into the folds of her sex, still moist from Joan’s tongue.
“Joan, baby,” Beca whispered. “He’s touching me. He has his hand between my legs.”
“Are you okay, baby?” I felt Joan’s pussy spasm on me slightly.
“So okay. It’s like being able to kiss you and fuck you at the same time,” Beca said. “He’s really our boyfriend. Make our boyfriend’s cock happy, Joan. Come on him. I’m going to come on his finger.” Beca dipped her head and bit Joan’s nearest nipple. Joan skyrocketed. I started convulsing and my fingers pulsed in time with my climax. Beca stiffened and let out a high-pitched whine.
We fell forward on opposite sides of our birthday girlfriend and hugged and kissed her for a long time before we started another round.
The birthday party was a success, I guess. Sorry I sound a little ambivalent about that. There were some strange things. Our girlfriends were all there, of course. There were a couple of friends of Sharon’s I didn’t know, including a guy I figured was maybe just out of Service. My parents had been invited as was Jamie Brown, Beca’s mother. I didn’t think Sharon knew any of the other parents in our group very well. It was just enough adults to say it was a party for more than Joan’s boyfriend and girlfriends. I was surprised when Rosie Graham, the cheerleader we’d been talking to, also showed up.
We’d discussed birthday presents before and mostly agreed that we just wouldn’t make a big deal out of birthdays and that Christmas would be a name draw gift exchange. That had worked out pretty well. But eighteen had become an even more important birthday than had been implied before National Service was instituted. After all, most eighteen-year-olds still had to complete high school and weren’t really considered adults until they were out of school.
The Service had changed all that. Now eighteen was when you got your induction letter. You had to respond within a week and take your NSO test within thirty days. There was no question that when a person turned eighteen, he or she was owned by the government.
So, we wanted to do something special for Joan. We decided to pool our money and buy her one gift from her boyfriend and girlfriends. Electronics was at the top of our list of suggestions, but Joan already had the latest iPhone and that would be all she was allowed to take to basic. Jewelry was next, of course, but that had some of the same problems. You couldn’t take anything but a med alert bracelet and a religious symbol—same as when we run cross country.
Joan herself had provided the answer without knowing it. We’d talked a lot about the pod concept and what we wanted out of it. She’d been doodling a lot of designs for a symbol of our group. We wanted something that would be inclusive but wouldn’t be limited. A lot of family symbols, for example are based on a threesome, which some interpret as a mother/father/child symbol and others as a ménage à trois. They were too limited. Joan had come up with a complex design of a tree made of abstract people with red hearts. Its root was a heart as well. She’d refined it and we’d all accepted that it embodied the feeling we had for how our lives were intertwined.
“I’m going to get it tattooed on my butt before I leave for the Service,” she declared. “Everyone will know I’m taken.” It shocked us all. But it made sense, too. We priced out tattoos and got estimates and gave her a gift certificate. She’d be the first of our household to get the tattoo, but we’d also sent a message to Em that we had one for her.
Joan approached each of her pod mates and gave us a long intense kiss, heedless of the adults’ cleared throats.
“Well,” her mother said, “here’s the letter.” She handed Joan the letter that had come in the morning mail. We could all recognize the envelope by this time. We’d seen people in school with them. Joan got a hard look in her eye and summoned Rachel, Livy, and Rosie to stand beside her. They were all in the same Constitutional Government class. Joan held the unopened envelope over a candle until it caught fire, held it for a minute to be sure it was fully ignited, and tossed it in the fireplace.
“Repeal 28!” the four girls shouted.
I’d heard a lot of griping about the Service and a lot of people taking up the Repeal 28 movement, but this was the first act of open defiance I’d seen. It reminded me of those who burned their draft cards back in the sixties. It was frightening. What would the government do?
The parents all left the room and Joan came to sit on my lap, beckoning Beca to join us. The other older girls stood beside us.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Joan said. “All the letters say the same thing.”
“Don’t you need your code for the online form?” I asked.
“They emailed it. There’s something in the law that requires each inductee to be notified in writing. Then someone tried to dispute whether email was in writing or not so they decided to do paper mail and email. Just to make sure, I even got a text with the web address and my code,” she said. Tears were running from her eyes. She hid them against my chest while Beca petted her hair.
“We are still one,” Beca said. “We’re building something that will withstand the separation. It will be hard, but we’ll always know we’re really together.”
I looked at the design of our pod logo. V1 had a lot to say about loyalty, treason, responsibility, service, growing up, obedience… on and on. But V3 was less than two years from getting my own letter. My girlfriends were courageous. If I tattooed the symbol on my body, they would expect me to be just as courageous. Defend my family. Support each other. Give them my life.
God help me be the man they think I am. The man they deserve.
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