Blossoming Beauty

Part One: Katie’s Narrative

Once the braces were removed from my teeth, everything changed. Looking back on that time in my life, it reminded me of the scene in Forrest Gump when Jenny yells to Gump, “Run, Forrest, Run!” And that’s what I honestly felt like – I felt like I was freed from the chains that had weighed me down for so long. I was free to run.

The year was 2002. Springtime. Britney Spears had just made a splash with her “I’m a Slave 4 U” music video; George Harrison had died not too long ago. Most significantly, the 9/11 attacks had just occurred in New York. But to tell you the truth, that year was my senior year in high school: I was 18 years old and completely self-absorbed as most teenagers are.

When my braces were taken off, it was as though I had taken off my clothes in front of the male population; they began to notice to my presence, my figure. Before that, I had only been a ghost. Throughout my whole high school career, I had been hiding my body beneath dowdy, baggy clothes; I was embarrassed the way I was filling out. Zits were not an uncommon occurrence on my face. Except for one embarrassing night in my sophomore year, I had almost no sexual experience. All that changed when I met Jack.

I had had the metal on my teeth for nearly three years. My dentist had given me a reasonable timeline for when they could be removed, and he was dead-on with his word: it was time that they came off.

And the timing couldn’t have been more fitting.

Towards the end of school, right before summer hit with its sweltering heat, my father, who was 65 years old at the time, was planning to retire. A grand party was planned months in advance, and I wanted to look beautiful for the occasion. My parents had bought a RV and were planning to travel that summer, from San Diego to Boston. But as it was, we were smack dab in the middle of America. Missouri, as a matter of fact.

Anyway, my smile was beautiful (even I had to admit that), and that pulled me out of my shell and towards self-confidence with a gravitational pull that surprised even me. With this newfound self-assuredness, one steppingstone led to another: I began to wear more form-fitting clothes, and I questioned why I had been so staunch in keeping it hidden. I really did have a good figure: I had full 36C breasts; a small, firm tummy, and an ass that drew the occasional stare or pinch from a guy at school.

When I walked down the school hallways, I no longer slumped; I strutted. The tiled halls were now my runway. I hated to admit it, but the stares that I drew from the boys, and, even, sometimes adult men, dampened me and made me proud to be a woman. And that’s what I was now: a woman. It had been a long journey, but I had arrived. This is where Jack entered the picture.

My father owned a tennis center. I was his baby, but that thing was his lovechild. He was crazy about it and had every reason to be: He had taken a rundown club and turned it into a breathtakingly beautiful and successful business.

Jack worked there as a coach and the occasional player. Occasionally, I’d hang out at the club when my father was working, and I noticed Jack. Mind you, I didn’t notice him in any romantic fashion – he was just a guy that worked for my father. He and I talked now and then, but, honestly, he didn’t leave much of an impression on me. He was attractive, yes, but he was way too old for me; at that time, he was 35 years old. We were on good terms, though.

It was a small rural town where we lived. There was this old-fashioned soda shop where I’d go occasionally for a root beer float. That afternoon, walking into the shop, the cool air conditioning hit me like a fresh breath of artificial air. The place practically screamed 1950’s: the main colors were a Robin’s Egg blue, silver, and white. On the walls were paintings of Lucille Ball and Marilyn Monroe, you know, the real icons of that decade. They had a jukebox, too.

It was extremely muggy, even for a spring day. I was wearing small denim shorts and a tight, clingy lavender top. My face was made up with a minimal amount of cosmetics: flattering, but not attempting to overcompensate. I had a ribbon in my thick, wavy brown hair. My blue eyes looked even brighter and bigger with the slight mascara I had applied. With my pimples that had cleared the last few months, I rarely wore concealer on my face: my face had adopted a naturally pretty glow, smooth and youthful. I had a few freckles sprinkled across the bridge of my nose, and I intended to do exactly nothing to hide that fact.

As I walked towards the counter, I noticed Jack sitting at one of the booths. He was hunched over a cheeseburger, fries, and a tall glass of Coca-Cola. He hadn’t noticed that I had walked in, and so I decided to walk over to him and make small chitchat. I stood by his table.

“Hi Jack, how’s it going?” I asked smiling at him. It had been quite a while since he and I had run into one another.

“Hi.” His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion. “Oh, oh your Martin’s daughter! Sorry, I just didn’t recognize you. Did you get a haircut?”

“No, I’ve just made a few changes here and there.”

“Yeah.” He grinned as his eyes swept over my body. “So, how’s your old man?”

“He’s fine. You know, you’re invited to his retirement party.”

He nodded. “Yeah, he asked me a couple of days ago. I plan on going. Do you?”

