Guilty Pleasures Ch. 01

Anne pouted a little more, and raised her hand to the dislodged bikini cup. Then she slid it across to the other breast and exposed it instead! They were not really that little.

Fuck. The right one was every bit as amazing as the left. And while one tit had seemed raunchy, both of them were just simply lovely. Why did it seem better? It should have seemed twice as inappropriate, right?

I felt my lips curling into a smile, and in desperation to avoid her seeing that, I screwed up my visage to hide it. "Anne, what the fuck!" Swearing was the least of my problems right now, but it still frustrated me that it slipped out. "What are you doing? That is not teasing. That is not even just flashing. You are flat-out showing them to me!"

"Don't you like them?"

I wanted to say no, but that was more dishonesty than I could muster in my present, confused state. It was better to just not say anything. "They are gorgeous," my lips said without my permission.

She bit her lower lip, with its habitually worn mauve lipgloss, for half a beat. It was the first sign of anything but complete confidence in her demeanor.

"Do you want to touch them?"

My hands twitched, damn them.

Again, I needed to say no. I'm an experienced father, dammit. I know how to lie with perfect conviction to... to children like Anne! But I just could not find it in me to lie right now. It was going to be hard to navigate this situation with one hand tied behind my back like this.

My brain traitorously decided to observe that right now, I really did not want any hands tied behind my back...

"Anne," I said at last, openly pleading. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I am trying to help us both out," she smiled pertly... perhaps impertinently.

"What?"

"It is really obvious recently, especially since we came on board, that you need some fun, a particular, specific kind of fun," she said firmly. Oh Christ. The worst part of it was, my eyes were having the most fun they'd had in twenty years. I'd long forgotten the special magic of young breasts just reaching their full flower.

"Yeah?" was all I could say, and I barely managed to keep some moral high ground by making my voice sound sarcastic. "And what, pray tell, do you get out of this situation?"

She looked at me, hard, and it actually helped me focus on her eyes for the first time since the world had turned upside down. "I get to have you look at me like you are now, and like you were a moment ago. I've always wanted that. Ever since that first day, almost two years ago, when Becca brought us over to your back yard, just after she and I met at college, and you ended up working the grill in your bathing suit, I've wanted you to look at me like I was me, myself, and I--like I was pretty, instead of treating me like some kind of auxiliary daughter."

"Anne..."

"What else do I get? What I've also wanted since almost that day," she went on softly, and I felt her grab my hand. "To have you touch me," she almost whispered, as she placed my hand, which refused to fight her, onto one of those exposed joys. She shivered at the touch. My hand shook.

"Anne, I can't!" I protested. But I could. I did. And I didn't stop, even though her hand released mine. It was not quite so big as to fill my grasp, but I could not stop myself from massaging that breast just enough to realize how firm and resilient it was. How fucking marvelous it was.

"I've always thought that you were just a pleasant fantasy," she went on, obviously needing to explain herself, and thinking that any of what she was saying was going to help me somehow in the least. "But at lunch today, you just looked so miserable, and I realized that this afternoon was just the right, special time where we could safely fix each others problems."

Her hands inevitably seized my other hand, and raised it up inexorably. I didn't even try to fight it this time. I despaired about it, but I didn't fight it. I was standing there, squeezing the tits of a twenty year-old girl.

"Anne, this cannot work," I groaned, my hands betraying me further by moving to trace the outlines of those hard, erect, tiny nipples.

"It's not like I can be your girlfriend, Clark," she said, her use of my first name was both jarring and somehow a relief. It was easier to caress a woman who called me Clark, than to grope a girl who called me Mister Howard. "Neither of us needs that, and neither of us would need the reaction to it either." I snorted in reply, for the first time in this whole episode, we were in complete agreement. "But today, now, this afternoon, you need to feel wanted... needed. And I need your touch."

I was losing this battle, and fast. It was a battle that, important as it was, part of me, hell most of me, wanted to lose, and lose right fucking now. One part in particular was becoming a major problem. I mean, of course I was rock hard by now. Duh. I was holding sexual nirvana in my palms. But I had gotten hard in a most uncontrolled, unshepherded fashion. My dick had gotten hung up in the chino shorts that I had changed into when I had gotten back to my cabin, leaving it poking out to the right and only halfway up. It was trapped and very, very uncomfortable.

