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The Wrong Kind of Attention UA Mf, MF oral, f solo, voy, mutual mast.

Rainwater · 2545

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Offline Rainwater

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The following story is purely fictional.  The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons under 18 in real life.


Chapter One 

“Well, look at you.”

Emily spun away from the kitchen sink with a soapy fork in one hand and the scrubby in the other, looking up at her mother’s boyfriend with her glasses sliding down her nose.

The fifteen year old girl had been alone in the kitchen for a long time, and that was the way she liked it. 

Other people made her nervous.  Most of the time, they weren’t nice to her, and the people who were nice to her wanted something from her.  Her Uncle Lee had been nice to her, and he hadn’t wanted anything.  He had only wanted to help her.  But he was gone, leaving her all alone with her mom.

This evening, her mom had been nasty to Emily all through dinner.  Her mom’s boyfriend Wayne had tried to help by being nice to her, saying what a sweet, well-mannered girl Emily was. 

Emily hadn’t said a word all through the meal.  She had tried to eat.  Wayne had made some burgers on the grill, and heated up baked beans on the side.  He had also brought potato salad and macaroni salad.  It had all been very good, but the insults and the smell of booze coming off her mother had killed her appetite, the same way it killed her appetite nearly every night.

“What’s your problem?” her mother had said to the girl as Emily began to collect the dishes. “Wayne goes to the trouble of comin’ over an’ makin’ us dinner and you eat two fuckin’ bites.”

“I-I-I’m s-sorry,” Emily had stuttered her apology to Wayne as he held out his plate to her, and he had given her one of those looks of his, his eyes roaming up and down her body as she had stood there feeling naked in front of him on the hard wooden floor. 

It had been a long, hot day, and after school, for comfort’s sake, she had changed into yellow shorts and a cut-off t-shirt with no bra, not knowing until it was too late that she would be dining with her mom’s boyfriend, for if she had known she would at least have done something to keep her hard nipples from poking through her t-shirt. 

“That’s all right, Sweetie,” he had said, releasing the plate into her grip, giving her a tender smile. 

It was a handsome smile, the kind of smile her Uncle Lee had given her when he was alive.  All except for something around the eyes, those eyes that had looked her up and down, the eyes that were always looking her teenage body up and down. 

After she had run the sink full of hot soapy water and put the dishes in to soak, she had turned around to find herself completely alone in the kitchen, and she had sighed relief.   She had turned on her Mom’s boom box, tuned the radio away from a totally lame country station to a classic rock station, her Uncle Lee’s favorite radio station, avoiding all of the other crap in between. 

Emily had sat down at the kitchen table, taken off her glasses and put her legs up, crossing them at the ankles and resting her feet on another kitchen chair.  She had moved her hands up and down her legs to feel how silky smooth they were, and caressed her thighs with her fingertips.  From one daydream to another she had stared into nowhere before finally coming back to reality, to the stupid commercials on the radio, to the dishes that needed to be washed and rinsed and put on the drying rack. 

And so she had taken her feet down, put her glasses back on and gone to the sink, picked up the scrubby and the first plate.  But no sooner had she started than they had begun to play the song, and they had done it right, starting from the beginning with no one talking over it, just Charlie Watts hitting the drums and Keith Richards strumming his guitar, and Emily had started to wiggle her butt from side to side, even gyrating against the cabinet below the sink.

That was when Wayne must have walked around the corner into the kitchen and seen what he wasn’t supposed to see, what no one in the world was supposed to see, Emily doing her sexy dance to “Honky Tonk Women” by the Rolling Stones.

Her glasses had slid down her nose, but she could still see the look in his eyes.  She knew that look and what it was about and it made her feel afraid and it made her feel excited at the same time. 

“You got some moves, baby,” he said. “Makes me think you got some kind of fire burning inside you.”

“L-L-Leave me al-l-lone,” she stammered. 

She couldn’t look him in the eye anymore so she turned her back to him, stepping up to the sink, her hands shaking as she tried to scrub the fork in her hand.  She finished it, dropped it into the right sink, and then reached down into the soapy water to find another piece of silverware, trying hard to focus on what was in front of her. 

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Wayne said. “You know, you need to relax.  Take it easy.  You need someone, baby, and I think I can help.  I mean… god damn… I don’t know how you live with that crap every day.”

“N-n-n-non-n-n-e of-f-f y-y-y-o…” Emily started to tell him something, but it got trapped before it even became anything resembling words.  It wasn’t ever how she ever intended things to come out, but they came out like that anyway.  It was worse when she was anxious, and God, was she anxious right now!  She took a breath, tried counting to ten to relax.

“Oh, r-r-r-really?” Wayne mocked her, and he chuckled, and it hurt.  It always hurt when someone new made fun of her, no matter how many times it had happened.

“D-d-don’t m-m-make fun…” she stammered, turning to look at him with tears in her eyes, but by that time he was right there, grasping her by shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was mean.  I’ll never do it again.”

There was something about the way he said it that made Emily feel like he had meant it.  It was a real apology and no one ever apologized.  Not ever.  Not unless they had to.  Not unless someone forced them to apologize like a teacher or the assistant principal, and those kind of apologies weren’t worth a shit.

“You know, Emily, you are a very sweet and pretty girl.  You do know that, don’t you?”

No one ever called her pretty.  Not anymore.  Not since her Uncle Lee had gone away.  Her mother never called her pretty.  Her aunt Barbara never called her pretty.  Maybe that was why when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see pretty.  She only saw a useless stuttering nearsighted little girl with glasses.

“Y-Y-You really th-th-think I’m p-p-pret-t-ty?” she asked him, wiping her tears away.

“Are you kidding?” Wayne said. “You are beau-ti-ful.”

The tears, they began to flow again, and she broke free of him, turning around to face the sink, to continue her chore, to do that which needed to be done.  She searched for her sponge and searched for a plate.

“I’m sorry for calling you beautiful, but you are,” he said, “Cinderella.”

Emily felt him running his fingers through her hair, the reddish brown hair that hung all the way to the middle of her back. She closed her eyes, wanting to lean back against him as he kissed the top of her head.  Then she felt him pressing his lips to the back of her neck.  She had never felt anything like it, and as he tugged at the collar of her t-shirt and moved his mouth up and down along her shoulder, she knew she didn’t want him to stop.

“You smell nice,” he whispered. “You know, that was one sexy dance you were doing when I came in to the room.  I don’t think you know what a perfect body you have.  So sexy.  Especially in that little t-shirt and those tight, little shorts.  But oh my god, Emily, when you were dancing…  Just, why did you stop when I came in?”

“Bec-c-cause you were w-watching me,” she said.

“Ah,” he said. “Would you dance like that for somebody else?”

Emily almost said No, but then she thought about it and she wasn’t sure if maybe she might dance like that for someone else.  Like maybe, a really cute boy, like Anthony Petroni at school, if he even knew she was alive, maybe she would dance that way for him. 

She didn’t have to tell Wayne she was thinking she might dance that way for a high school boy instead of a full grown man or even that she was sure she would dance for anyone at all.  She smiled to herself as she came up with her answer. It was simple and honest and it came out of the mouth nice and easy.

“I don’t know,” Emily said, without the slightest bit of a stutter.  And what do you know, she had managed to add just a bit of a sing-song to the words.  And then, out of nowhere, as if she had grown bold within the moment, she decided to put the icing on the cake.

“M-m-m-maybe I would,” she said, and even though it hadn’t come out clean, she took a triumphant sigh afterward. 

“Are you trying to play with me?” he asked her, his big hands grasping her by the waist.  She looked straight ahead at the Home Sweet Home potholder, the dangling crucifix, and the AA prayer plaque that were all hanging on the wall, and she fixated on them.  She reached down into the water to search for another dish, trying her best to focus.

“You prob’ly think I’m a filthy old perv, goin’ after a pretty young girl like you,” he whispered, moving his hands down from the Emily’s slender waist, following the easy spread of her hips, reaching bare flesh once again, caressing her thighs on either side with the very tips of his fingers.  It felt good, as good or better than her own fingertips.

“Y-y-yes, b-b-but s-so are l-l-lots of m-m-m-m…” and her mouth stopped working.  There was that anxiety again.

“…men.” Wayne finished her sentence. “You got that right.  More men than are willing to admit it.” 

He inched her back away from the counter, just enough to reach around in front and make his caresses closer to home, up the front of her thighs and toward that most sensitive place between them, causing her to tremble.

“P-p-p-please… d-d-d…” she started to say.  She was afraid, but not so much of him, nor of his fingers or the tingles they were giving her between the legs.  She was afraid of something else completely.

“Ssshhh.” He made the sound next to her ear as his fingers found their way inside the open leg of her shorts and found the crotch of her panties, touching that place where no one was supposed to touch but Emily herself, that place she touched sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the middle of the night, her pussy.  He found it and he pressed his fingers against it and started rubbing it, and as he rubbed it, he whispered in her ear.

“If you want me to stop, just say No.”

It was an easy word, one syllable. All she had to do was say it, but she realized that she didn’t want to.  Was that a bad thing that she was standing there and allowing him to touch her?  Was not saying No the same thing as saying Yes?

And then, as if she wasn’t already weakening with the pleasure from what Wayne was doing with his left hand, she felt his right hand reaching up inside her t-shirt, caressing one of her small tits and stroking the hard nipple with his fingertip. 
At that moment the radio station on the boom box was playing “Back Door Man” by The Doors.  Hearing that song while he touched her boob and played with her pussy seemed to make it feel even better than if there had only been silence.  Maybe it was because she could let her mind go places.  She could picture Jim Morrison in those old photographs, close her eyes and pretend he was the one touching her. 

Closing her eyes, she arched her back, feeling his kisses on her neck, and what she was sure was his stiff cock pressing against her backside through his jeans.

“Oh yes, baby,” he whispered. “Oh, yes, pretty girl…”

And that was when it happened, what she had been afraid of all along.  Just as she could feel her knees getting wobbly.  Just as she could feel her panties getting wet.  Just as she was starting to think it might happen to her right there, what only happened to her when she was all by herself, touched by her own fingers, the voice she lived in dread of came thundering down the hall.