“Oh yeah, of course, I have to be there.”

He leaned back in his booth and studied my figure and my face a bit more closely. I could tell he approved by the expression lying on his face. He smiled and blushed very lightly.

“I don’t mean to stare. Sorry, Katie.”

I waved his concern away. “No biggie, I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. How was my father today at work?”

“He was good. He was stressing a bit, but you know how it is. How was school?”

“Don’t get me started on that,” I said with an exaggerated eyeroll. He laughed. I got the reaction I wanted: a chuckle.

We wrapped up our conversation and I took a seat at the counter. I ordered a root beer float and a plate of fries. Every now and then I’d look at over Jack; he seemed to radiate in the cool haven of the burger shop – a bit like Jesus with his sprouting rays of light, only more seductive. From our respective seats in the restaurants, we’d exchange a glance here or there or hold our eye contact a bit longer than what was normal.

I had to admit he was an attractive man: tall, maybe 6’2” or so (a full foot taller than myself); short, black hair, and sexy green eyes. His body was slight and slim, and, if I remembered right, he had a dark, hairy chest from the time I recalled him taking his shirt off at the tennis center.

I looked over at his table once more, but he had left. The way he looked at me made me think twice about him. He seemed drawn to me now that I was more physically appealing. I loved the attention he spread on me with his wandering eye; it was like he was covering my body with suggestive thought and insinuation. I decided that this was a good thing and that I must see him again.

At that point, my root beer and plate of fries arrived and famished, I dove into the task at hand.

 

Part Two: Katie’s Narrative

Several days later I walked into the main tennis court arenas. It was an amazing sight: children of all ages being guided by their coaches, whipping forehands and backhands with a force and experience beyond their years. They flung the yellow balls with a vengeance, as if they were trying to rid themselves of something ominous inside their souls.

I took a seat in the near-empty stadium. There were a few parents gathered around, talking with one another, pointing, laughing, and being there to support their children. I looked from one end of the tennis courts to the other, trying to spot Jack. At first, I couldn’t spot him, but then he came out on the court with a group of young boys – maybe age nine or ten. They set themselves up on a court and he proceeded to give them instructions on different things. I could barely make out his voice, but could decipher it was gentle and soothing, unlike so many coaches in the sports world.

The boys crowded around him with much admiration, Jack’s frame easily towering over them. He would swing his racquet at a nonexistent ball, guiding them on how to hold the racquet, getting behind them and showing them how a swing should begin and end. His easygoing and friendly nature with the kids really moved me; to me, just knowing him through my father, he had seemed a bit rough around the edges, but when he was around those children he just glowed in a very paternal and natural way.

I also couldn’t help but admire his body. Looking at him from a distance, I noticed just how slim and muscular his legs were. His chest was taut, but also strong, and I could tell he had a lot of strength in his upper body. His lower body, by contrast, was small, and the angle of his back formed the shape of a V. Again, he wasn’t aware that I was watching him (I seemed to be a voyeur into his own little world), but I enjoyed just being a spectator.

After a while of knocking balls around, serving, and practice matches, the kids looked a little beat and Jack called an end to the day. The kids rushed to their bottles of water or Gatorade sitting on the sidelines, trying to towel off their necks and arms like true professionals, and then ran off to the locker room, laughing and shoving each other around. Jack jogged up to my seat in the front row and I was a bit startled that he even knew I was there watching him.

He waved as he ran over and grinned. “Hi Katie.”

I leaned on the railing and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Hi Jack. I didn’t realize that you knew I was here.”

“Yeah, I saw you when I first came in. How’ve you been?”

“Good, good. You know, you’re very good with those boys.”

He shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. “Eh, just doing the best I can.” He leaned his elbows upon the railing, looking up at me. “I’m certainly not as young as I used to be.”

His gaze somehow made me uneasy and excited at the same time. His eye contact was intense: happy, gleeful, full of life, and sparkling as though he were twenty again. I knew how very superficial he was, not giving me a second look until my cuteness and hourglass figure became abundantly clear to him, but that’s the nature of the male animal: they’re very visual creatures. I also knew that I wasn’t any better: when he frisked me with his eyes at the soda shop, I began to look at him differently. I welcomed his attention, especially from someone older and especially from someone working for my father: a double no-no that made my new infatuation all the more exciting.

As the conversation stretched out, he stuck his leg out and we both poked fun at how hairy and skinny his legs were (he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt). There seemed to be a silent bump in our conversation, an uncomfortable and unspoken pause that seemed to speak volumes of our sudden attraction to one another. Our bodies eased and moved in suggestion.

I looked at my watch. “Oh gosh, I better get going. I’m going to miss the bus.”

