A Pussy Named Amber

I was in my early 40s, divorced and living alone, when I got a call from a long-lost girlfriend, Amy. She said she was living outside of L.A. with her husband and an adopted child, a teenage girl named Amber, whom she called "a handful." She just wanted to chat. She said she and her husband wanted kids but couldn't conceive. After years of trying, they decided to adopt and ended up rescuing the orphaned Amber a few years ago from a string of foster homes. As it happened, I was scheduled for a three-week business trip to L.A. next month, so Amy invited me to spend the first week at her house to get re-acquainted. Her husband wouldn't mind, she said.

My visit went well, to say the least. I arrived on a Friday night, and everything went fine. Her husband Doug showed no trace of jealousy. We were all grownups, after all. I guess you could even say Amber was a grownup, since she had just turned 18. I don't know about that, but I certainly noticed her short, black dress with low neckline and her prominent Victorian-style necklace. I noticed her black stockings and high boots, also black, with high heels. I noticed her heavy black eye makeup. Long, curved strips of jet-black hair framed but partially hid her delicate face, the ends brushing her chin and reminding me a little of a 1920s flapper, but in the back her hair was short, boyish. Lipstick — the darkest red. She must have been wearing 10 or 12 silver bracelets. I'll just say right now that she took my breath away, but I hid that from everyone.

She didn't talk much. In fact, she was downright rude at times. My attempts to ask her about school were met with sarcasm, which prompted embarrassed looks from Amy and Doug. Overall, dinner went well, though Amber left the table before dessert, up to her room.

When she was gone, Amy and Doug told me they were worried about her. They were hoping to turn her into a polite, wholesome girl at this critical time in her life, but it was an uphill battle. She got good grades, but she was very rebellious, and they worried about whom she was hanging out with. They didn't let her go out much, for fear of the trouble she might get into. After more talk and a few drinks, we all decided to call it a day. On my way down the hall to the guestroom, I passed Amber's door. I thought I heard some urgent moaning. I kept walking.

The next day was unremarkable. I went over some reports for my Monday meetings, and then trailed along with Doug on a trip the hardware store. Apologetically, he explained that he and Amy would be gone for the evening at an obligatory banquet. Would I mind staying home with Amber, he asked. No problem, I replied. When we got home, I helped him replace an old screen door. Amy was out most of the day on errands. Amber, who had been picked up by a look-alike girlfriend, Andrea, soon after breakfast, did not return until late that afternoon.

Amy and Doug shouted their goodbyes to Amber from the bottom of the stairs. Not long after they had pulled out of the driveway, the girl came down those stairs, dressed almost as she had been dressed the night before. But this time she wore a short leather skirt. No stockings tonight. Around her neck was a black velvet choker. She was quite a sight — a tasty one.

She asked what was for dinner, and I said I was just going to make some coleslaw and grill some burgers for us. She turned up her cute little nose, but I got the impression she would have done that no matter what was on the menu.

"I thought a girl your age would have a party to go to," I said. "It's Saturday night.

"Right," she snorted. "Like I'm in the in-crowd or something. Even if someone invites me somewhere, my parents usually don't let me go. They keep me on a short leash."

She left the kitchen then. I saw her turn on the TV in the living room and flop on the sofa.

Over dinner, finally, she started to open up. In response to questions from me, she told me her mom had died of an overdose about a year after her father had left them for parts unknown, never to be heard from again. She said she wasn't very happy now, but admitted her life was a lot better than in those foster homes, the mention of which made her shiver.

We finished the meal in silence, then rose simultaneously to clear the table. Carrying the dirty dishes to the sink, I felt the need to break the ice, but couldn't think of what to say.

"You know, at home I have a cat named Amber," I blurted out, immediately thinking how dumb that had sounded. By now she was sauntering back to the living room.

"What a coincidence," she said. "I have a pussy by the same name."

Had I heard that right? As I soaped the dishes, I wondered if I were in a dream. She'd had her back to me, I told myself; perhaps she'd said something else. But I knew what she had said. And it excited me.

I zipped through the dishes, as you can imagine. When I joined Amber in the living room, she was on the sofa again, but the TV was off. I picked a chair across the room and met her steady, defiant eyes. Was this some kind of dare? Neither of us wanted to be the first to blink. The stakes were high. After a full minute, I broke the silence:

"I think you're bluffing," I said.

