.." She looked away, embarrassed, as she finished, "I...wet my panties a little."
Jane was immediately reminded of her first encounter with Peter ("Only bad little girls wet their panties.") and was glad to set Suzy straight. She explained how the moisture was a part of getting excited, then added, in a conspiratorial whisper, "And if you touch yourself there, or better yet, let Joe touch you there, sometimes something even nicer happens—kind of like when Joe, um, squirts. Like a big tingle that goes through your whole body."
Suzy’s eyes were round with curiosity. "Really? Ooo, I want to try that!" She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Um...do you really think I should let Joe...uh, do that?"
Jane shrugged. "It’s up to you. You can do it by yourself if you don’t feel right about letting Joe do it." Then she put a comic leer on her face and added, "But it’s sure a lot more fun with someone else."
Suzy giggled again, then said, "All right, next time I won’t tie him up! Gosh, I don’t know—he’s liable to die of shock from all the excitement!"
The rest of the day wasn’t nearly as pleasant for Jane. Although her foot was feeling sufficiently better that she hadn’t brought her crutches to work—and she couldn’t be bothered with tying them across her bike baskets anyway—Mrs. Jorgenson wouldn’t allow her to do anything that involved standing up for any length of time, so aside from waiting on the occasional customer when there were too many for Suzy and her mother to handle Jane mostly sat behind the register and fumed. The more she thought about Chrissy invading her house, and what she must have fooled Peter into doing with her, the more infuriated Jane became. She had warned Chrissy to stay away from him!
Jane knew it was largely her own fault. She had started it all—even though Chrissy had more or less asked for it—and it had gotten out of control. Well, now she was going to put a stop to it. She was going right over to Chrissy’s house as soon as the store closed and...and...she didn’t know what she was going to do, but she was going to have it out with her.
As it turned out it happened a lot sooner than she had expected.
The alley door had just closed behind her after she had said good night to the Jorgensons and she was bending, somewhat painfully, to unchain her bike, when she heard Crissy’s voice, full of barely contained rage.
"You little whore."
Jane whirled to face her and saw that Chrissy was even more of a mess than the last time Jane had seen her. Her hair was greasy and in complete disarray, her eyes were wild. She was wearing a red dress that didn’t fit her at all and was so wrinkled that Jane thought Chrissy must have slept in it more than once.
My dress, Jane suddenly realized. Chrissy had stolen it! Why in the world...
But these thoughts were driven out of her head when Chrissy raised her arm, her hand shaking with the weight of the gun she held in it.
—---------------------------
She had raged all the way home the night before. She had maintained enough presence of mind to make her way up to her room without being seen, but had paced and muttered to herself continuously for several hours, sometimes stopping to have whispered arguments with the girl in the mirror. And when the rest of the house was still she had gone silently downstairs to the basement, to her father’s gun locker. She’d known for ages where the key was hidden, and it was only a moment’s work to take out his old army pistol. He had never let her touch a gun, but she knew he kept them all cleaned and loaded. She had carefully closed the locker again and replaced the key.
Then she had put the gun in the pocket of her red dress and left to find the little whore and kill her.
She had taken her bike, not daring to start her car at that hour, and ridden all the way over to where the little whore lived. She had waited, hidden in the woods near the end of the driveway. Dawn was still hours away and she knew the little whore wouldn’t be leaving for a long time after that, but she was determined to wait. She would show Father Br...Peter how much she loved him.
But eventually not even her rage could keep her upright and she had sat down and leaned her back against a tree, and in spite of her determination had fallen asleep, still muttering to herself.
And when she had awoken hours later, and seen by the position of the sun and then her watch that she had missed her chance, she had jumped to her feet and screamed horribly, frightening birds into flight for hundreds of yards around her.
She had spent the entire day wandering in the woods, exhausted, dirty and hungry. She had found a stream to drink from but the day was hot and muggy and she sometimes forgot where she was and why. She’d thought that maybe God had sent her to some strangely beautiful Purgatory in which to suffer and repent her sins. But eventually she’d remembered what she would have to do to please God and earn His forgiveness.