“The bus? Well, can’t your old man drive you home?”

I shook my head. “He’s going to be working for a couple more hours and I don’t want to wait around that long. And I’ve got homework and stuff to do.”

“That’s our Katie, always getting down to business,” he smiled and laughed. I loved his smile: as his lips drew back in his face, the lines fanned out in a very sexy, older-man-way, testimony to his approach towards middle age. “Well,” he inquired. “How do you get to school every day?”

“I walk. It’s not far from the house, only about ten minutes or so.”

He looked to the side, and I knew some sort of lecherous thought had clouded across the sky of his mind. He never verbalized it, of course, but I think he was visualizing me, a young schoolgirl, walking to and from school, books hugged to my chest. I laughed, privy to his thought he would not say, and he chuckled too, looking into my eyes.

“Well, the public buses are so uncomfortable,” he said. “Would you like me to gift you a lift home?”

I blushed. “Well yeah, that sounds great Jack. Thanks.”

On the way home, the conversation flowed naturally – it seemed to be a bit easier since we both had our eye on the road and not on one another. I would point occasionally, saying “Turn left here” or “Take a right at the next stop sign.” He rested his left hand on the top of steering wheel, turning it with his palm when needed. He was in complete control when he was driving, at ease and confident, and just observing him like this turned me on. He possessed a self-assuredness that no boy my age could ever dream of. His eyes darted from one side of the road to the other, keeping alert. At my direction, he pulled in front of my house and shifted the gear in to ‘Park.’

“Is this the place?” he asked.

I nodded. “This is it.”

We sat quietly for a minute and his glance moved downward, just for a moment, to my breasts. The strap of the seatbelt fell diagonally between them, accentuating their curvaceousness and round firmness. His eyes looked back up to mine and we laughed in a very low, suggestive manner that seemed to fill up the empty car. He scratched the back of his neck, at a loss for words, but he found the right ones:

“That car ride was over much too fast.”

I blushed and looked out the window. I wasn’t normally so bold with the opposite sex, but I unclicked my seatbelt and leaned over to his side, planting a small, soft kiss on his cheek. My lipstick left a small stain on his skin, and I attempted to wipe it off with a handkerchief. He gently stopped me, saying he enjoyed the kiss and not to rub it away – he wanted to keep it. His grin was small and sly, mocking me in my state of embarrassment.

“Well,” I smiled. “Thanks for the ride.”

We said our goodbyes and I slipped out of the car, heading up the sidewalk to my house. I didn’t hear his car pull away and, right before I opened the front door, I looked behind me, and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he had been ogling at my figure as I scooted away. I gave him a friendly wave. He did the same and started to depart from the curb. I unlocked the door to the house, greeted by a burst of air conditioning.

 

Part Three: Third-Person Narrative

The following Wednesday was luxurious for Jack. Wednesdays were usually a pretty laidback day any way, as he didn’t have as many tennis lessons to teach in the middle of the week.

That afternoon he came home about one o’clock. It was pouring rain, and he felt like just relaxing the rest of the day and watching sports, maybe putting in an oven pizza for himself to devour. That was the great thing about being so athletic, he observed: If you are physical enough, you pretty much get to eat whatever you want and stay slim.

But then he thought about Katie. Young Katie. How would the downpour greet her when she was walking home that afternoon? Not kindly, he surmised. Poor girl. This inevitably led him to think back on the kiss she had given him last week. It had surprised him, her boldness, but it was so welcome and such a sexy gesture. The way she had leaned in so close to him, with all her vibrancy and teen perfume afloat in the air – it was just a few moments of heaven. Even days after their car ride, he could still smell her scent in his front seat: sweet angst and that lovely, flowery fragrance.

He wasn’t sure about her generation, but during his generation, taking a big yellow school bus home wasn’t the “cool” thing to do. Maybe she felt the same way. Walking also probably gave her a chance to tone her figure even more, tightening those smooth legs he had come to admire so much in such a short time.

Having gone to the same high school as Katie, he knew the last class let out at two-thirty. And he would do something with all these fragments of information: he would glue them all together to make a beautiful painting and make him look even more desirable in her eyes. Or so he hoped.

Jack had a quick lunch, showered (he stunk to high hell with the lessons he taught that day), got dressed in clean clothes, got in his car, and drove to the high school.

He felt somewhat stalker-ish, waiting outside in his car in the school parking lot. But he really wanted to see Katie again, and what’s more, he wanted to save her from the rain. He only had to wait about twenty minutes for the final bell to ring. For some reason he was strangely and uncharacteristically nervous about seeing her, if he managed to catch her at all.