I sighed as I went to release a hand from where it wanted to be so I could try to adjust myself without looking like a total perv. But she grabbed my wrist and pressed my hand back onto her tit. "No, no, Clark, I'm enjoying your touch," she almost giggled. Don't sound so girlish, Anne. It negates the benefits of calling me Clark.

"Uh, so help me, I'm enjoying it too," I confessed wryly. "But, um, there are certain inevitable male reactions to this kind of touching that I need to... adjust."

She looked down. "Oh wow! That does look uncomfortable," she said. Wasn't this supposed to be about sympathy for my suffering? She sounded more or less pleased with my predicament.

"Let me help you with that," she said almost merrily.

"Anne!"

But she certainly was not going to delay in this mercy mission to relieve my suffering either. With a swift tug from one hand, she had the front of my shorts pulled outward, the elastic waist letting it open wide.

What? Yes, I wear elastic waist pants for the most part. I'm forty-five. I try to run about four miles several times a week, but that only keeps creeping dad-bod so far at bay.

Random defensive thoughts about my sartorial choices lost their battle as Anne's other hand slid gently into my underwear and clasped my aching, in more ways than one, shaft. My whole body froze in response, and my hands squeezed her breasts involuntarily.

After a single stroke, Anne gently disentangled me and slid me fully upright. Then she slid her hand out of my pants and let them settle back around my waist. "There," she said brightly. "Does that feel all better?"

Wait. She had let go of me, and put my pants back in place? Why was I suddenly despairing, instead of relieved that she had backed down?

Because I was despairing that she had backed down. Oh crap. I'd given in, and now I was realizing that she just wanted to play a little. That was some kind of a good thing, right?

Then she giggled. "Oh, you should see your face," she said merrily. "You really thought I was going to stop there?" she laughed. Then her hands were back on my waist, except this time, she just quite unceremoniously pulled both shorts and underwear straight down.

There are advantages to dad-bod shorts. The elastic waist lets horrible twenty year-old succubi, out to destroy an old man's soul, not have to waste time with snaps and flys...

For once, Anne seemed at a loss for words. I'm seriously pretty close to average down there, but at that moment, she sure seemed happy. A hand slid straight back to me and traced its way slowly up my length, such as it is. I moaned and could not help but gently squeeze her tits again.

"Anne, really..." I groaned. "This can't..."

"I know," she said. "I know. This is a unique opportunity. We can't do it again. But now that we are doing it, I for one intend to do it all." Her hand clamped around my cock and gently squeezed.

I gave up. How could I do otherwise, honestly. Anne was half naked. I was half naked. Anne was hot as only a hot twenty year-old who thinks I am attractive could be. I was horny beyond comprehension. I really don't think that I had known how pent up I was, but I did now, and I needed to buy in or lose control entirely.

Yeah. That was it, I told myself. I needed to either buy in and be intentional about this episode, or I'd lose control. This way I was still being protective of this sort of ward of mine.

Right?

And oh, God, was she hot.

"The one thing is," I breathed, "Becca can never know."

"Oh hell no," Anne laughed.

I found myself laughing too. "She'd disown one of us, and shoot the other," I chuckled, "and I don't know which would be which." I sobered just a little. "So Carol and Mary can't hear either," I added firmly.

"Absolutely," Anne agreed. "Those two could never keep a secret from Becca."

She was right. Of course, I was very unsure of Anne's ability to keep a secret either...

Fuck it. I kissed her.

She tasted of strawberries. Not real strawberries, but candy strawberries, as in the strawberry lollipops the girl was always having. She must have finished one just before she came in here.

Lollipops?!? This was a fucking child!

Her body did not feel like a child's.

My hands came off of her breasts, but only to wrap around her and pull her up against me, my naked hard-on pressing against her flat belly. Tongues flashed. Her form was youthful in my arms, but not immature. Not in the least.

"Lie on the bed, Clark," she breathed, almost commanding suddenly.

I almost unthinkingly went to obey, before it occurred to me that I had to look ridiculous with my cock sticking out beneath the Oxford button-down I still had on. I delayed obeying her long enough to practically rip the thing off.

