A Cucquean Wife a Teen Girlfriend

Life with Cassie is good. Much, much better than I'd ever experienced-- ever imagined. We fuck all over my house-- on the living room carpet, on the kitchen counter, in the shower, against the walls. She sucks my cock and slurps up my cum; she dances for me, strips for me, makes herself cum for me; it's pure heaven

And then Monday comes, and she heads off to school in her little cheerleading outfit, her panties soaked and heavy, my cream dripping down her thighs. I go so far as to drop her off; I watch her skip inside; I imagine every young prick and every teacher in that place looking at my girl. Wanting her. Who wouldn't?

By Tuesday, I'm half-mad. I drive to Beth's office under the pretext of bringing her coffee; I pickup a brown-sugar-and-oat milk latte for Cassie at the same time. My audacity is scalding me. I've lost it. I don't care.

I walk through the entry and there's Cassie; today she's dressed in a pair of soft, baby blue pants that cling to her and a tiny cream-colored sweater that shows off her abs and the vast, delicious expanse of her cleavage. Her belly-ring is a sapphire-dotted heart. Her lips are cotton-candy-pink and glossy. She's leaning up against the counter in front of one of the dentists, who's bent over to speak to her, his hand on her elbow. She sees me and smiles.

Before I can stop myself, I'm crossing the hideous teal carpet to hand her her latte, discretion be damned. To my surprise and infinite pleasure, she throws her arms around my neck and draws herself close to me, her sweet little body warm and elastic against me. She kisses my cheek. "Nick, you're an angel," she proclaims.

The dentist is shaking his head as we both watch her skip down the hall, coffee in hand. The whisper-thin cotton of her pants shows off the perky bounce of her ass, and her tossing hair could put any shampoo commercial to shame.

"You're a lucky man," the dentist sighs to me.

I laugh. "Is that right?"

I can feel his physical tension rising and falling as he heaves a breath. "Oh, yeah. Cassie barely gives me the time of day." He shakes his head slowly as he turns away, adjusting his belted waistband. I'm twelve feet tall. I leave my wife's coffee at the reception desk and barely make it to my car with any dignity.

I'm buckling myself into the front seat when Cassie texts me. 'You're an angel.'

I'm grinning like a middle schooler. 'My pleasure.'

She sends a mirror selfie, those sky-blue pants pulled down to show off a lacy little white thong arced up over her paradisiacal ass. It's the same bathroom we fucked in, with Beth knocking on the door. With Cassie spread for me on the counter. Fuck. I could explode right here.

I drive home, wondering what's going on in the office. Is Cassie striving to humiliate my wife? Is Beth struggling against her mounting arousal while she goes about her tasks? Does she have any idea that the girl she hates most is the same girl she so diligently serviced two nights ago? I can't stop imagining Beth drinking my cooling cum from the chalices of Cassie's perfect cunt, her divine ass. It's too much for a man to bear.

A little while later, Beth texts me. 'When are we getting together next?'

'When do you want to?'

Not even ten seconds pass before my phone dings again. 'As soon as possible.' Damn. I really love my wife.

I'm barely in the door when Cassie texts me again. 'Want to go to a party with me tonight?'

I laugh out loud. 'A high school party?'

Cassie sends back a laughing emoji, a wink, a glittering 'no.'

'Then yes.'

'Wear something nice.'

I feel like a ten grader again. Like it's my first date. Like it's prom. Although none of the girls from my high school days held a match to this girl. I work out like I'm about to shoot a superhero movie. I shower. I shave. I throw the contents of my closet on the bed. I use my nicest beard oil. Cologne. Fucking hand lotion.

I'm rifling through my wardrobe for the third time when Beth appears in the doorway. She takes in the chaos. "What's this all about?"

"I'm going out."

"With her?"

"Yeah."

She squirms. "Nick... things aren't getting... you know... serious with her, right? This seems... different."

A direct lie about this wouldn't sit right with me, wouldn't fall under the light rules Beth and I have laid out over the years. So, instead, I put a hand flat against her chest and push her back against the doorframe. Her breath hitches. I stroke down her sternum, over her waistband, between her legs. Heat explodes from her like I've turned on a furnace. "It is different," I whisper in her ear. She shivers at the breeze of my breath. "It is more serious." I unbutton Beth's slack khakis, find the scratchy cotton over her crotch. I rub her sex slowly, smoothly, languidly. She moans. "I also think," I continue, circling her clit with the pad of my thumb, "that this is the most fun I've had with you in years. Maybe ever."