Hearing the bell, he got out of his car and walked towards the main entrance of the building. He walked in, thankful for the oasis of the dry air. His eyes darted around, nervously scanning the scene before him: there were row after row of gray, rundown lockers; kids forming clusters in the corners and sides of the hallways, books in hand. A few bewildered teenagers looked in his direction, not knowing what to make of the thirtysomething standing awkwardly in their hallways, this stranger they had never seen before. He grinned to himself: He was just as out-of-place in high school as he had been twenty years ago. Time does have a way of creating a loop.

Then he spotted her coming out of the women’s bathroom: she was chatting with another girl, and they were talking and laughing. Suddenly, he felt like a lecherous, old man leering at some high school girl. But then he reminded himself of one thing: what she was wearing, and his erection rose and dripped, and his reservations ceased.

She was wearing tight, low-rise jeans and a pink sweater to fend off the chill of the afternoon. A couple inches of her midriff was exposed, and his lurching cock reminded him of why he was doing all this in the first place. It was a simple but elegant outfit, one he would most likely not forget anytime soon.

When Katie turned in his direction, departing from her girlfriend, she was surprised to see him, and caught a bit off balance.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

They stood in the frame of the double doors, his frame towering over her. “I came to pick you up and take you home. I got off work a bit early today and I didn’t want you walk home in this rain. I’d hate to think of you catching a cold in this weather.”

A smile crawled along her decorated lips. “Jack, that’s so sweet, thank you. I’ve been begging my father to get me a car, but he won’t give in.”

Jack laughed and they walked out the double doors together. He shielded her head with his outstretched jacket, and they ran towards his car, shouting to one another over the noise of the clapping rain.

“Well, your old man is very nice, Katie, but he can be a bit on the cheap side!”

They chuckled and he held the passenger door open for her. He ran around the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. They took off down the road once more, yielding to the high school traffic.

Unlike their first car ride together, this one held more sexual tension. There was more silence than there was conversation, and when he pulled up in front of her house, Katie, once more, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Not a word was spoken when she did that, and when she tried to glide gently away from him to open her door, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his arms. They were both slightly damp from the rain, and Katie was damp in her panties for different reasons all together.

His long, lanky arms held her, and he kissed his boss’s daughter in a way that should not even be entertained, but now, with the steaminess and the seduction of the rainfall that granted them privacy in his small car, there was no other option but to give into his impulse: he guided her head towards his face, all the while fondling her with his searching eyes. They kissed passionately, their hands caressing each other’s arms and hands, their fingers intertwining. Their tongues slipped outside of their mouths, teasing each other, and in the midst of it all, their bodies moved in each other’s arms, and they sighed with passion. Her bubblegum tongue was beyond what he could’ve imagined, and if this was as far as he got with her in a sexual way, he was more than pleased with that, knowing he had made out with such a sexy young woman in front of her father’s – his boss’s – house.

Jack wanted to tell this sweet girl everything he was thinking, about how naughty she was to be kissing him in such an adult way, about how he had touched himself in the shower nearly every day since their first car ride together, fantasizing about her naked, wet body. But he could not tell her any of these things. Not yet. She was delicate despite her sexy image, and he knew she needed time. He got the impression that with all her suggestive bravado, she hadn’t had much sexual experience.

She reluctantly pulled away from him and told him goodbye, in her breathy, sweet voice. Damn. When she pulled away like that from him, he couldn’t help but feel a tremendous regret in his stomach and a painful lurching and stretching in his balls. He missed her already, and she had just walked into her house. This departure hurt a bit more than the first. Knowing that she had got in safely, he pulled away from the curb, and savored the taste of her sweet teenage lips on his.

 

Part Four: Third-Person Narrative

Over the next several weeks, this became a teasing routine for the two of them: making out in front of her old man’s house. Jack knew he could be facing danger with this girl, not to mention a possible termination from his current job, but the thrill of their highs far outweighed the risk.

Regardless of rain or shine, he’d pick her up after school when his schedule allowed it. Their conversations (though brief during the short car rides), where becoming more and more flirtatious, and their kissing marathons longer and more passionate as time went on. With a bit of exploration, he found that she often wore silk or lace panties underneath those tight jeans of hers, and she couldn’t help but marvel how, in one motion, he could unsnap the clasp of her bra.

During their drives, he’d ask her a few questions here or there, peppered with insinuation: “Do you have a boyfriend?” (No, she didn’t.)  “Do you have a date for the prom?” (Maybe – she played it coy.)

But this was Katie we were talking about, and she always gave as good as she got, and she fired back at him similar questions: “Are you married?” (No, he wasn’t.) “How do you like working for my father?” (Pretty good.) And last but not least, “How do you like his daughter?”