“Wayne!  Where the fuck did you go?”

It was her mother’s drunken voice, accompanied by trudging footsteps, and it seemed to Emily when she heard it that all the air left the room.

“Oh, shit,” Wayne said, and he pulled away, and suddenly the hand that had been on her breast, it was gone, and the fingers that had been inside her shorts were gone, and the erection that had been pressed against her backside, that was gone too.  It was gone all at once, along with his kisses and tender words, all gone and way too quickly. 

Emily reached her hands into the dish water and, finding nothing, turned to the cookware on the countertop.  She didn’t turn around or even move. She grabbed a pan and a big spoon and a spatula and dropped them into the water.  Her heart was pounding and her legs were shaking.  She heard her mother’s feet step across the kitchen floor. 

“Why didn’t you stay in the bedroom?”

“I thought you were passed out,” Wayne said. “I came out here to keep Emily company.”

“Emily don’t need no company.  She was raised by wolves.  Don’t you go wanderin’ the house just because I take a little snooze.”

Emily took the spatula out of the sink and began to scrub it.  She looked at the set of cutlery in the wooden knife block far off to the left of the sink.  Someday, she thought, she would take one of those big knives out and stab her mother fifty times and not feel bad at all.

“Now, come back to the bedroom with me and stay there,” her mother said to Wayne.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wayne said, giving her a salute behind her back just as Emily had turned to look at him.  It made her want to laugh out loud, but she knew she couldn’t, not with her mother’s cold stare suddenly bearing down on her.

Wayne winked at her and then he was gone around the corner and then her mother had her by the arm, digging in with her nails, pulling her away from the sink. She smelled even worse now, and Emily didn’t know how Wayne could stand to be around her.  She got right up in her face so that Emily could almost taste her spit as she delivered her warning.

“Stay away from him,” the woman said, and she gave Emily a hard push as she let go, sending the girl across the room where she grabbed onto a chair as she fell to the floor. 

If not for the chair, she might have hit her head like the last time.  She took a moment to make sure her pieces were all there, and then she used the chair to help her get up off the floor.  When she turned around, her mother had disappeared down the hall.  She looked at her arm and saw how red it was. 

She thought about telling someone, but then decided to forget about it.  It was better to forget.  She turned off the radio and walked to the screen door that looked out onto the back porch and the back yard below.

There had to be a reason for all of this.  There had to be a reason why her mother was such a mean drunk.  There had to be a reason why she couldn’t get out one damn sentence without sounding like a fucking retard.  There had to be a reason why all the good people in her life died or moved away and all the other people in her life treated her like shit. 

She didn’t want to try to figure it out right now.   

She had to get away, get out of the house, out into the open air, breathe and touch the grass.  She swung open the screen door, stepped out, and let it slam behind her. She descended the stairs with her hand on the wooden railing, still hearing her mother’s drunken voice when she got to the bottom.

“Stay away from him… Stay away from him…”

She stepped into the grass with her bare feet and began walking around the side of the house to the front.  She rubbed the tears from her eyes and took deep breaths of the fresh evening air and started walking toward the park.

That was the place to go, the park, and put some distance between herself and 414 Ash Lane for a while.  She would walk to the Grove Street Park and swing on a swing and find a nice quiet spot where no one would bother her and she didn’t have to think about anything. 

She didn’t want to think about high school, the kids who still made fun of her after all of these years, not her mother, not her stupid fucking stutter, not that man who had just… well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to think about him, but if she thought about him, then she had to think about what her mother had just said to her. 

She went down Ash to Aspen and down Aspen to Grove and a half a block to the park, walking through the nice cool grass wherever she could.  When she got to hill that overlooked the park, instead of going down on foot like most people, she took a look around to make sure the coast was clear, took her glasses off, and rolled down the hill just like she had done so many times when she was a little girl. 

All the way to the bottom of the hill she rolled, with her arms above her head and her long brown hair going everywhere, her t-shirt bunching under her arms.  When she reached the bottom, she found herself flat on her back with her small tits bared to the world.  She quickly pulled down on her t-shirt to cover up, but could not help lingering a moment, slipping her hand up inside, taking a quick peek around as she played with the nipple that Wayne had been stroking. 

She stayed like that, right where she was, lying on her back with her eyes closed, wishing she could fall asleep right there.  It was breezy and quiet and the ground was soft beneath her.  She moved her head from side to side and breathed in and out, opened her eyes, put on her glasses, and looked up through the trees. 

That was when she heard the sound of the guitar.

(to be continued)
« Last Edit: January 26, 2021, 10:27:51 AM by Rainwater »

Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline HppyHrryHrdn

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Reply #1 on: January 20, 2021, 04:15:02 AM
Excellent start to a story. The scene is well done and made believable.  You've made the girl sympathetic and not too advanced for her age.  I will say I don't care for your taste in music.  ZZTop's Legs would've been my choice and Van Morrison  Into the Mystic instead of the Doors.  Anyway, it wasn't about the music but how it made her move and react while it played. You did that well.
I hope to read more of this. It has grabbed my interest.


One other thing I can't help is your screen name. I had a principal named Rainwater.  We called him Pisswater. Sorry, we just did and even after over thirty years it still stuck in my brain. 

I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere, uninvited, and just kinda hang out like a dirty thought in a nice clean mind. Maybe a though is like a virus,  it can kill all the healthy thoughts

Offline Rainwater

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Reply #2 on: January 20, 2021, 09:10:31 AM
Excellent start to a story. The scene is well done and made believable.  You've made the girl sympathetic and not too advanced for her age.  I will say I don't care for your taste in music.  ZZTop's Legs would've been my choice and Van Morrison  Into the Mystic instead of the Doors.  Anyway, it wasn't about the music but how it made her move and react while it played. You did that well.
I hope to read more of this. It has grabbed my interest.


One other thing I can't help is your screen name. I had a principal named Rainwater.  We called him Pisswater. Sorry, we just did and even after over thirty years it still stuck in my brain.

Hi Harry,

Thanks for the kind words.  My specialty is realism, which is to say I write what I see and what I envision to be real.  The main thing for me is to keep the emotions and reactions authentic, especially when it comes to this kind of material.  I don't believe it is fair to treat underage characters as if they are totally innocent any more than it is fair to treat them as they are often portrayed in these kinds of stories, ultra-seductive sluts who seemed to be born possessing a vast reportoire of sexual knowledge.

As for the music, I can't answer for that.  When I thought of her dancing to something, the first thing I thought of was "Honky Tonk Women", end of story. 

Rainwater is actually a name I saw once several years ago.  I thought of using it as a character.  Now I have adopted it as my own.

Incidentally, STAY HARD!


Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline Rainwater

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Reply #3 on: January 20, 2021, 10:31:08 AM
Note:  The two preteen characters known as Bobby and Brian, as per the rules of KB, do not appear in any sexual situations.

Chapter Two

“Well, look at you,” Tom said.

His wife Linda was sitting sideways with one leg up on the bench, her sandals kicked off, her other leg bent at the knee and swinging restlessly with her toes kicking at the dirt.  The shoulder strap on her red tank top was falling down off her shoulder and her black hair was mussed and she was smoking a cigarette with a wild look in her eye.

Their sons, Bobby and Brian, were playing on the playground about thirty feet behind the bench and, sitting the way she was, Linda could occasionally turn and check on them.

Linda looked wild and it made him feel good.  A half hour ago they had been behind closed doors and he had been working his hand down his wife’s shorts, rubbing her clit, making her breathless.  Then Bobby had come knocking at the door for the third time in an hour.

“Yes!” Tom had called out.

“Dad,” the ten year old had said. “You said we could go to that big park in fifteen minutes.  That was forty-five minutes ago.”

And so Mommy and Daddy had kissed, smiled at one another, got up off the bed and exited the room.  But things definitely weren’t finished.  Not by a long shot.  Because Tom had been ready to take those shorts and panties off, bury his face between those beautiful legs, and lick her swollen clit until she begged for mercy. 

That, of course, would have led to her tugging at his jeans, yanking them down and taking his cock in her mouth and sucking it the way only she could do.  And who knows, maybe she would have insisted on him coming in her mouth, or maybe she would have craved having him buried inside of her, playing with herself while he fucked her…

The thought of all of this aroused him as he stood there looking at her, longing for the next moment when he could be alone with her, and that was why he had said what he said about her. 

“Look at me?” Linda smiled. “What about me?”

“You look so damned hot,” Tom said.

“You’re to blame for that, blues man.”

Tom had been playing the guitar, and continued to play the guitar, the whole time he was standing there.  It was an electric guitar, wood grain with black panels and a maple neck, plugged into a small brown amplifier that hung on his belt. 

The guitar had a clean, clear sound, and he played a mixture of chords and scales, but what he most liked to do was arouse his wife by pressing his finger against a string and caressing the note as if it were something else, an intimate part of her body, stretching the string, bending it, or making it vibrate…

“Am I now,” he said, moving a little closer as he picked a note and closed his eyes, arching his back as he stretched it and unstretched it and stretched it again halfway, taking a peek at his sexy wife somewhere in the midst of it all to see what sort of reaction he might be getting. 

She was smiling at him all right, but it seemed as if she were more amused than turned on.

“Is something funny?” he asked her.

“Baby,” Linda said, “you’re just fine.  Keep on playing.”

She sat up and tossed her cigarette away.  She folded her arms and then put one hand to her mouth as if to cover it from view to anyone on her left as she leaned forward on the bench.

“What?” Tom asked.

“Don’t look now,” Linda said, lowering her voice, “but somebody’s got their eye on you.”

“Why shouldn’t I look?” he asked.

“Well, she’s acting like she wants you to look, but somehow I get the feeling if you looked at her, she’d fuckin’ freak.”

“I don’t get it.  Who are we talking about?”

Linda’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped and she turned her head to the side.

“Oh my,” she gasped. “Oh my God…”

“Oh my God, what?”

