At first I agonized over having seduced her. Later, I came to the conclusion we seduced each other. Once she got that first lesson she was an apt pupil. She took to sex like a fledgling takes to flight.
Our second encounter was your basic explosion of hormones - not much finesse. Within days of our first fuck she web-mailed me this: I walk around wet all the time. I'm so wet I have to wipe myself. I fuck you every night in my fantasies.
I called her for a meeting to explain a few things - about my marriage, my brother/her father, making babies, right and wrong. She sat on the couch listening quietly, eyes downcast, all the while her legs and hands trembling. I was the picture of responsibility and self-control, trying to sound like a wise old uncle. She was wearing a short blue plaid skirt, and a tight white cotton buttoned shirt. (I never had a chance.) She nodded occasionally as I spoke, sighed a lot, and shivered though it wasn't cold.
She was perched on the edge of the couch, knees together, me on the easy chair. I said I hoped she'd understand, that it was a sweet moment we'd had together, but life didn't make room for me and her. I thought I was getting through to her with my wisdom and logic.
However, by way of a response to my lecture, she looked down at her chest, then reached up with a delicate little hand and cupped the full globe of one of her pert, hard, tits right through her cotton shirt and thin bra.
I hear what you're saying, she said, but I can't argue with my body.
Then she unbuttoned a few buttons on her shirt and freed her breasts from her bra.
They get so hard they hurt, she gulped. And indeed, the tips of her nipples strained against the afternoon breeze wafting in the living room windows. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. Indeed, the two upthrust, brown little buds at the ends of her creamy white breasts looked painfully swollen. My mouth watered. I struggled for control.
I'd been hard since she walked in. Hell, I'd been hard since that day I'd discovered her panties. The sight of her golden-hued, velvet-smooth, freckle-spreckled chest heaving up at me sent every last blood cell in my body screaming into my cock.
Um, I attempted to speak, and found I couldn't.
And this, she said, very slowly now, licking her big red lips and swallowing, this..I....don't know...what to do about...this. She sucked in her breath as she reached a couple of fingers to pull up the hem of her skirt. Oh god. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest.
She was slumped down, hanging her ass off the couch, legs spread askew. Pulling aside the elastic leg band of her flower-print panties, she probed a couple of fingers inside her puffy pussy lips. We were both staring gape-mouthed at the V of her crotch, that vortex of desire. I was being ripped apart inside my gut between what was clearly forbidden and what was so intensely fuckably desirable.
She brought two fingers out from inside herself, held them up, staring intently at the sticky jelly coating their tips, then, as though out of simple curiosity, she stuck them deep inside her mouth and suckled them for a few moments. I might have groaned. I suppose I did.