—---------------------------
And now the moment had come. She would kill the little whore cowering in front of her. This would please God and He would restore...Peter to her. Peter? No, Father Brian. No, Peter! He belongs to me, not this little whore!
She readied herself to pull the trigger. But she was finding it hard to focus on the girl in front of her. There was something about her face: it was wrong. It wasn’t the little whore’s at all, it was...hers.
She was a demon, and had stolen her face!
"Stop looking like me! I’m Jane! I’m Jane-I’m Jane-I’m Jane-I’m Jane-I’m Jane! You’re not her, you little whore, I am! I’ll kill you!"
She tried once again to pull the trigger, but the face! She would be killing herself mortal sin green Purgatory no she’s not me God wants me to...
Her head swam. The gun fell from her fingers.
"No..." she whispered, and crumpled to the ground.
Jane, shaking and gasping for breath, managed to reach out a foot and nudge the gun away from Chrissy’s outstretched hand. She had no idea what had just happened or what to do. She wanted her parents. She wanted Peter. She wanted somebody else to come and...what? Make this go away? Make it not have happened? It had happened and she had to think!
She crouched down next to Chrissy to make sure she was still breathing. And as she did so realized... Oh god, I really did wet my panties this time! She shook off the thought and her discomfort. What to do? Even though she was sure Chrissy had actually meant to kill her, she also knew that Chrissy was sick and that she, Jane, was at least partially responsible for her condition. But there was no way to explain that to the police.
Jane stared at the gun, thinking furiously. She slowly reached out and picked it up, holding timidly between thumb and forefinger, terrified that it might go off somehow. She hobbled further back into the alley and hid it beneath some rubbish.
Then she left the alley and hurried as fast as she could to the nearest store and asked someone to call an ambulance for her friend Chrissy.
<span class="underline">Chapter Fifty-One
"...And then I had to call her parents, of course, but I didn’t know what to say. When her Mom answered the phone I went completely blank at first and couldn’t say anything. Finally I just said that I’d found her like that and that I thought maybe she’d been coming to see me. But her Mom said she’d been missing all day and they’d been frantic with worry."
Jane was sitting in with Peter in his car. He had picked her up at her house as they had planned the night before, but Jane had made him stop in the driveway the moment they were away from the house, and now she was resting her head on his shoulder and he was sitting with his arms around her, listening intently as she told him what had happened.
She was still shaken, and had actually cried a little from sheer relief when she was finally able to rest in his arms again. And now that she’d been able to tell him what had really happened, instead of what she’d told Chrissy’s parents and her own, she was beginning to feel better.
"You didn’t say anything about the gun?" Peter asked.
"No. I didn’t want her to get into trouble."
"Trouble! " Peter drew back and stared at her in disbelief. "Jane, she tried to kill you!"
"I know, I know. But she was...crazy, you know? She didn’t know what she was doing." Jane snuggled closer and looked up at Peter. "And besides...I think a lot of it is my fault."
Peter looked startled, then nodded and added gently, "Our fault." He thought for a moment. "That note..." he said, as if to himself.
"What note?
"I knew there was something funny about it. She must have written it herself." Peter explained what had happened while Jane had been away.
When he was done it was Jane’s turn to nod. She wanted to explain about how Chrissy had tried to blackmail her but decided it would only hurt Peter and didn’t matter now anyway.
"This has all been about ‘Father Brian’," she said sadly.
Peter suddenly turned away and stared through the windshield as if something outside had attracted his attention. "Not exactly...." he said, his voice distant.
—---------------------------
A few days later, Chrissy awoke in her hospital bed. She had been sleeping a great deal with the help of the sedatives the doctor had prescribed and was feeling much better, physically at least.
The doctor had explained to her and her parents that he thought she was just suffering from some kind of nervous exhaustion, aggravated perhaps by having been outside in the heat all that day, and just needed a few days rest and care. But later, when her parents were gone, he’d asked her quietly if she’d like to talk with one of the hospital’s counselors.