Beth's chocolate-brown eyes flash up to meet mine. Her cheeks color blotchily. "Really?"

I twist my four fingers together and slide them inside her. "Really." Her cream runs down my wrist. I wonder if she's ever been so aroused. I don't think I've ever seen it.

"Careful," I warn her silkily. "No finishing." I pump my fingers in and out of her slowly. "You make all of this so hot for me," I tell her truthfully. "Fucking her on our table. Our couch. Our bed. Having you listen to us. Telling you about her."

Beth's moan rises to a trilling keen. She whimpers my name. "It's so good for me," I murmur into her neck. My fingers are dripping with her wetness.

I pull out of my wife slowly. She's adoring, placated, all irritation with me gone. "I want you to fuck me soon," she begs. I shrug and she struggles, amends her request. "I want to cum."

I wink at her. "Keep being so good for me, dear," I advise, turning my back on her to shower. Again.

Before Cassie arrives at eight-- eight! Beth and I usually went out at five, maybe four-thirty-- I settle Beth in the guest room on her knees. "Think about us for a while," I tell her, kissing her forehead on my way out.

The doorbell rings a few minutes later, and I swing the door open. The glass of champagne I'm holding to offer Cassie drops to the marble and shatters with a ringing clatter. I've never seen Cassie look less than utterly, entirely stunning. I've seen her in a little black dress. I've seen her in her cheerleading uniform. I've seen her in tight, low-cut, clinging scraps of denim and cotton and satin. Hell, I've seen her naked, in all her unbelievable glory. But I've never seen her look like this.

Cassie's wearing a cherry-red silk dress cups her breasts perfectly, holding her glossy, bouncing cleavage up for me with visibly wired, crystal-lined cups. The skirt hugs her hips and ass the way I like to-- tightly. The skirt covers the scantest inches of her smooth, taut thighs. Her hair's been blown out into big, Hollywood curls of buttery gold. Her plump, smiling lips are candy-red over her straight white teeth. Her makeup is effortless and glowing: a brush of shimmer here, a sharp swipe of eyeliner extending, kittenish, along each burnished eyelid. Her cheekbones could've been cut from glass. Her skin is sunset-kissed. She's wearing high, high heels, delicate, fairylike contraptions of gold leather that lace up her thin, shapely calves. She's a magazine cover-- no, better. She's the sweetest bite of summer fruit-- no, better. She's unfathomable. Unlikely. Impossible. Mine.

She laughs at the mess I've made and throws her arms around my neck, welcoming me into the strawberry, cotton-candy cloud of her fragrance. She kisses my cheek, then my lips. I tighten my arms around her body, luxuriating in the silken curves under my fingers. Her tongue slips between my lips and tangles with mine. "Hi there," she purrs. She steps back to survey me. "Wow. You look incredible."

The compliment, from this angel, is laughable, but I'm pleased. I'm fully dressed in black, an obscenely expensive shirt shirt a pretty shopgirl conned me into buying in London a few months ago that hasn't found the right occasion. I'd wondered if I'd be overdressed. Taking in Cassie, I realize that would be impossible.

I open the car door for her and help her into Beth's seat; I catch a flash of scarlet silk panties as she climbs in, and my cock stiffens pleasantly. I can't wait to push that dress up over her lush hips later and pull those panties aside and--

I follow Cassie's instructions and drive us to the city's only club: The Downstairs. I can't imagine that anyone will be attending on a Tuesday night-- which might be a good thing, given that my date is still only a few paltry days over eighteen. She looks a little older, dressed up like this, but she's so petite and smooth and perfect that she still barely looks her age. In her cheer outfit, truth be told, she looks some years younger. (Except, perhaps, for those massive, delicious tits.)

Still, I take Cassie's offered arm and walk with her up to the door. The bouncer smiles at her and opens the door without a word. It's unbelievable, the perks being an angel profers.

Inside, it's velvety dark and elegant. Cassie leads me without a word to an unmarked door that looks like it might lead to the kitchen. She knocks twice and it swings open to reveal a stairway of wine-colored velvet that curls away from us into blackness. Cassie smirks up at me, all cherries and cream.

