Forbidden Fruit 32

I entered the bedroom. They looked like two ripe round honey dew melons.

Greta was lying on her tummy on the spare bed supporting herself on her elbows and talking in German on her cell phone. She was wearing a T shirt, not a nightshirt mind you. The faded orangey material ended just above the waistband of the pale yellow panties that hugged her oh so perfect young bum making the twin hemispheres look like the succulent fruit. I froze in my tracks and stared. The stirring in my groin was automatic.

My daughter, Lisa's, girlfriend from college wasn't aware of my presence, which gave me the opportunity to really soak in the dick stiffening sight. The yellow panties appeared to be some kind of synthetic material a bit shiny and so thin that I had no trouble discerning the deep cleft between her butt cheeks.

Her legs were bent at the knees and she was waggling her lower legs back and forth in a mannerism that I somehow associated with much younger girls. I didn't know for sure how old the blonde college girl was but based on the fact that she was a senior I assumed that she was at least twenty-one although she didn't look it.

Greta and Lisa were in the same dorm at the college about an hour's drive away. My wife Mary and I of course expected our daughter home for Christmas and when she asked if she could bring her friend it called for a bit of explanation.

Greta (if her last name was ever mentioned I didn't pick up on it) was from Germany and over here to study because the university she and Lisa attended was renowned in her chosen field. Lisa felt sorry for her being so far away from her family at this important time of the year, and so asked if she could join us.

For us it was a time with lots of get togethers, mainly with family but the over indulgence was non stop and one more person at the parties was a drop in the bucket even though Mary and I had barely met the young German.

So that's how the incredibly adorable creature with the perfect tight ass came to be lying on the spare bed in my daughter's room.

About fifteen minutes ago Lisa had come flying down the stairs asking Mary for the car keys so she could go and rent some of her favorite Christmas videos before they were all out.

"Daddy the cold water tap in my bathroom is leaking," she told me as her mother fished the keys out of her purse.

I went to the garage and threw the faucet repair tools into a tool bag and headed up to her room. The door was half open so I just walked in. Now that I was standing there with a semi hard-on trying to tent the loose, lounging around the house, sweat pants I was wearing; I thought perhaps I should retreat and knock but it was too late.

Still talking in a language that I didn't understand the beautiful young woman on the bed evidently sensed my presence. She turned her head and wiggled her fingers at me in a casual greeting apparently oblivious to the cock wrenching show she was putting on.

Instinctively I moved the tool bag in front to hide the growing bulge and forced a smile in return. Moving toward the door to the ensuite bathroom it was plain that having the tool bag resting on my boner wasn't the wisest idea. By the time I was approaching the dripping faucet I was fully erect and would have been sporting a lance like a jousting knight if not for the pressure of my kit.

I couldn't help wondering if the German house guest had noticed. I was in a time warp. It seemed as though it had been minutes since I'd entered my daughter's bedroom. In my mind, I'd been standing there ogling her perfect ass for a while but in fact I knew that it was only seconds. Similarly when she'd looked up and smiled at me—had her eyes dropped to my crotch before I repositioned the bag to cover my embarrassing condition?

I tried to shut the shameful thoughts out as I stooped to close the stop valves inside the vanity but they nagged in the back of my head. I could hear her telling Lisa when she got back what a perv her old man was.

I sat back on my haunches to turn the faucet valves fully on to relieve the pressure and was reaching into the tool kit for a screw driver when she appeared in the doorway of the small powder room. From where I was kneeling to where she was standing was less than three feet.

I looked up at her—what else could I do?

My emotions were mixed about the fact that the faded orange T shirt covered her crotch—just barely. Nothing obscured the amazingly long shapely legs. The orange cotton with the washed out graphic on the chest was pulled snuggly over her grapefruit sized breasts. When my eyes finally reached her beautiful face surrounded by tussled blonde curls the look she gave me went straight to my groin. The Mona Lisa smile was, in my mind, evidence that she was aware of my appreciative once over. I consoled myself by thinking that with a body like hers she was used to it.

"Can... can I just get my hairbrush?" she said leaning way forward to retrieve it from the far side of the bathroom counter.

The motion caused her tits to sway and jiggle making her bralessness painfully obvious; as if I didn't already know. Wiggling, jiggling tits are a big turn-on of mine and the reaction of my manhood was instantaneous and entirely out of my control. The position I was in made it virtually impossible to cover the embarrassing activity discretely. My only option would have been to put my hands in front of my crotch. That would have obscured the evidence but drawn attention at the same time. In any case there was no time to think. All I could do was hope she hadn't noticed.

The look on her face said otherwise.

When she turned to leave the lower portion of her honey dew melon ass peeking out from under the T shirt nearly made me groan. My balls pulled up and started that familiar ache associated with the need to be emptied.

It wasn't likely that I'd be able to interest Mary, who I knew was in the family room wrapping presents, so I figured that I'd have a session with my trusty right hand as soon as this repair was complete.

I had the valve handle off and was beginning to undo the valve skirt when I glanced up into the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet above the sink. The cabinet door was ajar and so reflected the bedroom. I could see the large mahogany bureau beside the window, and above that the large mirror. The double reflected image that reached my eyes literally took my breath away.

Greta was standing beside the bed fussing with her hair. Hands up on her head raised the bottom of the T shirt to her midriff and I saw where those long shapely legs joined. Her plump split peach was cast in the same light yellow hue as her incredible ass. The throb in my pecker made me reach down and grab it through the soft fleecy material of the sweat pants. For the first time since the woody sprang up I was glad I hadn't bothered with briefs this morning.