Chrissy had almost agreed, longing desperately to free herself of the shadows that lay across her heart. But she’d held her tongue for shame at the thought of discussing everything that had happened with a stranger, no matter how sympathetic, and shaken her head. The doctor had looked silently at her for a moment, then touched her shoulder, said to let him know if she changed her mind, and left.
She had tried to make herself go through with it—several times almost reaching the point where she thought she could agree—but always lost her courage when the doctor came around to see her. It was a huge weight on her soul, and she knew it was hurting her but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak.
As she lay there that morning, staring up at the ceiling, she thought about Jane and wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn’t told Chrissy’s parents about the gun when she’d had every reason to do so. Chrissy had blackmailed her, threatened her and finally almost killed her, but Jane had obviously said nothing about it. And where was the gun? If her father found out it was missing he would start to wonder...
She lay there for a long time, lost in gloom.
The door opened, and a nurse stuck her head in. "Visitor for you, Chrissy."
Chrissy tried to rally herself, wondering who it could be; her mother usually came in the afternoon and both of her parents in the evening, and she didn’t think anyone else knew she was there. Unless...no, it couldn’t be Jane. The hope that had ignited briefly within her died away. She wanted so much to talk to Jane.
She was distracted by her thoughts and so was completely unprepared when the door opened all the way and Father Anthony entered the room.
He seemed thinner and more careworn then she remembered him, his clerical suit and collar seeming to hang loosely on him, although his ascetic good looks were still mostly intact. She stared at him in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. Father Anthony pulled a chair around to her bedside, sat and took her hand. His expression was concerned but he smiled warmly at her.
"Hello, Chrissy"
When she continued to stare at him, saying nothing, he went on. "I’m so sorry I couldn’t answer your letter. I was on a silent retreat in a monastery and wasn’t allowed to receive mail or phone calls. I only got back a little while ago and I was so busy catching up with things that I put aside the mail for later. If your friend hadn’t contacted me..."
"Friend?" Chrissy was shocked into speaking. "What friend?"
"A young woman named Jane." He looked to see if Chrissy recognized the name, then went on. "She’s the one who told me you were here. And about your letter."
He withdrew it from his jacket pocket and held it in his hand. He looked at her hesitantly. "Do you think you’re well enough to talk about this now?"
Chrissy looked into his eyes and saw both sympathy and sorrow there. Knew that he understood and did not judge her, and even blamed himself to some extent for her troubles and wanted very much to help her.
"Yes," she whispered. "Oh yes, Father!"
And then she burst into tears.
<span class="underline">Chapter Fifty-Two
The summer was flying by and Jane was determined to savor every moment, though they became increasingly bittersweet with the approach of autumn and Peter’s departure. Peter felt it as well, Jane knew without asking; even at his most loving and playful a thoughtful sadness would sometimes veil his gaze now and he would suddenly hug her so fiercely that she could hardly breathe.
But even though she had no doubt about his feelings for her Jane was terrified that time and distance would change everything. Peter would be starting a new life without her. He would write to her often at first, she knew, and would see her over the Christmas break. But by then he would have new friends; friends who would gradually become more real and important to him than someone left...behind.
She said nothing of her fears to Peter, demanded no promises. But she cried herself to sleep more than once as the day drew nearer.
Still, their remaining time together was blissful and Jane would always remember that summer as a golden period in her life. They spent every possible moment together—and a few impossible ones. Peter once called Jane at work, saying he was at the drugstore down the street and asking if she could meet him outside the back door of her shop for a moment. Thinking that Peter had something important to tell her, Jane had told Mrs. Jorgenson and Suzy that she was going to use the restroom and then had quietly stepped outside.
Peter was already there and before she could say a word had pushed her against the wall, kissing her passionately, the bricks rough and hot against her back. Then he had dropped to his knees, lifted her dress, peeled down her panties and used his mouth to bring her to an orgasm so quickly that almost before she knew what was happening he had straightened her clothing, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, stood and kissed her good-bye and was gone. She had staggered back into the store on shaky legs, wearing a faraway smile and—as Suzy had pointed out with some curiosity—a fair amount of dust on the back of her dress.
