Aaron moaned, head rolling from side to side on his pillow. His jaw was tightly clenched, as were his fists. He thought hazily that he must be bruising the soft, perfect pear curves of her hips, but he couldn't help it. He was dying. His cock was wedged tight in the hot clench of her no-longer virgin cunt and she was riding him, tits bouncing prettily, long red corkscrew curls springing and sliding over her lightly freckled shoulders. Her mouth was a lush rose bed of pleasure, lips wet and parted on harsh, hard, eager moans.
He watched her astride him, lithe body wringing and squeezing and massaging his cock while she rode up and down, and he was writhing and groaning under her, complete captive to her enchantment.
So fucking close to erupting inside her...
Leaning forward, she put her pretty face close to his. Her hot-sauce colored curls curtained around his face; his nose was suddenly filled with her, the woman-child sweetness of honey, strawberries, and rose. So perfect. So innocent....
"C'mon Mister Wagner," she whispered, that same innocence in her smile even as she squeezed her slick cunt around him. His hips and upper thighs were her saddle as she rode astride him mercilessly. She was sweet and wild, a newly ruined virgin, his Lolita temptress, now his sweet little cumslut.
"C'mon Mister Wagner," she breathed again, this time over his lips. "You want to. Come on. Do it. Cum inside me."
He exploded.
His body snapped upward in a hard arc and he made a wild, open mouthed cry of pleasure that bordered on a howl. He shook while molten blasts of orgasm flashed through his blood.
"Baby--" he gasped. "Sweet....sweet...baby--"
Aaron Wagner woke from his erotic dream gasping those words and shaking. He lay on his back; cock spurting a few last drops of warm cum onto his belly; the final, shredded remnants of yet another wild wet dream.
And, as always, inspired by the same incredible female. His neighbor. His Lolita.
His best friend's daughter.
Groaning, Aaron raised up on one elbow, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching across the bed to the nightstand for a tissue. Lying back on his pillow, he found himself looking at the breeze punching the curtains inward. Cleaning himself off, he caught brief glimpses of the second story window of John McAlton's house next door.
He'd known John, a widower, since college. While he was still married and his own boys were off to college, John's only child, Leila, had just turned 18 and was finishing her last few months of high school.
And driving him totally insane.
Watching the curtains, catching brief glimpses of Leila's open window, he sighed, thinking of the night his obsession had begun.
Mid October had been uncomfortably warm, the nights deep and dark and heavy with humidity. He'd been feeling restless for several months; they'd just sent their youngest son off to college weeks before and his wife had been gone for nearly a week, on the first of what would prove to be many frequent business responsibilities out of town. He and Maggie had always had a good, stable marriage he supposed, but he'd been restless in the bedroom for several years now and she'd been less than interested in spicing things up.
A week before Halloween, he'd been sitting on the far side of their bedroom nursing a beer after a long, cool shower and sporting a very stiff cock. He'd leaned back, unbelting and opening his robe in an attempt to allow what little breeze existed to cool him off, sipping beer in the dark.
When Leila's bedroom light suddenly poured out her open window he'd been surprised, glancing up automatically. It had been well after midnight, but she was, after all, 18 and pretty as a doll and it had been a Saturday night. With a tiny nudge of something that felt like jealousy (but he attributed at the time to nothing more than an almost fatherly concern since he was, after all, like her second father) he was relieved to see her home, and apparently happy.
He couldn't have said if, before that event, he'd noticed the things he did that night: the ethereal gold-red halo that seemed to shimmer about her hair; the way her shoulders shifted--gently, with catlike grace; the sweet, almost invitational curves of her calves. She'd been wearing a short white sleeveless dress with a little matching jacket, stockings and strappy white heels. He'd been transfixed at the moment she snapped off the harsh overhead light, turning her back to him and slipping off that little jacket, baring shoulders of creamy, pale skin luminous in the moonlight.
She bent forward at the waist to snap on a little table lamp, surrounding herself with soft, low light. And while she was bent down, his cock throbbed suddenly and hard at the quick glimpse of that short dress riding up over gorgeous, delicately plumped thighs encased in pretty lace topped stockings, and the shadowy lower curves of an ass that made his palms itch.
He sat there in the dark, feeling incredible guilt for the purely sexual thoughts he was having about pretty little Leila and on the other hand, his cock was standing at proud attention and shouting hallelujah at the mere thought of those thighs.
She switched on the stereo next to the lamp. Rather than being irritated as he sometimes was with her bass-pounding choice of something unintelligible, he found himself thanking the unintelligible band for their pure unadulterated genius, because Leila started moving her hips in a way that made his fingers twitch, dropping the nearly empty bottle of beer onto the carpet.