"What do you mean?" she asked coyly.

"I'm betting you're still a virgin."

"Well, maybe I am and maybe I'm not. Is that any of your business?"

"No, I guess not," was my reply.

She left the room. Maybe it's best to back off now, I decided. I knew I was in good shape; I go to the gym almost every day at home. But I'm more than twice her age. What could she see in me?

I moved to sofa and turned on the TV to watch some mindless sitcom. But 20 minutes later, she was back. She sat down on the coffee table right in front of me, and I hit the mute button.

"You know," said Amber, "even if I were a virgin, and I'm not saying I am, that wouldn't be the point. The point is whether I want to be one or not."

I smiled. It was a pretty big smile, actually. I found myself fantasizing like crazy about what the next few hours might hold in store. I wasn't sure what to say. I took a deep breath.

"OK, I'll bite. Do you want to be a virgin?'

"No," she said sharply, looking down at her knees.

Again, I found myself at a loss for words. But I was falling quickly into something I knew I couldn't resist if it went much further. She looked up at me with those dark, seductive eyes — another staring contest?

As it turned out, my hand decided to take the chance before my mind gave it permission. I looked down, and it was on her knee. My hand (and my penis) knew what they wanted. She didn't flinch. She still didn't blink. She smiled. It was an ironic smile, mouth turned upward only at the edges. It was if she knew all along how this would turn out.

I started to smile too. Finally, I began in inch my fingers up her thigh.

"OK?" I asked.

"OK." I wasn't the most enthusiastic encouragement, but it was enough. She had to be nervous.

Slowly, very slowly, my fingers drifted up under her skirt, rotating slightly to her inner thigh. I could hear her breathing more heavily. I could see her chest, with her orange-sized breasts encased in a tight top, rising and falling. My hand continued up her thigh, and I reached out with my other hand to touch her cheek.

"Mmmmmmmm," she said.

"Is Amber beginning to purr?"

With that, she broke off the stare at last, and stood up. For an instant, I thought I had blown it, but then she sat down again, this time on my lap, sideways. Her smile was broader now, and she took my hand and put it back under her skirt (Am I blessed, or what?). Then she leaned over and kissed me. She was a good kisser.

She pulled away to say, "Kissing is something I have done."

"I can tell," I said, sliding my fingers all the way up to her pantied crotch. Through the damp cloth, I gently squeezed her lower lips. Then I ran one finger up her cleft, stopped on her clitoris.

"Oh!" she said, with an involuntary pelvic twitch. Her mouth again sought mine. This time, she introduced me to her brave little tongue. I massaged her vulva, still through her panties, the crotch of which was now damp. My left arm supported her back.

This sweetness continued for quite a while — who knows how long? Moaning, she broke our kiss to hug me. We were both breathing quite hard by now.

"Was this the sort of thing I heard you doing when I walked by your bedroom door last night?"

"Yes," she panted. "Please don't stop."

Now I started massaging her clit in slow circles with my thumb.

"Unnh. Unnh. Unnh." She loved it.

It was easy as pie to slip my whole hand under her panties and resume my thumb-circles in person. I snaked my middle finger down her wet gash and into her over-ripe peach. With my little finger, I pressed her perineum. I sped up my thumb, and that did it. She came hard with a long moan, hanging onto me for dear life until her spasms subsided.

"Thank you," she whispered, after a tender period of stillness. I was on top of the world.

"BUT I'M STILL A FUCKING VIRGIN!" she yelled, throwing her head back with a deep, throaty laugh. She was still sitting sideways on my lap.

"No, that's what you're going to be in a little while — a fucking virgin," I quipped.

That's when her hand (with fingernails painted black, of course) came away from my neck and slid down my chest to my groin. She might not have been sure what to do next, but she knew what she felt in my pants. Once again, she looked me in the eyes, up close. But this time, she raised her eyebrows, as if to ask a question. I already knew the question.

I almost suggested we go upstairs to her bedroom, but I guess I was afraid to interrupt the magic. I knew we were going to fuck, and I was quite aroused. I didn't want to give either one of us more time to think it over. To pass up this opportunity would be to betray my manhood; I would never forgive myself. Instead, I gently laid her down on the sofa. I stood up to take it all in. She was still staring, eyebrows still up, wondering what would come next. I would come next, that's what.