Suzy continued to tell Jane about her sexual explorations with Joe and ask Jane for advice. And when it became obvious that Suzy needed more than advice Jane gave her Dr. Weissman’s phone number and went with her to the appointment. Jane and Suzy had become the closest of friends over the summer, a fact that brought Jane a small amount of comfort when she considered the empty months ahead.
Jane planned to continue working at the shop until she graduated. She hoped to save enough to be able to attend the state university by then if she could get a school loan, and her parents thought they’d be able to help out some too, now that there was additional income from the writing Jane’s mother was doing. In fact, the series of articles Jane’s mother had written about Cape Cod had so pleased her boss that she was now an assistant editor at the paper, with her name on the masthead.
Jane’s mother and father had both come along with Peter to cheer Jane on as she took her driver’s license exam, which had pleased Jane no end, even though it had increased her nervousness. She had passed, though, and even though she had figured it would be years before she had a car of her own Peter had surprised her by telling her he was leaving his car in her care while he was away.
This saddened her as much as it pleased her, although of course she didn’t say so to Peter. The thought of his car without him in it; of being reminded of his absence every time she stepped out of her house and saw it in the driveway; of knowing the story behind virtually every stain in the upholstery but not having him there to smile over it with her… Oh god, she missed him so much already, how would it be when he was actually gone?
Then the last few days were upon them. Jane was sunk in gloom although she tried, not always successfully, to put on a brighter face for Peter when they were together.
There was suddenly something different about him now, she sensed. He had seemed worried for a while, preoccupied about something. He had told her it was just the strain of getting everything organized in time, but it had felt like something deeper to Jane. Now there was a lightness there, a clearness in his face. Jane wondered miserably if it was because he had accepted the fact that he was leaving her behind.
Even their lovemaking had changed, it seemed to Jane. For weeks there had been a solemn, almost ceremonial quality about it: very little, and then nothing, of games and playfulness. No Mr. Bad Man, no being tied up or ordered around. Just the sweetness and poignancy of love and farewell.
And now... Jane couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was, again, a lightening in Peter, even though he was as tender and considerate of her as he had always been. Something had changed. She had no idea what it was, but in the depths of her sorrow there suddenly appeared a tiny spark of hope, like a candle at the bottom of an empty well.
The day came.
Peter was going to pick her up; they would drive to the airport together and then Jane would drive his car back by herself. Jane waited by the door. She had made herself as pretty as she could and had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t spoil her make-up by crying—at least until after Peter was gone, and then all bets were off. But she felt as if she were going to a funeral, that her bright dress was a lie and the sunny day outside a mistake. Her breathing was shaky and uneven. Oh god, she was going to start sobbing any second. Why didn’t Peter hurry up?
Suddenly she felt two arms slipping around her waist, and her mother was embracing her from behind. Jane turned and took what comfort she could, returning the embrace, grateful for the love and support she felt flowing into her from her mother.
Then there was the sound of wheels on the gravel drive.
Jane pulled away from her mother and they smiled at each other silently for a moment. Then Jane kissed her mother on the cheek and hurried out the door.
Peter got out of his car and came around to give Jane a big hug and a kiss. He held her at arm’s length, just looking at her with such total love that Jane felt her vow to herself not to cry beginning to crumble, and she bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. Peter told her how beautiful she looked, then turned and opened the car door for her.
They drove in silence, holding hands. As they rode along the highway towards Boston Jane stole a glance at him once in a while and was astonished, then infuriated, to see a small smile playing around his mouth. Was he happy to be getting away from her? She knew that couldn’t be true, and yet...
She was just working him up her nerve to ask him what was going on when they reached the exit for Logan airport.
And drove right past it.
And when Jane turned to him and saw that the small smile had been replaced by an outright grin, and felt his hand squeezing hers, the tiny candle-flame of hope in her heart began to glow more brightly, but she didn’t dare speak. She felt as if she was holding her breath, although she had no idea what for.
It wasn’t until they had entered Boston and were driving down Beacon Street that she began to suspect what Peter had done. And when they turned onto a side street and parked, and she saw a half-dozen or more young men, sometimes accompanied by what appeared to be their parents and siblings, carrying luggage and boxes into a nonde***** gray building, she finally dared to believe it.