Then I obeyed.

She followed along with me, pressing me onto my back and kissing me some more. My hand needed no refreshing on what to do, it filled itself with the tightest, firmest backside it had held in decades, when my ex had been young. Possibly tighter even than that. My other hand returned to the scene of my original crime and massaged a breast some more.

Anne's hands run up and down on my chest, seemingly fascinated with my aging silverback's matt of black hair. But then she pressed down on it and pushed herself up above me. She had a wicked gleam in her eyes.

My hand slid easily up from her ass to the bow tying her top on across her back. I pulled a string and the bow opened, leaving the tiny garment to drape around her neck, leaving her tits to dangle free in turn.

She only smiled, then slid downward, lowering herself so that the bikini pulled off over her head as it rubbed against me.

What should have been a riveting development, was almost unremarked upon by my brain, given where I knew she was going.

A breast dragged tantalizingly down the length my shaft, then her face was hanging over my hips. She grabbed me in her fingertips, and lifted me up. She flashed yet another wicked grin at me, then bent to take me into her mouth. I groaned as she closed her lips around my head, and her tongue tentatively flicked across me within. At the base of the shaft, her fingertips still help me delicately, pulsing up and down slightly.

I reflected that the college boys that she had done this with before were probably just so excited by the idea of getting head, they thought her attentions were nirvana. I knew better... this was paradise, but not quite nirvana.

Sex had never been the problem for my ex and I. We had married young. Young and inexperienced. When first together, we had made up for our inexperience with enthusiasm, but as time went by, we had both consciously worked to get better. A lot better. Of course, as happens, the better we got at it, the less we did it. So maybe sex had been our problem after all. That, or the sex my ex might have been having without me...

No dark thoughts! Not now.

I had given up, I needed to just roll with it.

"You are amazing," I said, stroking her sleek, straight onyx hair. "But treat me like one of your lollipops." Her head popped up curiously. "Grab the shaft like it is the stick. Hold it tight. And then lick and suck the heck out of me," I grinned at her.

"Dirty talk, Clark! I like it," she said, but proceeded to try to take my advice.

And that, kids, is how I found myself fucking coaching one of my daughter's best friends through what eventually ended up being one of the better blowjobs I'd ever received. And definitely the best blowjob that she had ever delivered. The men of UNC owe me a god-damned plaque.

The only problem with it was the end. I had shut up at last, unable to find more advice to give as Anne sucked me in and out of her mouth hard, with all the wetness I could hope for, and her hand jacking me with exactly the right tightness, when I realized I'd let her get too far.

"Oh God! I'm going to..." I gasped in desperate warning. I thought she was about to pull off me, but then she held in there. Almost three years of standby mode (Rosy Palm doesn't count) delivered metaphorically all at once. I mean, I delivered physically, and in spades, but you get the drift. I groaned at the top of my lungs as my body spasmed, and I felt myself jetting what felt like the longest continuous blast I could remember.

Anne held on, still jacking my shaft was I unleashed into her mouth. I felt her struggle to swallow once, then again more deeply. As I sagged back onto the mattress, she lifted her face, jizz dribbling profusely from her smiling lips. She wiped them with the back of her hand. "One, congratulations. You are one of the guys whose cum does not taste bad."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, still breathless. "And how large is your study group?" Dammit, that wasn't meant to be a protective question...

"My data set is now four," she taunted me. "You are number two in the set of men with positive results," said the Stats major.

"And two, that was a shitload of cum!" Anne added, wiping her chin again. She tentatively licked the back of her hand, but apparently decided that 'not bad tasting' was not the same as 'Gosh I like this!'

"Oh, heck. I'm sorry," I groaned.

"What for?!?"

"I should have stopped you," I grumbled. "I assume..." Oh, God! Don't assume! Never assume, you idiot! "I... I hoped you were wanting more than just this, and I go ahead and come already," I finished miserably.

She giggled at that. "We have time, Mister Howard, and I have faith in you," she added with a leer.

"Yeah? Well go back to Clark, or your faith in my potential for recuperation at this advanced age will absolutely not be vindicated," I groaned.