The real Downstairs is quite a sight. Everything is swirling black and silver and dark, dark purple. There are tall booths and tiny, spindly tables and a large dance floor with a lit-from-within floor that undulates like an ocean. There's a stage, where a trio of beautiful girls are dancing, mostly naked, their pale skin glowing in the warm, dim light. As I watch, two of them draw together and kiss, slowly, languidly, with undiluted pleasure. Men and women lean against the stage and congregate at tables in laughing, tangled knots. In the booths and on the long benches that line the walls, they're draped and woven together. In one corner, half hidden by an amethyst curtain that brushes the floor, there's a beautiful woman with a long river of black hair bent over between two men. I can't help but watch as their cocks move in and out of her mouth and cunt in perfect, practiced unison.

Cassie is watching me with apparent delight. "What do you think?"

"I think you're the prettiest thing in this place," I tell her, sliding my arm around her waist. She giggles and buries herself into me.

"I think," I continue, "that I'd better buy you a drink."

We approach the bar. The bartender, a handsome, heavily muscled man of about thirty, passes us two coupes of champagne. He winks at Cassie.

"Nice to see you, Stephen," she smiles.

"Always nice to see you, Little One." He dips his head toward me. "You're a lucky man."

Cassie leads me to a booth and drapes her legs over my lap. I lightly stroke her legs as she settles back into the cushions and sips her champagne.

"How did you find this place?"

She laughs merrily, covering her mouth with a hand. I notice that her nails are pained the same shiny, perfect red as the rest of her is tonight. I wonder idly about her belly ring. I know without needing to see it that it matches too. "A couple I babysit for took me here," she confides in a stage whisper.

I want to ask her who; I want to ask her about the details of this couple, about their relationship with her, but it doesn't feel like the time. This night is like water that's nearing a boil. It's wild and dark and full of promise. I don't intend to waste it. I press Cassie back into the pillows, am gratified to feel her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me in. Somehow, her coupe lands, unspilled, back on the table. Her hands lock in my hair and the kiss builds, heats, fuses us together. We make out like teenagers-- which, I remember with a dark chuckle, she is.

We kiss until her lips are swollen to new fullness, and then I lead her out up to the bar for another champagne. Cassie's apparent friend Stephen grins at us, and leans over the bar to wipe a ruby smudge of lipstick off Cassie's pointed little chin. For a minute, his fingers close lightly around her pretty jaw and I feel a twinge of curious, interested jealousy. I wonder briefly if this is some version of what Beth feels, thinking of me with Cassie.

Cassie holds her hand out to the bartender, and he carefully deposits a pair of Starburst-pink pills into her palm. She winks at him.

"What are those?" I ask her, as we turn away.

She giggles and drops both onto her tongue, then pulls me into a deep, open-mouthed kiss that leaves me with one of the pills. "Something fun."

I must have lost my mind, but I don't question her-- I just swallow. And then we head out to the dancefloor, walking through glittering shafts of disco-light.

I remember, with extreme pleasure, what it's like to dance with Cassie: to watch her twirl and curve, to feel her press and glide and grind against me. Everyone is watching us-- everyone is always watching us. I think of the reflection of Cassie and myself that I glimpsed the other day. And then I see, as if I'm suddenly outside my body, the image of us on the floor: I in my black and Cassie a golden swan in her tight red silk, our bodies melding and melting into each other. How I dwarf her. How lithe and light she is. How sexy. How deeply Good we look together.

The night fractures into a kaleidoscope of light and color and Cassie, Cassie, Cassie: her scent, her shimmer, the bounce and press of her sweet flesh. We're dancing, we're kissing, we're falling into each other-- I swear, I can smell the roses-and-cream of her pussy. I wonder if the rest of the crowd can, too.

A little after eleven, Cassie kisses me swiftly on the lips and hops up onto the stage with dancer's grace. One of the others, a strikingly pretty red-haired girl of about twenty-one with the palest skin I've ever seen, sweeps over to pull her up and into their fray. And then. Oh, and then.

Cassie moves like a streak of fire, like a single red rose petal being tossed on the wind. The other girls circle her like lesser nymphs honoring their queen. Their bare legs, breasts, stomachs, asses swirl around Cassie in her red dress. Their hands flow over her curves. She twines her fingers with theirs and throws her head back in wild, melodic laughter.

The girls are all beautiful, young and fit, elegant and sensual. But no one is as beautiful as Cassie. Finally, the red-haired girl twines her arms around my girl and draws her close. And then they're kissing. They look like mermaids, their hair falling down in clouds around them, their full red mouths pressing firmly, beautifully against each other. I can't believe it. I catch a glimpse of Cassie's pink tongue. The red-haired dancer's hands slide down my girl's delicious ass. And then the red-haired girl pulls the straps of Cassie's dress down over her shoulders in one slow, strong tug, baring those incredible tits for the whole room to see.