“I’m just sayin’… if this girl was trying any harder to get your attention, she’d be taking her clothes off, which by the way, she ain’t wearing that much.  Just a tiny little bit of a t-shirt, you know… cut off about here, and little yellow shorts.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom said. “And how old would you say she is?”

“Oh, I’d say fourteen,” Linda said. “Maybe fifteen… sixteen, tops.  Hard to say.”

Tom picked a note and stretched it very high and then played a very fast blues scale, hoping the girl was watching.  And as he played he moved his body in such a way that he hoped would please a girl of that age. 

Fourteen… maybe fifteen.  Sweet.

Tom liked them young.  Of course he looked, but he never touched.  That was one thing he knew he could never do.  He was a husband and a father, a family man, and he knew he couldn’t cross the line. 

But, oh, he had been tempted…

At the apartment they had left behind, their second floor bedroom window had overlooked the complex swimming pool, and on any given day summer day Tom had been able to peek through the blinds, find at least two or three young things running or lying about in their bikinis, take down his shorts and jerk off looking at them.  That was, if time had allowed, if he had been able to sneak away and lock the door and have his way.

And there had also been Sarah, the neighbor girl.  He had first met her in the laundry room when she was all of thirteen, bent over to take things out of the dryer as he he was coming in the door.  She had been wearing these little blue athletic shorts and her legs had been so perfectly tanned, he snapped a mental picture.  He had said Hi to her, introduced himself, and he had gone back upstairs and told Linda he was taking a shower.  He had soaped his cock and thought of the girl’s ass and legs and imagined yanking her blue shorts down and fucking her from behind.

The old Linda had known of his desires, and he had learned that it was best to keep them as secrets, locked in a drawer somewhere, stashed in the back of his mind.  The old Linda had been overweight, depressed, and anxious, and the idea of him even looking at another woman, let alone a young girl, something with which she could not even begin to compete, was enough to send her into a funk for days.

Oh, he had loved the old Linda and stood by her.  She had been his wife, the mother of his children, his life partner for better or worse, but she had been a far cry from that wild nineteen year old girl he had met a little more than thirteen years ago. 

And then something had happened.  All at once she had broken out of the depression, began to exercise, and turn into a whole new person, the wild, gorgeous Linda that was sitting there on the bench in front of him, looking so enticing.  And she not only turned him on, but she seemed to get turned on by each and every little thing.

Who knows how the old Linda would have reacted to a situation such as this, watching some infatuated teenage girl try to attract the attention of her husband.  It surely would have caused her to find an excuse to pack up and leave the park, dragging the boys away from whatever they might have been doing.

But now here she was with a sparkle in her eye, her legs squeezing together as if she, herself were trying to conceal her own excitement.

Still, he wasn’t sure if he should ask, and yet  before he could catch himself, he heard himself ask the question. 

“Is she pretty?”

Linda tilted her head and her eyes drifted to her left, then drifted back to meet with his.

“Oh yes,” she said.

“What does she look like?” he begged to know.

“Later,” Linda said. “Play something.  Play something good for me and shake it up.  I wanna see her squirm.”

Tom smiled.  He had never seen her like this.

OK.  Something good, huh?  All right.  How about something in B minor with a lot of sexy chords and a lot of slow sexy notes between the chords?  How about that?  He started, and it sounded good and it felt good in his heart as he played it.

“She likes that,” Linda said. “Oh yeah, she really does.”

He didn’t want to disturb the flow to add comment, he just looked down into his wife’s green eyes that seemed to be in constant motion back and forth between Tom and the young girl who was sitting and watching him.  He watched his wife’s face flush red and he looked down to see that her thighs could barely contain the flames of her desire.

“Oh my God,” Linda said.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you close to finishing?”


“I need you,” Linda said.  “If the boys weren’t here… I mean, I need you right fucking now.”

Tom was on the seventh of the twelve bars in the particular verse he was playing, and he really didn’t feel like stopping such a good thing, but hey, Mama was calling!  So he turned the last five bars into musical magic, hoping to give the girl, whomever she was, wherever she lived, something to remember.  When he came to the finish, he tried not to overdo it with the typical wild crescendo of notes.  Instead, he spun together a series of notes and chords so spontaneous that he impressed even himself.

Linda cheered and clapped, slipped on her sandals and called to the boys, telling them that it was time to go.  She approached Tom and carefully hugged and kissed him, caressing the Fender Telecaster guitar that kept her from getting closer.

“How did the girl like it?” Tom whispered.

“I’ll tell you when we get home.”

Tom shook his head.  He wanted to turn and look at the girl but he was afraid to.  He thought it might ruin the whole thing.  What if the girl wasn’t that pretty?  He felt like he was better off if he didn’t look at all.

They walked around to the park’s entrance which was around the corner from Grove Street, then they walked to Grove Street and past the park, looking down, and Linda mentioned that she didn’t see the girl anywhere.

“She must have gone home,” Tom said.

Tom and Linda and the two boys walked down Grove Street until they got to Aspen and then walked on Aspen until they got to Ash and walked down Ash until they got to 416, the house they had just moved into three days before.

“Boys, you wanna watch a movie?” Tom asked as he was unlocking the front door.

“Power Rangers,” Bobby said.

“Godzilla,” Brian said.

“Who got to choose last time?” Linda asked.

“OK,” Bobby said. “It was me.  I guess Godzilla.  Can we watch the one with Mothra?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Mothra.”

Within minutes, the boys were in front of the TV with glasses of Coke and a big bowl of Ranch Doritos, the tape was in the VCR, and Tom stood behind the boys watching as the Toho Company Ltd. Logo showed on the screen and the music began.  Tom smiled, looking down at the boys, knowing that for the next couple of hours they would be completely absorbed in the movie.

He left the room, climbed the stairs, walked to the closed bedroom door and knocked nice and easy as he leaned forward, listening.

“Yes,” Linda said.

“It’s me.”

“Come on in.  I’m decent.”

Tom opened the door and walked in, turned and closed and locked the door behind him.  He looked down and saw the sandals that she had kicked off after she closed the door, a few steps further the blue jean shorts looking as if she had let them fall and stepped out of them, and a even a few steps further her panties dangled around one ankle with her toes pointed delicately to the floor.

She was sitting at the very edge of the bed with her legs spread about as wide as they would go.  She was wearing the red tank top and both shoulder straps were falling down off the shoulders and she was playing with her clit, moving her fingers in tight little circles against the petals of her pink pussy.  It made Tom’s cock swell and stiffen in his pants as he looked at her.  He rubbed the growing bulge in his jeans and shook his head.

“I thought you said you were decent, woman.”

“Don’t you think I’m… decent?” Linda panted.

“Oh god, yes,” Tom said. “Now, what about this girl?”

“Oh, yes… the girl… well… she was very pretty… but not like… model pretty… you know what I mean?  I mean, like… she had these… dorky-looking… glasses… but she was… you know… she had pretty legs… a cute little ass… long… long… very long brown hair… pretty, pretty hair… and just an adorable… face…”


“And she was trying… trying to get you to look… showing off… moving this way and that way… but oh… oh, she loved the way… the way you played… your guitar…”


“Oh my god,” Linda said, rubbing her clit real fast as Tom got close to her, his cock now a throbbing erection in his jeans. “No… No… I have to finish… I have to tell you… what she did…”

“What?” Tom asked her. “What did she do?”

Linda reached forward and grabbed onto his belt.  Tom saved her some time.  He undid it for her, took it off and threw it across the room.  No sooner had he done that than Linda had unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and he helped her to pull his jeans and his boxers down so she could get to what he knew she wanted, his hard cock.  She wrapped both hands around it, gave it a couple of hearty strokes, laid her cheek against it, and looked up at him, batting her eyelashes.

“You really want to know?”

“You know I do,” he said.

“Well, I’m not so sure I should tell you,” she said, grinning at him.  She licked the head of his cock all around but her eyes never stopped looking up into his.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just that I don’t know if I should be encouraging this, you know.  I mean, we are talking about… a young girl… and I know how you feel about young girls.”

Tom stared into Linda’s face and tried to read it.  Not only was she smiling at him, but  there was something in her eyes that taunted him.  The old Linda would have never taunted him this way.  She never would have even touched this untouchable subject. 

But this was not the old Linda.  This was the new Linda.  There was only one way to go, and that was to play her game.

“And how do I feel about young girls?”

“You’re attracted to them.  You don’t think I’ve seen it?  I know you try to hide it, but I see the way you look at them when we’re out places.  At the mall… the grocery store… the park…”

Linda continued to hold his cock with both hands as she covered the head with her mouth and suck it hard.  She let go with one hand so she could bob her head down and take more of him and Tom gasped, grinding his hips and fucking her mouth, and at this she showed her excitement by moaning with her mouth full. 

After a while, Linda had to a breath and Tom could see that she was flushed, and he reached down to lift up her tank top, and she raised up her arms to let him take it off over her head.  Tom enjoyed seeing her completely naked.  Her breasts were not very big but they were round and supple and pretty to look at, and the nipples always got so nice and hard, and he loved the way she reacted when he touched them. 

He was just about to reach down and do that very thing when Linda fell back on the bed, and Tom could see how feverishly she was rubbing her clit.  She was never more beautiful than when she was like this, and as he watched her he took off his shoes and socks and kicked off his pants the rest of the way and stroked his cock hard, watching her, then sat on the floor in front of her and stroked her inner thighs with his fingers, bringing his face closer, taking her hand delicately in his, replacing the fingers that had been rubbing her clit with his own tongue.

She didn’t say anything.  She didn’t have to.  Her body did all of the talking, pressing itself against his mouth, telling him he was doing just the right thing and oh please baby keep it up.  She was so wet that it didn’t take long before his face was covered in her juices as he tasted of her pussy.

It was somewhere in the midst of it all, as he was wiggling his tongue from side to side against her swollen clit, that he felt her thighs begin to come together and he knew it was happening.  He took her butt in his hands as she arched off the bed, moaning and gasping, locking her fingers in his hair. 

As the orgasm shook her, she buried his head between her twitching legs, damn near suffocating him, but he had long ago decided that if he died that way it would be well worth it.  When she finally opened her legs to release him, he raised up to a kneeling position and admired her in the afterglow of her pleasure. 