"Sorry!" Anne said in a very not sorry voice that told me she had done it intentionally. Then, noting to herself that her face was still dripping, she bounded up and toward my bathroom, that awesome little ass bouncing in the relatively scant cover of her bikini bottom. She returned with a towel that she was rubbing on her face.

She looked down at me. "For the record, Old Man Howard, I've been with a guy or two my age who deflated like a ballon the second they came, never to return. You are still looking mighty interested there."

It was true, given the muse that was currently inspiring it with her presence, my dick was holding its own.

"In fact, I'll bet that I could get my fucking right now," Anne said, pushing her bikini bottoms down. I wondered suddenly if all young women shaved so much down there these days. All I could see was the narrowest little strip. I liked the look.

I had liked that look on my ex-wife when she had tried it out. Of course, we were down to less than once a month at that late point in our marriage, so she sure wasn't doing it for me.

Fucking hell, she had been cheating on me, hadn't she?

In my current, blissful situation, I could hardly work up more than a token bit of indignation. I just was frustrated that I could never taunt the bitch with this tale! My ex would absolutely tell Becca.

Needing some distraction, I fortunately was well-supplied with distraction to hand.

"Maybe you could get it now," I said, sitting up and grabbing her. "But you'll get it better if I can recover a bit more first. And I have just the agenda item to pass that time!"

"Clark!" Anne squealed as I rolled her over onto her back. "What are you... Oh wow. Really?" she asked, as surprised as delighted sounding.

"You think I'm going to miss out on this?" I asked, too intent to be incredulous. If I was going to Hell, I was certainly going enjoy the journey. I gently but quite firmly pressed her legs apart and made myself bypass her delicious breasts on my way to kissing down her flat, smooth belly. I did make a pitstop to work my tongue into her deep little innie of a belly-button. That got a laugh, followed by a sigh and I moved lower again.

Seriously, how could I... anyone have passed up this opportunity? I was going to have to make myself wait and tease her properly before I finally let my tongue dive into her. I really wanted to find out what she tasted like. I had utter faith that she would be delicious.

But I made myself, and her, wait.

I kissed her belly, and all around below it. I ran both fingertips and lips across her inner thighs. There was so much smooth, firm flesh to explore, it was marvelous. And what made it more so was the way she was at a low boil the whole time.

About the third time I came very close to licking where she was desperate for me to, close enough to breathe on it, to inhale its heady scent, Anne groaned, "For crying out loud, Clark, you've spent more time not starting than any guy ever has on the whole thing! Please!"

Having a discussion about this was going to make her wait even longer, so of course I felt it was time for more advice...

"Don't worry, Anne. Guys eventually figure out on their own that this is a reward, not an obligation. And for those that don't manage to, but whom you still think are worth it, you most definitely have what it takes to successfully insist that they learn, my luscious little one."

"I do?" she gasped, as I let my thumb actually stroke up the length of her smooth, hairless opening.

"Hell yes! You just insist, and they will obey," I assured her.

"Clark?"

"I insist, God dammit!"

With that, I dragged my tongue up her delicious trench and she bucked most gratifyingly. She smelt and felt drenched already, but her outer labia were still closely pressed. I slid two fingers up and gently parted her just enough to slip my tongue within. She writhed responsively while I indulged myself in her flavor. And wow. She tasted great, but... strong. Were all women this much more flavorful when they were so young, or was Anne unusual? I was not crying either way.

I worked my tongue into her, probing and exploring. But I realized that she was almost there already. If she went off half-cocked, before I was done with all I wanted to accomplish, I was going to be disappointed. I should have backed off and let her simmer down, but I sensed that option would be met with... a poor response. Her fingers were already tangled in my hair and if I didn't want to lose whole hanks of it, I'd best be about it.

The other option was to bum rush her. I'd try to overwhelm her all at once, and pile on the stimulation. My fingers that were spreading her wide slid into her, deep within, to curl up and stroke in and out as swiftly as I could and still be gentle. Managing to get two inside of her that quickly was a bigger challenge than I had expected. Again, twenty year-old pussy wasTerra Incog-Haven't-Been-to-in-a-While-nita for me. My tongue swept upward and circled her clit, which was as generous as her nipples were small. It wasn't weirdly huge or anything, but it was big enough to easily suck on. So I did.