At this last question he blushed and scratched the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous: “I think she’s real sweet.”

 

Part Five: Katie’s Narrative

That morning I readied myself for school and ate my breakfast alone, like I most always did. My parents usually left for their workplaces pretty early, and so morning times were, in contrast to many households, a quiet time for me.

Over these last several weeks sneaking time in with Jack were among some of the most exciting that I would experience in my life. There was something about the allure and the scent of an older man: I could smell the musky fragrance of his Old Spice and sweat. A few times while we were in this car, he had taken my hand and placed it on his lap. I was no expert on penises, but he felt rather big to me, which only made me more eager to kiss him and explore this new sexual energy with him. Occasionally I felt a wet spot on his slacks and, with the information from sex education and talk in the school hallways, I knew what that was: precum.

As I began to slip my textbooks and things in my backpack, I somehow knew Jack was going to pick me up for school that morning: It was raining, sure, but he never picked me up in the mornings. Still, I somehow knew this.

I opened the front door, protected by a small roof over the porch. I waited for a moment, almost expecting Jack’s car. A moment later, that blue Toyota of his pulled alongside the curb, and I grinned, running out to meet him and attempting to shield myself from the rain with my bookbag. I could hear him laughing from the car, and he pushed out the passenger door for me from his driver’s seat. I threw my bag in the backseat and rushed in beside him. He playfully grabbed my waist.

“Jack!” I squealed, feigning my feeble escape from his arms and giggling.

“Hello Beautiful,” he greeted me, smiling down at my “struggle.” “How is my favorite girl?”

“You mean your only girl,” I corrected him.

I settled down in his embrace, his arm draped over my shoulders. “Listen,” he said. “How would you like to do something a little different today?”

“What do you mean, Jack?” (I knew what he meant).

“Well,” he blushed. “This rain is chilly and something fierce. I have a blazing fireplace at my home. What do you say?”

I played with his hand, my fingers tracing inside and out of his, searching his eyes. I smiled and nodded.

He grinned that sweet older-man-grin I loved so much. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said.

Believe it or not, on the way to his house, we just talked about regular everyday stuff: I talked to him about an upcoming Geometry test that I had to study for, and how I was sure I was going to fail. He talked about my father – “the old man,” he liked to call him. Somehow, even the mention of my old, decrepit father could not sway my hormones from being horny for Jack.

Once on his front stoop, he opened his front door to me. He really did have a beautiful house, both inside and out. The inside almost looked like the interior of a log cabin or a ski lodge. It was very romantic, very dark, and, as he showed me from room to room, his hand was gently placed on the small of my back. This small, sweet gesture by him made me want to make love to him even more, and I had to grin inwardly at his clever and calculating nature. I had to admire the guy.

We sat on the couch in his living room and his blazing fireplace was the only light. It flickered and licked the air, making crackling noises as Jack and I quietly kissed and touched. It was moments like this when our banter was suspended, and we really just enjoyed each other in a physical way.

Funny to say this, but he had never seen me naked, not fully. He had seen an exposed boob here or there and felt the dampness between my legs, but he had never seen my bare pinkness in its entirety. I was not a virgin, but I had gone almost completely untouched during my high school years. As I mentioned previously, I did lose my virginity during a wild and reckless night in my sophomore year, but, to me, that “didn’t count” (girls have a way of determining such things). This would count, I decided.

Jack helped me slip my top over my head and, with one quick motion, he unsnapped my bra, gently removing it and leaving me exposed from the waist up. He placed his large hands on my naked breasts, cupping them, and kissing me once more with a renewed passion. Almost without thought, I touched his lap and felt such a raging erection that I wondered how I was going to fit it inside of me.

I broke our kiss and slipped out of my shoes and socks and stood before him. I placed his hands on the low-riding waist of my jeans. In the flickering fire of the hearth, he struggled to get my pants and panties down, as they were so tight. I giggled at his impatient and flustered struggle and helped him get a grip on my jeans: they came off along with my panties, and now were pooled at my feet. I was completely nude before him.

“Oh baby,” he moaned, drinking up my face and figure with his hungry eyes. “Oh Katie, you’re absolutely beautiful, baby.” He leaned back on the couch and patted his lap. “C’mere darling, sit on my lap.”

I think he meant for me to sit on his lap resting sideways, but I straddled his clothed body with my naked body. Up against my pussy I could feel the hard wetness of his cock. On pure instinct, I began to dry hump him and we locked in an embrace and kissed, my head resting on his shoulder, my hips continuing to buck his covered and erect cock.

“Oh Jack” I whispered. I took his hand and put it beneath my open legs, making him feel my wetness and desire. “Oh, I’m so horny for you, Jack.”