He drew close to reach out and touch her erect nipples with his fingertips and his throbbing cock just happened to make contact with her inner thigh. Linda found it with her hand and squeezed it and looked up at him.

“I’m not done… not done talking with you,” she said, still catching her breath. “I want you… I want you inside of me while I… tell you the rest…”

Tom stood up and reached for a couple of pillows and he tucked them under Linda’s head and he kissed her passionately on the mouth.

“I love you, you wild thing,” he said.

“Why, Tom,” she said, “I don’t think you’ve ever used those words before.  I love you, too.  Thank you for the pillows.”

Tom took another pair of pillows, dropped them at the foot of the bed, knelt in front of his beautiful wife, and within a few seconds slipped his cock inside her wet pussy.  He grasped her hips and started fucking her, watching her brow furrow again as she sighed with pleasure.

“God, I love that cock,” she said.

“I know it,” he said.  He kept his pace to a very slow in and out and then stopped, easing his cock almost all the way out, leaving only the head inside, looking down into her face as he jerked it all the way inside very fast, watching her eyes roll back in her head.  A smile crept across her lips and she looked up at him through half-opened eyes.

“You keep doing that and… I won’t tell you about the girl,” Linda said.

“You know what then?” Tom said, taking his cock out and getting up off the floor. “Why don’t you get on top?  Then you can be in complete control.”

He wasn’t angry.  Just impatient, frustrated. 

“All right, I will,” Linda said. “Just get up on the bed.”

Tom brought his pillows with him, laid back and placed them behind his head.  His wife crept toward him on hands and knees, climbing over him and grinding against his cock for a moment, making herself tremble, before lifting herself up and taking him inside of her, dropping down hard.

Linda fucked him slow in a continuous grinding motion, and as she did, she looked down into his eyes and talked.

“When you started playing… that last thing… that thing… I told you to play… she sat there… just sat there… just staring… like she was in love… and I saw her… touching her thigh… you know… with her fingers… right there… and I saw her look around… to make sure… no one was… looking… and she put her fingers… inside… her… yellow shorts…”

Tom couldn’t believe what Linda was telling him. But then why would she make up something like that?  Still, the very thought of it was arousing him even more than he had already been already aroused.  He worked his hips, grinding upward against his wife, and she smiled at him.

“You like… what I’m telling you…”

“Maybe you’re lying to me,” Tom said, feeling flushed and flustered.

“I’m not lying.  I wouldn’t know how… to make it up…  She had… the hots for you… and she was playing with herself… and I’m not lying.  And she… was enjoying it too… I saw the look… on her face…”

She was riding Tom hard now and he was close, so close to the edge.  He wasn’t sure if the picture Linda was painting for him was pushing him toward the edge or keeping him from going over.  There was just one thing that was bothering him, one detail…

“God, Tom,” Linda said, “she… she… she turned me on so much…’

And that was it.  She was looking down into his face, right into his eyes when he felt the pleasure overtake him, and oh, how he wished he could stay there, right at that tip-top where it felt like everything was warm and the head of his cock was singing!  Linda’s eyes closed and opened again as she ground against him, squeezing his cock with her pussy as it continued to throb and spurt cum inside of her.

“God,” she said. “I can feel you coming.”

Tom held her close, waiting for the climax to subside, and then he looked up into her green eyes.  He gripped her arms, not roughly but firmly, and shook his head.

“I hope you were telling me the truth,” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she said, kissing him on the lips and then climbing off of him, allowing his cock to slip out.  She climbed off the bed and reached for a bunch of tissues.

“So you were attracted to…” he began.

“I was attracted to the young girl at the park,” Linda finished his sentence.  She had her back to him when she said it. “But…” she started to say, looking back over her shoulder.

“Go ahead,” Tom said. “Tell me.”

“Some other time, OK?” she said. “I need a smoke.”

“All right,” Tom sighed, fluffing his pillows and standing them up, scooting himself into a sitting position. 

He watched Linda slip on a fresh pair of panties but put back on the same red tank top.  He watched her grab the pack of cigarettes from the top of the dresser, tap one out, put it in her mouth and light it.  She walked to the window and opened it a little further.

Tom admired his wife’s butt in her lacy panties with the little red flowers on them and he liked looking her legs up and down again.  Then he looked up at the back of her head, at her black hair, all curled with perspiration from the evening’s activities.

Tom still couldn’t believe what had happened.  None of it.  Not just what his wife had told him, but everything.  It all felt like a dream.  One wild, amazing dream.

And it wasn’t over.

“Oh my fucking god,” Linda said.

“What now?” Tom shrugged.

“Tom, you might want to come take a peek over my shoulder.”

Tom shook his head, climbed off the bed and walked quickly to where Linda was smoking her cigarette and by the window of the bedroom.  He looked over her shoulder into the yard next door where a teenage girl with long, beautiful brown hair wearing a cut-off t-shirt, a girl with a perfect round butt in little yellow shorts, a girl with slender, tanned legs walked barefoot in the grass.  She wasn’t wearing any glasses right now, gazing up into the sky, giving Tom his first look at her beautiful face, lit up by the fiery light of the approaching sunset.

“Well,” Tom said. “What do you know.  She’s real, and she’s everything you said about her.”

“Oh yeah,” Linda said. “And you know what else?”


Linda turned and smiled at him with an evil look in her eyes.

“She lives right next door,” she whispered.

(to be continued)

Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline Rainwater

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Reply #4 on: January 23, 2021, 12:40:49 PM
Chapter Three

Emily climbed the steps to the back porch at twilight and danced from foot to foot as she peeked in through the screen door at the empty kitchen.  The little light was on above the stove, the light that was on all of the time, and by that light she could see that the living room was also vacant. 

She had hung out in the yard for the longest time, walking around in the grass, looking up at the sky, looking down at the ground, thinking about what had happened at the park.  She had thought about the beautiful man with the beautiful guitar and his beautiful wife.  She had thought about everything she had done at the park, and she had still been tingling from it.

She hadn’t wanted to come into the house and possibly have her mother kill her mood the way she had killed her appetite for dinner, the way she killed everything.

Emily had waited as long as she could until, well, she couldn’t hold it anymore.  And so she opened the door and stepped in and closed it quietly behind her, stepped quickly and looked around the corner into the darkened hallway, seeing no one.  However, she did hear something.

Bang… bang… bang…

As she walked down the corridor to the bathroom, the banging got louder, and she moved past the bathroom to her mother’s bedroom door, leaned close and listened, rolling her eyes as she heard that each and every bang was accompanied by one of her mother’s moans and whimpers.  She backed away and tried to block it out of her mind as she went to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, there was a night light so she didn’t bother with turning on the light.  She just pulled down her yellow shorts and her white panties and she sat on the toilet and peed and wished she had turned on the light, because if she had then the fan would have drowned out the sound of her mother who was getting louder and louder.

“Oh my God, yes!” her mother cried out suddenly. “Fuck me, Wayne… fuck me… fuck me!”

And Emily sat in the dim light of the bathroom, hearing her mother cry out those words, not knowing what it was like to be fucked but still wishing she was the one Wayne doing it to, if only because she couldn’t stand to think of Wayne with her mother.

She wiped and flushed, pulled up her panties and shorts, went to wash up, and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and almost could not recognize the girl looking back in the mirror.  She took off her glasses for an even better look and thought that the girl in the mirror looked very pretty, just like Wayne had said she did.  She didn’t know about beautiful, but pretty, yes, she was willing to say that she looked pretty… tonight, right now, she looked pretty tonight.

Emily washed her hands and washed her face and she dried on her own bath towel because she didn’t trust the others, put her glasses back on and reached for the doorknob.  She sneaked out into the hall, this time moving right past her mother’s bedroom door and entering the tiny bedroom straight across the hall, closing the door.

She felt around for the wall switch that turned on the reading light above the bed, flipped it, and for the two-thousand-somethingth time she looked down at the doorknob and wished there was some way it could be locked. 

Every time she had asked her mother she had rolled her eyes and asked Emily why n the hell she would need to lock her door.  Emily’s uncle Lee had argued in her behalf, saying that the girl deserved her privacy and Emily’s mother had laughed in his face, saying that “a kid don’t have no right to privacy”.

“No,” her mother had said once. “You don’t need to be lockin’ your door, doin’ things you shouldn’ be doin’.”

Emily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry sometimes.  She wanted to scream at her, call her names like bitch, cunt, whore, slut… get it all out of her system.  And not just for fun, but because it was the truth and the words needed saying.  She didn’t care if her mom owned the house, if her mom had spent fourteen hours in labor and given birth to her; that didn’t give her the right to tell her what to do or how to behave.

Emily shook her head.  It wasn’t just her mom.  It was other people.  Most of them didn’t want to deal with her.  It was like, before she had turned thirteen she hadn’t been a real person, and now that she was a teenager they didn’t want to deal with the stutter.

Fuck them all.  Except for Wayne.  Except for Wayne who was still going at it across the hall.  How was he keeping his strength up?  How was he managing?  Emily didn’t know much about fucking, only what she had read in her mom’s paperback, the one that was upside down in the bottom drawer of her mother’s night stand, but she knew Wayne had to be covered in sweat like… like… like a boxer.

The sight of Wayne with his shirt off, covered in sweat, that flashed in her mind as she stood there, and it sent a tingle straight between her thighs.  She walked to the closet, reached inside, pulled the chain to turn on the ceiling bulb, and pushed the door open just a bit further to let the light fall across the room.  She walked back around the room, flipping off the wall switch as she passed, stopping in front of the dresser-top mirror on the other side of the bed where she took off her glasses for the night.

“Still… p-pretty,” she said.  She took off her t-shirt and tossed it aside and arched her back, stepping up to the mirror, cupping her breasts from underneath. “Mmm,” she smiled and she let out a sigh as she brought her thumbs and forefingers to pinch her hard nipples.  She felt a tickle in her throat, swallowed, and closed her eyes, squeezing her legs together as the tingling grew between them.  She moved one hand, reached down, fought with her shorts, then used both hands to take her shorts and panties down. 