She didn't move. I think she was a little scared. I bent down and took off her boots. Not a peep from her. Then I reached up her skirt, one hand on each hip, and pulled her panties, all in one motion, all the way down to her feet, and off. She bent her knees, causing her skirt to ride up, and I had my first look at the cute little pussy named Amber, red and pouting because it had never been fucked. It was my first glimpse of a teenage pussy since I was her age. Hairy? Not very. Soft, downy pubic hair, not wiry.

I noticed her eyes were anxiously scanning my face. I must have looked hungry. She needed reassurance.

"The most beautiful sight I have ever seen," I said.

Her expression softened to a tentative smile, but now I could tell for sure that she was nervous. As for myself, I couldn't wait, yet I forced myself to go slowly. I took off her top, then massaged and kissed her lovely breasts, but not for long. I was in a hurry to get to that pussy, which I had been smelling ever since she came on my lap. It was a delightful smell, an enchanting smell — that fresh, young-woman smell I had forgotten until now. I spread her legs and bent down to lick that pussy, which I learned up close was firm and slick. It tasted good, believe me. Amber's moans turned to yelps.

I had my clothes off by now, and my erection was like an iron poker. My licking didn't last long because I was impatient, and so was she, squirming like crazy and starting to mash her blossom against my mouth. I came back up to kiss her, supporting myself with my arms beside her shoulders.

"Please," she whispered. She raised her pelvis, and I jerked mine forward, plunging into her pussy in one stroke, crashing straight through her hymen and ending her virginity problem forever.

"OUCH," she said, and I stopped, fully inside her. Was it like pulling a Band-Aid off all at once? All I know is that after some kisses I began to pump her slowly, and the "Mmmmmmm" returned. Before long, I had picked up the pace, and soon after that, with her legs wrapped around me, she came again, trembling like a leaf on the stem of my penis. I had my own orgasm then. Suffice to say, it felt like the top of my head blew off. I was lovin' this goth girl!

After some nuzzling and some reassuring sweet nothings, we cleaned up and went to bed early, in our separate rooms, a bit before her parents got home. I kissed her goodnight on her forehead, at the doorway of her bedroom.

The next day, Sunday, was a bit tense, but Amber and I played our parts well. I was the polite houseguest, and she didn't pay me much attention because her parents were around all day. I spent most of the day on preparations for my meetings, though it was very difficult to focus on them.

Monday, my meetings went well. I was surprisingly focused then, somehow. Fortunately, we wrapped up early, and I sped back to the house and let myself in with the key Amy had lent me. I was reading the paper when Amber got home from school. Her parents were still at work, of course. We exchanged hellos, and, after throwing her books down on a hall table, she walked quietly past me to an armchair across the living room. She knew I was watching her out of the corner of my eye. We both knew we had at least another two hours until her parents got home. No more words were spoken; none were needed. Instead, she leaned back in the big chair and pulled her heels up to the cushion. Her skirt slid down her thighs to bunch on her flat belly. Then, slowly, she parted her knees, and once again I was past the point of no return. No underwear. Her glistening red petals beckoned me from between those wispy black curls. I must have bounded across the room, because in seconds I was lapping at her slit and kneading (with both hands) the spongy mound it bisected.

As Amber sighed, my hands migrated to her thighs. As you might have guessed, they were magnificent — lean, firm, and silky-smooth. I've always had high praise for female thighs, and lean ones, while found most often on young women, can occasionally be found on older ones, even a few who have survived the ravages of childbirth and motherhood. Those exceptional women tend to retain tight, firm buttocks as well. To them I raise my glass (and my penis), but I digress. To return to the story at hand, I am stroking the best firm flesh — young flesh. As I continue to eat her out, those thighs begin to shake, and she shouts out an orgasm. You can guess what happens next — down go my pants, in goes my cock. Her inner walls engulf me. Her legs wrap around my back again (her head is on the chair's seat by now), and her hungry mouth sucks my tongue.

We came together, her vagina clamping my penis repeatedly. "OHH! OHH! OH, MY GOD!" she yelled. Or was that me?

In the afterglow, I kiss her face all over. I uncover and kiss her breasts. She smiles. She coos. But we are both watching the clock, and by the time Amy and Doug get home, we are fully dressed and playing it straight. I'm reading the paper again. Amber is upstairs doing homework. We barely speak at dinner, but every so often, when her parents aren't looking, she flashes me a knowing smile.