“Oh baby, I’ve been so hot for you, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you, my sweet, sweet girl. And you’re so horny for me, so wet. That’s so sweet.”

He took my hand and led me to a soft rug lying in front of the fire. Now totally comfortable, I lied on my back, watching him above me. He took off his clothes in a slow, subtle fashion and, when he got to his shirt, he swirled it above his head in a fake striptease. I had to let out a soft giggle at his sexy and funny antics, and now, both of us naked, he leaned over me on his hands and knees, growling into my slightly parted mouth. I even laughed at that, and he kneeled between my legs. But he was not going to make love to me. Not yet.

He nestled his head between my legs and began to play with my pussy. Occasionally I could feel the jump of a spark from the hearth jump onto my skin. He sunk one of his slim, smooth fingers inside of my pink wetness. He was not a boy, he was a true man, and he marveled at my bareness before him.

“Oh Katie, what a sweet, pink pussy you have here. And it’s all for me,” he said and softly kissed on my rosebud. “Honey, you taste so sweet.”

I knew I wouldn’t be able to last long; he placed gentle kisses all around my private area, including on the insides of my thighs that made my head swivel back and forth on the carpet while playing my boobs: firm nipples protruding from their rosy circles.

Jack expertly slipped a second finger inside of my pussy and began to rub my clit furiously with his thumb. It felt so good. It sent vibrations all throughout my body, and the fact that our sex was so forbidden only heightened the thrill for me. I wanted him to go all the way with me, to fuck me, to screw his boss’s daughter. And, as if he was reading my mind, he did so.

He withdrew his fingers from me – right when I was on the very edge of cumming – and kneeled between my open thighs. He stroked his leaky, wet cock as he looked down at my body, and I looked at his nakedness: he was beautiful. His nude body was just as gorgeous as I had imagined it all these weeks, every morning and every evening when I lied in bed, thinking of him. His chest was, indeed, hairy, and I couldn’t wait to feel it grind against my sensitive, sprouting nipples.

With much care, he guided his big dick into my wet, waiting hole. Both of us were leaking with passion for one another. We whispered sweet, excited nothings to one another, and he eased inside of me and relaxed me. All of his manhood was inside me now, and I never remembered feeling more satisfied. He was so big.

“God Jack,” I moaned. “You feel so damn good. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me so bad.”

“Oh? Is that what you want, my sweet Katie? You want me to fuck you, baby?”

I loved the sexy, teasing lilt in his voice and it made me even hotter. “Oh yes,” I rubbed my clit with my fingers, the nails polished with pink paint.

“Oh, that’s it, honey. Look at those little fingers go. Such a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck, yes, Jack. I want to be your bad girl.”

His hips began to pump inside of my pussy and his torso hovered over me, covering my smallness with his strength. His upper body was so exclusively built for protecting a woman during lovemaking, and I opened my thighs up further to him. He whispered in my ear, his lips so close me:

“Oh, my sweet girl, do you like the way I fuck you sweetheart?”

I could not manage to gather any words together, so I nodded and groaned in the affirmative. “Y-yes, Jack. Fuck me.”

“And do you like my big cock, baby? Do you like a real man fucking you?”

“Oh fuck, oh yes, Jack. Please,” I grabbed his ass and tried to pull him further inside of me, “please fuck your bad girl.”

“Fuck baby, you’re so sweet. You’re so sweet to this old man.”

He balanced his hands on either side of my body and really began to give it to me, fully. With my juices and his precum mixing together, our bodies moving together made a wonderful, dirty, squelching sound, accompanied by our sighs and moans of pleasure that filled the air of the room. The snap of the fire crackled once or twice, doubling the heat that we felt on the rug. He stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat away from his forehead and then continued fucking me. Jack was such an enthusiastic lover.

My full tits jiggled with his thrusts, moving in the firelight. The rain outside had not letup; if anything, it had become even more severe of a downpour, and then, all of sudden, I felt Jack’s body freeze up in mid-thrust. He was fully inside of me and about to pump me full of his seed.

“Where-where do you want it, baby?” he asked me, almost weakly.

“Inside me, Jack. I want all your yummy cum inside of my pussy.”

“Oh, that sweet pink pussy,” he moaned, looking down into my eyes. I knew he was trying to hold out for as long as he could, but it was a lost cause: he began to pump his white threads of desire into my body and I could feel myself on the edge: as he was fucking me with his cock, I slipped my finger inside of myself, giving me a sort of double penetration. It was with this that I began to cum too: my pussyhole convulsed (it almost felt like a heartbeat between my legs) and then my clit, oh that glorious rosebud, started to throb to orgasm as well. Jack’s dick slipped out from between its hiding place, and he collapsed on top of me, both of us exhausted from our efforts and hot, warm pleasure that we had both been dreaming about for what seemed like an eternity. Our three orgasms had done us in well.