After she stepped out of them, and she was looking into the mirror with one hand on her breast and the other down there, out of sight of the mirror, and she was touching herself where she so desperately needed to touch herself, the banging across the hall became very loud, so loud that it seemed to shake the whole house.

“You son of a bitch,” Emily whispered, losing her balance and sitting down hard on the bed with her thighs trembling on either side of her hand. “You shouldn’t be fucking her.  You should be over here touching me.”  She couldn’t believe she had heard herself say it.  It had sounded good.  Especially without the stutter. 

She rarely did stutter when she was by herself.  If there was no one around, there was nothing to be anxious about.

She decided to make herself more comfortable.  She climbed up and laid her head on the pillow and stretched herself out on the bed with the light from the closet throwing her body half in shadow.  She reached down to her bedside and found her headphones and turned on the stereo.  She was looking for something to block out the noise, but at the same time something to take her back to the kitchen with Wayne, maybe to the park…

The radio station wasn’t playing anything good, not like it had been playing earlier… in the kitchen after dinner when Wayne had caught her dancing.  She wouldn’t forget that.  God, if they would only play something good!  One lame song after another.  Lame songs killed the mood. 

She finally turned on her side and reached for the knob on the stereo and slowly turned it to the right.  She kept going and going and going and found nothing.  She went back the other way, back where she started and then beyond, finding more junk, and then, all of a sudden, something filled her ears and made her heart skip a beat. 

It was a guitar and it sounded like the man who had been playing at the park, the man who had played so beautifully it seemed as if he had been playing just for his wife, but Emily had imagined he was playing for her.

The guitar on the radio was not by itself.  There was a bass, there were drums, a piano, some kind of horns, and the man sang too.  He sounded like he was a black man.  It was not the same as the man at the park, no, not quite the same, but close enough, and it made her tingle all over.. She turned it up and rolled onto her back on the bed and got lost in it and touched herself all over as she listened to it. 

And she looked up at the ceiling and she could see the man at the park, the way he moved, the way he played the guitar for his beautiful wife.  Oh yes, she had been beautiful!  Not a fake beautiful woman like the ones in the magazines her mom’s boyfriends liked to bring over, but a real beautiful woman.  Emily had looked at that woman and seen everything she wanted to be.

Emily didn’t want to be anything like her mother.

The song ended and was immediately followed by a song with the same kind of beautiful guitar sound, and Emily reached over to the stereo and turned it up even louder, filling her ears and her head with the sound of it.  She dared herself to go back to the park again, to sit in the grass and listen to the man with the guitar, to point her toes and stretch her legs, each of them, one at a time while staring at him, hoping he would dare to take a look at her.  She hadn’t been able to sit still, moving this way and that, spreading her legs, lifting her t-shirt dangerously high, teasing, and still, he had not looked. But still, incredibly, she had dared to do it all, she had tried to get his attention, not knowing what in the hell she would have done if he would have looked her way…

And then… and then… he had played that… sad… beautiful… sexy… amazing… and it had made her tingle so bad… right there where Wayne had been touching her… right there where she was still wet.

She still could not believe she had done it, sitting right there in the grass where all the guitar playing man would’ve had to do was turn his head and he would have seen her…

Oh yes… it felt so good… feels so good… shaking… everything… hold on… just hold on… oh my… it’s… oh… it’s… oh… no… no… no…

She was so close, she thought surely she was going to die…

(to be continued)

Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline Rainwater

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Chapter Four

“Oh my god… I’m coming… I’m coming… I’m coming…” Claudia gasped.  She was on her elbows and knees with her head on her pillow and her ass in the air, and it seemed like she was winding down as Wayne slammed his cock into her over and over again.  The bed was squeaking, the frame was rattling, and the headboard was banging against the wall, and Wayne hoped that somewhere sweet Emily could hear it all.

“I… need to stop,” Claudia said.  She was panting, wheezing, trying to catch her breath.  Wayne couldn’t help thinking Well, baby you done it to yourself as he pulled his cock out of her pussy, watching her fall sideways and sprawl flat on her back on the bed.  She took a few breaths with her eyes open, and then they closed, and then it seemed as if she was passed out as Wayne knelt over her, stroking his cock.

He couldn’t be sure.  One had to be careful.  He had learned that earlier in the evening when she had almost caught him playing around with her beautiful young daughter. 

In this case, she looked pretty out of it.  He had done his job, fucked her into exhaustion.  Of course, the booze and cigarettes had helped.  She almost looked… dead.  He picked up one hand and let the arm drop and it hit the bed and she didn’t make a sound.  He shook her and called her name and she mumbled something he couldn’t make out.  She was alive.  That was good enough for him. 

He climbed off the bed and turned and looked at her as he put on his robe.  It was hard to believe that fucked up cunt of a woman was Emily’s mother.  Other than the legs and the butt, Wayne couldn’t think of one thing of value Claudia had passed on to her sweet daughter.  That was because there was not one good thing about the woman, not that he could see.  He had only gone home with her because he knew she would be an easy lay. 

He hadn’t counted on her having a pretty young thing for a daughter.  He hadn’t counted on Emily.

Wayne left his robe hanging open as he went into the hallway and shut the door behind him.  He stepped down to the bathroom and went inside, left the door open and left the light out as he lifted the toilet seat and then pressed down on his half erect cock, pointing it where it was supposed to go, forcing the pee out through it and thus farting at the same time. 

“Excuse me,” he said. “Oh, never mind… there’s nobody here.” And he let out another one, this one nice and long, so long that it surprised and amused him, and as he laughed about it he was glad he was alone.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, he looked toward Emily’s closed door.  He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it wasn’t a school night.  It seemed early for her to be in bed for the night.  He wanted so much to go inside, but he needed something to drink first, some fluids to replace all the fluids he had lost the past few hours.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, took out the jug of iced tea and poured himself a glass.  He added some ice and he sat down at the kitchen table and brought the glass to his lips.  He took a few big gulps from the glass and set it down. That was when he noticed the guitar-playing. 

The back door was open and so were the windows, so the sound was coming in from somewhere outside.  He stood up, closed his robe and cinched it, picked up the glass of iced tea and walked to the screen door, listening more closely. 

It was not a recording.  It was somebody playing.  And it wasn’t just some jerk disturbing the peace, but someone who really knew what they were doing.  Oh yeah, whoever it was, they were good, and it was blues.  Sure, it seemed a little bit late to be playing the guitar that loud with the window open, but it was so good that someone would have to be a total idiot to complain about it.

Wayne opened the screen door and stepped out on the porch, and he looked toward the house next door.  Everything was dark, but that was where it was coming from.  He had a good ear.  He went back to the house, opened the screen door and went back inside, easing the screen door shut.  He closed the back door and locked it, and then he stood there looking toward the kitchen sink.

All he had to do was close his eyes… no, not even that much… and he could see her.  He walked back to the hallway, and came back around, looking into the kitchen, thinking about what he had seen, picturing it, envisioning Emily moving to the beat of the music, moving that sexy young body and forgetting about everything else…

And he stepped inside the kitchen, and he thought about how he had held her, kissed her on her neck and shoulder, and how she had let him touch that young pussy of hers.  He had felt her respond to him.  There had been no mistake.  He had felt her thighs tremble that way, that way that was unmistakable, and he had felt her get so wet so fast…

If he had only known, he would have tried it before.  He would have tried it before when they were alone in the house.  My god, he was getting hard again just thinking about it, which was nothing new. 

He walked down the hallway.  He walked slowly but there was no mistake about where he was going.  The picture in his mind changed.  It changed to the picture of Emily lying on her bed asleep, half-naked and flat on her back with the covers kicked away, the closet light throwing a shadow across her body. 

And that one changed to another of her asleep on her side, facing away from him, half-naked once again, her lower leg straight while her upper leg was bent and her panties were stretched tight over that perfect ass, and he could bend down and look between her legs.  He had been forced to open the closet door just a little bit more to throw more light on the subject, knowing at any moment he could have been caught by mother or daughter.

Now here he was, on his way to do it again.

He reached the end of the hallway, and he thought he had better make sure.  He opened Claudia’s door and he found her as he had left her.  He closed the door and he moved close to the door directly across the hall.  He listened.  He thought he heard something.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  He raised his fist, rested it there, took a breath, and then rapped lightly with his knuckles.

There was no response.  He waited several seconds.  He rapped again.  Still no response.  He lowered his fist, reached for the knob and turned it, and in one motion opened the door and entered the room, his eyes leading the way.

Nothing could have prepared Wayne for the vision that greeted him, and at first he just stood there staring with the door gaping wide open behind him, paralyzed, and it took him a few seconds to realize there was a world out there, a world beside the one where that beautiful girl on the bed existed, the girl who was lying there naked on her bed with headphones on and her eyes closed.

Wayne shut the door nice and easy, and more than anything he wished he could lock it for her.  Oh, yes, he wished he could.  The poor, sweet, beautiful thing deserved a lock on her door so she could do what she was doing in private. 

He turned and he looked at her and he saw her body without clothes, all of it, everything he had imagined.  He saw the perfect small round tits and those delicious hard nipples, and he thought about how he had held one of them in his hand just as she was doing now. 

He didn’t even touch himself.  He didn’t need to touch himself.  He untied his robe, let it fall open, and let his aching cock swell and stiffen as he watched her.   

He saw the way she was trembling, and he saw her other hand between her legs, her fingers rubbing her clit, rubbing it fast, then rubbing it slow, and he remembered how he had touched her, and he wanted so much to touch her again.  But right now… oh, right now… oh my god… to be able to watch her touch herself like he had watched her dance.

His erection grew and he finally reached out and grabbed it, giving it a few strokes as he heard her panting, and he could have sworn he heard the moisture of her pussy as her fingers moved against it.

“Oh… yes…” he heard her say softly. “Rub my pussy, you son of a… you son of a…”

My god, she was talking to him.  She was talking to him and she wasn’t stuttering.  But man, he could see, the way she was twitching, and he could hear the way she was breathing, she was close…

She was so close and he wanted to see that.  He wanted to see Emily have an orgasm.  It made his cock throb and jump just thinking about it and he had to be careful how he stroked it.  He didn’t want to accidentally become overexcited and come all over her legs.  That wouldn’t have worked out very well.