Everyone seems to freeze. Cassie's huge, upturned breasts catch the light like both are magnetic; her little pink nipples are peaked; her delicate areolae are like little pink petals. Her ribs jut out sharply below those enormous globes, shuddering with her breath. No, I realize... with her laughter.

The red-haired girl is laughing too, pulling her close again, kissing her. And then she kneels down to pull Cassie's dress fully off her. And then the most beautiful girl in the world, my girl, is mostly naked on that stage. Her panties are the tiniest red G-string, displaying every inch of her toned stomach, her graceful legs, her unbelievably round ass. Her belly ring is, as I'd guessed, gold with a single large red gem. Every centimeter of her looks airbrushed. She's smoother than silk.

The red-haired girl, caught in a spotlight, presses one single light kiss to the front of Cassie's panties. My heart stops.

Cassie bends-- slowly, sexily-- to pick up her red dress. She wads it up like used wrapping paper and tosses it gently. Right to me. I pick it up, more aware than ever of her strawberry fragrance. My cock is rock-hard. She blows me a kiss. Those lush lips. Those pearly teeth. Those dimples. That face. That girl.

I smile at her. "Should I come back down?" she asks sweetly.

I settle back into a seat. Why rush things? "No," I assure her proudly. "Have fun, angel. Dance."

She shrieks in gratified joy, eyes glittering, epitome of happiness, and grabs one of the other girls-- raven-haired, with violet-blue eyes, and pulls her into a hug. The fourth girl-- brunette, with collagen-plumped pink lips-- wraps her arms around the dark-haired girl, while the auburn girl glides back to Cassie. And they dance. And they dance. It's unbelievably hot, the whirl of these nubile, athletic bodies pressing against each other. They're like angels, of the Hieronymus Bosch variety, perhaps. My blood is singing in my veins. I think this might be the best night of my life.

At some point, I become aware that the group around me has grown, that a sea of men is pulsing against the stage. Throwing money. Throwing jewelry. Shouting compliments. Jerking off. (Discreetly, of course. Like gentlemen.)

A man to my left, silver-haired and elegantly dressed, nods up at the stage. "That's your girl?"

Cassie hears, somehow, and crosses the stage, and falls to her knees in front of me. I rise to meet her. Our lips collide, hot and yearning. I've never felt so alive. She pulls away and winks at the gentleman next to me. "I'm his girl."

This is it. This is peak existence. To think that I spent so many years in pathetic facsimile of this, bringing home cute, average girls, teasing Beth half-heartedly, lusting after my wife's secretary without every imagining that I could have her. That's no life. This is life. I watch Cassie's tits sway in front of me without the slightest touch of gravity. She brushes a rosy nipple across my lips and I catch it between my teeth. In front of everyone, I suck the tip of that perfect breast, tugging it lightly, making her moan. I hear groans and libidinous sighs around me. This is life.

Cassie jumps down from the stage then, right into my arms, her legs around my waist. I grab her elastic ass and kiss her deeply. She's warm to the touch, vibrating with excitement. She's like a girl on Christmas morning.

"That was incredible," I growl into her ear. "You're incredible."

She draws back a little to look at me, her sky-blue eyes nearly blacked out by her massive pupils. Her lashes shimmer a little. "I'm so happy, Mr. Ellis."

I pull her back in and kiss her softly. "I'm so happy."

She burrows into my shoulder and I carry her back to the curtained-off portion of the room which, mercifully, is empty. I lie her back on the banquette of plum-colored velvet and kiss my way down her sternum, down the line of her belly. I've lost her dress, somewhere. I can't make myself care. I pull her panties aside and lift her tight ass to feast on her soaking, sweet, delicious little cunt. Her legs are over my shoulders, her body surrounded by velvet like Venus in the waves. I could eat her forever. I'm slurping, sucking, kissing, licking-- I've never enjoyed a pussy like this. It's like eating a melting ice cream cone. My little cheerleader is purring and mewing and crying out softly, her hands in my hair. I don't come up for air until she dissolves into a shuddering feather boa across my chest.

Then I crawl up over her, stopping only to nip at those swollen globes at her chest, and unbutton my pants, bury my cock in her. She arches immediately beneath me, her ankles crossing behind my back. Her little hands stroke down my back and dig into my ass, pulling me into her, urging me on. I really fuck her this time, my perfect little girl. I can't help it. I squeeze her hips and drive myself into her over and over and over again, mercilessly, shaking her. She clings to me, beaming up at me, loving it.