We held each other in the glow of the fire, side by side, his arm draped around me once more. We talked softly and giggled, teasing each other and enjoying each other’s company. I snuggled up to him, my young body in contrast to his that was approaching middle age. Despite the differences, our sex had been incredible – I can’t imagine it being more special or sexier in any way.

After a short time, we got up off the carpet and got half-dressed: I pulled on his baggy, button-up shirt and he slipped on his pants. We spent the rest of the rainy day making love, making out, cuddling, and eating.

After lunch, I gave him a blowjob. It was only the second one of my life, and I was completely inexperienced; he coached me gently and patiently, telling me when to stroke more, where to lick, what parts of a cock to pay the most attention to. I had to admit that I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. He was positioned on the couch, and I knelt between his open knees submissively. I loved that feeling of being subservient to him and his sexual needs.

This blowjob – my second one – was a slow process, I’ll admit, but I often picked up on things quickly and this skill was no different. Jack was very soothing: he stroked my hair and told me how pretty was, how lucky of a man he was to know a sweet, young thing like me. Inevitably, he came once more. He came in my mouth. Playing on natural instinct, I swallowed it, leaving just a bit of dribble on my chin, which drove him crazy, and which drove him, of course, to another erection very quickly after the last one.

It was a beautiful day. I didn’t have to worry about school and Jack didn’t have to worry about work. Time seemed to be of minimal importance, and, at the same time, it flew by with no notice. It was truly one of the most romantic, exciting days in both of our lives, and we both knew this was the beginning of something sexy, something taboo, and something special for the two of us.

 

Part Six: Jack’s Narrative

I sat on my back porch that Saturday evening, savoring the feeling of this young woman’s mouth on my manhood – that sweet, pink mouth I had come to cherish in such a short time. The backyard was fenced in, unavailable to any prying eye, but who really gave a damn about such a thing at such a time? Katie was blowing me, desiring the cream she could draw from within me. She had really learned so quickly since our day by the fire.

She had come over to my house about an hour ago, and, while I was preparing the chicken and corn on the grill, we had started fooling around. The scent of seasoned chicken rose up into the air. The crickets that evening were chirping, and the occasional car would drive by the front of the house. I noticed these things only out of the corner of my mind: the young lady kneeling in front of me was such a delicious sight.

My young Katie was wearing a flowing, short, pink minidress for our dinner together at my home. As she kneeled before me, the billowing skirt of her dress gathered around her knobby knees, and those big blue eyes – so innocent and yet so suggestive – looked up at me with her glossy lips making a home around my cock. She sucked in and out, patiently waiting for her prize that would soon explode from me.

Her lips were one of her greatest features: they were always painted in either red or pink. Tonight, they were painted pink. Her lips, taking my meat inch by inch, folded and unfolded, accommodating my size. I noticed in that, in the light of the setting sun, that there were tiny, feminine traces of pink lip gloss left behind on my skin. I leaned my head back and ran my hand along the back of my neck, the way I did when I was either uncomfortable or horny. In this case, it was the latter.

We had started teasing each other while I cooked. I had flipped the chicken and corn on the cob with the tongs, and she would nestle up to me, kissing my neck, wrapping those knobby knees around my protruding leg. She rubbed her small body against mine and put her hand on my crotch; Oh man, was I hard as hell. I was dying to get inside of her again, in any way at all possible, but I learned a long time ago, in my youth, not to rush a woman: from a purely selfish standpoint, sex was always so much pleasurable when the woman was an eager and willing partner instead of a reluctant one.

And now, the meal having been abandoned, I sat on the bench on my porch, my slacks and underwear wrapped around my ankles. Occasionally Katie would shift her knees with a soft “ow” laughing that a splinter of wood had dug into her skin. Her mouth was wet and soft, and it fit my cock perfectly, as if it were designed solely for the purpose of pleasuring me sexually.

Those slim fingers of hers encircled my cock as she allowed herself to breathe a minute. The precum from my head was oozing out in their happy drops and sticky streams. Katie licked and nibbled at the sensitive underside of my cock. Oh God, it sent bolts of electricity throughout my entire body. I tilted my head back once more, looking at the skies above me. She nestled her head beneath my cock and started to suck and lick my balls. I couldn’t take it anymore: I felt a familiar restlessness in my toes; my back arched, and I let out an animalistic yelp, echoing throughout the otherwise empty neighborhood.