Still, it did excite him, and as he slowed his strokes, he could feel every one, looking down at her, taking delight in just how beautiful she was, leaning closer so he could be within inches of her, hearing the blues guitar playing in her headphones, every breath from her lips, every little moan, every little whimper…

Then, silence…

Her back arched as her hips rose off the bed.  Her mouth hung open, making no sound, the furrow of her brow locked somewhere between pain and pleasure.  Her legs came together, her toes curling.  She was having an orgasm and Wayne knew it. 

She cried out, and she shuddered, and her whole body trembled.  She was shaking, jerking about with such violence that one of the many drops of sweat that had been beading on Emily’s arm somehow found its way to the back of Wayne’s finger, he was sure of it. 

He watched her body settle back to the bed.  He saw the look of contentment on the girl’s face.  She was at peace, satisfied.  There was no reason to mess with that.    He had got lucky.  He had got to see what most men never get to see in their lives.  Maybe if he moved quickly and quietly, she would never know he had been there.  He reached down to close his robe and he turned to leave the room in a hurry. 

As he got to the door and he reached for the knob, he decided to take one last look upon his sweet Emily for the night, maybe blow her a good night kiss, but when he  turned and looked, he found her sitting up with her eyes were wide open, staring at him.  She was not making any effort to cover up.  No.  None of that.  She was sitting up and she was naked and she was staring at him.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” he said softly.

She didn’t respond.  She just sat there, breathing.

He had his hand wrapped around the doorknob, and while he was looking at the doorknob he thought of something else to say to her.

“I’m going to buy a lock for your door and put it on myself,” he said, and he turned the knob to open the door, but then the girl said something that kept him from pulling it open.

“M-M-Mom w-won’t l-l-like it,” she said.

“Mom doesn’t need to know,” Wayne said to her. “Just don’t tell her.”

“M-M-Mom d-d-d-doesn’t n-need to know an-n-nything.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he said, and he started pulling the door open.

 “P-p-p-please d-d-d-don’t g-g-go,” Emily said.

Wayne’s hand froze on the knob as he turned to look at the girl.  She had got up on her knees on the bed and she was arching her back so that the tips of her breasts were in the light. 

“Excuse me,” he said, closing the door.

Emily leaned forward so that her face emerged from the shadow.  She blinked a few times, flinching at the brightness of the closet bulb, and the sweetest bashful smile crossed her lips. 

Wayne let go of the doorknob and turned to give her his complete attention.  He watched her take a deep breath, causing those perfect breasts to rise up even higher, and he watched her close her eyes and let it out and open them again.

“Please… don’t… go,” Emily said.

Wayne walked over by the bed and he looked down into her face.  He reached out his hand and ran his fingers through her hair and stroked her cheek and she leaned her cheek against his hand and she swayed dreamily with her eyes closed.  She opened her eyes and looked up into his face.

“H-how l-l-l-long w-w-were y-you in-in m-m-m-my r-r-r-room…?”

“Long enough,” Wayne said, patting her cheek. “Long enough to see everything.”

“Y-Y-Y-You w-w-watched m-m-m-me p-p-play w-with m-myself?” Emily asked.  Wayne could see her blush, even in the half-lit bedroom, which only attracted him more to the sweet girl, and he wanted to see her reaction as he gave her his answer.

“It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen,” he said, and he heard her sigh, looking down, then looking up at him from beneath her brow.

“D-D-Did you… p-p-pl-pl-play with yourself?” she asked him.

“Yes, I did,” Wayne said. “I couldn’t help it.  You looked so… hot.”

“Oh,” said softly, just above a whisper, and it seemed to Wayne that she was shivering.  She moved away from him, at first he thought to avoid his touch, but then he saw that she was lying back down on the bed in the same position she had been when he entered the room.  She reached one hand to her breast and she reached the other hand down between her legs to begin playing with her pussy again.

“Y-Y-You think I look h-h-h-hot?” she asked.

“Oh, yes…” Wayne said, and he untied his robe and he let it fall open, watching for the expression in Emily’s eyes as he let her see his cock.  He heard her inhale hard through the nose and he saw her fingers begin to move quickly between her legs as she stared at it. 

He couldn’t remember ever having a bigger, harder erection than at that moment, looking down at Emily’s beautiful body in the half-lit bedroom as she looked at him and played with herself.  It was like a dream come to life, a fantasy come true.  And just as he was beginning to enjoy it, just as he was beginning to stroke his cock, she had to go and make it more interesting.

“C-C-Can w-we t-t-turn o-on th-th-th-the l-l-light?” Emily said softly.

Wayne reached above her head, looking for a switch, but she shook her head.

“N-no,” she said. “Th-th-the w-w-wall switch.”

He walked toward the door and found the switch she was talking about, flipped it upward, and suddenly Emily and her bed were bathed in bright light.  Wayne squinted, blinked a few times, and then looked at Emily’s naked body in the unforgiving glow of the reading lamp.  He stepped around and drew closer, his fully erect cock throbbing up and down as he gazed upon her smooth, sweat-dampened flesh.

It was too much, all of it, everything that had happened and now this, it was just all too much and he couldn’t hold out any longer and he didn’t want to.  He reached out his hand and found no resistance as Emily accepted it between her thighs.  He separated the lips of her wet pussy, probed his way upward, and his middle finger found her clit, so swollen that he swore he could feel it pulsing.

“Mmm…” Emily smiled, her eyes closing as she pressed herself against Wayne’s fingers.  When she opened her eyes again, she was looking at his cock, watching it as once again it throbbed up and down unattended.

“You like that?” Wayne asked her.

The girl didn’t answer.  All of a sudden, out of nowhere, she reached out and touched his cock. 

Wayne was shocked at first, jumped, but then recovered.  At first, it was just a couple of fingers, then it was two fingers and a thumb, and it was clear to Wayne that she had never touched a cock before, that she didn’t have the faintest idea how to jerk one off, but it didn’t matter.  The way she was touching him, the way her fingers were caressing his cock, moving over, under, and around his cock, felt absolutely amazing.

“Oh my god,” he said. “Oh my fucking god…”

“O-O-Oh my g-g-g-god, what?” Emily asked him.

“That feels so good, baby.”

It happened so fast.  It happened because of the way she was touching him, her fingers repeatedly touching that spot on the underside of the head of his cock, and before he could stop it is was already past the point of no return, that tingling sensation rushing up the center of his cock, hot and intense and almost unbearable, and he moaned and gasped as he looked down at her. 

“I-I-It’s so p-p-p-pretty,” she said, stroking the head nice and slow as he let out a cry of pleasure, and the head of his fat cock swelled and erupted. “Oh!” she cried as a stream of white, hot semen spurted across her breasts.  The cock throbbed hard, spurting again, and Wayne took her hand, wrapping it around it, helping her to stroke it as the rest of his cum spurted onto her tits and belly.

“Oh… oh… oh…” the girl cried, arching her back and rising off the bed, grinding against his hand as she had another orgasm.  He could feel her clit pulsing hard against his finger and he could feel her hand squeezing his cock so hard that it hurt.

Finally, she let go, slumped back on the bed and Wayne took his hand from between her legs.  He smiled at her.  He got some Kleenex from her nightstand and started cleaning the cum off of her.  She beamed up at him.  She looked radiant.

He was in the moment.  He was a romantic fool but he had to tell her.

“Emily,” he said, “I think I love…”

“W-what’s th-th-that sound?” Emily cut him off.  She reached down and shut off her stereo.  She climbed off the bed and went to her window, listening. “Is th-that someone p-p-p-playing a guitar?”

(To be continued)

Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline Karlsnothere

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Constantly hard reading this.  Keep it up, pun intended!

Offline Rainwater

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Constantly hard reading this.  Keep it up, pun intended!

Just what I like to hear.  And I will keep it up, if I have to work long and hard to do so.... pun intended.

Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline HppyHrryHrdn

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Another well-written chapter. It has kept me interested until I get to the end of the chapter every time. No skimming is done on this story.  While I am not overly big on the guitar playing, I like how it is woven in seamlessly.  Keep up the good work and you'll be a deviant in no time.

I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere, uninvited, and just kinda hang out like a dirty thought in a nice clean mind. Maybe a though is like a virus,  it can kill all the healthy thoughts

Offline Rainwater

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Another well-written chapter. It has kept me interested until I get to the end of the chapter every time. No skimming is done on this story.  While I am not overly big on the guitar playing, I like how it is woven in seamlessly.  Keep up the good work and you'll be a deviant in no time.

Thank you for the positive feedback.  It is a great motivation, not only to keep going, but to keep at what I am doing. 


Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline Rainwater

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Chapter Five

Emily turned around and around allowing the spray from the shower to rinse the soap from her body.  Then she stood there an extra few minutes and let it fall over her face and her hair and her body just because she liked it and she wasn’t ready for it to be done. 

When she shut off the water, that was when she heard the lawn mower outside the bathroom window and she was pretty sure she knew who it was that was out there pushing it at that time of the morning.  His name was Daniel King and he was couple of years younger than Emily and he was skinny and had glasses and he had a kind of a stutter like her, though not anywhere near as bad. 

The worst thing about Daniel was that he had a crush on her and he made it obvious every time he came around, and of course Emily’s mother thought it was cute. 

“Emily,” she would call out. “Your little boyfriend’s here.”

Emily looked out the window and saw that she was right, that it was Daniel mowing the backyard.  She shook her head, thinking about what an idiot he was for mowing their lawn for the tiny bit of money that her mom paid him every week.  She knew the only reason her mother paid him to do it and didn’t make Emily do it or ask her boyfriend of the month to do it was so she could tease Emily about it.

“Baby, you should go out with him,” she had said once. “It’s not like you’re going to do any better.”

“Not any b-better, huh?” she said softly. “That’s a g-good one.”

