She’s five minutes earlier than yesterday and yesterday she was five minutes earlier than the day before. She knows perfectly well that Danny doesn’t get home from his job at the pool until at least a quarter after five, but she keeps stopping by earlier and earlier. I wonder if she likes these awkward little moments she spends with me, waiting. Waiting for Danny’s decrepit old car to swing into the driveway so that they can disappear together behind his bedroom door to do God-knows-what. I know what they’re doing and God do I wish I were doing it too.
In any case, I enjoy the time I spend alone with Sara. I can barely remember the last time I spent so much time alone with a teenage girl. It was back when Celeste would put out – in the backseat of my father’s car, on her parent’s sofa, anywhere we could. Now it’s a chore to get her to even brush past me as we walk through the house, let alone fuck me.
Sara fidgets in her seat at the opposite end of the sofa, crossing and uncrossing her smooth, tanned legs. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her thighs rub against each other as she adjusts herself. She’s got on a pair of denim cutoffs that would’ve gotten any girl expelled in a second in my day and a tight little tank top with delicate straps that tie at the shoulders and a neckline that dips just low enough in the front to reveal the slightest hint of cleavage.
“Do you mind if I change this?” Sara asks, referring to the 5 o’clock news and breaking the silence, not to mention my contemplation on what her nipples must look like beneath the thin cotton of her tank top. She looks at me, completely innocent.
“Sure,” I say, as if I give a shit what’s on television right now.
She moves over on the couch towards me and reaches across the table to grab the remote. I should get it for her since I’m much closer, but as she leans over, I notice that I can almost see the full curve of her breast. She’s definitely not wearing a bra and I have to fight, with every ounce of self-control I have, the urge to just reach my hand in there and squeeze her firm, young breasts between my fingers.
She flips through a few channels until she lands on some nature show about animals in the Serengeti. I notice that there’s less than a foot of sofa between us and I pray that the show doesn’t start showing any animals mounting each other because I’m already starting to get hard and my balls are throbbing. She crosses her left leg over her right so that her magenta-painted toes are bouncing just inches from my khaki-covered leg. I try to subtly move my arm over my lap to conceal my ever-growing erection and I can tell she catches me out of the corner of her eye. I swear I see the faintest smile come across her lips. Those glossy, sticky-sweet lips. I can almost feel them wrapped around my cock.
Celeste asked me last week if I’m not bored just sitting home all day this summer. Now that I’ve started teaching English nearby at Everton, I have summers off, this being my first, and my wife doesn’t quite understand what one does with so much free time. I’m not sure I do either, but I’ve managed to fill the hours with writing, or I should say attempts at writing, running errands that she scratches out for me on little scraps of paper, and jerking off to fantasies about fucking my son’s girlfriend. All in all it hasn’t been a bad few weeks. And now that Sara’s been stopping by earlier and earlier, I have even more fodder for my daydreams.
Sara’s leg has stopped bouncing and she uncrosses her legs, parting them so that her bare thigh is now brushing against my pant leg. This can’t be accidental, can it?
She starts rubbing her thigh and looks over at me to see if I’m watching. I know that if I look back at her, she’ll know exactly what I’m thinking, but I can’t help it and I lock eyes with her. She smiles devilishly, knowing that she’s made a middle-aged man squirm in his pants. Her hand moves from her own thigh to mine, seeking out the raging hard-on I’ve rather unsuccessfully tried to contain. I can feel the pads of her fingertips against my balls through my pants as her thumb and forefinger massage my cock.
Suddenly, I am not thinking of the possibility of Danny walking through the front door at any minute. Or Celeste coming home from work early. I am concerned only with the rock hard cock in my lap and the sweet, little 18-year-old who, to my great delight, seems so eager to make its acquaintance.
While Sara’s rubbing my cock, she grabs my right hand and, without any need of coaxing, places it on her inner thigh, her legs spread wide apart now. I move my hand up to her crotch and I begin rubbing my middle finger along the thick seem of her denim cut-offs, pressing it against the dampening bud underneath, while my other fingers manage to creep beyond the soft denim fringe to the silky flesh beneath.
I cannot hold back anymore and I turn my body completely towards her. I press my left hand against her cheek and I begin to devour her neck, brushing her wavy brown hair out of my way. I then press my left hand against her breast and begin to knead it between my fingers through the fabric. I can feel her nipples harden and I have to feel them between my fingertips. I pull the end of the bow holding together the strap of her tank top and it unties, revealing the most beautiful, nickel-sized pink nipple perfectly centered on the most beautiful, firm, small round breast. I leaned down to take it into my mouth and squeezed it as my tongue swirled around the little nub.
Suddenly, she puts her hands on my chest and begins pushing me away. My mind’s in a panic thinking I must’ve done something wrong, taken things too far, or worse, misinterpreted her actions and just molested this beautiful young woman. But when I’m far enough away to see her face, I can see she’s not at all reluctant. She stares at me like a tiger about to pounce on its prey and shimmies out of her tiny cutoffs and cotton-candy-pink panties.
And she does attack, pushing my back against the sofa and straddling my lap. She furiously struggles to unleash my cock, contending with my belt, zipper, boxers and finally releasing it into her eager hands. She licks her palm as her eyes watch me and then goes to work, stroking it firmly, up and down. She kneels, hovering her neatly-shaved pussy over my aching cock. She grips it and slides the tips over the moist, velvety lips of her pussy, pressing it against her clit and dipping the head ever so slightly into her warm, wet hole.
“Do you like that, Mr. Miller?” she asks as she bends down to flick my left nipple with her tongue, never once breaking eye contact. I swear, her calling me Mr. Miller alone could have made me come right then and there.