Instinctively I grabbed her head (her hair was so soft), and pushed it towards me, trying to force more of myself into that sweet, gaping hole in her face. And she was so cooperative. She slurped up my cum. Some had sprayed onto her face and dribbled down the soft curves of her neck and to her bare collarbone. There she was in a pretty, girlish dress, dressed in the most obscene love I could give her.

These were the moments I lived for. And Katie – sweet Katie – was such a lovely girl. I was not a bad-looking guy; quite the contrary, in fact, but I was surprised that someone so young would take an interest in a man almost twice her age. It gave me such a thrill that I was sleeping with the boss’s daughter. No one had found out about us, but that’s not to say it hadn’t caused problems for us both.

We had been sleeping together for about three weeks and there were consequences: Katie – who was so studious and conscientious of her high school career – was skipping school on a regular basis to be with me, to sleep with me. And what could I do? I couldn’t refuse. This had caused the principal of her school to punish her, first with afterschool detentions, and then, finally, a two-day suspension.

I felt guilty, like maybe I had put her up to all this trouble somehow. But it was in these times of self-reproach that I tried to drag myself out of the swamp by reminding myself that she was an adult woman and could sleep with whomever she damn well pleased. She was 18, perfectly capable of making her own decisions.

And our affair had not been free of consequences for me, either.

Katie’s father, Martin, whom I worked for, noticed my missing work frequently during the day. He had called me into his office three days ago to scold me for the “decline in professionalism” I was displaying. I knew he was right, of course, but that small, cute, temptress of a daughter he had, my God, I wouldn’t have been in my right mind to turn down what she was offering me. His daughter was irresistible. It was a price I was willing to pay. I still had my job, but Katie drove me to distraction.

I would watch her body swaying back and forth as she walked, and it was at moments like that I was reminded that she was a woman. But when she looked up at me with those big blue eyes, smiling, searchingly, so innocent in their quest, my knees couldn’t help but buckle at her demands.

I knew I had already dipped my toe into dangerous waters, and I was ready to go deeper still. I may have been a 35-year-old man, wise to the ways of the world, but, at heart, I could still have the naivete of a boy. I had dreams for her and I, even if she did not. And at night when she and I were not together, my imagination was limitless.

That night, I asked her a very important question.

 

Part Seven: Katie’s Narrative

Jack had given me a lot to think about with his question. He had asked me, in very subtle and quiet words, if I could do the honor of being eternally his. I was so shocked by the proposal that I could hardly eat the chicken, vegetables, and salad he had prepared at his house that Saturday night.

In my more lucid moments, I reminded myself how much I wanted to go to college, to be a career woman. But in the more sensual moments, when I was in his company, he’d glance in my direction with that owlish grin of his and I knew I was his slave. He had turned me into a slut (a highbrow one, at that), and I felt powerless against his taut masculinity. I was powerless but also wordless: I hadn’t yet given him an answer.

The following Friday night was my father’s retirement party. What a smash! There were dozens of people there gathered outside on our terrace: employees from the tennis center, friends, family, you name it. The house – both the interior and exterior – were decorated with streamers and balloons. Champagne bottles were popping, and people were laughing gleefully and burping instinctively, already high on drinks and ideas for the upcoming summer.

In the throngs of people, Jack and I attempted to keep our affair secret, only talking occasionally out in the open and in a very platonic, friendly way. He was dressed in a very dapper, dark blue suit, his hand almost constantly glued to the inside of his pocket. I couldn’t help but notice this quirk of his – it was hard to stay away from him when he was in such close physical proximity to me. I just wanted to run my girlish, soft hands over his chest and kiss him as if he were the only man in the world.

It was a grand event. In addition to the champagne, there were tables of food spread out on the lawn: ham, turkey, chicken, cheese, crackers, and fruit, and a great big roast that was being prepared to feed all the partygoers.

At some point in the party, we all seemed to congregate to our giant deck in the back where the baker wheeled out a great big, tall cake in celebration of my Dad’s retirement. It was chocolate with vanilla frosting, decorated with purple and blue icing: a many-layered affair.

We gathered around the cake, licking our lips, already hungry for the gigantic sweet. Before anything could be said or done, Jack put his champagne glass down and went over to the cake. He picked up the knife and poised it over the cake. He grinned sheepishly, almost shyly, and looked in my direction. “What do you say?” he asked.

I was beaming brightly, knowing what he was implying. The crowd that had gathered around were watching with justified confusion their faces, eyeing us silently. I walked over to Jack and looked into those beautiful green eyes that I had fallen in love with. I was hesitant at first, but then I softly placed my hand on his, and together we cut the cake, giving him the answer he sought.

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