Emily turned and pulled back the shower curtain, stepped over the side of the tub and reached for her towel.  It stood out from the rest because it was giant and green and fluffy and when she had received it as a Christmas gift from her Uncle Lee three years earlier, she had been able to wrap herself up in it almost completely. 

As she began to dry off, she couldn’t help but crack a smile at her mother’s words… “It’s not like you’re going to do any better” …and then she set her jaw and ground her teeth, drying off with the towel quickly, almost violently, her head emerging from beneath it as she stood face to face with herself, looking into her own pretty blue eyes, 

“Oh, Mother dear,” she said. “Your boyfriend thinks I’m beautiful.”

Emily wasn’t so sure herself.  In the light of day, she saw the pug nose and the big lips and she felt the same way about herself that she had felt before.  But now she had someone on her side who thought she was pretty.  And it wasn’t some dorky thirteen year old kid who came to hang around her house every Saturday because he had nowhere else to go.  It was a man.  A handsome, tall, sexy man.
She turned sideways and touched her chin to her shoulder, dropped the towel and arched her back, cupping her breasts with both hands, posing sexy for herself in front of the bathroom mirror.

“You hear that, Mom?” she said. “Wayne thinks I’m hot.”

It was true.  It was true because he had said so.  And it was true because of the way he had looked at her.  He must have thought she was hot if he had looked at her that way.  And then he had touched her.  And then he had watched her and he had got so excited.  Yes, it must have been true.  And if Wayne thought she was hot, then there were other men out there who would think the same thing.

Emily turned to face the mirror and began combing her hair.  She had used a shampoo that was supposed to keep the tangles out.  She had hoped it would work.  Her hair was so long that sometimes she wanted to get it cut, but then when she saw it nice and clean and pretty, she always thought it was her nicest thing so why would she want to change it? 

As she stood combing her hair, she thought about Daniel King and how if he thought she was pretty, then there had to be other boys who thought she was pretty too.  And she knew he thought she was pretty.  She had seen the way he stared at her body, and he would always look away when she would catch him staring for too long. 

And for the first time, as she stood there thinking about that dorky thirteen-year-old boy who was out in the backyard cutting the grass, she actually thought about him getting an erection from looking at her.  And she thought about him going home, taking off his clothes and playing with himself.  She wondered how big it got to be, if it got as hard as Wayne’s cock, and… 

God, she was thinking about Daniel of all people!  She could be thinking of any of the boys at her own school!  Not a fucking eighth grader!  She could be thinking of Anthony Petroni.  Oh my god, could you just picture him naked for five minutes!  All that dark skin and all those muscles and she bet he had a pretty looking cock, she really did…

Emily wrapped herself in her big green towel, unlocked and opened the door, and she looked and listened both ways.  She hurried across to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.  She exhaled and dropped her towel to the floor, looking around at the room.

This was where it had happened.  She hadn’t dreamed it.  It wasn’t a chapter she had read in her mother’s dirty book.  Her mother’s dirty book was a lie, a dream was a dream, and what had really happened, well… that was right there when she closed her eyes.  In the future, whenever she needed something to think about to get her pussy wet, she would return to what had happened in this room the night before.

She looked down at the floor and saw the cut-off t-shirt and yellow shorts she had on when Wayne had caught her dancing, the clothes she had been wearing when he had fondled her in the kitchen… everything, including her panties, lying there right where she had stripped the night before. 

She picked up the clothes and thought about how the laundry needed to be done, and the sooner she got started, the sooner she would get it over with.  Saturdays were the hardest because no matter what small loads she did during the week she had a huge pile by Saturday.

Another problem this posed for Emily as she thought about the big pile of dirty clothes that waited for her, as she began to look through her closet and dresser drawers, was what in the hell she was going to wear.  She usually ended up wearing a ratty old t-shirt with holes in the pits and a pair of sweat pants, because that was good enough at least until she had done laundry and she had something nice to change into. 

Of course, by that time, it didn’t usually make much sense, because she didn’t really have anywhere to go, and if she did change into something she could always count on Mom to stand there and ask her what in the hell she was changing clothes for?  Did she have a hot date or something?

Well, this morning was going to be different!  Wayne thought she was hot and she was going to be hot!  No ratty t-shirts this week.  No baggy sweatpants.  She didn’t care what her mom said.  Fuck that bitch anyway!  Fuck that bitch who called her names and insulted her, made fun of her, screamed in her face and smacked her around.

Emily was flipping off the wall, glaring in the direction of her mother’s bedroom.  She wanted to scream. 

Top drawer.  Panties.  One pair left.  She slipped them on, pulled them up.  Very small, tight around the ass.  That was OK.  She began to search the room up and down for clothes, opening and closing drawers in frustration, going to her closet and coming back, standing and looking at herself in the mirror with her hair still wet, drying in the air, and sweat beading on her brow.

That was when it came to her.  Piece by piece she dressed herself in her mind and saw herself in a photograph.  Oh god yes, she looked very good.  She looked hot, and she knew that Wayne would think so, and Mom… well, who cared about what Mom would think?

She tucked her thumbs into the waistband of the tight panties, peeled them off and let them drop around her ankles, worked them free from her feet, picked them up and tossed them into the corner.

She opened the bottom right drawer of her dresser, the one she had closed just moments before, and she took out something she had never worn before.  This something had been a gift from her Aunt Barbara, something she had taken as a joke, but now she was dead serious. 

It was a pink bikini bathing suit, very brief, and the tag was still attached because when Aunt Barbara had given it to her, she had thrown it in the drawer without thinking about it.  Still, she hadn’t thrown it in the garbage, and now she was glad.    Emily laid it out on the bed and imagined herself wearing it.  She searched around and found a pair of scissors in an old junior sewing kit and she cut the tag off.

When she stepped into the panties and pulled them up, she realized just how brief they were, and she was glad that when she shaved her legs she always did a little extra grooming down there.  She had to stand on the bed to get a good angle and see how the panties looked on her butt and around the curves of her hips.  She did a little dance, a little jiggle, and then carefully stepped down off the bed and reached for the bikini top.

She put it on was like a bra, backwards, tied the back and twisted it around, then pulled the loose strings up behind her neck, drawing the pink triangles to cover her breasts.
She tied the strings and turned this way and that, and pulled at the fabric and adjusted her tits and saw her nipples poking through the bikini top and knew there was nothing she was going to be able to do about that.

She turned and went for the third drawer down on the left and took out the blue jean shorts her mother had only worn a couple of times and then given to her.  She had said they were too tight.  She had called them Daisy Dukes, whatever the hell that meant.  They were brief and they would show off her tummy and her legs.  That was all she cared about.  She stepped into them and pulled them up and they fit nice and tight around the hips and butt.

She put on her glasses this time, before she climbed up on the bed and looked at herself.  She turned around and around and she was pleased at how much of her butt and legs were exposed by the shorts.  She liked how she looked in the mirror.  Damn… 

She could hear Wayne now.

“Well, look at you,” he would say when he saw her, only this time she would be ready for it.  She wouldn’t shy away from him.  And if he tried to touch her, she would let him.  Oh yes, she would let him.  And she would touch him. 

“Do I look hot?” she asked him, pretending he was there, standing by the bed.

“Oh, baby, do you look hot!”

“Am I beautiful?”

“Oh, you are so beautiful!”

“Do you want me?”

“Oh Emily, sweet Emily, I want you so bad.”

She smiled, closing her eyes, squeezing her legs together over her hand as it pressed against her clit, thinking about him being there in the room with her, talking to her as she stood half-naked on the bed.

She opened her eyes and stepped off the bed toward the closet and she found the white button-down blouse she had worn to her cousin Mary’s confirmation.  Of course, at the time she had worn it buttoned all the way up to her throat, and she had worn it with a black skirt and dress shoes. but she remembered there had been something about the material she had liked, not only the way it looked but the way it felt against her skin.

She took it down off the hanger and immediately put her right arm in, then reached around her back and grabbed at it and put her left arm in the other sleeve.  Drawing it over her shoulders and around herself, she looked down, gathered up the waist of the shirt and tied it into a knot.  She wasn’t happy with it.  She loosened it, untied it, and tied it again into a prettier looking sort of bow.  Once again she stepped up on the bed and she looked at herself. 

It was as she had looked in the photograph, the shirt with the shorts with her tummy showing in between.  She rolled up the sleeves on the shirt and as she was doing this she saw in the mirror that the pink bikini showed through the white fabric of the blouse.  This detail had not been featured in the photograph.  It was definitely a nice bonus.

Emily sighed.  She climbed down and sat down and sat on the bed.  This was all crazy and silly and stupid and it wasn’t her.  She couldn’t believe she was trying to dress all sexy for a man who had no business touching her.  Of course, the way she had let him do whatever he wanted, the way she had begged him to stay in her room, you couldn’t blame him for doing what he did.

Twenty-four hours ago none of this had existed.  Twenty-four hours ago none of this existed.  Life was much simpler.  She was Emily without the sexy clothes, without her Mom’s boyfriend, without… the excitement.   

Twenty-four hours ago she had been sitting in English class trying to pay attention while Kevin Cronin kicked at the back of her chair, calling her a retard.  She had been wearing a tan blouse with a sweater because the school air-conditioning was always too high, and a skirt. 

Eventually, she had stood up, and Miss Adams had entered the situation, telling Kevin to get his feet out from under the Emily’s desk.  He had done so by kicking the desk forward across the room.

Emily sat on the bed remembering this, thinking about it, thinking about how she had done nothing and yet for some reason that bitch Miss Adams had sent both of them to the office where she had been forced to sit next to Kevin and take his abuse for an hour before being seen by the principal.

“So, young lady,” Mr. Travers had said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“N-N-N-Nothing.  I-I-I d-d-d-didn’t do a-a-anything.”

“I see.  So Miss Adams sent you down here because you did nothing.”

That’s right.  Because Miss Adams is a bitch and a whore and she doesn’t like me.  How is that for a reason, Mister Travers?  What do you think of that?  Is that too truthful for your zero tolerance policy where bullies get away with murder?

Emily stood up and looked into the mirror.  For a few minutes she had forgotten how much things had sucked twenty-four hours ago. 