"Peter," she murmured, trying to control her shaking voice, "are you...I mean, is this your..." Then her voice failed completely and she simply stared at him, begging him to tell her that it was true.
His eyes were as gentle as she’d ever seen them. "My dormitory, yes. Welcome to Thoreau College, Boston, Massachusetts, miss."
He turned to face her more completely and took both her hands in his. "It took me a while, but I managed to talk Dad into it. We can’t really afford it but I’ve already found a job in the college bookstore and we took out a slightly bigger loan than we were planning to, that’s all."
Peter’s gaze turned inward for a moment, then he added, "I think Dad understood that Thoreau has at least one big advantage over Kenton." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth before adding, softly, "It’s a lot closer to you."
Jane thought that now might be the right moment to cry—she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes—but she forced herself to smile impishly and ask, "Does this mean I don’t get your car?"
Peter’s eyes widened in mock-outrage, and he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her and kissed her hard before replying, in the same bantering tone, "As a matter of fact you do. That’s the only reason I switched colleges, really: so I can come home on weekends and make sure you’re taking care of it."
The implications of his last remark were not lost on Jane. "You’re...coming home...every weekend?" she asked, her voice faint. "Oh god, Peter..." She threw herself into his arms. And finally allowed herself to cry.
"Of course," he said softly, next to her ear. "How else am I gonna be able to check up on my car?" Jane laughed, weakly, as she continued to cry. Then he added, "So you’d better take good care of it...or it’s Mr. Bad Man for you," and stuck his tongue in her ear, causing her to squeal and jerk away from him, now laughing in earnest.
Then she hugged him again, whispering, "Oh yes, sir, please. I’ll show him my panties...I’ll take off my clothes for him..." She began to breathe heavily into his ear. "...I’ll let him tie me up and kidnap me... She gave his ear a moist kiss and, heedless of the people moving around outside the car, let one of her hands drift down into his lap. "I’ll let him put his cock...in my mouth..." She began slowly unzipping him. "...in my...pussy..." She slipped her hand inside his pants and began to stroke him. "...in my...ass... She put her lips right against his ear and continued, "in my...EAR!" Then she suddenly pushed her tongue into it as hard as she could.
Peter, who had been leaning back with his eyes closed as he surrendered to her erotic spell, jumped as if she had given him an electric shock, then turned on her and began viciously tickling her ribs, causing her to giggle even more hysterically than she already was. "You little brat," he laughed, as she tried helplessly to fend him off, "You are going to get such a spanking when I come home!"
Still laughing, Jane managed to push herself between his arms and hug him again. "Say that again, Peter," she whispered. "It sounds wonderful."
She helped him unload his suitcases from the trunk and carry them up into his dorm room. There she met his roommate, a red-haired Texan named Charlie, who tactfully excused himself so they could be alone.
Jane helped Peter unpack, and while he had his back turned to her, hanging clothing in the closet, she slipped her farewell present to him—the one she’d planned to give him at the airport—out of her pocket and under his pillow. She smiled to herself and wondered if Charlie would be in the room when Peter reached under the pillow and discovered the valentine panties she had left for him.
Then it was time to go. Peter walked her out to the car. There was no big farewell scene and Jane was glad because it reminded her that this was not farewell. There was just a hug and a kiss...and a long moment of simply smiling into each other’s eyes, enjoying and wondering at their good fortune in having found each other. Then Jane climbed into the car and drove off, waving at Peter in the rear-view mirror until she could no longer see him.
Although the drive home was a little melancholy with the knowledge that she and Peter would be apart for a while, there were no further tears. Jane was happy. She was loved, truly loved, and she would be seeing him again soon.
And he, like no one else alive, would be seeing her.
This story was taken from one these sites, check them out to find more sex stories:
https://xbooru.com/index.php?page=forum&s=view&id=1565&pid=15#35214
https://x3-treff.de/forum/werkbank/auto-technik/motor-und-getriebe/437104-abgase-im-innenraum
https://forums.x-pilot.com/forums/topic/27368-failure/