She lifted her slender arms, taking something from her hair and letting it shower down her back, glimmering copper and fire against the stark white of the dress. Hips rolling in sensuous rhythm she stood there, her back to him, beginning a striptease that made him groan aloud in the dark.
She unzipped the dress; shimmied out of it, hips wriggling.
Aaron had seen her in a bikini a thousand times, but there was definitely something different about watching her dance in a skimpy white bra and panties.
She reached behind her and unhooked the bra; turned to face him. In an instant, the filmy scrap hit the ground.
So did Aaron Wagner's good sense.
She lifted her hair off the back of her neck, hips rotating to the beat.
He had to open his mouth to breathe.
She slid her hands down her neck and caressingly over her high, tight breasts; the tip of her pretty tongue slid over her bottom lip.
Aaron was stroking his cock at the thought of that sweet, kittenish tongue; warm, wet and slightly rough, on his tightly stretched shaft.
He'd been held in an aroused thrall, filling the bedroom with his throaty, grinding moans and the scent of hot skin and salty precum. The wet sound of his fist masturbating his cock was raw and rhythmic.
She'd disappeared into her bathroom, but it didn't matter then. Aaron sat staring into that room, the sight of a sweet, young, red-haired siren stripping for him lingering, bringing him to a spattering, teeth-grinding orgasm.
Since then he'd watched her, shamelessly. Walking to school with a friend, her ass and thighs hugged tight by the jeans she loved to wear. Sitting on her front porch, a sunny yellow T-shirt skimming over her belly and pulled taut over her breasts. And very occasionally, a glimpse of her in bubble-gum pink babydoll pajamas or panties and bra, moving past her open window.
And in some of those moments, his hunger imagined that when she looked back over her shoulder, the saucy smiles she smiled were for just for him; that every extra little wriggle of her hips was designed to entice him. Each time she waggled her fingers in passing, grinning and saying in her near Southern drawl, "Hey, Mister Wagner" he imagined a shot of hundred proof naughty in her voice.
Groaning at the idea, he dragged himself out of bed before his cock had him at the mercy of his fantasies.
Again.
The next few weeks seemed to drag. All Aaron could think about was Leila; she seeped into his skin, invaded his thoughts, monopolized his dreams. Maggie was working more hours than she was home and Aaron found himself with plenty of time to fantasize. It also gave him plenty of excuses to sit in the dark in their bedroom, stroking his cock, hoping for a glimpse of his red-haired angel.
And every day, the guilt grew. Leila was no longer a child, but he was married, for cripe's sake! He had no business thinking how badly he wanted to sneak into her bedroom late at night and get his fill of her. She was the daughter of his best friend. He shouldn't be imagining how tight the fit of her cunt would be grasping his cock, or how slick the roof of her mouth would be if he could push the swollen head of his cock back and forth against it.
How she would look, hair mussed, naked, on her knees, swallowing his thick cum.
With only a month left in the school year, Leila was getting ready for prom and graduation. Several nights, Aaron sat watching her parading in front of a full-length mirror trying on different outfits, each one better than the last. Despite John's obvious disapproval, she settled on a green spandex dress that hit her mid thigh and high green heels.
Early the evening of the prom, Aaron was in his room, repairing one of the hinges on a closet door--one of the myriad little chores Maggie had listed on a "honey do" list on the fridge. A thousand things to keep him busy on all the evenings she was away. She'd left the house hours before, dressed to the nines, for yet another out of town business dinner and "intolerably stuffy" meetings. As his obsession with Leila grew, her increasing absences felt somehow like a slap in the face.
He thought about those two things and how they might be--or were--connected: the continuation of their lack of enthusiasm for their marriage, and his increasing desire for his best friend's daughter. As he worked, he caught glimpses of Leila sprinting excitedly around her room, getting ready for the prom. She'd obviously had her hair done professionally; it was a beautiful mess of soft red curls atop her head and trailing down to tickle her throat and shoulders. She pranced, danced and sang, in her happiness clearly not caring that she was only wearing a light pink-peach bra and silky matching panties and that her curtains were wide open.
And that a grown man, his cock throbbing hard and his mind projecting dream films of her riding his swollen manhood, lived next door.
Aaron had ten minutes worth of work to do on the hinge. At 5:30 he sat down with his tools to repair the hinge.
At 5:45 she was smoothing some luscious cream that he imagined smelled of roses and sugar all over her delectable body and the hinge was still broken.