She took a deep breath and turned toward her bedroom door, screwed up her courage and turned the knob and pulled it back.  Her mother’s door was open wide, and as Emily stepped out into the hallway, a quick look around confirmed that her mother wasn’t there. 

Well, then if Wayne was anywhere in the house then her mom was bound to be with him and she would have to wait to see what he thought of the sexy outfit she had picked out for herself.  She certainly wouldn’t want to ask his opinion in front of Mom, as if Mom wouldn’t be putting in her two cents anyway.  And of course, if he knew what was good for him, Wayne wouldn’t be volunteering an opinion in front of her mother.  Emily knew that.

Emily walked down the hallway to the kitchen and turned the corner and nobody was there.  The back door was closed and nobody was outside.  She went to the living room and looked out the window and saw that Wayne’s car was gone. 

“M-M-Mom!” she shouted. “Mom!” she repeated, and came to the conclusion that she was alone, that Wayne had taken her mother somewhere, and that she had the house to herself. 

She gathered all of the laundry in the house and brought it to the basement, sorted into whites, darks, and bright colors, and she started a load.  She came back upstairs and poured herself a glass of juice and a big bowl of cereal with milk.  She turned on the boom box and listened to the classic rock station for a couple of minutes before she decided to hunt for something like she had heard the night before.

She had just taken a big mouthful of cereal when she came across something that sounded amazing to her.  No, it didn’t have a guitar.  It had a piano, bass and drums, a trumpet and a couple of other horns that sounded sexy and sweet.  She was pretty sure it was the same radio station she had found the night before.  After all, what other radio station would play such wonderful music?

As she ate, she bopped back and forth to the rhythm and her toes moved about on the floor below the kitchen table.  When she finished with the bowl, she walked it over to the sink and rinsed it out quickly, then turned and walked toward the table.  She grabbed the kitchen chair she had been sitting in and she turned it around facing her and she pretended Wayne was sitting there.  She pictured with his shirt off, leaning back with his butt on the edge of the chair, the button undone on his jeans.   

“My sweet Emily,” she heard him say. “Are you going to dance nice and sexy for me?”

“I don’t know about the ‘nice’ part,” she said. “But I’ll dance as sexy as you like.”

She was just getting started, bopping back and forth and shaking her hips, when the song on the radio came to an end.  A man came on to describe what had just been played and when it had been recorded and by whom, and Emily just sort of stood there and half-listened.  She had never been much interested in names and dates and stuff.  But when they got to they end of all that, the host called himself Bud Lowery and said his show was called the Saturday Morning Jazz Program.

“We are heard here each week from nine to noon,” Bud said. “Now, here’s a set from Miles Davis.”

She was all set to start bopping as she had been before, but what began to play was very slow, and she wasn’t sure how to go about dancing to it.  She stared at the empty chair in front of her and she closed her eyes and there was Wayne sitting there waiting for her to dance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I don’t know how to dance to something like this,” she said.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “All you have to do is feel it and move.”

She closed her eyes again and she listened to the horn, to the super slow rhythm of the drums and the bass and the piano.  She raised her arms above her head and she began to move her feet about the floor.  She took a big breath and let it out and allowed her whole body, from her shoulders down to her hips, to move slowly to the music.

“Oh baby, look at you,” she heard him say.

“You like it?”

“Oh baby, you know I do.”

She played with the shirt, untied the bow, spread it out to show what was underneath, and when she wrapped the shirt around herself, she left her shoulders bared, moving about seductively before slipping the shirt off completely and dropping it on the floor.

That was when she spun around, bending over, backing up so that her butt was right there, right where the invisible Wayne could reach out and touch it.  She reached her hand up between her legs and pressed her fingers to the warm spot.

“Do I make your dick hard?” she asked him.

The next second she heard something… and she wanted to die.

“Well… look at you!” her mother said.  She was standing at the top of the stairs, looking on with a smile on her face. “Whose dick are we talking about?”

Emily grabbed the blouse off the floor, straightened up, and stood with her head down, waiting for her mother to come out with her next comment.  The woman approached her, and Emily could hear her laughing.  She walked around the table and turned off the boom box.

“You know, you don’t look too damn bad,” her mom said to her. “As a matter of fact, you look pretty hot dressed like that.  Yessir.  And you must be getting’ horny, talkin’ about getting  somebody’s dick hard.  Whose dick are we talking about?”

Oh, she wanted to tell her mother.  She wanted to tell her mother about Wayne and how she had already made his dick hard, but she knew she couldn’t do it.  She had to come up with something else. 

“A b-b-b-boy in s-s-s-school.  Y-Y-You d-d-d-don’t kn-now him.”

Her mother smiled at her.  Wow.  She was almost being human.  It was confusing.

“Be careful with boys, Emily,” she said.

“W-W-Where’s W-W-W-Wayne?” Emily asked her mother.

That was when a hard look came over her mother’s face and she damn near bit her head off.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked.

“I-I-It’s just, y-y-you t-t-two seem s-s-s-so g-good…” Emily started to say, but her mother cut her off impatiently.

“Yeah, well, we went to breakfast, but then… he had stuff to do,” she said. “Speaking of that, don’t you have laundry to do?”

“Y-Y-Yes,” Emily said.  She put the blouse back on and she tied it with a bow the way she’d had it before and she asked her mother if she could please borrow the boom box to take to the basement with her. 

Down there, as she listened to jazz, and did the laundry, washing and drying and folding, she thought about what might be going on between Wayne and her mother, and she thought about how she hadn’t liked the idea of him fucking her mother the night before and how she really wouldn’t like it now, now that she had touched him and she was thinking about him so much… but would she want them to call it quits?  Where did he live?  How would she get to see him if he wasn’t with her mom?

By early afternoon, she had put all the laundry away, eaten a sandwich, and she had decided to go for a walk, maybe see if her new look attracted any attention along the way.  She stepped out the front door onto the concrete stoop and sat down to put on her sneakers, and when she happened to look up she saw something next door that killed the idea of taking a walk.

He was wearing faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt with dark sunglasses.  His car was parked in the driveway and he had filled a bucket of soapy water.  He had dragged the hose out and it was lying there with the water running, ready to go.  He took his sunglasses off, he shaded his eyes and looked around, but it was just like yesterday evening at the park when he had played his guitar.  He just wasn’t looking…

She tried every which way to get him to look at her.  She tried twisting her smooth, tanned legs this way and that, stretching them out or bending one while leaving one straight and looking at him sexy above her glasses.  She slipped her white blouse off one arm to show her bare shoulder, then took off the blouse completely and arched her back to thrust her chest out in her little pink bikini, attempting to show off her terminally hard nipples instead of covering them up.
But no, he still wasn’t looking, not with her lying back in her little pink bikini, with one leg bent at the knee and one leg stretched out, and her giving him the sexiest look possible over her glasses.  Was her hair all right?  She looked down to see that it her gorgeous hair was flowing over one shoulder. 

Emily looked at his ass as he bent over to pick up the hose and she felt a tingle between her legs, and she had to bend the knee that was straight so she could squeeze her legs together as she watched him move about the car, getting it all wet.  She began to do little exercises, hoping that as he worked his way around the car, her movements would catch his eye and, just for a moment, she would get his attention.

She liked the way his brown hair was combed back so that it didn’t fall into his eyes, the way it was a little long in the back and on the sides, and she liked the little bit of beard and moustache she could see on his face from a distance, and she thought about what it would be like to touch his face with her fingers, or to feel it against her cheek.

Emily liked how he moved around, how he bent over, how his arm muscles flexed as he soaped the car and scrubbed, especially when he really had to give it some elbow grease.   They were not those grotesque muscle-man arms, but they were good, solid strong-looking arms, the kind that made her want to be held tight and not let go.   
Emily could not believe how it was making her feel to just sit there and watch this man wash his car.

Her clit was tingling, pulsing with each and every heartbeat, and it was hard to resist reaching down there to rub herself through her shorts right there in broad daylight, to do just as she had done at the park.  With each of his movements she found herself moving as well, as if in some sort of rhythm with him.  Her thighs were trembling as she watched him bend down to scrub his hubcaps, and she could feel her panties getting wet.

She didn’t know what she was going to do if he suddenly turned and noticed her sitting there, lost in looking at him.  She was sure there had to be some kind of a flush all over her, marking her, and as much as she had wanted him to look at her just moments before, the idea suddenly frightened her.

“Hi,” someone said, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.  Instead, she jumped to her feet to find herself face to face with the guitar player’s wife.  She found herself so anxious that she couldn’t even speak, but the beautiful woman didn’t seem to notice.  She reached out and took Emily’s hand in hers, covered it on top with her other hand.

“My name is Linda,” she said. “My husband’s name is Tom.  We just moved in next door.  What’s your name?”

Emily closed her eyes and breathed through her nose and tried very hard to get it out.  It was only her name.  Surely she could say her name without fucking it up.

“E-E-E… E-E-Emily,” she said, and she felt defeated, but Linda squeezed her hand.

“Well, Emily,” Linda said. “You’re the girl my husband was looking at from our bedroom window last night.  And now he’s over there pretending not to look at you, but believe me, I know he’s looking.  He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Emily’s heart was pounding.  She looked into Linda’s pretty green eyes and saw the way the woman was smiling at her. 

“W-W-Why are y-y-you t-t-t-telling m-me this?” Emily asked her.

“I guess because I don’t mind,” Linda said.  She let go of Emily’s hand and she stroked Emily’s cheek. “No, I don’t mind at all.” be continued...

Live while you live for you're a long time dead.

Offline HppyHrryHrdn

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Another excellent addition.  You have a way of adding detail where needed and leaving it out and to the reader's imagination otherwise. I did like the imaginary conversation. It rang true with what a girl that age would do.  Lastly, you've done a good job setting up the three-way with the neighbor. Looking forward to that chapter.

Happy Harry

I like the idea that a voice can just go somewhere, uninvited, and just kinda hang out like a dirty thought in a nice clean mind. Maybe a though is like a virus,  it can kill all the healthy thoughts