The next day is almost a replay, thank the Lord. I get home first, pick up the paper, and hear the front door open. This time, instead of walking past me, she comes up and stands before me, short skirt, no stockings, and the usual boots. I put the paper down.

"Are you wet," I ask.

"Maybe," she says, with a coy hint of a smile. I knew that look by now.

Like an arrow leaving a bow, my right hand darts up her skirt. No underwear, again.

She gasps as I ram two fingers up her sopping cunt. I keep pushing, standing up to push her across the room that way, at times even lifting her off the floor with those two fingers, my other hand supporting her back as if we were performing some sort of wild dance move. She clings to my shoulders for more support, as her boot-heels bounce across the carpet. My thumb toggles her clit as we make a hard landing in yesterday's easy chair. Both of us are caught up in the urgency to unite again. I bend to mash my mouth against hers while her hands fumble with my belt buckle. In a few seconds, my dick replaces my fingers, and we both settle into another long, hard fuck. This time, she lifts her booted calves to my shoulders, so I can go even deeper into her. Harder still. Faster still. She comes. I come. Lots of yelling, as I recall. Life is good. Cooling down, still breathing hard, I withdraw. She unfolds her spine, stretches her legs.

"Yeah," she says.

"You can't get enough, can you?" I ask.

"Maybe not," she replies.

Once again, we primp for her parents, get through another dinner of innocent small talk, and head for bed. But this night is different. At about 2 in the morning she enters my room, pulls her nightgown over her head, and straddles me! I wake up fast. There is still a sheet between us as slowly walks, on her knees, up my body to where her labia are inches from my face. She stops, smiles.

"Still not close enough, I whisper, grabbing her buns and pulling that sweet pussy to my mouth.

"Yesss," she hisses, holding onto the headboard with both hands. She gets into it. Oh, does she get into it, sliding her juicy gash up and down my face. My nose is inside her a good deal of the time. I keep busy with my tongue. I lubricate a finger with her juice and slide it into her rectum, and she explodes, bucking and squirting. "Oh, God yes," she says.

My whole face is covered with her love juice. But she isn't done. Shakily, she rotates, dives under the sheet, and takes my rock-hard penis in her darling, blessed mouth. Her snatch, of course, is back on my face. My finger goes back into her rectum, but before she warms up again I erupt into her mouth. It is such a torrent that she pulls back in surprise, but at least she knows enough to hold me in her hands until I am spent.

Seconds later, she is face-to-face, whispering excitedly. "That was my first blow job," she says. "I've only seen it done in porn movies Andrea found in her father's closet. Was it OK?"

"Fantastic," I said. "I've never understood why they call it a blow job, or why 'you suck' is considered an insult!" That made her giggle.

"Well, I'd better get back to my room now," she said. "But I've got a surprise for you tomorrow afternoon. It's something else I saw in one of those movies." A peck on the cheek and she was gone, leaving me to my fantasies.

The next day dragged. I kept looking at my watch with anticipation. Actually, I shirked my responsibilities this time, faking a headache to get out of a late meeting and head back to Amber's house. The door was unlocked, so I knew she was home.

"Up here," she called, and I took the stairs two at a time. At the bedroom door I beheld a naked Amber on her bed, on her back with her knees up. Her head was hanging over the edge toward me. With an upside-down smile, she said, "Take your clothes off."

I did as told. I already had a hard-on, and as I approached she opened her mouth, and her legs. As if choreographed, I took a few steps more, bent over to kiss her sweet teenage vulva, and slipped my dick into her willing mouth, all the way down her throat.

"MMMMMMM," we moaned, in unison. Her hands came around to clutch my butt cheeks, fingers splayed. I did the same to her, and pulled her ass up off the bed, tilting her vagina straight up toward the ceiling. With my forearms resting on the undersides of those firm thighs, I poked my tongue down into her velvet purse as far as it would go. She was flowing with nectar, and I lapped it up, swirling my tongue over her meaty folds. She shuddered with a preliminary orgasm, but then started to make choking sounds, so I withdrew my penis immediately. She took a few deep breaths, and I was willing to move on to something else, but, bless her little heart, she wanted to finish the job.