Gripping the rock hard shaft the pleasure flowed into my balls and I groaned. It was of course quite involuntary and I hoped that it wasn't loud enough to get the adorable German girl's attention. There was no change in what she was doing so at some level I was relieved that she hadn't heard me but the pressure in my crotch was the exact opposite of relieved.

I found myself leaning closer to the mirror in a futile attempt to get a closer view of her honey pot so scantly covered that I was sure I could actually make out the detail of her intricate folds. Still straining my eyes, using imagination and experience to fill the gaps I gasped again when she gripped the bottom of the faded orange T shirt and lifted it over her head in one smooth motion. My vision blurred for a second and I began sliding my hand up and down my bumpy fleece covered shaft.

Her tits were as high round and firm as they'd appeared to be when they were covered. The pale pebbly strawberries that capped each pink grapefruit were larger and plumper than I'd imagined. The bouncy little jiggle when she tossed her T shirt aside nearly made me swoon and I realized that I'd been holding my breath ever since I realized that she was taking her top off. Her hands were back upon her head and possibly for the first time since I'd discovered the unbelievable reflection I regarded her face.

The expression she was wearing was mildly disturbing. It was a knowing look, like a contented grin.

'Can she see me? Does she know that I'm watching?'

Despite the cold shiver that went down my spine my dick was throbbing even harder and faster. I forced the thought out of my mind so it wouldn't spoil the show. I convinced myself that the angles were wrong. The limited size of and portion of the reflection from the bureau mirror through the bathroom door, coupled with the fact that she was concentrating on her own hair, allowed me to believe that my peeping wasn't being detected. Just to be on the safe side I tipped my head further forward, as though I was looking down, while rotating my eyes up to the top of their orbit.

As my hand continued to glide over the prod covered by my sweat pants, the need for a private session in my own bathroom became ever more urgent. I couldn't leave now even if I wanted to.

'I wonder what she'd do if I walked out into the bedroom right now?'

The thought was moot because there was no possibility of disguising my state of arousal. I contented myself with drinking in the exceptional beauty of her all but naked form, striving to burn the image into my memory for future use.

A final flicking motion with her fingers and she dropped her arms back down. Disappointment rippled through me. I assumed that the next step would b to get dressed. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of the yellow bikinis and this time I was sure that I was going to pass-out.

'She's not... she's not going to take them off!' my head spun.

Greta turned her head toward the bathroom door and I realized that I was being too quiet. It wasn't as if she didn't know I was there. I clanked a wrench against the valve stem and dropped a pair of pliers into the sink. Mistaking the sounds as plumbing repair she thrust her arms down and simultaneously bent forward to push her underpants past her knees.

The wobble and sway of her breasts in this position was too much for me and I was powerless to stop my hand from diving under the waistband of the track pants and taking a firm hold of my aching dick. Waves of pleasure coursed through me even before I began a steady, slow rhythmical stroke.

After threading the yellow nylon over her feet she tossed the nearly weightless wisp of nylon on top of the T shirt and stood up again. The fleece of the sweat pants was interfering and rubbing abrasively on the sensitive head of my cock. I pushed the loose material down and out of the way without even registering what I was doing. My eyes were riveted to the succulent golden fuzz covered split peach that had just been revealed.

When she ran her fingers through the sparse curls, as if to fluff them up, her folds parted slightly providing a ball jerking view of the deep pink of paradise. My grip tightened and the pace of my stroke accelerated. I knew in an instant that the image was burned into my mind forever. I also realized that I was rapidly approaching the point of no return. I was powerless to tear my eyes away or to stop the rapid pumping of my right hand. It was actually quite amazing to me that I had the foresight to snatch a tissue from the box on the vanity with my left.

It might have been my imagination that her fingers were making a slight circular motion at the top of her crease, but the very idea catapulted me over the edge. I felt the force of the ejaculation though the Kleenex as two rapid-fire bursts spewed out. My head went spinning into another dimension and although I was completely lost in the orgasm my left hand lowered onto the head of my spasming dick to catch the third and fourth less powerful eruptions in the gooey tissue.

Seconds later—although it seemed much longer—I realized that the climax had been accompanied by a vocal outburst. I could only imagine and shudder at what it must have sounded like. My vision was blurred but there was no mistaking the fact that Greta was looking in the direction of the bathroom door. My instinct for self-preservation kicked in and spurred me to action. I tossed the cum soaked tissue into the waste can pulled the waistband of my sweats back up to my navel and dove under into the vanity cabinet so that I was lying on my belly when she opened the door.

What saved me was the fact that she'd had to go to the closet to get a robe before she responded to my guttural cry.

"Are you okay?" she asked from the doorway.

Struggling to catch my breath, I remained on my belly twisting my head around to make eye contact with my daughter's friend. She had donned a shiny silky looking baby blue dressing gown that ended just above her shapely knee.

"Yeah... uh, yeah," I strained to respond. "I just bumped my head."

I thought the lie was believable enough but Greta's expression was not congruent with her next words.

"You've got to be careful under there... the head's the most sensitive part."

I could have put the strange phrasing down to the fact that English wasn't her first language but the look on her face suggested that the double entendre was intentional.

"I guess I better use the main bathroom to shower," she announced and turned on her heel and left, but not before my little head—the extra sensitive one—had a chance to appreciate her firm round buttocks encased in the blue silk one more time.

Throughout the rest of the valve repair I pondered how I was going to keep those mental images of the gorgeous fraulein out of my head every time I saw her.

'It's going to be a long and horny Christmas holiday.'